#local writer/artist with social anxiety trying to be social

[dionte-goethe]

I’m trying to be better about sharing things across social media accounts.

A collection of MingCheng microstories, based on one hundred randomly generated words.

#mingcheng #nie mingjue #jiang cheng #fanfiction microstories #local writer/artist with social anxiety trying to be social

[mingiswow]

Chapter 02

CW: mentions of anxiety, depression, and social anxiety, commentary on the industry, Hyunjin being a menace to Jisung, political commentary (?)

a/n: thank you so much for everyone who read the last chapter and for everyone's feedback. As always, taglist is open, feedback is appreciated, English is not my first language so sorry if there are any mistakes.

Y/N's POV

“A what?” I asked, unbelieving of my company’s director’s words, my voice cracking mid-sentence like a teenager.

After finishing my recording, me and Jiah went straight back to the company for the meeting with the director as scheduled. I was expecting anything but that.

“I know this is something new, but the government is studying to change a few things in the industry. And that includes things related to the idols’ image” the man said, unfazed by the idea.

Choi Hyunjae, the company’s director and founder, was a young man with a young mind. He founded the company as only a producing company. He wanted to create music with intent, with meaning. After a while, he decided to release a few artists under the company’s name, none of them in the K-pop industry. Not that they weren’t good, quite the opposite, it’s just that the industry wasn’t their goal, it never was. These artists, just like me and Hyunjae, wanted to put their art into the world while still being themselves. 

Director Choi was the one who contacted me first, I was losing my hope of working in music back then, already getting a job at a local gimbap restaurant as a waitress. But one day he recognized me and asked if I wanted to work for him, just as a lyricist and producer. “If you don’t want to go back to stages that’s up to you, I just think is a shame the world to lose such an amazing writer as you, your lyrics are emotionally raw and I know a lot of people enjoy your music” was what he said to me back then, leaving me with a few days to think about and decide.

After signing the contract with his company, I worked for months writing and producing, but even though I loved doing that, I missed the chaos, the buzzing, the screams, the thrill of being on stage, the lights on you as you pour your heart out. So eventually I went back to doing my thing.

“But don’t you think a PR relationship is a step too big?” it was Jiah’s turn to speak, her voice calm, but I knew she was as lost as me. “Why this sudden change in the business model? This feels a little bit like a trap”.

“With the rising pressure of the US in the country and the recent break of the political and commercial alliance with China, the minister thinks is better to try to change a little bit” the man spoke again, his relaxed state showing he seemed rather stoked with the idea. “According to the minister, and I have to agree with the old man here, if they are going to keep focusing on the international market, they need to change the international view on our rules” he took a sip of his coffee, and leaned on his table, hands crossing. “The regular public already has a rather romanticized vision of our artists, but we need to prove we are like this, especially with the number of foreigners coming to the country”.

“But isn’t that even more unfair? These girls come here expecting something they won’t have” I spoke, that I was the worst part of my job, being part of this scheme, of this play-pretend. “And I get K-pop is dated and the fans are even more aware of the industry, but why not start with something simple like letting us be ourselves? And most importantly, why me?” 

“Because you are our little chain-breaker, the odd one, and because the fuzz with Lee Ryuk gave them the perfect opportunity to test it out. That is, if you want to, I won’t force you to do anything” Director Choi smiled.

“Let’s say I accept the deal,” I said, my hands getting sweaty with anxiety once again that day, “what will I get with this?”

“Who will be her boyfriend?” that was a very good question. Who would accept this suicide mission?

Considering this could majorly affect anyone’s career, the most I’d get would be probably an idol from a small nugu group, or a small soloist. And even then, I would already consider myself lucky if anyone accepted this. I saw what happened before, idols being kicked out of their groups, and if not, having their so-called fans demanding their expulsion, sending death threats, giving black oceans at concerts. It wasn’t an easy change. It was something that needed to be done with time, little by little. Yet, that change was being given to me, put on my lap. I had the power to, at least try, to change the industry I was in. 

“Once you accept, we will have two weeks to collect candidates” Hyunjae spoke. “You both would also get even more security, trained soldiers from the actual army, as well as psychological support”.

“Psychological support? They really are trying to change things up” Jiah sounded a little ironic.

“Actually, that was something I asked for, I  won’t risk the mental well-being of my artist or anyone else”.

“Of course it was you, the government would never care about us” I rolled my eyes, arms crossing on top of my chest. 

“I know it’s scary, but just know I’ll be here with you throughout all of this” director Choi squeezed my forearm gently, a soft smile on his lips. “And, again, you don’t need to accept. It’s up to you. I‘ll give you a few days to think if you need it, ok? Talk to your therapist, talk to Jiah, your friends, take your time”.

I simply nodded not knowing how to act or even respond. I took a deep breath. What did I want? I didn’t know. To be honest, I was very scared of the idea, it was a big commitment, not only for me, or the company, but also for the entire industry and the future of it. What if even with the psychological support I couldn’t handle it? What if the person was even worse than Ryuk? What if no one signed for it? There were so many questions in my head.

The whole ordeal scared me more than I expected, and how wouldn’t it? When I entered the doors of the company I expected everything but that. Deep down I wished I had only to write a stupid handwritten note apologizing and saying that me and Ryuk were only good friends. But to sign a PR relationship contract was never in my mind.

“Again YN, you have complete freedom to say no. Now go home and rest, Jiah and I cleared your schedule” the man got up from his chair, and I followed his gesture. He held me gently by my shoulders. “You know you are our little kid here in the company and I see you as my own kid. That being said, I would never put you in something I feel like it would be bad for you” I nodded as he hugged me. “Now go, I have to deal with a fucking plagiarism again, seem like that company loves our music, doesn’t it?” I giggled knowing exactly what he was talking about.

Me and Jiah left the building and went straight to our apartment, even after years we still lived together. Not only did it cut costs on our living, but also was very convenient. But also because I hated living alone. 

The ride to our apartment was quiet, the radio playing some soft tune that I didn’t care to recognize, while the radio in my brain kept playing the director’s words over and over again. Sometimes the radio turned into a theater and started to play my most anxious thoughts. I tried to close the curtains, but it was hard, my apocalyptic thoughts taking over.

What if? what if? WHAT IF? WHAT IF? WHAT IF?

“I know that head of yours is already full of bullshit” it was the first words that came out of JIah’s mouth as soon as we entered the apartment. She knew me so well. “Go straight to the bathroom, make yourself a warm bath with the most relaxing bath bombs and bath salts you can find, put on that playlist that quiets down your brain, and while that I’ll make us a delicious lunch, okay?”

“Yes, mom” even with the irony in my tone, I was already taking my clothes off and grabbing my speaker. 

Han’s POV

The people on the street already started to leave the establishments, feet stumbling, too drunk for their own good. The doors closing and leaving only the workers inside, the lights lighting the dark starless night sky as I watched Seoul slowly starting to go to sleep as I envied them, their simple, normal, and seemly easy life.

I loved comeback season as much as I hated it. I loved the creative part, the writing, the recording, the producing, the practicing with the boys. I loved all of this. I like that even on the hardest days we manage to have fun with each other. This was the fun part.

What I hated the most was the public presentations, the pressure of doing everything perfectly, the nerve of having to remember the lyrics and dance moves and maintain myself calm, having to deal with the swarm of people and camera flashes and sasaengs and still smile like nothing affected my mental state. Not to mention having to interact with some people as fake as their nose bridges and waists, and sometimes people that I admired. Like today, when I almost made a fool out of myself in front of one of my absolute role models. 

“Earth to Jisung~ah” Minho, who always seems to notice when I’m too much into my brain, took me out of my inner monologue. “Are you okay?” he asked, hand on my shoulder as Felix and Hyuinjin happily talked about their interaction with Viviz in the front seats. I nodded in automatic mode, not sure if I was really okay. “Are you sure?”

The thing about Minho is that we have a really strong bond, which means we get along, but also means he knows how to read all my signs. Good or bad. 

“I’m just a little tired, that’s all” I said, which wasn't a lie, I had the tendency of closing myself in my own world when I was tired or overwhelmed. Or both. As Jeongin liked to call it ‘when my brain got smoother than raw chicken breasts’.

“You do know we have dinner with manager-nim now, right?”

“More like breakfast, it’s literally 2AM” the older one rolled his eyes, always the loving one. “I know I just hoped I could say I’m not feeling well and go to bed”. 

“As if that ever worked” even though it made me want to sulk and pout like a little kid he was right, that never worked, for any of us. Never. 

Another of the worst parts of this job is that it wasn’t just a job, it was almost a life sentence, 24/7 locked in this cage, in this zoo, where people from all around the world looked at you, watched you perform, clapped at you but didn’t seem to see the pile of dirt and whatever fetid and putrid things you can imagine behind me. The pieces of my own skin and life I was leaving bit by bit in that pile. 

It has been almost two weeks that I haven't had more than three hours of sleep per day. Living on coffee mixed with Pepsi mixed with energy drinks, and pills to keep us awake (that I wouldn’t be surprised if had some type of illegal drug in it). Thank god I didn’t need to diet much seeing that I worked out a lot, because if on top of all that I had to cut food income, I wouldn’t be here today. 

“Does this meeting have to be today?” I threw my head back, a low groan leaving my lips, disappointment clear. 

“What is Jisung complaining about now?” It was Hyunjin’s voice. I rolled my eyes, an old habit. 

“He’s just tired, you know how he gets when he’s like that” Minho answered for me, his hand caressing my hair and I allowed myself to relax for the first time in so long. When was the last time someone touched my hair? 

A low satisfied groan left my lips and the boys chuckled.

“You need a partner, Sungie” Felix spoke, and even though I couldn’t see due to my eyes being closed enjoying Minho’s playing with my hair I knew he turned his body to look at me with a smile on his face. “You’ve been pretty stressed lately, you need someone to talk to, to confide to, to play with your hair…”

“To wet your cookie on…” Hyunjin complemented and laughed at his joke.

“As if you’re getting some yourself” I responded a little ruder that I intended but sometimes it seemed that sex was all that he thought about.

He was about to answer with a witty response when his phone rang. By the responses he was giving it was our manager on the other line, probably mad that we were late or some. But I couldn’t be less bothered about it. 

I just closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling of Minho’s fingertips, now completely stilled, on top of my head, the heaviness of them making home on my scalp as I drifted off to sleep. 

I dreamed of me, my future partner, and our kids living a secluded life on a farm with a bunch of animals.

Taglist (open): @venusmoonxnight @hanstarrs @mrskill2 @cupidcures @yoontaethings @soupbinlily @luvyev @adorawritesalot

#colored by you #kpop #kpop x reader #stray kids #kpop fanfiction #kpop scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids scenarios #han jisung #han x reader #jisung x reader #han fanfiction #jisung fanfiction #han scenarios #jisung scenarios #skz #skz x reader #skz scenarios #skz fanfiction

[endlessbigbang]

Round Up 4

With the 4th week of posting coming to a close, have another round up before we'll be starting into the final week tomorrow!

Title: where dreams dwell not Writer: jamais_vu0 Artist: foxish (@kitsune2022-artish) Rating: Teen Warnings: canon-typical violence, temporary character death Word Count: 89,523 Pairing/main characters: Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless, Hob/Dream Additional tags: fairy tale AU, Hob saves Dream from the fishbowl, slow burn

Summary:

Hob Gadling is wasting away, aching for adventure and the chance to live life as it's meant to be lived. When he receives a mysterious letter promising all the adventure he could want in exchange for a year of his company, he takes the offer and finds himself in a lonely castle in a land of magic, a strange figure haunting his dreams. And when Hob himself breaks the one rule he's been given days before the year is complete, he finds himself embarking on the adventure he's always wanted, in order to save his Dream from a fate worse than death.

Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48303526/chapters/121823242 Art: https://www.tumblr.com/kitsune2022-artish/726233688430477312/my-art-for-the-endlessbigbang-2023-for

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Title: Love at Third Sight Writer: Gfawkes / LLflorence (@llflorence) Artist: @hpurlnovi Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 20,455 Pairing/main characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Up to 10 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Top Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Bottom Hob Gadling, Explicit Sexual Content, Identity Reveal, Mutual Pining, Romance, Light Angst, Emotional Sex

Summary:

Hob is dyslexic, and music notes are just like letters. B’s and d’s and p’s and q’s all look the same, as do all those little bastard tadpoles on the musical staff. So he does it a little differently, with a little humor and a lot of close-ups of his hairy fingers. And for some reason, it’s a hit in more ways than one. As Robyn begins to tune his instrument, Hob cases the room for his stranger. It’s the third time the handsome man has been to one of their gigs. There’s something familiar about him, something Hob can’t quite put his finger on. But the fact that he’s made eye contact for the third time is extremely intriguing. Johanna, of course, notices. “You’re looking for him again, aren’t you.”

Art & Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48001063/chapters/121029040

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Title: Sunrise in Chocolate Ink Writer: @aquilathefighter Artist: @vriah Rating: Teen Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 15,047 Pairing/main characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Up to 10 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Autistic Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Anxiety Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Social Anxiety, Poet Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Barista Hob Gadling

Summary:

Dream Endlaez is newly living on his own and trying to make it as a poet. He starts going to work at a nearby coffee shop known for supporting local artists, where he meets a handsome and charming barista named Hob. Dream learns the business is not doing well, so he decides to host a poetry reading night to attract customers (and boost his career at the same time!), all the while falling for the barista.

Art & Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48363172 Art: https://www.tumblr.com/vriah/726453780868218880/sunrise-in-chocolate-ink-by-aquilathefighter

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Title: The Many Lives of Hob Gadling Writer: @landwriter Artist: @teejaystumbles Pairing/main characters: Dream/Hob Rating: M Warnings: Chose Not To Warn Word Count: ~20K Up to 10 Additional Tags: Canon Divergence, Non-Linear Narrative, Reincarnation, Letters, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Devotion, Quests

Summary:

A man, supine and utterly still, in what might have seemed like a deep sleep, draws in a long slow breath and opens his eyes. He smiles up at the sky, for he knows not much at all, but he knows this:Hob Gadling is a man of good fortune. A story about refusing to leave. A story about a quest that spans lifetimes. A story about losing someone, and bringing them back with love.

Art & Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49088941 Art: https://www.tumblr.com/teejaystumbles/726549220335763456/illustrations-i-did-for-landwriters-endless-big

#the sandman #the endless big bang #round up post

[sobeksewerrat]

☆~~Elvina The Cock-Kicker~~☆

prolly gonna update or change this later (updated: 11/4/24 [d/m/y])

Uh, hello! Name's Elvina (I also go by AnDrew/AnDrea! And Argo aswell, but you need permission from me to use that one), but you can call me whatever lol

(There is also Eara'as, but who cares-)

Update on 24/2/24: Fuck it I am naming myself Adam too. Yes, after the guy from Hazbin. Sue me. It is one of my favourite names now.

-> لو انت بتكلم عربي و عايز تكلمني بيه ممكن تقلي ربيع او مروان برده!!

I'm an amateur artist and writer; currently trying to graduate as soon as humanly possible (and high school has been kicking my ass)

My tagline is "kinda bored ngl"; seriously it's been in the bio of every social media account I have ever owned since 2019 at some point or another it's actually insane, WHY AM I SO BORED?!?

this intro post pretty much only looks good with the "Vampire" theme, if you don't have that, then it sucks to suck, i guess.

BEFORE YOU INTERACT!!

☆I have a full Rules post but these are some others not included in that or TL;DRs.

