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mimicofmodes · 3 years

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“The Ladies Waldegrave” by Joshua Reynolds, 1780 (NGS NG2171)

I’ve complained before about two very big pet peeves of mine - corset stuff and Regency women being dressed in 1770s-1780s clothes - but one that may dwarf them because of how frequently it comes up in historical and fantasy fiction is the oppression of embroidery.

That’s probably putting it a bit too strongly. It’s more like ... the annoyance of embroidery. Every character worth reading about knows instinctively that sewing is a) boring, b) difficult, c) mindless, and d) pointless. The author doesn’t have to say anything more than “Belinda threw down her needlework and looked out the window, sighing,” to signal that this is an independent woman whose values align with the modern reader, who’s probably not really understood by her mother or mother figure, and who probably will find an extraordinary man to “match” her rather than settling for someone ordinary. To look at an example from fantasy, GRRM uses embroidery in the very beginning of A Game of Thrones to show that the Stark sister who dislikes it is sympathetic and interesting, while the Stark sister who is competent at it is boring and conventional and obviously not deserving of a PoV (until later books, when her attention gets turned to higher matters); further into the book, of course, the pro-needlework sister proves to be weak-willed and naïve.

Rozsika Parker, in the groundbreaking 1996 work The Subversive Stitch, noted that “embroidery has become indelibly associated with stereotypes of femininity,” which is the core of the issue. "Instead embroidery and a stereotype of femininity have become collapsed into one another, characterised as mindless, decorative and delicate; like the icing on the cake, good to look at, adding taste and status, but devoid of significant content.”

Parker also points out that the stereotype isn’t just one that was invented in the present day by feminists who hated the idea of being forced to do a certain craft. “The association between women and embroidery, craft and femininity, has meant that writers concerned with the status of women have often turned their attention towards this tangled, puzzling relationship. Feminists who have scorned embroidery tend to blame it for whatever constraint on women's lives they are committed to combat. Thus, for example, eighteenth-century critical commentators held embroidery responsible for the ill health which was claimed as evidence of women's natural weakness and inferiority.”

There are two basic problems I have with the trope, beyond the issue of it being incredibly cliché:

First: needlework was not just busywork

A big part of what drives the stereotype is the impression that what women were embroidering was either a sampler:

sampler embroidered by Jane Wilson, 14, in 1791 (MMA 2010.47)

or a picture:

unfinished embroidery of David and Abigail, British, 1640s-50s (MMA 64.101.1325)

That is, something meant to hang on the wall for no real purpose.

These are forms of schoolwork, basically. Samplers were made by young girls up to their early teens, and needlework pictures were usually something done while at school or under a governess as a showpiece of what was being learned - not just the stitching itself, but also often watercolors (which could be worked into the design), artistic sensibility, and the literature, history, or art that might be alluded to. And many needlework pictures made in schools were also done as mourning pieces, sometimes blank, for future use, and sometimes to commemorate a recent death in the family. A lot of them are awkward, clearly just done to pass the class, but others are really artwork.

Many schools for middle- and upper-class girls taught the making of these objects (and other “ornamental” subjects) alongside a more rigorous curriculum - geography, Latin, chemistry, etc. At some, sewing was also always accompanied by serious reading and discussion. (And it would often be done while someone read aloud or made conversation later in life, too.)

Once done with their education, women generally didn’t bother with purely decorative work. Some things that fabric could be embroidered for included:

Jackets

Bed coverings and bedcurtains

Collars and undersleeves

Pelerines

Neck handkerchiefs and sleeve ruffles

Screens

Upholstery

Handkerchiefs

Purses, wallets, and reticules

Boxes

Book covers

Plus other articles of clothing like waistcoats, caps, slippers, gown hems, chemises, etc. Women’s magazines of the nineteenth century often gave patterns and alphabets for personal use.

(Not to mention late nineteenth century female artists who worked in embroidery, but that’s something else.)