-> I block very liberally, but I never just randomly block a mutual (unless it is a joke like in the freakblr war or they did sth horrible). I have severe anxiety so I tend to just block anybody who I feel is aggressive (intentionally or otherwise) or weirds me out.

-> I have a really broken sense of humour and I post a lot about inside jokes and stuff with my mutuals. I know I can't stop you, but if we're not mutuals or you're not involved in whatever inside joke I am talking about please dni with the posts. Once a joke of mine blew up and I deleted the original post and made my friends delete their rbs so people would stop seeing it.

-> I tend to forget to tag TWs properly. If I forget to tag sth, please inform me!!

Fandoms:

Special Interest (persumably): The Music Freaks

Hyperfixations: Ace Attorney, Luca(2021), The Stanley Parable, Story Thieves, Scott Pilgrim , Hazbin Hotel

Danganronpa V3 [yes, V3 specifically.I don't interact with the fandom much]

Mark and Friends/The World of Mr.Plant

The Disastrous Life of Saiki K

Blue's Story (Victaton)

Diary of A Wimpy Kid (mainly the Dysfunctional Perspective fancomic)

Big Hero 6

DDLC

Al Kabeer (not a fandom technically but who cares)

Sonic

Jackson's Diary

Aurora (red osp)

Riordanverse (including KC and MCGA)

Unfamiliar (Lavendertowne)

FNAF

Omori

Helluva Boss

Obey Me!

Ramshackle

Buncha other stuff that I am too lazy to name (might edit as i post about them)

Fandom Stuff to Tag Me In!!

My Kins!!

Random Bullshit:

Egyptian

fav colour is red

Professional Faggot since 2018 (legally)

Aro/Ace (achillean)

Agender / Aboy (transmasc, pronouns: he/him)

Basically just your local pathetic trans boy with mommy AND daddy issues (the whole package!)

INFP

Born in spooky month, loves spooky month

OCD, ADHD, self-diagnosed Autism

Biochemistry nerd. I didn't mean to be one but there was just something very intruiging about toxicology. Blame Lavendertowne.

Massive multi-shipper (also i like crackships, A LOT)

Coffee, vimto and soda addict (blame cockitchy ouma)

Fav. fictional chr. of all time: ✨Manfred von Karma✨(PW:AA)

Drew and Milly kinnie (TMF)

I am Drew irl, all I say about him is canon, I even run the rp blog, don't question me

✨✨✨LEADER OF THE ANTI-DARK REUNION✨✨✨

Menace to society, according to all of my irl friends, and just people who know me (just ask my freakblr mutuals, they'll tell you).

Minor, obv.

Never truly grew out of my Gacha phase

Other Blogs

Tags

Artfol: sobeksewerrat (not super active there lol)

Wattpad: ElvinaHS

AO3: sobeksewerrat

pronouns

Have a great day/ night!!

Your favourite god,

Sober Skewart 🐊🍻

#sobek freakposting #sobek rants #sewer dump #writing rats #sobek graffiti #brainingsewer #sobek yes #sobek's dumpster #cw flashing

[theganjaplanet]

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[chocolate-parfait]

can I suggest a headcanon for arthur, theo and comte ( or dazai ) reacting to their selectively mute s/o speaking for the first time? ( maybe even singing? ) you can decide if you want a scenario for one of them and what mc sounds like, wether shes soft spoken or has a mature voice~ whatever you feel comfortable with >:0 👌 — have a nice day ! ♡

I made some research to write this but tell me if anything's inaccurate or wrong! I'll fix it right away

Selectively mute MC - ikevamp headcanons (Arthur, Theo & Comte)

Arthur

Arthur's a bit suspicious when he sees how uncomfortable you seem to be on your first night. No normal person would feel completely at ease, that's for sure, and yet the way your gaze flickers around the room, the way you fidget with your own hands, the look of pure anxiety on your pretty features, they're all blatant red flags for him, though he decides to let you be. It's your first night, after all, for all he knows you could just be terribly shy, right?

He started piecing the signs together after a couple days when your voice was yet to be heard. The only thing they knew was your name, which you wrote on a piece of paper after Vincent's many soft encouragements.

The English writer had tried flirting with you a couple times, but after being met with the same indicators of discomfort as night one, he decided to step back and watch from the sidelines, occasionally helping others translate whatever you were trying to tell them with your body language.

Selective mutism had been diagnosed around 1870 for the first time, and although it was still a relatively new medical condition, he still was a couple decades more experienced when it came to medicine. After realizing that was your case, he moved to inform everyone in the mansion so that they could adjust their behaviors and avoid causing you too much distress.

Eventually Arthur becomes the person you spend most time with in the whole house; you can feel he genuinely cares and, despite the voices you had heard about his incorrigible attitudes and questionable habits, you start appreciating all the efforts he puts into making sure you're always comfortable and understood (his efforts were very much succeeding, by the way).

On one particular night, you decided to bring some coffee to his room, a silent gesture of support in his regards, but once you entered the bedroom, he turned to look you in the eyes and you saw his beautiful blue orbs, usually alight with mischief, now dark and wavering, surrounded by puffy, red skin. He had been crying. Despite all his best efforts to hide it, everyone knew the writer had his own ghosts from the past haunting him, but seeing him so wretched and broken made your heart squeeze in sympathy and pity.

Seeing your worried expression Arthur immediately turned the other way, letting out a self deprecating laugh as he thought this was probably not helping with your case at all. "Ah- D-don't worry about me! I just got some dust in my eyes. Clumsy old me-!" You set down the tray on his desk and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"A-arthur, you can tell me. I'm here for you."

His heart almost flew out of his chest as his wide eyes stared at you in disbelief. He abruptly stood up and had to stop himself from hugging you and twirling you around, grabbing your shoulders instead. "MC, you just spoke right now, didn't you?!". He was so shocked he completely forgot about his troubles and spent minutes fawning over you. He didn't realize he was coming off as too strong until he noticed your voice getting quieter and quieter. He then apologized and took a moment to cool himself off.

From then on, your relationship goes through revolutionary changes as he finally gets to learn more about your past, tastes and personality. Each little detail makes him more and more interested in what had been a complete mystery to everyone for days. As the writer of Sherlock Holmes he certainly couldn't let this one chance fly out of the window now, could he?

If his brain malfunctioned when he heard your voice for the first time, it is pretty accurate to say that he almost passed away for the second time when he heard your laugh! It's the best and most effective antidepressant he's tried in a long time, and the more open you become, the more the look in your eyes starts to brighten up, a worthy rival to the breathtaking smile that graces your lips every now and then.

Your voice is sweet, calm and soft, and Arthur feels as if he's floating on a cloud whenever he hears it. It isn't loud, either, making everything you say seem like the most intimate secret one could whisper to a close friend. On the other hand, your laugh is like the clear and light tinkling of a bell. Each time you let out even the smallest of chuckles his cheeks flush with a rosy blush, earning him stares and teasing remarks from the closest fellow vampire in the room.

Slowly, he starts to see his reactions for what they are: sprouts of a new love. As time passes by, he realizes he wants to hear more and more of your voice. He wants to hear you whimper his name lost in overwhelming pleasure, he wants to hear all the sweet nothings and declarations of love you can offer him, comforting words, even gibberish and dark secrets. Everything that comes out of your mouth is like molten gold to him, and he wants it all to himself.

He starts bragging to others, though it does not take long before you're comfortable enough to grace them with the sound of what Arthur has come to love so much. On one side he's jealous because you've denied him the privilege of being the only one to hear your voice, but at the same time he's also extremely proud of you! You're finally happy and there's no more traces of anxiety and worry in your eyes whenever you're surrounded by the other vampires, and that's one of the most important milestones he's honored have witnessed by your side.

Theo

Let's just say that you and theo start off on the wrong foot. To say that you're frightened of him at first is an understatement, and you very much avoid him for as much as you can. He feels guilt strangling his throat whenever he sees your quivering form running away from him, and after noting that you behaved similarly with everyone and still hadn't uttered a word in days made him worry even more.

Arthur's the one who comes up with a diagnosis, and with that everyone changes their manners and speech to make you feel more at ease. Theo, just like his blue haired friend, is actually pretty good at reading body language so he has no particular struggles when it comes to your needs. Unfortunately, he's not so smooth in regulating his tone and words, which often come out a little to harsh. Vincent often reprimands him for it, and he can't help but feel even worse when he realizes he's probably ruining your whole stay.

He starts distancing himself, and you gradually start sticking by the local angel's side, never leaving him for even a second; his vibes are so pure and soothing that they help you out with your anxiety and symptoms. Needless to say, he's also very understanding and is not at all bothered to speak in your stead. This leads to Vincent being the first one to hear your voice, and he's without doubt elated, but he also wishes for you to be able to socialize with the others, too. Theo in particular.

After days and days of the artist's endless rants on how good his little brother actually is, your image of the gruff man has been replaced by that of a soft hearted puppy. Too bad that this soft puppy looks like a hungry hunt dog more than a small, soft cloud of love.

Ironically enough, what brings you and Theo to a new stage of your basically nonexistent relationship is King. In the dog's presence he lets his guards down and turns into a loving owner of a very good and friendly golden nugget, subsequently becoming more approachable. Besides, everyone knows how helpful animals are in fighting anxiety and social disorders! And on the advice of Arthur, he invites you to his daily walk with his dog, hoping your fear will melt away with time.

He's a stubborn man, and even when such delicate issues come his way, he has no intention of giving up. No matter how much time it'll take him, he believes he's going to convince you he's not that bad as you first thought. Why is he trying so hard though? Well, not only it's something that stems from Vincent's care for you, but it's also something for your own good. If you were to avoid him for a whole month, you'd get nothing out of it, and a constant lingering sense of panic would follow you pretty much anywhere; but living for a whole month in those conditions is a no-no for Theo. He has no intention of uselessly make you suffer like that, and as he reminds himself of that, his willpower strengthens his determination to search for a common ground between you two.

Albeit slowly, you start getting less tense around him, and the fright fades away bit by bit with each walk in the woods with the Dutch art dealer and the excited bundle of golden hair. It's a lengthy process that takes many days, but Theo finally knows his efforts aren't vain when he hears you coo at the golden retriever. "King... you're such a good boy.." You say with with the warmest smile he had ever seen painted on someone's face as you patted his canine friend's head lovingly. In that moment he wished he could frame the scene and hang it up in his room next to his brother's paintings.

He didn't know whether it was the emotion of hearing your voice for the first time or the implications that told him you weren't that scared of him anymore, but he became hyper aware that his wasn't a normal heartbeat. Unsteady and crazy like that of a lovestruck fool. Was this all it took him to fall head over heels for someone? Or was this a process that had started way before?

It still takes you some time to be fully able to speak complete sentences in his presence, but once you do, he's overcome with one of the greatest feelings of satisfaction he had ever felt in his two lives, and he can definitely agree that everything was worth the wait and the labour.

Just like Arthur, your laugh almost makes him fly through the roof, but what turns him into a formless puddle of mushy feelings and amazement is your singing voice. The first time he hears you intone a medley to him he turns to stone and just stays there, unmoving. He has an eye for finding hidden talents, but oh God was your singing unexpected. His feeling may be out of place here, but he's so, so glad to have your singing all to himself. He finds the act extremely intimate, and for how much he may believe he doesn't deserve it, he cannot deny the positive effects it has on him

Sometimes, when you're talking to him, you can see him turn his face away and smile to himself like an idiot. In those times, he's thinking about how far you two came, and how glad he is to have persisted as much as he did.

Comte

Comte emanates a slightly threatening and imposing aura but it can also be calm and placid, like his voice. First and foremost he's a gentleman, but he sometimes comes off as very intimidating to those who are not used being around such strong presences like his. Luckily, he's a very patient man, and you can feel no judgement nor malice coming from him. He's lived a long, long life, and he knows better than overstepping people's boundaries and making fun of their insecurities.

When with him, you can do things at your own pace! If you don't feel like talking then he's totally okay with it; take your time to find your own way and pace of doing things, he'll gladly help if you ever ask him (with gestures or, once you're closer, with words).

The panic you feel in his presence dissolves gradually; there are no particular events that cause a turning point in your relationship, it just happens. Despite living in such a big mansion, avoiding all life forms is pretty much impossible, so you happen to share some interactions every now and then. Sometimes it's an afternoon tea, others it's just him making small talk as you clean his room (he's either talking to himself or asks answers you can nod to if you feel more comfortable). He immediately makes it clear that he doesn't expect nor want to pressure you in delivering any answer, and if you ever happen to feel too overwhelmed he excuses himself and leaves the room.

One day as you were dusting the shelves in his office, he casually says:"The weather's really nice today." But your head doesn't move in assent, instead he receives a shocking reply despite the ordinariness of the topic. "It really is... T-there's not a cloud in the sky, either." A shocked expression momentarily appears on his features, soon replaced by a wide smile as he hums back in agreement.

He doesn't let it show but he's utterly in love with your voice. It's an addiction but he still wants to give you enough space and time to get comfortable with the idea of speaking around him, so he tries to keep himself in check all the time.

It's when he hears you singing that he can't help but feel greedy, and the rare sight of Comte's blushing cheeks greets you for the first time ever. It's his weak point, use it as you may deem ;)

(okay but jokes aside WHY would you ever want to use it against him, he'd build a pyramid with a butter knife while doing a backflip if you asked him to tbh,, the man is Whipped.)

Everything you do has a meaning and a significance, so he's always taking in even the smallest piece of information you may subconsciously slip his way. Seeing how you trust him enough to lower your guards about him makes him all the more appreciative of the bond you two share. For this reason, if you ever want to try and get over your anxiety, he'll be there to walk with you from the first to the last step of your journey.

His favorite thing is when he's holding you in his arms, nuzzled against his chest while he dozes off to your heavenly humming. It makes him feel like a prince living his happy ever after in a fairytale and he couldn't be more grateful.

#my writing #ikemen vampire #ikevamp scenarios #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp imagines #ikevamp comte #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp theo #arthur conan doyle #theodorus van gogh #comte de saint germain #answered

[novastarry]

Introducing Me Post

So I feel like I haven't really introduced myself, or at least haven't recently and there's like a few people on here now. So here's my introduction and a few fun facts about me.

- My name is Nova A., ( I'm pretty sure I haven't said my last name on here so I'll keep it that way)

- I'm 17

- My pronouns are They/Them and He/Him, mainly

- I'm still figuring out my exact gender identity and sexuality but like queer

- For physical conditions I have - fibromyalgia, dysautonomia ( NS), and after affects of a massive TBI last June

- For mental conditions I have - ADHD, dyscalculia, generalized anxiety disorder, depression, body dysmorphia, gender dysphoria, PTSD, BPD, EDNOS or anorexia not sure exactly.

- I wanna use these titles one last time so: I am on my schools knowledge bowl team, I am leader of my NJROTC academic team, I am president of kindness club, I stage managed our last production and have been in theater for four years, I am class secretary two years running unaposed, a member of the debate team, on prom committee, and in my local anime club

- I'm a senior about to be college freshman, I'm studying Creative Studies through a major called New College

- I'm Native American and Cacuasian

- I'm from the US ( Yeah we're in an interesting place)

- I'm currently unemployed/student, but working on being a freelance artist/Podcaster/writer

- This blog is supposed to be about all my interests and things I deal with as sort of a precursor to my like blog that I'm supposed to get paid for, but right now it's highly focused on my ED relapse

- I self identify as punk, but I find myself in a lot of alternative subcultures

- I have some hobbies mainly Journaling, listening to music, posting on socials, and trying to figure out who I am and what I'm doing, if you consider that a hobby

- I'm a witchcraft practitioner and an agnostic believer

- That’s about all there is too know about me

#alternative #bpd #fibromyalgia #dysautonomia #dysphoria #mental health #mentally ill #actually disabled #agnostic #introducing myself

[witchy-anna]

Ok, so I have this idea. I want Hawks to react to a horror manga artist/writer (Junji Ito but female) who stares at him from afar (using him as a ref for her protagonist) and when he tries to confront her about it, she either ignores him or runs in the opposite direction and he thinks it’s because she hates him but in actuality she’s too anxious to deal with a confrontation and doesn’t want to have a panic attack. Headcannons or scenario, please and thank you hun!

Hawks x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k~

Warnings: Mentions of mental health (panic attacks/anxiety), mild cursing, mild gore

Playlist: Haunted by ADONA, Devil’s Playground by The Rigs, I See You by MISSIO

A/N: This ask is so dang interesting, this turned out much longer than I intended it to. I know everyone experiences panic attacks differently but I went with what helps me ground myself. Honestly, I’m not very confident with this one, nonetheless I hope you enjoy! 

~~~

Hawks’ stomach growled audibly. He sat far above the civilians walking and going about their daily lives below his perch. “Just a couple more hours,” he muttered to himself. 

The swollen sun dipped low in the sky, reflecting off glass windows momentarily blinding him. 

He throws his head back letting out a groan, “I’m hungry!” Coming to a decision he pulls his phone out to find recent calls and selects one. The line connects almost immediately, “This is- oh hey Hawks! Let me guess, your usual?” 

“You know me so well,” Hawks laughs loudly. 

“Give me five minutes,” the chipper voice replied.

“Great! I’ll be there,” he says ending the call. Standing, he stretches languidly eliciting a couple pops from his stiffened joints. Hopping off the building he glides easily to his destination. Making it to the empty restaurant in less than two minutes, and strolling inside like he owned the place. At this point he practically did as he was their most frequent customer. 

The young man who answered the phone waved from the counter, “Hey! I said five minutes, I’m still working on your order so take a seat over there.” He gestured to the table by the window which Hawks raised an eyebrow at. “Please? You attract customers and it’s empty in here!” the man wiggled his own eyebrows.

With a dramatic sigh he settled into his seat pulling out his phone out to absentmindedly scroll through social media. 

The young man who was the owner’s son dropped into the seat across from Hawks, “See, you do attract customers.” He slid a food tray containing Hawks’ opulent order of various types of chicken, including fried of course. 

Hawks grinned, “You didn’t have to bring this out, I could have grabbed it.” Turning to eye the growing amount of patrons queuing up at the counter to order. 

“Nah, my old man told me to sit here in case anyone tried to bug you,” he shrugged. “You’re doing us a favor anyway. Plus my sister can handle the orders.”

As Hawks ate, the restaurant gradually filled with more and more patrons. Soft whispers and chatter increased in volume. A loud shutter sound came from across the room followed by a curse. The owner’s son sighed and leveled a hard look at the offender.

“It’s fine,” Hawks said quietly. At this point people snapping photos of him was a common occurrence. 

A little kid sat in a booth openly gawking, he spared a little wave at them and got a wide excited smile in return. He felt more so than saw all of the people staring. 

A movement outside caught his attention, sitting across the street on a set of stone stairs tucked into the side of a building sat a person. 

His eyes narrowed and rapt gaze took in a woman sitting partially obscured by shadows with her head down scribbling something into a notebook. A small penlight stuck between her teeth. Every so often she would look up to stare intensely at him before returning to the scribbing. He shoveled the food into his mouth faster because of the curiosity itching at him. An edge of worry creeping along behind it, what if it was a spy or someone out to harm him. What was she writing? He felt the small feathers at the base of his wings stand on end. 

Just as he finished his meal he watched out of the corner of his eye for her head to duck back down. Shooting to his feet he startled the owner’s son from whatever was so interesting on his phone, “Woah, finished already?”

“Yep, duty calls!” Hawks gave him a cocky grin and moved to hand the food tray to the girl at the counter. He waved before slipping outside into the cool air. 

~~~

As soon as your paycheck came in you hightailed it to the local art supply store. With your eyes sparkling as you drank in the wonderful sights of shelves and cabinets chocked full of goodies. The faint scent of graphite tickled your nose and the more overpowering scent of paints.

Your phone chimes, breaking you out of your happy daze, from a Twitter page you were ashamed to follow when you first discovered it. The photo with the attached location is luckily a short walk away. 

You sigh, What an artist will do for inspiration. Rushing to ring up your purchases, you not so subtly run outside to get to the location before he leaves.

Why, why, why did your brain insist on Hawks of all heroes to use as inspiration for your protagonist. To late at this point. 

Arriving at the restaurant you internally groan, it was busy. Very busy. Excitement constricted your throat at the sight of brilliant vermillion wings showcased in the bright window he sat in. The lights from the restaurant washing over the outside street and people impatiently queuing in the growing line. 

You puff your cheeks out, What should I do now? Luckily you spot a secluded staircase across the street with a perfect view of the window. A little far but it would have to do. Unfortunately for you it’s out of the light provided from the street lamps and business windows. You make yourself as comfortable as possible on the steps and pull out a sketchpad and your favorite pencil to sketch. 

In person sketching was substantially better than using random photos from online. Taking a photo of him without permission feels a little too invasive of his privacy. 

The soft sounds of the pencil scratching over the rough paper fills your senses. His wings in person are so much more magnificent, folded behind him. Much different than the photos are red-tailed hawks you tried to use. 

“Whatcha doin’ there?” a cheerful voice chirps. 

A strangled squeak escapes your throat, Oh no. Someone caught me. 

Ignore it (Y/n), he’ll go away. You jolt when inquisitive eyes come into your view and you visibly flinch away from Hawks himself. Well shit.

“Anyone home?” you watch frozen as his hand moves towards you. 

“No!” you shout and scramble away, it echoes down the street. Pedestrians pause and turn towards the commotion. 

Hawks’ eyes widen at your reaction and his voice drops to a gentle tone, “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you.” He slowly withdraws his hand, eyes rapty watching your reactions. Maybe she wasn’t looking at me, he thinks to himself. 

Hurrying to fold up your supplies and go to move around his giant wings. “Excuse me,” your voice comes out sharper than intended. 

“I-, what?” his eyes follow your quickly departing form, completely dumbfounded. “That’s a first.” A soft tap of something falling from your grip diverts his attention. He bends and picks up a pencil, starting at it curiously. 

The panic sets in, breathing sawing faster and faster from your mouth. The quick intake of breath bringing dizziness along with it, hand in hand with nausea. You slip into a nearby secluded alley and press your back against the stone. 

“Okay,” you take a shaky breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth. After a few moments your breathing slows and to stop sounding quite as much like sandpaper is stuck in your throat. “Breath (Y/n). Okay, I see: my shoes, a cigarette, a flyer for a restaurant, a person with an umbrella, and a leaf. I feel: the scratchy wall, the hole in my sock, the breeze, and my sketchbook. I hear: someone laughing, a bicycle chain, and a bell. I smell: something grilling, and is that trash?” You wrinkle your nose, “Lastly I taste the (flavor) candy I ate earlier.” 

Just as you are about to step out from your resting place, a small red feather drifts down the alleyway. Carried by its own invisible breeze. It stops for a moment before turning to move to you, causing your breath to hitch and panic sets back in. 