You could purchase all of these pre-embroidered, but many, many women chose to do it themselves. There are a number of reasons why: maybe they wanted something to do, maybe they felt like they should be doing needlework for moral/gender reasons, maybe they couldn’t afford to buy anything - and maybe they enjoyed it or wanted to give something they made to a person they loved. That firescreen above was embroidered by Marie Antoinette, someone who had any number of other activities to choose from. It’s no different than people today who like to knit their own hats and gloves or bake their own bread, except that it was way more mainstream.

embroidery patterns from Ackermann’s Repository in 1827 - they could be used on dresses, collars, handkerchiefs, etc.

Second: needlework wasn’t the only “useless” thing women were expected to do

Ignoring the bulk of point one for now and the value of embroidery - I mentioned “ornamental subjects” above. As many people know, young women of the upper and middle classes were expected to be “accomplished” in order to be seen as marriageable. This could include skills like embroidery, drawing, painting, singing, playing the piano (as well as other instruments, like the harp or the mandolin), speaking French (if not also Italian and/or German), as well as broader knowledge and abilities like being well-versed in music, literature, and poetry, dancing and walking gracefully, writing good letters in an elegant hand, and being able to read out loud expressively and smoothly.

This wasn’t a checklist. As the famous discussion in Pride and Prejudice shows, individuals could have different views on what actually made a woman accomplished:

“How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”

“All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?”

“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” said Darcy, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

“Then,” observed Elizabeth, “you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”

“Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”

“Oh! certainly,” cried his faithful assistant, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”

“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

Mr. Bingley feels that a woman is accomplished if she has the ability to do a number of different arts and crafts. Miss Bingley feels (or says she feels) that it goes beyond specific skills and into branches of artistic attainment, plus broader personal qualities that could be imparted by well-bred governesses or mothers. And Mr. Darcy, of course, agrees with that but adds an academic angle as well.

But what ties all of these accomplishments together is their lack of value on the labor market. A woman could earn a living with any one accomplishment, if she worked hard enough at it to become a professional, but young ladies weren’t supposed to be professional-level good because they by definition weren’t going to earn a living. All together, they trained a woman for the social and domestic role of a married woman of the upper middle or upper class, or, if she couldn’t get married, a governess or teacher who would share her accomplishments with the next generation.

(To be fair, almost none of the trappings of an upper-middle/upper class male education had anything to do with the kind of career training that college frequently is today, either. Men were educated to know the cultural touchpoints of their class and fit in with their peers.)

There are reasons that an individual person/character might specifically object to embroidery, but it was far from the only “useless” thing that an unconventional heroine would be required to do against her inclination by her conventional mother/grandmother/aunt/chaperone. Embroidery stands out to modern audiences because most of the other accomplishments are now valued as gender-neutral arts and skills.

“The Embroidery Frame”, by Mathilde Weil, ca. 1900 (LOC 98501309)

So, some thoughts for writers of historical fiction (or fantasy that’s supposed to be just like the 19th/18th/17th/etc century):

- If your heroine doesn’t like embroidery, she probably doesn’t like a number of other things she’s expected to do. Don’t pull out embroidery as either more expected or more onerous than them. Does she hate to sit still? I’d imagine she also dislikes drawing and practicing the piano. Would she prefer to do academic subjects? She probably also resents learning French instead of Latin, and music and dancing. Does she hate enforced femininity? Then she’d most likely have a problem with all of the accomplishments.

- If your heroine just and specifically doesn’t like embroidery, try to show in the narrative that that’s not because it’s objectively bad, and only able to be liked by the boring. Have another sympathetic character do it while talking to the heroine. Note that the hero carries a flame-stitched wallet that’s his sister’s work. Emphasize the heroine’s emotional connection to her deceased or absent mother through her affection for clothing or upholstery that her mother embroidered - or through a mourning picture commemorating her. There are all kinds of things you can do to show that it’s a personal preference rather than a stupid craft that doesn’t take talent and skill!

mourning picture for Daniel Goodman, probably embroidered by a Miss Goodman, 1803 (MMA 56.66)

#history #women's history #writing #embroidery #19th century #18th century #17th century #victorian #georgian #regency

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sunnysunoo · 3 years

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Love Letters ; Sim Jake

Pairing: Jake X Reader

warnings: explicit language and cursing

word count: 3k words

genre: friends to lovers au! fluff with tiny pieces of crack lmao

Jake was always known for being this perfect guy in school. I mean, they're not wrong. They always described him as if he's this walking piece of art in the hallways. People would stop to just stare at him. You'd stare at him all day too, but you set priorities first: writing him love letters.