Before it can reach you, you take off sprinting into the crowd of people making their way to the train station. 

~~~

On the train home, you dig through your bag before upending it into your lap. “No no no, where is it!” 

Great, if that pencil wasn’t like an extension of your own hand it wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

Running graphite stained fingers through your hair you groan at the situation. Do you accept its gone? Or return to the scene of your “crime” and risk Hawks still being there? 

You check your watch resigning to suck it up and go back there; cursing at your clumsiness. Trains were still running so you manage to catch one back, twisting your fingers together the entire time. 

Back at the scene of your “crime” you shine your pen light searching the area. Of course, you hadn’t lost the cheap little light but too late at this point. 

“Hey you,” the familiar voice says cheerfully. 

Nope, you pivot on your heels shoving the still lit pen light into your pocket. Please go away. 

“Wait!” Hawks voice calls from behind you. “I’m just trying to return this to you!” 

Nope, nope, nope, you chant internally. 

“Gotta be quicker than that!” Hawks’ laughing voice is suddenly in front of you. 

Your yelp is muffled as you smack face first into a warm coat. His hands reach up to settle on your arms and steady you but also blocking any attempt at escape. 

Unable to look him in the eyes you instead settle on the collar of his jacket. “Please don’t,“ you say weakly. “Please let go.” This entire situation has already spent your reserves of energy. 

There’s a pause before he lets go and steps back, “You won’t run again?" 

No promises, you think but shake your head anyway. 

A long drawn out sigh comes from Hawks and you glance up at him with widening eyes. Your breath leaves you, creeping across the street was nice but standing this close is a whole different level. His eyes narrow slightly, "What were you doing earlier?" 

"Wait! You saw me?!” you exclaim, then clap a hand over your mouth. 

Hawks’ eyes study your face, seeming to settle on a decision and expression softens. “Here,” he reaches inside his coat to pull out the pencil. 

“Oh, thank you,” you say genuinely. Some pent up tension in your shoulders lessens. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he presses.

“I was-,” heaving a sigh out you pull the sketchpad out that was tucked under your arm. “I was sketching you. I’m an aspiring mangaka.” 

“Honestly I thought you were suspicious,” he laughs wryly. “But I definitely did not expect this.”

Hawks crouches slightly coming into your line of site, another squeak escapes your mouth and you quickly raise the sketchpad to cover your face. He chuckles and raps his knuckles against it, asking, “Can I see?”

“It’s Hawks!!” someone shouts. 

Hawks turns to grin and wave in the general direction of the shout but says to you quietly, “Can I take you somewhere? I’d like to continue this conversation without interruption." 

At your look of apprehension he offers, "I’ll let you draw me in person!”

“Really?!” you exclaim and again clap a hand over your mouth. 

Hawks nods happily and moves to pick you up but stops when you flinch away. “Hmm, alright I won’t push,” he beckons you to follow. “This way.” Not waiting for an answer he turns on his heels and quickly leaves you behind. 

“Wait,” you call weakly and struggle to catch up. 

His pace slows and he spares a glance over his shoulder to check you’re following. Abruptly he takes a turn into a side alley between two stores.

“A-are you going to mug me?” you joke but your voice wavers.

Hawks spins causing you to crash into him again, which he laughs at loudly. Stepping backward he holds up his hands in a finger gun motion, “Gimme all your money!”

“Very funny,” your smile betrays you.

He gives you a dumbfounded look when you smile that morphs into a satisfied smirk. “Got you to smile, didn’t I?” he spins back around to resume the journey, weaving an impossibly strange route through alleys and streets.

“Here we go,” he says with his gaze traveling up a tall building. “Sorry, we need to fly for this bit.” 

Before you can answer he scoops you up and strong wings propel the both of you straight up into the air. A choked scream is cut off and a moment later he set you down on your feet. With shaky hands you clutch at his coat and gasp out, “You could have warned me!”

“That’s no fun!” his laugh is close enough to ruffle your hair. 

To close, you step away and try to distract yourself with the place he had taken you. 

“Oh, this is..” you pause. Cut off from the gentle but still chilly breeze is a small oasis at a penthouse suite. A small greenhouse sits beside the glass walls leading inside the house. You frown, wondering if this is his place or someone else’s. 

“No one lives here,” he laughs at your expression. “At least not at this time of the year.”

“Anyway, how do you want me?” he questions with a shit eating grin.

“Whatever is comfortable for you,” you roll your eyes.

“Oh! So like this?” he says and proceeds to strike ridiculous flexing poses.

Rolling your eyes again you settle down onto a grassy patch of the ground. Vaguely wondering how people afforded places like this, Must be a hero. Hawks follows you and plops down across from you crossing his legs with wings relaxed behind him. 

You clear your throat, “Why are you letting me do this?” 

He shrugs, “Boredom I guess. Plus you interest me.” 

“I-,” you start but shake your head dismissing his teasing. You move to take out the sketchpad and supplies and settle them onto your drawn up knees. The familiar and comforting sounds of the pencil scratching against paper fills the quiet atmosphere. 

“Why did you run?” he asks quietly, staring off at something in the distance.

You groan and he cocks an eyebrow at you, “I’m no good with confrontation.” 

“So I scared you,” his easy-going expression drops for one of worry. 

Shaking your head you say quickly, “No. No, that’s not it! I was already embarrassed to be sketching you without permission. I felt like I was caught with my hands in the cookie jar.” You smile sheepishly but it falls and you look down at your lap, “I got overwhelmed is all.”

“I can understand that,” he says with another unreadable expression. At his silence you return to your sketchpad, this time with a stick of charcoal. After some more time passes he says, "I find it difficult to believe you happened upon me by chance. How did you know I was there?" 

You duck your head down to avoid his prying eyes and admit, “There’s a twitter account people post sightings of you.” 

He hummed, “I would be lying if I said that wasn’t bizarre but I’ve seen worse.” His brow furrowed remembering something, “Much worse.”

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. 

“No more apologizing, it’s not your fault,” he said with an easy smile. “I’m used to it,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Comes with the job. Why do you want to draw me? You still haven’t told me.”

A bright smile on your face leaves him with a dumbfounded expression again, “Oh! I’m working on a horror type Manga and wings are just so much fun to draw.” You gush and point at his wings, “Your emotions show through your wings! I want to convey that in my drawings." 

"Can I see?” he asks again. “I mean, I am letting you use my body." 

Puffing out your cheeks you sigh and reluctantly hand the pad to him, "Please don’t laugh." 

"No such thing,” he tuts and greedily grabs at the pad. It starts off as simple lose sketches of red-tailed hawks, next focusing on the wings before evolving entirely to various positions of Hawks himself. He flips a page to reveal the first full body fleshed out design of your protagonist. The character stands with a cocky grin, wearing a victorian style suit and top hat balanced on his fluffy hair. Only his wings are left with a light outline and where his hands should be, are left blank. 

The last and most detailed drawing eliciting from him a soft, “Woah.” The one you were most proud of, the dark-haired version of Hawks stood grinning maniacally and pulling the coat wide open. The abdominal cavity gaping wide open, empty of organs except for the heart hanging suspended. He hums, “You did say it was a horror.” He suddenly sits forward into your space, “You have to show me when this is finished! Please!”

Taken aback at his excitement you mumble a soft, “Okay.” Hawks bounces slightly in his excitement and hands you back the notepad. Adorable, you muse. He has an almost calming personality, even for as pushy as he is. 

Focusing your attention on his face you touch up the corners of the character’s eyes. Muttering out loud to yourself, “Is it eyeliner or not?” 

“They’re natural Little Mouse,” he smiles as bright as the sun. “Why didn’t you draw my hands?" 

“Little Mouse?” you squeak. 

"You squeak a lot. It’s cute,” he winks causing you to sputter. “Again, you didn’t answer my question." 

Is he flirting? Haha funny (y/n), as if that would happen. Shaking your head you explain, "I want to draw your, I mean his fingers with talons. You sure ask a lot of questions." 

An unreadable expression settles on his face, "Talons?” His brow furrows and after a moment asks, “Promise you won’t tell anyone?" 

"Tell anyone wha-? Oh,” you watch as Hawks slips a glove off to reveal his fingers sporting sharp black nails, much like his namesake. Abandoning your art you reach out to grab him hand, running your fingers over his nails and up over his knuckles. 

“Full of surprises aren’t ya?” he quips. 

“I’m sorry!” you cry tearing your hands away from him. 

“It’s okay I don’t mind,” he hums and gestures at your hands to retake his. 

Your mouth betrays you and you blurt, “You keep making me flustered!” 

Mischief glinted in his eyes as he leaned into your personal space. His voice dropped an octave, “Afterall, my Little Mouse I am a bird of prey.”

#hawks x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fanfic #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo #keigo takami #takami keigo x reader #witchy-anna writes

[writtenbyvenus]

What We Do In The Shadows

( Warning, this is in RP format, but has been edited and proof read for grammar/flow. A change between writers with both characters is symbolized by italics. )

Chapter 2: Entering The Wolf’s Den

Werewolves and vampires: two species that are mortal enemies. But in a small town in Upstate New York, they seemed to find a way to co-exist by staying out of each other's way and minding one's business. However, the dynamics of the local pack of werewolves and coven of vampires would change when a certain pair got too close for comfort. Alfred is an over seventy-year old werewolf posing as local law enforcement, while Ivan is a centuries old vampire working at a blood bank. Both try to get through the struggles of being immortal creatures, who find themselves in a cultural and family struggle when they fall for each other. Between an anti-vampire pack leader, suspicious in-laws, and a death that could nearly tear two families apart, the pair questions if a relationship is a reality, or if they have too much baggage they carry. 

Alfred could tell he offended his baby bat. From his body language to ‘Don’t wait up’, his vampire was not pleased with being forced alone and having to wait. It seemed that the vampire had a lot of pride, they were prideful creatures after all. Being told by the wolf ‘Hang by yourself then’ must have hurt his ego, as he reached out to hang out with Ivan in the first place. Smelling the man’s disdain, once he got back into his room, he hoped that Ivan would knock on his door again. But when he didn’t he did pout. Perhaps he was too harsh on his crush. Rethinking his actions, he did wish Ivan would have knocked on his door. He would welcome the man in and enjoyed some light cuddling while he watched dragons breath fire on people. However, it seemed to be that the man was too offended by the idea. Watching the show, he got bored as he wished Ivan was next to him. Thinking for a moment, he came up with an idea to tempt Ivan into his apartment. Standing up, he didn’t bother to pause the show as he went into his room. Grabbing his pencil and sketch pad, he decided to let Ivan see his secret hobby: drawing. His love of anime and cartoons inspired him to take up drawing as a hobby. But he was very embarrassed about it, and would rarely show people his artwork. Even if it was great and matched up well with popular artists on social media, his own anxiety made it a hidden talent. He’d let very few people see his drawings, for him it was about the fun of it. He didn’t need validation for it, it was his hobby. He’d color, sketch, and draw, just for himself. Sitting back on the sofa, he decided to use a more cutesy-anime style. Drawing him and Ivan, he gave Ivan little bunny ears, and wolf ears on himself. Nicknames like ‘bunny’ and ‘ kitten’ were ones he saved for people he found cute.

It was ironic since it was the prey of wolves. He did want to eat up a cute bunny or kitten, but more in a playful manner. Ivan’s foreign accent made him think of a hot blonde he’d see at a ski resort. With the cutesy image of him and the bunny, he made sure to draw him smirking and showing off his canine teeth. Ivan didn’t look scared in the art, only giving the cocky smirk he usually gave Ivan. It was only their heads and torsos, and on the top, he wrote ‘After your sister’s leave, wanna get something to eat?’. It was Alfred’s peace offering. Getting up, he walked to Ivan’s apartment door. Instead of knocking, he simply slipped the art under his door. Ivan would come across it once he was around the area. He didn’t want to disturb the blood-sucking bunny current if he truly had plans. Going back to his room, he continued on his Game of Thrones binge, praying that the vampire would come by later. In terms of a ‘meal’, it could be anything the man wanted. They could go hunting together, Ivan finding some unsuspecting human, and Alfred a lonely deer. Or, more orthodox, actually somewhere to snack. Or just stay in his house and cook something homemade. Whatever the man had a thirst for, blood or food.

 Over in his own apartment, Ivan put a sponge to his red-stained mugs, putting his strength into getting the crusted blood left to the bottom. When he turned his heel to load his dishwasher something white caught his eye. He set his dishes in the rack before scanning the floor before his door. Stepping away from the sink, he approached the mysterious note and turned his head to look down upon it. Recognizing the resemblance of his face, his cheeks flushed with red. He bent down and snatched up the paper into his hands. His heart nearly lurched from his chest and onto the freshly spotless floor. He'd have to deal with the recycled blood burning his face for a few more minutes before getting over the gesture. The strange conversation and insight earlier blended oddly with the feeling he had now. Mostly charmed, but slightly uneasy. He found it bold, not unwelcomed, but surprising from Alfred. His finger traced over the leaded indentations as he took a seat at his breakfast nook. It was beyond flattering, a style he hasn't seen before, but charming. He thought of it slightly egotistical to be set next to the man who drew it, but grateful for it. It made it easier on his eyes. Bunny ears. That was a new one for him. Bat wings were a popular addition for scriptures and etchings. He wasn't used to seeing some draw him in a kindly way. Most depictions of him resonated with evil tellings and horrifying accounts of his figure hunched over a decaying body. Town folk never were pleased when he would make an appearance in their streets. It's why moving was a must for him, he needed supplies like everyone else. Curiosity struck him as he wondered how much moving Alfred must have been up to. Being ageless caused too much suspicion. 'My, Avgustin, you don't look a day over twenty-five' were the last words he heard before leaving his old home behind. Sometimes he wishes to grow old.

 The little question scribbled down beside the art was one he had to consider thoroughly. One that made his heart stop. He rattled his fingers across the surface of the table and reread the words. 'your sisters' it didn't make any sense to him, he swore up and down that he didn't whisper a word of his relations. Sighing and sliding the paper away from him, he sat quietly to calm his nerves and lay his head down on the table. He did plan on inviting his sisters over and that included sharing his haul of blood, but now all he wanted to do was head next door and talk to Alfred. The warmth clung to him like it usually did, an unbearable heat holding to his face. It would only embarrass him further to give in so easily. He pressed his face into the cool wood and closed his eyes for a moment before leaving it behind. Nothing would give him closure, he wanted to be next to Alfred and that would be the only way to get the werewolf out of his thoughts. Groaning, he began finishing up the rest of his dishes. After flicking on his dishwasher, he took the art and walked it back to his room. He was trying to wait out the lingering warmth to his face and most of it faded, but not all of it would give him that peace. Before he finally left his apartment, he messaged his sibling group that he wouldn't be home. There wasn't much his poor sisters could do if something were to go wrong, but he just didn't want them asking him to death about where he went. Hesitantly, he knocked on Alfred's door and waited. His heart didn't stop racing, he didn't find himself nervous around werewolves very often, but Alfred had that effect on him.

 It was good for Alfred’s ego that he wasn’t there to witness Ivan’s reaction to the note. Seeing blushing, flattered Ivan would cause the wolf to grin, and show off his canines in the glory of knowing he charmed the vampire. It would be in Ivan’s best interest to let Alfred enjoy it if he enjoyed the ‘bunny’ persona, as Alfred would happily go with it. A cute nickname for a cute boy, not to mention, Alfred understood the niceness of not being referred to something scary. Alfred was like Ivan in that way, no one knew better than him what it was like to be personified into a godless beast, with nothing charming and cute about it. Being compared to something as harmless and pretty as a bunny was probably emotionally soothing, which was part of the reason Alfred did it. A bunny is adorable, warm, and cozy, the last thing that goes to someone’s head is fear over the animal. Ivan could be Alfred’s harmless, sweet bunny if he wanted too. Even if Alfred drew himself to be a wolf, he was still a childlike puppy in many ways, even with the slight bloodlust that he had. Minus that, he was a silly, carefree man. But the transformation did take some part of his personality and make it more intense. Alfred was lost in his marathon when he could smell Ivan walking down the hallway.

 Sniffing the air, a smile popped out when he could smell the nervousness on him. Has the note made him nervous? He wasn’t sure if it was ’I’m nervous about how excited I am to see him...’ or ’I’m just scared of him’ anxiety, he couldn’t smell that. Only that the man was dealing with some emotions due to the note. He wondered if the part about his sister’s had made Ivan worried. In all honesty, it was just a bold guess on who was coming over. Alfred was aware that Ivan had siblings or at least relatives, he could smell other vampires around, and two females had a similar scent to him. He concluded that someone was either related to him, and a female. Sister’s were the most logical answer, but cousins, aunts, and other distant relatives were all possible. Alfred’s lucky guess had helped his case. Standing up, he walked to the door, offering Ivan a gentle smile as he raised a brow. “Did your plans cancel? That sucks. But, you’re welcome to come in, babe. I got a spot on the sofa for you.” He stepped back to let Ivan inside his house, the first time he’s ever done that. Inviting a vampire into your home? The biggest no-no in the world, but here was Alfred not caring, per usual. He was going to bring up how they’d dined tonight, either traditional or unorthodox, but he’d give Ivan a moment to settle in before speaking of murder and hunting. He was a gentleman after all! Sitting down on the couch, he leaned back and patted the seat next to him.

 Being a man who admired his dignity more than his enjoyment, Ivan had already become irritated with his own decision. He was visiting a friend, he didn't understand why he had to make it stand out so much for himself. There wasn't any loss to giving in to spend time with someone you enjoy, but he couldn't help but consider how overly friendly the drawing was. Trying not to overthink it, he mimicked the grooves he felt and pressed them into the palm of his hand. He adored the small act, but it was overshadowed by the fact that Alfred was a suitable match against him. The fact that he actually found himself pining after the chummy little wolfman was alarming at times. He was risking many aspects of his life by even accepting the invitation to come over. If he ever got closer to Alfred, it wouldn't be logical. With the outgoing personality Alfred shined out constantly, he was sure that he couldn't be a lone wolf. There were others. He smelt them when he walked down the street or by chance in the meat section of the corner store. Werewolves, vampires, they all hid in plain sight, but it wasn't right for him to assume that all of their kind knew each other. Much like dogs though, he knew that werewolves must greet each other. Alfred had to have at least, he guaranteed himself that. It confused him to be welcomed in with that case, it scared him almost. He didn't understand why Alfred trusted him so much when he knew what he was. Unfortunately, a vampire's sense of smell isn't as powerful as a dog's thus he wasn't able to detect other bodies in the apartment. His nose was just used to Alfred passing by and in his baskets of clothes.

 He wrote off the name babe quickly, trying to blame it on habit. "My plans didn't cancel. You were just acting particularly lonely so I thought I would give in and offer you some company." Teasing, he calmed down significantly at the sight of Alfred smiling patiently. Elated by the idea of finally setting foot into Alfred's humble abode with the help of some keywords, he beamed and eased his head through the doorway. He's never seen beyond the door so it was a new experience for him. It wasn't much different than his habitat, the layout was a given, but he didn't catch any deers hanging from the ceiling so it was a bonus. Ivan liked to keep his living area tidy along with his kitchen, but once someone hits his room, that's when everything starts falling apart. Never does he bother to make his bed or take out his clothes from the basket to hang them up. His nightstand, though barely a foot wide, somehow holds a lamp, three different alarm clocks, and always a few dirty dishes. A part of him wanted to head through Alfred's apartment and check out his bedroom. "When were you going to tell me that you knew how to draw?" He paced over to the sofa and took a seat away from Alfred, a cushion between the two of them so he had some space.

 Alfred was pleased to have Ivan enter his house. The bunny entering the wolves den, almost. Stretching out his legs, he rested one of his arms on the headrest, eyes lingering to his shows. Ivan's excuse was cute, he didn’t even cover up with a lie about them canceling. He canceled on them for him. What about that, it added to Alfred’s ego. His eyes were careful not to linger too long, but every few moments, they’d turn to Ivan’s body as he found a quick way to verbally eat him up. “Well, thanks for giving the company. And I don’t really like talking about it since I get shy... It’s kind of a personal thing. I just draw things for myself, and no one else.” It truly was a personal hobby, but he would draw more for Ivan again if it made the man come around often. It worked the first time, so why not again? He wouldn’t mind after all. He smirked when someone was murdered on the screen. Alfred’s house proved to be on average with a clean to messy ratio. He wasn’t the cleanest guy, but he wasn’t the stereotypical dirty, living off of paper plates type of dude either. He knew how to mop, take out the trash, and vacuum, but sometimes would get lazy with dishes and let it pile up.

 His habit of being sexually open also gave him a reason to keep his apartment good looking. Showing a cute boy or girl a disgusting, dirty apartment would be embarrassing. His room was surprisingly not that bad, his only problem with being lazy and letting clean clothes stay in a pile and not putting them away. He’d also never make his bed, but he’d always throw away garbage in fear of getting ants in his room. He was proud of a fox fur blanket that he had, he’d love to show Ivan. It was during a couple of days in wolf form, he hunted down several silver foxes. They are known for being used heavily in the fur trade, and lucky enough, he was able to find some living in the wild nearby. It took a few days of stalking, but he was able to hunt down enough for the blanket. Another older werewolf knew how to skin fur and make coats and blankets, and helped him with the process. It was special to him, proving his strength and hunting skills. It was also soft and luxurious; usually, he had to lie to people and say it was a gift or passed down in his family. There wasn’t much pride in saying someone gave it to him. But with Ivan, he could open up and tell how he got something worth thousands of dollars in his hands; he worked for it. The warm fur was perfect during cold winter nights in upstate New York. “I’m so lucky to have a nice friend like you. I owe you a warm meal after this...” He teased, patting Ivan’s leg before putting it back in his own lap, eyeing the TV.

 "You being shy? That's a first. With the way you draw, I thought you would boast about it." Ivan was trying to compliment his host, something small, but not enough to curse himself with. In both ways, Alfred's ego was something he had to handle with caution. Cheer on the man too much and he'll be putting up with cocky smirks up until the time he had to leave. Say something a little too cruel and the bubbly wolf will turn into a babbling mess. Simply acknowledging that fact to Alfred would tear him up one way or another, Ivan knew it and planned to keep things nice and light. "You somehow captured your narcissism on a single piece of paper, it's really impressive." He made sure to sound disingenuous, eyes taking note of Alfred's position. As time went on, the show became less interesting to him. Any shock value or plot development was drowned out by the way the werewolf's face lit up. The small dust of color that humans held in their cheeks was pumping across Alfred's face. He could feel the warmth radiating off the other body. If he buried his face into Alfred's shoulder, he could get a little taste. He didn't plan on chomping down hard, just a small nip. All he needed was a drop of blood to satisfy his burning curiosity. Alfred was too smart, the vampire knew that he'd be shoved away if he even kissed his neck.

 There was pride in tackling down a difficult opponent, he understood that. He had grown immune to feeling too miserable about killing some creature or human off. Animals weren't inherently evil, but humans could be. He's witnessed hundreds and hundreds of years of solid proof of how villainous a single human can be. It gave him some peace to think that he was killing off someone who deserved it, but the consequences of his actions stabbed into his thoughts when a moment was too quiet. They were all just people like him and his sisters, but he couldn't help the survival of the fittest. It was inevitable that he would kill again, he knew that his blood bank job wouldn't last forever. Eventually, he'd have to relocate again, find new prey and discover more immortals. Alfred, for now, was a dash in his timeline, but he hoped to extend it. He wanted to stay a little longer and enjoy his time with the werewolf. The thought of dining outweighed heavily on his mind, but one he was certain that what he was nearly drooling over wasn't what Alfred was implying. He could lurch over and sink his fangs into the nape of his dear friend's neck and sample the blood. "I'm lucky to have a good friend like you too... and, as friends, I'm sure you don't mind me asking how old are you- how old you really are." Returning the physical contact, he reached over and pinched at Alfred's cheek. It slightly broke his heart to be called a friend, but it was what they were and he'd rather be on Alfred's good side than be against him. 

 “I’m glad you like my art.” He commented, rolling his eyes as he slightly blushed from the words. He was embarrassed by the skill but loved it still. He had plans of doodling Ivan later if he had the time. Perhaps even slipping it under his door again. But it was the best of Ivan’s interest to not kiss or go near Alfred’s neck. While he did adore the vampire; he wasn’t born yesterday. Far from it, and it would win a physical push or any other action that showed dominance. The wolf inside him was an Alpha, no doubt. There would be no neck biting, kisses, or smooches unless Ivan wanted a bite back in his neck. But Alfred did accept the pinch, finding it cute that the man was finally getting to the point. After all the time they’ve been neighbors, now he wants to know some real information? He’d play, as long as Ivan played back. “My age? Well, I like to tell people I’m twenty-three. Most people buy it. I was really born in 1941 though, so I guess I look young for my age! Ha! What about you?” He turned, his eyes smiling along with his lips. Raising a brow, he looked at Ivan up and down, checking out the man. He picked up details from his encounters with Ivan and compared to it how other vampires acted. “What are you? Four? Five? Six hundred? Oh wait- Are you post or pre Catherine The Great?” He teased, knowing basic Russian history. His adulthood was during the height of the Cold War, so he knew a lot about Russia.

 He was about to make a joke about if Ivan was post or pre ‘Commie-Russia’, but he didn’t want the man huffing and puffing out of his house. Ivan appeared to be the type that might be highly offended by a stereotypical ‘commie’ joke, so he wasn’t going to play his cards. He had the bunny in his den, no need to ruin it. Taking a chance, he decided to lay his head on Ivan’s outer leg. Adjusting his body, he laid on his sides as his eyes stayed on the screen, but his head was resting on top of Ivan’s thigh. He wanted a way to feel Ivan without touching her per se. His messy, blond hair was screaming to be touched, Alfred’s cheek pressing against his leg. He tried to act relaxed as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Man, sometimes I feel old but I bet you feel ancient when anyone speaks to you, huh?” He joked, appearing not to be startled by the conversation. He wondered, was Ivan’s skin soft? Could he blush? Was his fat soft? If he squeezed him, would it feel like a stone? Or skin? He never got close enough to a vampire to touch them intimately, the only times he’s had his physical contact with vampires was in wolf form, killing them in his bite. Not a great comparison to what he wanted to do to Ivan.

 Ivan was thrilled to receive a blush, it always warmed his ever slow and cold heart. It made the involuntary expression even more rewarding when regarding that Alfred was a perilous creature just as he was. He felt a bit guilty for not having anything ready to give back when he came over. Drawing wasn't much of a passion for him, he was more into crafts. He could knit something for Alfred, but he wasn't sure if that would be too bold. With how high strung he wound himself up to be, he figured that the werewolf didn't fall far from the feeling around him. Anything made to comfort was suspicious as if to butter the other up. He had to be careful not to cross any lines and set alarms off in Alfred's head. Even if he wanted to drag the relationship further along and at least get to hug on Alfred without being awkward or stepping over bounds, he knew he had to be slow. It was a precaution for himself and Alfred. Hearing the werewolf's real age was a good step, not too big but not too small of a step. "Ah, so you're... in your seventies? My, I guess you really have aged well. Twenty-three does fit you more than an old man who's lived through a world war." It was better to congratulate Alfred than to compare himself to him. To be given a seemingly honest answer was a bit of a surprise to him in the first place. There were a dozen more questions he wanted to ask about the American. He's never found a werewolf civil enough to sit down and talk to; he wanted to know everything about the culture and the process. He wasn't clear on whether or not Alfred was joking or not, grimacing either way. "Do I really come off as that young? Young enough to be post Catherine the Great... That's nice to know." The home he knew wasn't quite developed enough to secure the capital and allow a ruler. "I was there before they even had tsars."

 He held his tongue when Alfred cozied up onto his leg, a faint smile to his lips as his hand twitched. "I prefer the term antique... even if being born in 1174 does make me more of a relic." Propping his head upon the armrest, he inched his fingers along his thigh towards Alfred's head. He could abuse the trust, grab the werewolf, and snap his mouth around his waiting neck, but he had better control over his intrusive ideas. "How do people become... werewolves? Is it by a bite from a werewolf or maybe something more ritualistic? I assume they don't consent to it, right?" Asking along, he slowly combed his fingers through Alfred's hair. Later on, he'd have to scrub himself down to get rid of the scent before his family meets him pinching their nose. "Or should I not ask that? It might be too personal." His smile calmed as he teased the other by scratching at the area behind his ear. "I'm sure you don't mind though."

 He was happy to feel Ivan’s fingers play with his neck and hair. Ivan not rejecting his touches, but accepting them was all he wanted. Yawning, he closed his eyes as he let his body relax around the man. He was even getting used to the smell, the overly sweetness not bothering him much anymore. “Wow... You are antique... I feel young compared to you, and I can remember Vietnam, Korea, the Middle East, and the Cold War.” Fighting for freedom and America was close to his heart. “My father fought in world war 2, and I entered Vietnam.” Coming back from service due to some injuries was how it happened; one day, camping with his comrades celebrating a return from service, they were attacked by a wolf. Alfred was the only one who survived, getting a deep cut on his chest. He put a silver bullet in the chest of the wolf, making it pay for taking his friend’s lives, but in the end, it’s curse never stopped. “You get bit or scratch. I got scratched, really hard. Most people die when they get bit or scratched, but I survived. I killed the wolf who attacked me and my friends. One silver bullet. That’s all it took...” Alfred whispered, his leg twitching when his ear was scratched. “How did you become a vampire...? It’s your turn to tell....” He asked, wanting to know every detail. “Did it hurt?” He asked, wondering if the transformation caused pain. It did for Alfred, becoming human to a werewolf the first time. The pain he wished he could forget. He turned his head up, looking up at Ivan with big eyes. Curious eyes that wanted the truth, not games. He pushed his body up, so more of his back and head was laying across Ivan’s lap, not just his thigh. Like a true puppy, he wanted to take all the attention and show his dominance. Laying on Ivan, and getting a pet was truly dog-like at this point. But the man could be more of a puppy than a wolf, he just had to be in the right mood. A great, calm, playful mood.

 There was no heat coming off Ivan’s body, the only source of warmth was Alfred. He couldn’t feel any heat over his clothes, he guessed if it put his hands on bare skin, Ivan would be chilly. He wondered if vampires feel hard or still have a softness to them. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m just curious. Vampires, are you guys stone? Or is your fat soft? Do you guys blush?” He asked, attempting to seem innocent. Blinking a few times, his innocent expression turned into a cocky grin. “If I grabbed your ass, would you move in my hand and turn red? Or? Would it be like grabbing a rock?” He asked, knowing he’d get an eye roll from Ivan, but he didn’t care. He needed to know the answers to his weird questions. His brain wondered a lot of things about Ivan and vampires overall. While he assumed that Ivan wouldn’t let him touch him with a ten-foot pole, he still is curious if the occasional thought is accurate.  

"I guess you really earned your dog tags that day." Ivan offered lightly, laughing quietly at the puppy-like mannerisms of a grown man visible unwinding over his lap. Turning into a werewolf sounded just as much of a travesty as being a vampire to him. He didn't have to imagine what waking up in a new body was like, but he didn't think that he could ever really fully understand what Alfred went through either. How he earned his status as a vampire was a shorter story, but he'd spare Alfred the details. There wasn't much special about the day when he first laid eyes on the tall lanky figure barrelling toward him, but the pain was still distinct and stabbing. If he hadn't been at death's doorstep that day, he would have put up a better fight, but being at his age back then was a time for letting the earth take you. His body was preserved in the age he died and awakened. His eldest sister landed at twenty-nine and his youngest encased himself with health by being eternally twenty. They could age at will, but never make themselves younger. In that aspect, he considers himself lucky, but being a vampire wasn't his fondest thing. The moment was still fresh on his mind, how vulnerable he was, and how he let the same fate happen to his sisters. It was embarrassing to retell his inevitable cowardice. Since then, he's become more agile and stronger, but that was mostly due to his transformation. "There's a serum that comes out only from certain fangs, but you can feel it course all over your body when they stab into your neck... It hurts about as much as someone sticking two needles into you- you don't like those, do you? That's fine." He continued to tease Alfred over the blunt lie, refusing to call him out on it. It was hard for him to give that up. "I couldn't turn you into a vampire though, I'd only end up sucking your blood because I don't have the stuff to inject you with."

 The science behind being a vampire wasn't widely available, but he tried to pass on the information he learned over the years as best he could. "The original vampires are the only ones who carry the serum to turn others into vampires... I'm not sure how they came about- no one does, but them." He separated and wiggled his fingers through more sections of Alfred's hair as he explained, grinning at the way his leg jerked like a dog. It was precious to his heart. "Every millennium or so, they show their face from their tomb and bite a few more unsuspecting victims. That's what I and my sisters have gathered from different vampires at least." The facts were hazy and never written down in fear of discovery. His thoughts trailed off as he enjoyed the heat coming off Alfred when he stretched across his lap. The inquiry seemed wholesome enough at first and he didn't mind answering it until Alfred had to make it dirty. "Oh, I don't know. If I slapped you in the face, would it be soft? Would you be blushing?" He snapped sarcastically, squishing Alfred's cheeks together in turn. "We're not gargoyles! Our skin is just the same as human flesh... So, yes... I guess if you were to grab my ass, it would turn red and move, but I'm not about to give you an example." Patting his face before returning to play with his hair, Ivan furrowed his brows. He grew up in a different time, getting those sorts of comments wasn't something he was used to. "Why are you curious about that sort of thing anyway? What makes you think I'll answer any questions after that?" Frustrated, he went back to scratching behind Alfred's ear to calm himself and the warmth sprouting over him. "Make it up to me by telling me how the moon affects you.