You're no Lara Jean, but I guess you can say that she's what inspired you to write Jake letters. Who needs Peter Kavinsky when Jake Shim exists anyways?

note: Not me completely disappearing off of tumblr for like months and then showing up again suddenly lol. I got really busy the past few months since I was completing requirements for school, and I really didn't have the motivation to do anything at the time so I took so time off to take care of myself first so I hope you understand :) But now since it's summer break, I am given at least 2 more months until I go back to school in August :)) Here's the long-awaited Jake imagine that I completely forgot about lmao hope you enjoy <3

P.S I finished writing this at 1:26 am so please excuse the really shitty plot and grammar ill rewrite it once i wake up

tag list: @cha-raena ( sorry for the rlly late post bestie )

Dear Jake, First of all, I will never call you Jaeyun because calling you by your English name makes me feel like I'm your friend. Calling you by your Korean name makes us feel like we're cold strangers to one another and I don't want that. I want us to be something more than that, but it's hard when you don't even know who I am. I'm surprised how you don't grow tired of me just dropping letters right into your locker every time you open it, and that's one of the things I love about you. You don't just throw away people's efforts and you treasure them with care. It makes my heart beat so fast as if I ran miles away from here.

We're already one year left until we graduate high school, and I don't want to end my high school years without you realizing my feelings for you. I know for sure that you would never reciprocate the feelings that I have towards you, so I want to treat this as closure in case we do forget about each other in the future. Yours truly,

Moon

"How is this person not over you? That's like the tenth one this month," Jay said, looking over Jake as he reads the letter from his secret admirer. Jake has always been receiving these letters from the same person everyday for the past four months. He's thankful for the letters because they definitely make his day better, knowing that there's someone out there who loves him as who he is regardless of looks. He's not gonna lie that these little notes and letters make his heart race too. "Do you have any plans with finding the person behind the letters?" Jay asked as he watches his best friend trying to hide the small smile that's been growing. No one really knows who this mysterious person is and why they decided to name themselves the moon, but we don't judge anyone in here. If they want to be the moon in their next life, then so be it. "I really want to find the person who's making these letters," Jake shoved the letter in his backpack, trying to not wrinkle it. "But I don't know where to start." "Who's finding who?" A voice popped suddenly beside the presence of the two boys. You leaned beside the locker beside Jake's, watching him as he grabs his books from his locker. "Did Moon drop your daily letter today again?" "They did as usual," Jake wasn't even surprised. He would expect the letters every time he enters the school in the morning. He would open his locker to see the usual small letter placed inside his locker. He usually arrives at seven or earlier, but he's surprised that he could never even catch a glance of this anonymous sender around the campus. "Should I go to school at five in the morning?" "Five in the morning? Isn't that a bit too early?" You questioned, followed by a shaky breath. "The school doesn't even open until six." "I could just walk to that nearby convenience store I always pass by to grab a coffee." He argues, closing his locker shut before walking towards his classroom.

You and Jay followed beside him, and you sneered under your breath, "You don't even wake up to your alarm clock."

"Why don't you even want me to go early anyway?" He glances as you try to give him an answer. But before you could say something, Jay replies first.

"You’re probably hiding something." He said. You rolled your eyes and narrowed your eyes at him. "You are so weird." You grunted, before walking ahead of them. You feel panicked because you were scared that you made yourself obvious to them.