Alfred was shocked to learn the truth about vampires. He was told that all vampires had venom that had the potential to kill. Finding out that only a few did make him relieved, vampires aren’t as dangerous as he was told before. Seeing that even other vampires were unsure how they got the venom explained why his own kind was misinformed. Not to mention, vampires never made it clear about that little fact, nor would Alfred see why they would. Most vampires would rather seem scary and dangerous, having a poison inside them looming over someone’s head. “So? If you bite someone, you don’t have any venom? You’d inject nothing? That’s crazy, everyone thinks all vampires have something in their teeth.” This didn’t mean vampires were harmless, he knew that the creatures had superhuman strength and skill just like him. If a vampire wanted a werewolf dead, it was completely possible. Alfred was biased, and always thought he had the upper hand against vampires. In his personal, werewolf opinion, they were faster and stronger than vampires. But it came to pride than anything else, Alfred would never let his kind down. Even if he thought being a werewolf was more of a curse at times, he would show honor and stand up for himself and his other pack members. They weren’t human anymore, but they were still living beings. “Werewolves, we are different I guess. In wolf form, I think our saliva and body fluids when entering someone else’s skin, can turn them. I think of it as an illness... You get exposed, you’re one of us. With bites, it’s easy to see why it gets into someone’s bloodstream. I’m less sure about scratches though, how it turns us into werewolves. I’m gonna guess there’s just something in our claws that carries the virus.” 

 Alfred was no scientist, and there wasn’t exactly anyone out there experimenting and explaining the biology of werewolves. He couldn’t hold back his laugh when Ivan pinched his cheeks and got annoyed with his question. He deserved all the cheek squishes! “I just wanted to make sure my wet dreams were scientifically actual, that’s all.” He teased, closing his eyes when Ivan scratched the back of his ear. “Mm....” He lightly groaned, his leg twitching slightly. “Ugh. I hate full moons, man. It doesn’t make us mindless or crazy; we just are forced into wolf form as long as the moon is out. So usually, we have to stay outside. It isn’t too bad in the summer and spring, but when it’s cold out it's kind of annoying to have to find shelter. Nowadays, I go over to my friend Allen’s house during full moons. He has basically a farm and tons of areas that we can just... chill and wait out the full moon. It’s why I left the city, it’s one thing to find somewhere to hide during the countryside, another thing we’re everyone’s running around.” Alfred viewed it as more of an inconvenience if anything. Having to plan his life around one night was annoying!  Making sure he had no work, no one visiting, no one expecting him, and if anyone needed to contact him, he was M.I.A for about twelve hours. Alfred got over being horrified about his werewolf status, so more just bothered. “It’s just irritating to have to plan around full moons. But it’s just one day of the month a least....” He took a deep breath, deciding to ask Ivan a question. “Vampires, do you guys like....? Do you guys have a preference when it comes to blood? Like, do certain races taste different? Or is there a difference between boys and girls?”

"I may not be able to turn you, but I can still drain every ounce of blood out of you and leave you as a husk." He didn't like being underestimated. While he found Alfred semi charming, it was made clear to him that the werewolf was still a threat. It was only right for him to assure that he was the same, someone who shouldn't be tampered with. He didn't plan on devouring the sweet neighbor, but he's considered it. The man might just be naive enough to feel safe around a vampire. He didn't even feel comfortable around a vampire he barely knew. It came down to territory between him and a member of his kind. If there were too many vampires in the area, then suspicion rises. Too many bodies are dropping and someone isn't getting enough to drink. He's never personally killed a vampire, but he fought a great few years ago. Times have changed, most vampires have mellowed out and found alternatives to slaughtering a cognitive being. While Ivan has cooked up some solutions to give him the nutrients he needs in a blood-soaked diet, he finds the rich frothy taste of real blood to be too tantalizing. It's been a few months since he's actually stalked and killed someone; he's proud of himself for it. If his tracks are uncovered at the blood bank, he may have to come back to that lifestyle. Living life as a murderer was less glamorous than living life as a hunter. Hearing Alfred say that he could only turn people when in wolf form was a relief. He thought that at least he wasn't stumbling around accidentally making people immortal. "So you can only turn people into werewolves when you're a wolf?... I've never heard about the claws part, that's new to me." It wasn't known to him whether or not he would become a werewolf too if he was bitten, but it was most definitely a concern to him now. A werepire? A vampwolf? Whatever it was, it was conjured up disturbingly in his head. He'd keep his distance from now on if that was the case. 

Rolling his eyes at the wet dreams comment, he stopped rubbing his hands through Alfred's hair. "Are all werewolves this dense and vulgar? Or is it just you?" He'd roll the big puppy off his lap if he wasn't going to end up on the floor. Angering a werewolf was something he found surprisingly easy so he kept calm and tried not to seem too upset with Alfred. He liked the company; he didn't want to lose it. "Only during full moons? So you're essentially powerless up until then." Werewolves weren't too strong if they couldn't change at will. He felt significantly less threatened by Alfred's habit of showing his teeth. It was more of a parlor trick to him now, a small way to tease him. He thought of himself as lucky to have his powers with him all the time. It meant that he could tease and frighten Alfred all he wanted until the full moon popped out. He smiled to himself, gently rubbing a thumb to the American's open neck. "We do have preferences actually. The flavor really only varies with the blood type. My least favorite type is B-negative... it's a little bitter. Ah, but my favorite blood type of all has to be O-positive... thankfully, the most common." Shutting his eyes, he leaned back onto the headrest. It was always funny to him when someone walked into the clinic asking for a blood test to be done on them when he could just tell them then and there what they were. To remain undetected, he had to take a blood sample and let the customer wait out the process. He's seen a handful of mythical beasts walk through the blood bank doors while undercover, but those were the only creatures he couldn't seem to smell around. "Usually I can sniff out someone's blood type as they stand- but I can't detect your type on you. Your... werewolf musk has been blocking me." Furrowing his brows with sorrow, he twirled a piece of Alfred's hair between his fingers. "It's made me nothing but curious to find out yours- mere curiosity, trust me. I don't bite."

 Alfred wasn’t scared of the warning of getting his blood drained, as Ivan didn’t scare him. The vampire could puff out his chest and appear more frightening than he is, but Alfred stayed unfazed. He was too prideful to let a vampire put any terror into him. He scoffed when Ivan said that he was only powerful during a full moon. “Ha! Who said that I can only turn during a full moon? I said I’m forced to turn during the full moon, I can turn anytime I want the rest of the month. I could turn right now. It rips my clothes off, so I would rather not give an example.” Ivan shouldn’t feel any more relief in it, Alfred had his power all year round. “Don’t think I could turn you, though. I think our... virus is immune to you guys. Vampires aren’t alive, so it just... dies on you. We just end up killing you with our strength and fighting powers.” He explained, never hearing of a vampire and werewolf crossbred. He didn’t think it was possible, but who knew. He kept his eyes closed, enjoying getting his hair played with. A smirk crept up his face when he was accused of being vulgar. “I’m just a vulgar guy, that’s all. I say what I think.” That was true as well, Alfred didn’t have much of a filter, especially around other immortals. He was a man who laughed and cried easily, who displayed all the emotions he had in his heart. It was just who he was, and he didn’t want to change anytime soon. He offered a cute act of nuzzling his cheek on Ivan’s thigh, wanting his attention again. Getting his hair played with was a major comfort. His body would relax, and calm down when someone’s fingers ran through his dirty blond locks. There was something about Ivan that offered him comfort, even if he was a vampire. His disgustingly sweet scent wasn’t bothering him anymore, and his soft voice was more soothing by the moment.

 He smirks again when he hears about the blood type. “Oh? Then you’d love me. I’m O-positive.” He confessed, not scared since he knew Ivan wouldn’t bite him. If Ivan was going to drain him of his blood, he would have done it by now. Ivan didn’t need to cuddle up with him on his sofa to do it. “I’m glad my werewolf musk blocks it. Protects us from being victims of hungry, thirsty vampires like you. I’m not shocked at all that you work at a blood bank. I’m just surprised that you haven't noticed that you are stealing all the blood. How do you steal it anyway? Don’t they have protocols and stuff for this?” He questioned, always wondering how Ivan did it. He was either extremely talented, or the office was just stupid and lazy with their security. Who knew a man could get away with stealing countless pints of blood, but it was better than him going into town and murdering men in cold blood. “I’ll be honest... if you need some victims, I got a list of every sex offender, pedophile, and creep in town. Some people escape justice. So if you are hungry.... just tell me. I’ll get you a meal.” He had a sneaky grin, loving the idea of Ivan doing his dirty work. Instead of hunting these sickos in wolf form, his blood-sucking bunny could find a use for them.

 It shut Ivan's small victory down when he heard about the ability. The possibility of seeing wolves walk around during the day skyrocketed and he wasn't sure where his emotions landed on the issue. Everything about having the upper hand over someone was comforting to him, but he felt as if it wasn't that overwhelming. Alfred was harmless and most of his worries about werewolves came from prejudice. The only rivalry between the two creatures was one he welcomed. He had fun flirting with and teasing Alfred, but he didn't want to risk being too attached. If something were to come up that jeopardized his facade, then he'd have to book it out of New York with his sisters not far behind. Knowing Alfred's own immortality, he was sure the situation would be the same for him. He'd end up miserable if he grew even fonder of the man only to disappear the next day. Anyone else, he didn't care to shatter their heart, but the cute playful furball was just too hopeless. "You talk like a child telling me about how strong their favorite superhero is when you describe your own species." He humored, rolling his eyes at the nonchalant bragging. There wasn't much that annoyed him about Alfred, the man was pleasant to be around, but he had his own honor to attend to. Being a blood seeker wasn't glamorous by all means, but he had to defend what was a part of him. The relief felt from immunity still didn't suffice against the show off's insistence. Every step of the conversation was an act for him to prove that he could stand up against a werewolf; the worn-out joke tired him. He wanted to feel comfortable around Alfred, but nothing felt genuine as if he was waiting for something specific to come out. It reminded him of a patient puppy. Most stereotypes held about the bouncing, yapping few. Like dogs, they roll onto their back and practically beg to be pet, loved on at the very least.

 Giving in before the manchild started whining, he scrubbed his fingers along Alfred's scalp and through his strands. His eyes lit up at the confession, a big grin attached to his face. "Oh really? It's the most common blood type... but the most special to me. The rarity of it is only measured by my own longing for it." He wormed the corners of his mouth slowly down to mask his eagerness to jump on Alfred and dine out. "It's a very sweet taste- you should let me lap up any cuts you have in the future. I'll come over in a heartbeat and suck your wounds dry." The talk of blood left him parched, he distracted himself by fluffing up Alfred's hair. He wasn't entirely sure how his blood stash was known by the mutt, but he wasn't about to question it. His trust was growing high enough that he didn't care. "Most people don't know a pint from a pint and a half... it's a little dangerous for the donors, but I do sneak out an extra snack for myself when I think someone's gullible- so, I'm technically not stealing from the blood bank because they still get their pint of blood... I just drain another pint for myself. " He assured, hoping Alfred wouldn't rat him out. It would slip his mind often that the man was a cop. The only reason staff picked up on his master plan was the high rate of lightheaded donors coming out of his section. Now and then, they sent someone to check the equipment he was using, but nothing came of it. He's slowed on the packs he takes home to cool down the heat trailing behind his tail. "I might take you up on that offer someday, but my hands haven't been this clean of blood in a while... Unless you're in dire need of my assistance then I can help mark off some names for you- at a price, of course." Leaning down, he placed a chaste kiss to Alfred's forehead and gently brushed back the hair in his way. "Come over to the blood bank and I'll give you a donut if you behave... then maybe we can go track down some pedophiles and rip them apart together."

 Alfred didn’t have too many plans for leaving the town soon. He only had lived there for a few years, and he knew he could get away with his non-aging status for a while. People usually only would start to talk about how young he looked. Alfred would just lie and credit on genetics. ’My parents look super young too. ‘Our whole family doesn’t age.’ he’d lie, and it worked. He looked young and was young to everyone else, so no one questioned his age. He guessed he could last until he was in his mid-thirties before people thought it was just downright weird that he hadn't aged. It was why he attempted to stay out of the spotlight. Keep to himself a few groups of friends. It was hard, he was an extrovert. He is a popular personality, everyone would know who he was and wanted to be around him. But that changed when his mortality did, and unless he wanted to become a scientific experiment for the government, he had to keep a low profile. But he always came out at night, hitting clubs and finding relief in intimacy. If he couldn’t be surrounded by dozens of friends, he’d surround himself with pretty girls and boys, even if it was just one night. A sucker for love, it was even more troubling knowing he couldn’t get into a relationship with anyone. That was the hardest about this life, knowing he’ll always be alone. Almost everyone in his pack was male and straight. How come there were only a few queer werewolves? He was aware that he should branch out to new immortals, but it was difficult since his pack was so tight. There was a sense of betrayal being around other werewolf packs, it was frowned down. Your pack was your family, case closed. You suffered with them.

[ Here is the link to my Ao3, thank you if you read it <3 ]

#rusame #amerus #aph russia #aph america #fanfic #I've just decided to keep it in its OG format #but i still edit for flow #yeee everyone have a good night

[shadowofmytime]

>> some of my absolute favorites ! like and reblog if you save and enjoy ! happy reading and give some kudos to these amazing writers ! always feel free to send me some of your favorites ! ! <<

>> There is a bit so for your convenience they are in alphabetical order ! The ‘s’s are some of my all-time favorites ! ! <<

>> min yoongi x park jimin <<

All the seasons of your love - 5k+ [college au]

The movement in the library was still slow in the first week, so Yoongi could easily remember the few people who came by. That's why he pays so much attention to a certain dark-haired freshman who walks in on a Wednesday afternoon - or at least that's what he tells himself. He goes over to the front counter and asks Yoongi for directions to the Economy 101 session and, God, his voice is as sweet as his eye-smile.

Or how librarian Yoongi fell head over heels for cute freshman Park Jimin who, unfortunately, was very much straight - or so Yoongi thought.

Bon Voyage - 47.9+ [tourist! au]

Yoongi was meant to be taking the trip of a lifetime with his boyfriend. But now he's in Paris, alone and miserable. That is until he collides - quite literally - with one Park Jimin.

Boys who talk shit - 26k+ [college au]

When Yoongi enrolled in BTS (aka Boys who Talk Shit) Boarding School, he wasn't really expecting to be the only 'straight' (to be read sarcastically) guy in a room of seven geniuses (aka children aged five to ten, honestly). Plus four pet spiders. Yes, plural.

Chaotic episodes in A Place of Love and War, where Yoongi learns all about True Love via Park Jimin, Music and Marriage. Sort of. Brain bleach and earplugs are strongly recommended.

Conflicting arrangement - 162k+ [fake boyfriend au]

"Absolutely not," Yoongi deadpanned. "Namjoon-ah. I value you as a friend, and I think I'd even go as far as to say that you're my best friend, but absolutely fucking not."

"You owe me," Namjoon pleaded. "Come on, Yoongi, it's not a big deal."

"Your boyfriend's best friend's best friend needs a fake boyfriend to come out to his family this Chuseok, all the way in fucking Busan," Yoongi repeated drily without pause, making Namjoon wince. He flipped a page of his textbook, picking up his highlighter. "Not a big deal, Namjoon. Amazing."

Cotton Candy - 240k [high school rock band]

"He could get used to sitting next to Yoongi like this. To have him around. To have the band around. To smile and feel happy. To see Yoongi sitting in front of an instrument and having him play just for him.

'If this was my happy ending,' Jimin thinks, resisting the urge to lean his head on Yoongi's shoulder, 'if I wasn't who I am, I'd just let you have me whenever you want. You could have me anytime.'"

As spring turns into summer, school band Cotton Candy unexpectedly loses its singer and the members are forced to look for a new vocalist. Six boys find one in the form of the promiscuous pink-haired boy Park Jimin who makes a home in their hearts and finally finds a place he belongs

Daegu drift - 53k+ [motorcyclist / playboy au]

Jimin stops in Daegu for a big motor show and gets caught up with the locals. Specifically one Min Yoongi.

Sneak Peek:

Yoongi has his arms folded as he stares Jimin down.

“Are you going to join the rally, or not?”

Jimin takes his time answering because he likes the way Yoongi is looking at him. “Sure. I guess it could be fun. But you do realize none of you have a chance against a Bugatti, right?”

“It’s not the car that wins the race,” the other man says. “It’s the driver. You could have the fastest, best-equipped car in the goddamn universe, but if you’re a shit driver, it doesn’t make a difference.”

Goodbye from lonely - 65k+ [uncle yoongi!]

Park Jimin works two jobs that he loves and is going to college to get his teaching degree.

Min Yoongi is a personal assistant who hates his job and spits in his boss' coffee every day.

Kim Taehyung has been infatuated with his clueless co-worker for the better part of a year.

Jeon Jeongguk has a three-year-old daughter that he'd do anything for.

Somehow the tiny human brings them all together.

Or

Tae is in love with Kookie -> Kookie's daughter takes Jimin's ballet class -> Yoongi is Kookie's stepbrother -> Jimin and Yoongi meet because of Kookie's daughter.

In your eyes (it’s where I wanna be) - 5.5k [coffee shop! au]

Jimin pauses with his marker inches away from the cup, because — is he really going to do this? Isn’t it a bit old-fashioned to write something flirty on a coffee cup? But no matter what his churning gut says about the danger and what the hell are you doing do you want to die, this guy is — with no better way to put it — totally Jimin’s Type with a capital T.