You were inside your classroom sitting on your desk. There were only fifteen minutes left before lunch, but you had eaten your packed meal before instead of going to your school cafeteria. You were fidgeting in your place, conflicted about Jake finding his secret admirer, not knowing that it was you who's been sending him letters the past few months. You're not scared of him finding out that the letters were from you; that was the entire reason why you wrote him letters in the first place. You're scared of how he was gonna confront you about it. Would he like you back? Would he hate you? Would he avoid you?

Your mind was full of scenarios but you were suddenly brought back to reality when a hand planted itself on your desk. You look up and saw Jay standing in front of you, eating sushi with his other hand. His face kinda looks like he knows something, and it's freaking you out a bit.

"What?" You asked, suddenly flustered over how his eyes stared right into you. He took the seat in front of your desk and flipped it so it was facing you. He sat down and blurted the phrase that you were dreading to hear from anyone.

"So, you like Jake?"

You suddenly feel like punching him in the face with his sushi.

"What??" Your body felt like, and you were left a nervous mess. Your heart like it was going to pump right out of your chest any minute, and your hands started to sweat.

Jay's mouth formed into a smirk. He caught you. "Jake may be a bit oblivious, but I can totally see right through you."

“Haha...no you don’t,” You tried to deny, but it was all useless when his expression looked unconvinced.

“Oh yeah? Then why are you all red? You look like a bursting tomato.”

“You don’t know that," You leaned further into your seat, playing with the strings of your hoodie.

“C’mon Y/N, you’re not even trying. Just give up and admit it,” Jay was trying to help you confess your feelings for Jake. Frankly, he knew it was you sending him letters this whole time—how can Jake not see it?

With a heavy sigh, you slumped and laid your head on your desk, embarrassed. “Fine. I like him, okay? Are you happy now?”

The smirk on his face grew wider, feeling proud of himself. You are not dealing with his annoying crap this early in the morning. He grinned and munched on his half-eaten sushi. “I knew it.”

“Congratulations,” It was muffled because you hid your red face away from him. All that was on your mind now was how you could book yourself a flight all the way across the world.

“But seriously, since when did you have a crush on him?” You raised your head to face him, giving him a look that could kill, except Jay finds it entertaining rather than intimidating.

“I started having a crush on him when we were in fifth grade. It was at a friend's birthday party, and he saw me being all quiet and lonely. Honestly, I forgot who’s birthday that was.” You told him the very first time you had discovered feelings.

“He saw how sad I looked so he accompanied me the whole time. He was even trying to feel more included in the games and stuff.” You felt a smile ghosting on your lips as you can still vividly remember how you felt your heart tug the first time. “It was kinda like I fell in love at first sight.”

Jay faked a gag, so you lightly punched him in the shoulder. He may be a bit of an asshole, but he’s one the most caring and kind people you’ve ever met. It honestly felt good spilling out your feelings about Jake to him.

Speaking of, Jake was watching you two play around and laugh at Jay's little jokes from outside, and he felt something burning from inside him. Was it that he felt jealous of you and Jay?

No, he can’t be...right?

Maybe it was because of how he felt separated from you and Jay because of him being a separate class.

Yeah, maybe it's because of that.

Dear Jake,

I just had the most bizarre day today, and I felt like telling you about it.

It was chemistry period, and we had to be partnered with someone for a lab project. I ended up getting paired with Yeojin. We kinda created this unexpected friendship, which I love. We would crack jokes at each other, tell funny stories, it was so fun to be with her that we had completely forgotten about our project. So now, we both got a detention slip for making an accidental explosion.

How about you? How was your day? I hope it was just as fun as mine. If you feel like the day just wasn't as happy or you're feeling down, just now that it's okay to feel that way because days like these just lasts for 24 hours. It will be all over before you know it and you'll be greeted by another day. Maybe it will be different, and you would be all happy again just like how my day went. Maybe being with you would be my happiest day yet, and I couldn't wait for that day to come. See you soon :)

Love,

Moon

"Yeojin!" Jake called, seeing her walk down the opposite way. "Hey, mind if I ask you something?"

"Hey Jake," She greeted him with a smile. "Sure, go ahead."

"Could you perhaps give me any information about your partner in Chemistry?" He had hopes of getting any kind of description about his mysterious sender, but he was instead given a sad frown on Yeojin's face.

"Sorry Jake, but that person told me not to tell you about their information." She gave an apologetic smile. "I wish you all the best in finding them!"

Jake muttered a small "okay," and sighed before walking away, feeling defeated.

Yeojin knew that he was gonna ask about Moon the moment he called her from across the hall. She couldn't wait to tell you about this.

"Hey Y/N," A voice said from behind. You turned around to see Jake with his backup hung on his shoulder. He brought his hand up and raked his hair, and you felt your face grow red. Jake is like a gift from the gods. How can someone look so ethereal even if they're just standing there? You could stare at him all day. You couldn't even understand a thing he said until he started waving his hands in front of you.

"Hello?" You blinked multiple times as you were brought back out to reality. You saw Jake's face grow into concern. "Are you okay? spaced out."

"O-oh..No, I'm completely fine." You reassured him, feeling embarrassed. "What were you saying again?"

"I was asking you if you wanted to go to school with me early tomorrow."

Well, shit.

Your eyes started to go wide, and your hands started to go clammy.

"Tomorrow?" You repeated, voice trembling.

'Well, yeah." He pouted his lips, and you felt like melting into a small puddle in your place. Your heart started to pound heavily.

Oh my fucking god, he is so adorable.

"Okay, sure I can go with you tomorrow," You weakly smiled at him, slightly tense.

How we're you going to give him the letter now?

"Good Morning," Jake said as he watches you close the gates of your house. It was past five in the morning, and you were a mess.

"Morning," You replied back before running your fingers through your hair, getting rid of any flyaways.

As you started walking your way to the bus stop, Jake kept on glancing towards you from time to time. He knew you were pretty, but since when did you become really beautiful in his eyes?

The walk was pretty quiet, but it was a comfortable silence. For him, mostly.

Meanwhile, you couldn't stop freaking out. You had written a letter the night before, but you don't know how you were going to slip it into his locker without him taking notice. If he saw you, he would know.

"Are you sure you're okay? You've been like this since yesterday," Jake blurted. You looked at him before heaving a sigh.

"It's nothing," You mouthed, suddenly feeling anxious and gloomy.

"Something on your mind?"

"Something like that." It was hopeless. I guess he would have to miss this letter today. It was the first time you skipped a day, and you're feeling guilty that you would have to see Jake's face sadden that he wouldn't receive it today.

As you two stop at the bus stop, Jake looked slightly panicked as he was rummaging through the pockets of his blazer before looking through his bag. "Hey, do you have an extra pen? I left mine at home and I have a quiz today."

You snickered, "Out of all the days, Sim Jake. The same day you have a quiz is the same day you forget your pen."

"Very funny." He scoffed.

As you unzipped your bag to grab your pencil case, a folded piece of paper fell out without you realizing it. When Jake went to pick it up, he notices that it was folded the same way as the letters in his locker. It looked so identical.

Once you already got your pencil case out, you were about to hand it to him when you saw what he was holding that made your body freeze with your hand holding the case in the air.

"Why were one of my letters inside your bag?" He glanced at you, waiting for you to reply.

If you were freaking out before, this is a whole other thing. The thing that you were fearing the most is happening right before you.

"Maybe it fell into my bag yesterday..." You stammered, making up an excuse to look like it was an accident. You were tightly holding onto your pencil case, chanting many curse words in your head as you watch Jake unfold the letter.

"I don't think I've received this one yet," He said before he opened the letter and read it.

You watch as his expression formed into confusion as he reads through the paper. It only took a few moments before something in him clicked that it was you sending him the letters.

"Y/N," He began, and you started quivering in fear.

You should've known this would happen, but you didn't expect it to happen this sooner. In fact, you believed that this wouldn't happen at all. But it did.