(Or: Jimin accidentally starts a nickname war with the cute blonde who likes his coffee way too bitter.)

Inked flowers - 6.4k [tattoo artist / florist au]

Something stopped him. A sound of a piano. He looked around and saw a light coming from the window on the other side of the street. On the third floor was an open window. A light and the sorrowful sound of a piano flew out of the room. Jimin looked closer and saw a figure or at least a top of someone's head.

The melody was so sad and sorrowful that Jimin wanted to cry. He started thinking, what could possibly go inside that person’s head? What were they thinking? Jimin just hoped that they weren’t sad and alone.

(let me see you) get high then low - 4k+ [photographer/model au]

"The light-haired model is the kind that fascinates Yoongi, and at the same time, he prefers to steer away from. He's all smiles and flowers, drawing you in with his cuteness until he's not anymore. Suddenly, he’s something else entirely; he's that false calm, the ocean that looks smooth on the surface but will drag you down to its depths if you dare to touch it."

or

Min Yoongi works in a photography studio with some (very questionable) friends that can't get any work properly done without making a bit of a fuss.

Park Jimin is a model handcuffed against his will and bored. Also a little bit horny, maybe.

Math Tutor - 11.7k [bad boy! yoongi]

Min Yoongi is the school's resident Bad Boy™. He's covered in tattoos, is pierced, curses like a sailor, smokes like crazy, doesn't give a shit about anything, possesses a hot temper that has people steering clear of him, and is desperately in love with Park Jimin, the adorable math nerd. When Jimin is tasked with tutoring Yoongi in math, who is in danger of failing the class and being held back a year, both boys are hesitant. Yoongi because he can't think straight around the boy with startling red hair, and Jimin because Yoongi is scary as hell and looks like he can easily kill someone. Gradually, though, the two grow closer, and Jimin finds that Yoongi is nothing like how he'd imagined.

Maybe I hate you can be our always - 35.9k [enemies to lovers]

When Yoongi thinks about it, really gives it genuine thought, it's possible that Park Jimin isn't the worst person in the world.

//

(Or, Yoongi and Jimin get off on the wrong foot.)

Ode to yoonmin - 4k+ [texting]

yoongi and jimin are in very much in love but they're the only ones who don't know it

OR

chat fic with a bunch of bad jokes and memes ¯\_(ツ)_/

Out of my system - 101.6k+ [one night stand]

Yoongi likes one night stands and he understands how they work. What he doesn’t understand, however, is how he ended up in bed with a probably-not-legal kid crying in his arms about his broken heart, because he’s pretty sure (and correct him if he’s wrong) that a babysitting job was not what he was looking for when he went to the opening of his friend’s new club

Standing on the brink of 376 - 42.9k+ [street racing]

When Taehyung woke him up at three AM to go to a street race—an illegal one, no less—claiming it would help his social anxiety, Jimin never actually expected it to do much for him, except maybe make him cry hysterically. He found that he really wasn't too far off-kilter with that assumption, but it was only after he'd suffered through countless bouts of insecurity that he realized, hidden behind each stuttered breath, every inevitable tear, every spark of unavoidable fear, and even the customary cloud of cigarette smoke itself, lay a tremendous amount of affection for a certain platinum haired street racer that he can't even begin to justify. But when his opinion of fact, fate, and even life itself continues to blur with each push of the gas pedal, he thinks he just might be able to forgive himself for falling in love with a criminal, when the nonsensical moonshine of the present mutes the anxiety that had been a constant within his heart up until this November.

Strawberry lube - 82.7k+ [college au]

Yoongi remembers little to nothing of their crazy drunken night out. But of two things he's absolutely sure, one: he's not gay, two: he just slept with Park Jimin

The Paradiso Lounge - 192k+ [photographer/stripper au]

“Do I have to pay you for that service?”

This isn’t a dream (let me love you) - 26k+ [highschool au]

As captain of his high school’s basketball team, Min Yoongi dedicated all of his attention to his team and their games. His focus on the game never waned, not once for anything or anyone.

Well, until head cheerleader Park Jimin flashed his abs during a solo cheer and made him fuck up his shot

Trying to Behave (but you know we never learned how) - 329k+ [non-idol! au]

It's been years since Yoongi's last seen him and the younger boy is a shell of his former self in a way that makes his heart twist in his chest. And yet, after all this time and countless days of convincing himself to let him go, he's still unconditionally, head over heels in love with Park Jimin.

(Jimin and Yoongi grow up together.)

Valentino Summers - 657k+ [‘80s gangsters]

Whether or not Jimin was smuggling drugs really didn’t matter. He was hustling, and these days that was all there was to it.

Hustle and survive or struggle and die.

Y/N masterlist  << check it out !! xoxo

#bts #bts fanfction #park jimin #min yoongi #yoonmin #yoonmin fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic rec #kpop fanfic rec #ao3 #masterlist #fanfic masterlist #fanfic recommendation #bangtan #angst #bts crack #fan fic au #yoongi fluff #texting #BTS jimin #BTS suga #bts ships #gangsters #college au

[citylightsbooks]

Signaling Through the Flames: Benjamin Hedin, Author of In Search of the Movement

During this time of uncertainty, we’ve asked City Lights authors how they’re doing, what they’re reading, and any advice they have for our community. Their responses have been very inspiring to us, and we hope that sharing them will inspire you as well.

“Signaling Through the Flames” gets its title from Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s timeless work, Poetry As Insurgent Art, which beings with the line, “I am signaling you through the flames …” This line is, in turn, taken from Antonin Artaud in his landmark book The Theatre and Its Double, in which he says  “If there is still one hellish, truly accursed thing in our time, it is our artistic dallying with forms, instead of being like victims burnt at the stake, signaling through the flames.” Follow the hashtag #SignalingThruTheFlames across all our platforms on social media to follow the complete series.

City Lights: Where are you? 

Benjamin Hedin: Atlanta--where, improbably, stores are still open and the traffic delays still to be endured. Soon this may change; local news hints, in the coming days, of orders to stay in place and nonessential gatherings to be canceled or postponed. Still, living in the South means being treated, in times of national unrest, to the same old cant about the importance of personal freedoms and limiting government control. Faced with the pressure to close everything, in other words, Georgia's governor may choose to stand in the schoolhouse door. The pandemic thus serves as a reminder of the patterns of history. [Editor’s note: Benjamin is writing to us a few weeks ago.]

What books make you feel inspired?

Lately, alone in the house--I was in New York on a documentary shoot when alarm over the virus ratcheted up, so have spent the past week in quarantine--I have been reading and rereading the works of J.M. Coetzee, in particular his trilogy of fictionalized memoirs Boyhood, Youth, and Summertime. The clarity and unsparing nature of the self-analysis is astonishing; if solitude leads us to such things, to reflection and a heightened sense of self-awareness, these books provide a view of the ideal, true version of such a state, portraying it as a tunneling away from illusion, away from inherited, received modes of thinking to try and see things afresh. 

I've also been poring over one of City Lights' most recent releases, Race Man, a collection of writings by the late Julian Bond. It is a remarkable anthology, eclectic in form, deeply moral. As he was in life--as an activist, public servant, and educator--so Bond was as a writer: wise, versatile, and unflinching. 

What gives you hope in this moment? (And/or what are you thankful for?)

Books give me hope, as does the written word--and for that I am thankful. 

Any advice that you’d like to share with our community?

Writers know this better than anyone, but it takes time, perhaps much time, to get used to spending all day alone. So be patient. It is a slow learning. Anxiety and restlessness are common. The first step, I would imagine, lies in seeing such time as an opportunity as opposed to a sentence. 

***

Benjamin Hedin's fiction, essays, and interviews have been published by The New Yorker, The Atlantic, Slate, The Nation, The Oxford American, The Chicago Tribune, Poets and Writers, Salmagundi, The Georgia Review, and other publications. He is the editor of Studio A: The Bob Dylan Reader, and producer and writer of the documentary Two Trains Runnin'. His nonfiction chronicle, In Search of the Movement: The Struggle for Civil Rights Then and Now, was published in March of 2015 by City Lights.

#SignalingThruTheFlames #BenjaminHedin

[haematicmagic]

Oh no, i’m stuck at home! – a guide

So, i know that i’m probably telling this to the wrong people – most of us artists, poets and various fandom dwellers know how to keep ourselves occupied when stuck at home, but especially for workaholics, those with anxiety or those of us dependant on feeling productive to keep out depression (and for the normies), i feel like a extrended guide on how to be home properly could be useful.

By now, everyone has seen checklists on how to behave during quarantine and lockdowns enough to give us all a collective anxiety attack, but what, i feel, is neglected, is the fact that staying home spontaneously for 5 weeks, sometimes involuntarily, can be a terror in its own right.

So, from someone that has been sick for months with almost nothing to do, here are some tips and tricks to not succumb too much, if you’re the type for that

1. Stay active

Yes, i know, nobody is surprised, but its serious. Netflix and chill might keep you occupied for a few days, maybe two weeks, maybe the whole time, but if your mental state depends on feeling busy, stay active. if you have a local forest or park that you can safely visit, go, atleast every two days for atleast two hours. if you have a balcony, sit there.

2. Make your home liveable

keep your rooms ventilated, let sunlight in, take Vitamin D if you have it. Do workout at home if you can. Going stir crazy might not be an issue in your every–day life, but it gets everyone eventually. Eat your veggies before they spoil, eat regularly and with conscience. After work, if you must go, shower and desinfect your stuff, wear clean clothes even if you stay home and keep up woth your chores (if your mental state allows it, of course. There is another thing to be said about those of us that have a harder time to keep up with themselves in general, but this is mainly about not letting daily life disintegrate).

2. New content is your friend.

Podcasts, DnD online, Netflix or Prime from friends – if you’re like me, you most likely have a watchlist the size of east texas. I recently posted a Podcast Rec. List on my blog that has more than a year of pure audio content altogether, many of these are also great for falling asleep or on the go. For podcasts, i recommend Spotify if you have Premium or the Podbean app (which is free and allows you to download podcasts). The obvious big streaming sites exist and now is the time to share them with your friends, see if they have discounts or get those free trials. Also, your local news might have some free documentaries on their websites. There are most likely also books you haven’t read or reread. If you don’t know where to start, you might not like my taste but let me drop a few names:

Podcasts: Welcome to Nightvale, The Magnus Archives

Shows: Good Omens (prime), Preacher (prime), Umbrella Academy (Netflix), How To Sell Drugs Online Fast (Netflix), Obviously Supernatural and Dr Who for a rerun (on Burning Series.to)

Also, because i know Tumblr: If you are taking this opportunity to find every single slash fic on this planet and consume it, in gods name, appreciate the creators and writers that took the time to bring you content. Leave kudos, credit artists, leave nice comments, etc.

3. Do not despair.

Yes, the news are terrifying and staying updated is important, but your mental health is, too. I recommend „Squid“, an app that summarizes news around the world. They have a daily report function with which you can inform yourself quickly and hopefully without fake sensational headlines or panic. I also recommend „Good News“, a news app specifically for positive reports if you feel like giving up on humanity. I am not saying you should ignore the news or the reality of the situation, but the last days or weeks have been honestly depressing and if you already struggle with an outlook on life, dwelling in the bad will not help.

4. Socialize. No matter what.

Discord is free and they have extended some lifestreaming features to match the demand. Amino has communities for any interest with Chats, Voice chats, Community–made Quizzes and more. Mastondon is a (apparently) more secure twitter alternative if you dont wanna use twitter. Twitch has live streams to almost any topic (i reccomend the one that shows Bob Ross shows 24/7) and even a live stream can make you feel less alone. Scedule meetings with friends over there, regularly, just don’t succumb to the loneliness this situation might bring.

5. Learn

Sign up for Duolingo or take it up again and have an adorable owl threaten your family while learning some spanish. Get Mimo, an app much like Duolingo that teaches the basics of programming. Get into ASL, Write a DnD campaign, try that hobbie you haven’t had time for, write motivational messages for your friends that need to work, whatever it is. Try something new, if school or work aren’t keeping you busy enough.

Additionally, try to do physical stuff too. Get into knitting, sewing, wood carving, cooking, baking, prep meals, reorganize your room, paint your stuff, start a bullet journal, start a group, get addicted to tik tok, volunteer,

6. Sleep

Now, this is probably the most important point: Keep a scedule! Especially if school just closed for you and you aren’t already sick, just sitting at home, do not give into the temptation to live nocturnal. Yes, free time is fun, but dont cut yourself off. Get up at a reasonable time if you can, dress and shower and have a scedule. Try not to loose track of time and under/over sleep. If your body demands more sleep the first few days or weeks, that can be just stress compensation but try not to loose yourself too much.

7. Help if you can.

Still healthy and of good financial status or immune sytem? Others arent. Especially the homeless and unensured are at great risk. Find your local organization and donate your time or money if you can spare it. Try to support friends by informing them, keep unreasonable cases out of the hospitals and look after high risk people in your life (those can include but are not limited to: elderly, small kids, pregnant people, trans men/nbys that bind, those with autoimmune disorder, those with a weakened immune system, those in contact with a lot of people in their job)

Many organisations are also looking to either find shelter to animals or other people. If you can take them in, you are doing humanity a favour.

also, if you can, dont be that person to panic buy. This only forces other people into panic buying too. Buy reasonable amounts of what you need and be humble in your choices, if you can. Be mindful of other people. If you can afford/know how to cook at home, dont take the readymade meals from people that cant. In gods name, dont buy up food for people with special needs, like stockpiling gluten free flour just cause you’re on a diet and leaving nothing to those with allergies.)

8. Know your rights

Keep contact with others in your line of work and what procedures they are taking. Dont let anyone bully you into working in hostile environments, if you can. Find out how/when to take sick days for this and when/how your work or school will continue again. This is a special situation and in many cases, there are special rules implemented to help. Dont let anyone fuck you over.

#coronavirus #virus corona vũ hán #covid 19 #covid2020 #covidー19 #covid2019 #social distancing #stayindoors #stayinformed #social media #socialdistancing #i'm sick #bored #bored af #bored to death #bored now #cabinfever #mentally ill #mental health #positive mental attitude #mental disorder

[endlessbigbang]

Title: Sunrise in Chocolate Ink Writer: @aquilathefighter Artist: @vriah Rating: Teen Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 15,047 Pairing/main characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Up to 10 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Autistic Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Anxiety Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Social Anxiety, Poet Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Barista Hob Gadling

Summary:

Dream Endlaez is newly living on his own and trying to make it as a poet. He starts going to work at a nearby coffee shop known for supporting local artists, where he meets a handsome and charming barista named Hob. Dream learns the business is not doing well, so he decides to host a poetry reading night to attract customers (and boost his career at the same time!), all the while falling for the barista.

Art & Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48363172

Art: https://www.tumblr.com/vriah/726453780868218880/sunrise-in-chocolate-ink-by-aquilathefighter

#the endless big bang #the sandman

[yousayparty]

The right place, the right time, and the right amount of exclamation marks

The history of Vancouver via Abbotsford British Columbia’s You Say Party is a storied one. Imagine this: trapped in a never ending nightmare of suburban dystopian hell, you form a band. With the simple adjective of having fun, spreading a message, making people dance - you leave the confines of a religiously stifling community. Within a few years you’re playing the world’s top festivals, winning awards, and wooing critics.

But now I find myself piecing foggy bits of memory fragments together with duct tape and hairspray. Like stickers on a dive bar bathroom stall, I know I was there. But why and for how long? I feel like I’m sifting through a shoebox of handbills and press clippings like some True Crime podcaster placing myself at the scene.

I’m not sure where I first heard the name You Say Party! We Say Die! but it caught my eye. It was an era of exuberant band names. !!!, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Shout Out Out Out Out, Hot Hot Heat, Fake Shark- Real Zombie! And my own band GoGoStop! It was also a time when bands out Vancouver’s sleepy conservative suburbs were starting to break out: Witness Protection Program, The Hand, Fun100.

It was exciting. There was a sense of community. Of people just wanting to have fun. Perhaps we were shaking off the anxieties of a post 9/11 world, or shrugging off the self seriousness that was emo and hardcore. We still made mix tapes and zines- scoured Terminal City and The Straight for new bands. There was this new social networking craze called MySpace that had yet to be a ubiquitous omnipresent corporate behemoth that dominated every corner of our lives. We were called Scenesters not Hipsters. Everyone was in an art collective.

Adorned with white belts and one-inch pins; asymmetrical hair cuts and red velvet blazers we set out to prove Vancouver wasn’t No Fun City at now long shuttered venues like the Marine Club, the Pic Pub, and Mesa Luna. I didn’t drink at the time so dancing, and by extension dance punk, had become my saviour- bands like The Rapture, Les Say Fav, Pretty Girls Make Graves to name a few. When Mp3 blogs became a thing, I immediately downloaded The Gap from their 2005 debut Hit The Floor! and loaded it on my 100 song iPod shuffle. I like so many others, became an instant fan.