"Let me explain," You eventually gave up and accepted fate and watch as your identity as "Moon" be revealed to your crush. You're now exposed so you didn't have any other choice but to explain everything. "Yes, I am Moon. I was the one writing you the letters that you've been getting in your locker."

Jake's face was unreadable. He looked bewildered and puzzled. He was trying to comprehend what was happening right now. All this time, it was you?

"I started crushing on you when we attended that birthday party before. I didn't want to confess my feelings for you because I was scared that you were going to harshly reject me, so I started writing down letters as a way to tell you how I feel about you without making you feel awkward around me." You continued, eyes suddenly taking an interest in your shoes. They were brand new too.

Jake was silent, and you felt your heart crack into pieces. You were mad at yourself for being so careless about it that he ended up finding out about you as his secret admirer. You wanted nothing else but to run back home, lock yourself in your room and cry with your sad playlist on loop.

You were expecting a harsh rejection coming from him, but what surprised was how he took dangerous steps towards you, minimizing the gap between you two. He placed his hand under your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"I don't plan on rejecting you Y/N," You stare into his eyes as it reflects the sunlight of the early morning. "I'm actually happy that it was you."

You look at him, puzzled. He lowly chuckles under his breath before leaning over to place his lips against yours. It was a light, quick kiss, but it brought you feeling ecstatic. You've dreamed of this moment before, and now that it happened, you thanked your clumsiness.

As he pulled away, you were sure your face was a red mess.

"Thank you," His smile was as bright as the stars in the sky. It was the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. "Thank you for making me like I'm special to someone."

You felt flustered over his words. You were scared that he could hear the sound of your heart pounding loudly. The butterflies in your stomach were going wild, and you felt like this was all a dream.

"So, what am I to you now?" You broke into a smile as he grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

Jake acted as if he was thinking, "Hm..maybe my best friend still?"

He bursts into a fit of giggles as he sees your smile slowly disappear, replacing it with a look of disbelief. You removed your hand from his and walked at a faster pace away from him.

He ran to match your pace beside you before holding your hand again, "I'm sorry, I won't ever do that again. Is my girl mad at me?"

"Oh my god, it's only five-fifty, Jake." You too broke into laughter over his cheesiness, but your heart fluttered over the thought of Jake calling you his.

HERE’S A LITTLE BONUS! since I've made you guys wait for 4 months :(

"What the fuck?" Was the first thing You heard from Jay as you and Jake entered the classroom. All of your classmates were staring at your and his hands intertwined together.

Jay stood in front of you two, crossing his arms together. "Can one of you explain when this happened?" he motioned towards your linking hands. You and Jake smiled at each other before walking away, leaving Jay in a fit of joy, and confusion.

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sometipsygnostalgic · 3 years

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adventure time wizard city liveblog

well here we go

my last adventure time liveblog, i havent actually done one of these in MANY years... probably not since 2014

this takes place at the same time as obsidian?

DID-- DID CHOOSE GOOSE JUST DIE

DID BUFO JUST KILL CHOOSE GOOSE

yeah i know that’s bufo, they only made it enormously obvious, tsk tsk

@spaceacepearl joked about us seeing choose goose get sent to hell but i diDNT EXPECT IT TO HAPPEN

This music is i assume by one of the many musical artists Adam Muto listed on twitter, it rocks. It’s not as hardcore as Obsidian’s intro, but it’s suitably chill for the scene.

“get offa my bus kid”

Those wizards in the left and far right groups appear to be new!

OH MY GOD--

HELP?????? NEW PROFILE PIC TIME

HAHAHAHAH

THE MUSICAL CON DID ME GOOD, I DID REALLY LOUD AUDIBLE LAUGHTER

i bet hanna and co had fun making these signs

my favourite is the cat with “FAMILIARS HAVE RIGHTS”

cadorka..... wow

We’re not even four minutes into the ep and peppermint butler has already killed someone in front of a large group of witnesses

“this smells of DARK MAGIC” “yall kids know thats illegal right” peps watches the other kids nod before later joining in, LOL

i cant believe pep started the great gum wars and got killed by golb

SOMEONE has been playing Overwatch...

i-- i still cant believe choose goose is fucking dead

how long was he stuck in hell for, or was that recent to together again after new death showed up

i have to admit im not a big fan of spader, too perfect, and not in that funny way either. i hope they give him some characteristics that make him stand out.

im getting flashbacks to OK KO and Owl House here...