I moved into what could only be described as a punk rock compound- 3 houses that were owned by a former Christian sect that we dubbed Triple Threat. Members of Bend Sinister, No Dice, Witness Protection Program, and Devon Clifford from You Say Party and Cadeaux (and Whiteloaf) all lived there. He drove an orange 1981 Camaro Berlinetta to match his bright red hair and big personality. We would walk to the greasy spoon Bon’s Off Broadway to get terrible but cheap breakfast and to watch The coffee Sheriff pour undrinkable refills of sludge. It was like living in the movie Withnail and I, but funner. We all wore pins that said Do You Party? on them.

It felt like Vancouver was blowing up and You Say Party was the hand-clapping drum majorette leading the pack. Ladyhawk, Black Mountain, Radio Berlin, New Pornographers, Destroyer, S.T.R.E.E.T.S., The Doers, They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? And The Organ highlighted just how tight-knit and diverse our scene was. Relentless touring and glowing reviews for You Say Party’s sophomore Lose All Time ensured they were head of the class, despite being unable to tour the US due to a previous border snafu.

Lose All Time sat on top of the Earshot charts for what seemed like forever. Famous for their frenetic live shows, and aided by stunning videos, their sophomore effort was a clear progression from Hit The Floor! It still harnessed the visceral rawness of their origins, but hinted at a confidence and maturity that was to come. The title of Lose All Time was a reference to the discombobulation of constant touring and it too was a hint of what was to come.

The touring would take its toll. Fuelled by Chinese Red Bull; a well document public dustup between band members at a bar in Germany would throw everything into uncertainty. But it was that turbulence that would set the stage for XXXX and after a restorative tour to China, the stage was set for the penultimate You Say Party record. 

Flash forward to 2009 and the city was on edge. Everything was about to change. Vancouver was preparing to host the world amidst the unfolding Great Recession. Anti-Olympic protests ramped up. A gang war raged in the streets and made international headlines, tucked behind Swine Flu hysteria and the ongoing imperialist war on Iraq.

It seemed like all the venues started closing and all our friends were moving to Berlin or Montreal. We starting looking in. Is this the city we want? Was it just growing pains? This kind of introspection is clearly reflected in XXXX. If Lose All Time was a record the band wanted to make, XXXX was a record for the people; a record for the city of Vancouver; a record for 2009.

"I finally feel like a singer, rather than a dancer who loves being in a band" said Becky Ninkovic at the time. It’s a perfect quote. One that succinctly captures the maturity and focus of the record. After a breakdown for Ninkovic, a year of rest and vocal lessons, Exclaim! announced XXXX to be a career resuscitation.

And it was. Going back now and rediscovering the record is such a magical thing. Opening for You Say Party with my band Taxes in 2008, I was impressed with the new material even if was a little jaded (I mean I was almost 30). But now with time and space I can see the songs they were working on were truly timeless. Laura Palmer’s Prom could so easily slot in with the latest 80s synthwave revival along alongside bands like Lust for Youth, Lower Dens, and Chromatics.

Overall, XXXX sounds like an exhale. A moment of stillness when you know you’ve made something extraordinary. When you know all those moments combined; moments of sheer terror, adrenalin, elation, boredom, and longing- culminate in a piece of art that once you let go of it- you just know in your gut that it’s right. It draws you in, wrestles with a brooding tension, then sends you into a churning whirlwind of tight drums and buzzing synths. It’s a remarkable achievement.

There’s plenty of vintage YSP sass throughout. “She’s Spoken For”, “Make XXXX”, and “Cosmic Wanship Avengers” are all classic synth punk gems, but the it’s in the subdued that the album really grips. “Dark Days”, “There is XXXX (Within My Heart)” and the sprawling Kate Bush like ballad “Heart of Gold” are the hallmark of a band that is comfortable exploring the limits of their genre. While lyrically quite positive, the melodies are daunting. Indeed, as Pitchfork put it, “the slower pace and more sentimental outlook of XXXX gives listeners the necessary space and encouragement to surrender to the band's emotional message”.

And it was a message they would finally return to the US with in 2009. The band was poised for mainstream breakout success. They were long listed for the Polaris and they won a Western Canadian Music Award for Best Rock Album of the year. Much has been written about what would happen next. I don’t want this article to be about the tragic onstage death of drummer and friend Devon Clifford, but it’s inexorably linked to the band’s story.

And I can only really tell it from my point of view. I wasn’t sure I would go to the funeral but a mutual friend told me that Devon would want me to go. Portland Hotel Society, a local housing provider which Devon had thrown the weight of his passion behind, rented a bus to drive out to Abbotsford. I held up pretty well until my friend Al Boyle got up to play. Then some yelled “Spagett”. Then Krista and Becky sang “Cloudbusting” and I lost it.

The band would try to carry on. Krista would leave the band and Bobby Siadat and Robert Andow of the band Gang Violence would fill in for touring.  When that didn’t go as planned Al Boyle who had been in the punk band Hard Feelings with Devon would replace Bobby. They officially went on hiatus in 2011 only to reunite a year later with Krista back on keys and a drum machine in place of Devon.

And while the band’s self titled 2016 release would be their moment of closure, the reissue of XXXX is one of celebration. Celebration of what they made with Devon. Celebration of a near perfect moment in time. A capsule of a entire city at it’s peak. The band has changed. The scene has changed. And I’ve changed. But there will always be XXXX within in our hearts.

'Cause every time it rains

You're here in my head

Like the sun coming out

Ooh, I just know that something good is going to happen

And I don't know when

But just saying it could even make it happen

Sean Orr Vancouver, BC January 2020

--------------------

We are so excited to reissue a limited run of XXXX on clear vinyl through Paper Bag Records Vintage for Record Store Day on August 29th! Support your local stores & grab this album on vinyl for the first time in 10 years! https://recordstoredaycanada.ca  #yousayparty #YSPWSD

--------------------

About Sean Orr Sean Orr is a writer, musician, artist, activist, and dishwasher living and working in the unceded Coast Salish territories of Vancouver, B.C. Besides his twice weekly news column in Scout Magazine he writes for Beatroute and has written for Vice Magazine and Montecristo among others in the past. He’s the frontman in the punk band Needs and also has a pickle company called Brine Adams. Twitter | NEEDS | Tea & Two Slices | Flickr

#yousayparty #xxxx #vinyl #reissue #paperbagrecords #yousaypartywesaydie #dancepunk #seanorr

[protect-daniel-james]

Thank you for the tag! @victorlindelof2x :)

Rules: Answer 22 questions and tag 22 people (my social anxiety says no bye)

Nicknames: I use “Sunshine” on social media a lot. otherwise it’s just short versions of my name.

Height: 1, 70 m I believe?

Last Movie I Saw: Iron Lady 

Last Thing I Googled: Harry Golombek lol (i’m writing my thesis)

Favourite Musician: of ALL times, ultimately - Pink Floyd. I just don’t really listen to them much now, but I believe Pink Floyd are the most influential, beautiful, inspirational, artistic band ever.

Song Stuck In My Head: OOOOoooOOhhh, Fer-nan-des! Bru-nooooo! He’s Portuguese, he’ll score gooooaaaaals! - no, joking. I guess Pop Musik by M, it’s extra stupid and extra catchy.

Other blogs: used to be slashandsports, then got sick of it, threw a little tantrum, deleted everything apart from the list of fics, and fucked off.I also have a sims tumblr lol, i’m not gonna put it here.

Following: 41 (surprised me, thought i had more ?)

Followers: 266 (hope y’all love Roy Keane as much as I do x)

Amount of asks: right now? none. anytime else? none. (jk, sometimes I get them)

Lucky Number: 5, bc when I was little I used to watch local women’s handball team and my fav player had no. 5. It’s been bringing me luck ever since (and now Harry Slabhead has it ♥)

What Are You Wearing: The Stone Roses shirt and shorts

Dream Job: probably a writer...sports journalist?...journalist? idk, something a bit creative, a bit educational, that involves some history knowledge (i study history at uni)

Dream Trip: going around Europe visiting football matches (if my master’s program grant works out fine, i should be able to do that lmao). Otherwise probably Havana? From more realistic places probably anywhere British/Irish.

Favourite Food: Shahi Paneer. Also any kind of pasta. And Yum Yum instant noodles, top notch stuff. 

Instrument: none

Languages: Czech, English, French (i have the B1 diploma but haven’t really used it in years), some Russian and Croatian (both I had for 2 years at school/uni), and I’m trying to pick up a bit of Spanish on duolingo.

Favourite Song: way too many. One that makes me almost cry is There is a light that never goes out by The Smiths. One that makes me really cry is Perfect Day by Lou Reed (I created a little backstory to that song years ago and always remember it).

Random Facts: Roy Keane is my life coach. I have a picture of him “screaming” “Get out of the bed you lazy cunt!” near my bed. There’s nothing better than some morning motivation. My roommate said he looks kinda hot :3

Aesthetic: wine bottles everywhere

#tag games

[popscenery]

Passion Pit, »Take a Walk«

by Jessica Doyle

In the summer of 2010, when I took a leave of absence from my PhD program, my dissertation was a helpless non-thing without a subject. In December 2018, I officially got my PhD, because my dissertation was done: written, revised, defended, revised again, approved, copied, formatted, distributed, carefully archived, accepted as an actual work of scholarship. It is arguably my most important professional accomplishment of the decade, and also arguably entirely inconsequential. The claim that 90 percent of academic papers go uncited is mostly untrue, but it is true for my dissertation, and I have the gaping void of a Google Scholar search return to prove it.

Trust me: as bitter and self-deprecating post-graduate students might be about their research (see previous paragraph), none of us start out planning to write something inconsequential. Certainly the subject of my dissertation was not inconsequential at all. “Take a Walk” is not my favorite song of the past decade, but it is the song that kept reminding me that the topic was worth writing about.

My dissertation examined what makes starting and maintaining a business easier or harder for Latino entrepreneurs in different American cities. Take Miami as an example, where 47% of all businesses are Latino-owned. That’s much higher than the national average (12 percent) and higher than the percentage in other cities with large Latino populations: New York, Los Angeles, Houston. So what’s so special about Miami? Is it because the Cuban population that arrived in the 1960s were often landowners or merchants fleeing Castro, and made wealth-building a priority in their new city? Is it the geographic proximity to Latin America and the Caribbean? Is starting a business in Miami easier than elsewhere? Is it something about Miami’s economy in general, or Florida’s? Finally (and more to the point), if policy-makers in another city wanted to put in policies that would help local Latino entrepreneurs flourish, what would Miami’s example offer as guidance?

To make a 295-page story short: it is much easier to turn immigrants into successful business owners if they come to the country with business experience and/or capital already at hand; and if the local immigrant population doesn’t start with those advantages, then policy-makers should focus on providing business education and access to financing, especially the latter. Latino immigrants in the United States who want to start businesses are more likely than native-born white entrepreneurs to use their own cash (which takes a while to accumulate), credit cards (which charge higher interest rates than do bank loans), or loans from family or friends (which means that loved ones, rather than banks with larger cushions, bear the risks). I’d say read the whole dissertation, but in all frankness you’d be better off checking out the research being published by the Stanford Latino Entrepreneurship Initiative, including this report. (It’s more concise and their data is more robust than mine was.)

This all assumes, of course, that you want to encourage Latinos, or other immigrants, or anyone at all, to start their own business. A lot of us--including me; including Michael Angelakos, the artist behind Passion Pit--have immigrant entrepreneurs in our family lineage. In interviews to promote the album Gossamer, Angelakos described “Take a Walk,” the lead single, as about different members of his family. The first verse’s portrait is a classic rags-to-riches, grateful-to-be-in-America immigrant story: I love this country dearly / I can feel the ladder clearly. But in the second verse, the story shifts to a new narrator, and so does the tone: I watch my little children / Play some board game in the kitchen / And I sit and pray they never feel my strife. The final narrator is eventually undone...

I think I borrowed just too much We had taxes, we had bills We had a lifestyle to front

...yet still insists on his participation in the American dream:

Tomorrow you'll cook dinner For the neighbors and their kids We can rip apart those socialists And all their damn taxes You see, I am no criminal I'm down on both bad knees I'm just too much a coward To admit when I'm in need

Apparently at one point a Fox News reporter failed to hear the irony, and asked Angelakos if the song was anti-socialist. But Angelakos told MTV News, “It's about very specific family members, the male hierarchy, and how the men in my family have always dealt with money.... All these men were very conservative; socially very liberal but for some reason, they all came here for capitalism, and they all ended up kind of being prey to capitalism.” He told a different interviewer, “These are all true stories; this is my grandfather and so on.”

Angelakos’s ambivalence is understandable. (Several of the pieces that greeted “Take a Walk” identified it as a direct reponse to the 2008 financial crisis, an interpretation he rejected.) The idea that anyone can come to the United States, start a business, and work their way to financial security and political freedom is an old one--the history of immigrants employing at higher rates than native-born Americans goes as far back as the Census Bureau has been keeping track of such things. But even for the successful it has its costs. The narrators of “Take a Walk” are estranged from their families, anxious about their ability to keep wealth. The theme of risk runs through the song. No one worries about getting fired; they have market investments, business partners, endless complaints about taxes (as one might if one has to pay both ends of the Social Security and Medicare taxes single-handedly.) The risk allows the narrators to make comfortable lives for themselves and their family, and yet Angelakos isn’t convinced, looking back, that they were better off.

Historically, if you were running for any sort of higher political office in the United States and were from a major party, you made sure to say nice things about small businesses and entrepreneurship, especially the immigrant kind. To some degree this is still true: Elizabeth Warren’s campaign platform includes a Small Business Equity Fund that would give grants to minority entrepreneurs. That said, I’m not sure the current dominant political energy on either the American left or right favors small businesses, who tend to hate tariffs. If you read the Green New Deal resolution, though it calls for a more equitable distribution of available financing to such smaller-scale lenders as community banks and credit unions, a lot of what it wants it can only get at a certain scale. It’s easier for a larger company to retool its supply chains to lower environmental costs than it is for ten small businesses to do the same. It’s easier for a firm with a thousand employees to absorb the cost of any one employee needing a higher wage to make rent, or a longer maternity leave, or extended absences due to illness, than it is for a firm with five.

And Music Tumblr in particular can be forgiven for not thinking highly of entrepreneurship. Most creative people--artists, musicians, writers--end up as entrepreneurs simply because decent-paying employment in those fields has never been easy to find. (In 2017, Angelakos spoke of dealing with venture capitalists and deciding to run his mental-health-focused initiative, Wishart, as a combination of for-profit and non-profit.) But no loan officer with a nickel’s worth of sense would approve a loan to enter a market so saturated that marginal revenue is typically zero or close enough, or where thousands if not millions of people seem thoroughly committed to proving themselves, in Samuel Johnson’s eyes, blockheads. Upon hearing, “You can do what you love, but the market won’t reward you,” a lot of people will reply, “To hell with markets, then.”

It all comes down to how you feel about risk. For a long time the dominant American thinking was that higher risk was the price entrepreneurs paid to have the chance to succeed on their own terms. (There’s an ongoing debate in the immigrant-entrepreneurship academic literature about whether any one particular group of entrepreneurs is “pushed” into entrepreneurship--as in, they only start businesses as the best of a bad set of money-making options--or “pulled,” starting businesses because they want to.) More recently has emerged the critique that not all experiences of risk are created equal, and that in championing immigrant or minority entrepreneurship we offload risk onto those people with smaller financial or even emotional cushions. The heightened experience of risk, and its attendant anxiety and feeling of constant scarcity, may be what Angelakos meant when he described his relatives as “kind of being prey to capitalism.”

I personally agree with that critique, and would throw in that the general perception of Latino immigrants as not-entrepreneurial denies them a road to acceptance (or bourgeois respectability, if you prefer) that their Swedish, German, Jewish, Italian, and more recently Korean predecessors have been able to walk. That was why I wanted to write about Latino entrepreneurship in the first place, and why I ended up writing about North Carolina’s Latino Community Credit Union and associated initiatives as a promising case study. But I would caution against crossing the line from wanting to reduce risk for vulnerable minorities to regarding asking them to bear any kind of risk as imperialist and offensive. Risk can’t be eliminated altogether, and there are costs to scaling risk to higher levels of human activity and trying to diffuse it. A small business committed to a bad idea does a lot less damage than a government policy committed to a bad idea, even if the latter is more equitable in the range and number of people it effects.

Writing a dissertation is a humbling process. I’ve never written and recorded a song, but I imagine that process humbles too. (When “Take a Walk” came out Angelakos was not shy about disliking it, though he seems to have grown fonder of it as time goes on: “I like that it’s so uncharacteristic of me,” he said in 2017.) You work and work and work, all the while knowing you have no control over how your audience will hear your message, or if there will even be an audience. You can never be sure that you read enough, or chose the right method of analysis, or treated your subjects with sufficient respect. You’ll never know if you’re actually on the side of the angels. If the “angels” are metaphorical--if you don’t actually believe in a god, or God, whose love is greater than your human tendency to error and self-deception and treachery--then the risk is even higher. And yet, without that risk, how would you ever be able to say anything worth saying?

#songs of the decade #passion pit #longreads #music writing