Cadebra using music is a reference to Abracadaniel’s love of interpretetive dance in Play Date.

“they only laugh because youre different” “i know” “SO STOP BEING DIFFERENT” oh my god it’s like talking to my own parents cadebra is actually... a LOT like me, less in her hyperactivity but more in her nonchalant enthusiasm and almost acceptance of the inevitable bullying because it means more time in people’s consciousness

ahhh - it’s quietly revealed here that she is responsible and a skilled magician, she is just bored of magic! i like that she parents abracadaniel instead of being downtrodden by his ramblings.

PEP NO--- oh i see the problem, he hasn’t got his Bug Milk... sorry Martin Olsen fans, no Hunson today. At least we get one more Phil Face for the road!

candy people in their natural habitat

Ahhh that’s Doctor Calidoneus! The voice actor was at the recent Distant Lands panel alongside Pep and Blaine’s actors.

“pretty sure hes just trashcandy” - i like you, sassy antler lady

the mystery of how he gets clothes

and once again spader is proving to be the most irritating distant lands character of the lot, there is no subversion here. where is the subversion?

NANI

what is going on here? are pep and peppermint the same person or not? im sure they must be, but there is something going on here with peppermint butler’s soul being trapped in the body of his child self who hasn’t got the same memories.

OH, HYNDEN WALCH DID A NEW LINE yes this is what im here for, special over

peppermint butler cursed himself... of course he did - Shado was correct!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHAT THE FUCK

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

ROCK STUDENT, BLESSED ROCK STUDENT, WAS THAT POOR GUY WHO LOOKS LIKE A JAWBREAKER

love the reference to astral plane, of course pep cant astrally project because cursed pep is still inside of him

wow, blaine, wow

they have a crush

LITTLE DUDE! COLE SANCHEZ!

i love the dynamic between cadebra and abracadaniel, imo so far it’s the heart of the special. im not really gripped by peppermint butler’s school troubles. i imagine someone else probably will be but i want to run past that shit as far as possible.

TRDGFYGHJH

WE MADE A PREDICTION THAT WAS JUST LIKE THIS

PEPPERMINT BUTLER GETTING TURNED INTO THE FOUR COMPONENTS OF PEPPER MINT BUTT LURE WAS IN THE WIZARD CITY PREDICTIONS ART DRAW THAT HASNT BEEN POSTED YET

ILL SHOW YOU WHEN NICK POSTS THE VIDEO and then ill tell you who made the prediction because i... think it was nick himself, insanity

who plagiarized finn’s signature???

turns out pep really DID take over wizard city!!!!

i love this band

i understand your pain peps

you probably have a bit too much in common with your mother, and i imagine it isn’t easy being turned into a kid and not being able to do stuff that came so easy. you’re disappointing yourself! (he’s literally disappointing himself)

I’m less than halfway through the special, what the fuck. I wasn’t wrong when I said Wizard City had a lot on its plate. It’s noit that I’ve been particularly gripped up to this point, though to be fair I didn’t pause at all during the other specials barring Obsidian.

that... that poor kid is still a rock

and then the preview happened and bufo casually revealed to the audience that, yes, he killed choose goose

i dont know whats happening with pep but it seems he needs to be exorcised of... pep. which is a shame. i hope they learn to coexist.

i have to say the background work in this special is really good! like, really damn good.

WHAT

DID SPADER JUST DIE

IS THIS WHY PEOPLE THINK PEPBUT KILLED HIM

oh thats right - abracadaniel is cadebra’s uncle! this must be abracadniels sister. sorry, folks, he doesn’t fuck.

Where are they? Is this anywhere near Wizard City? It’s an unpopulated prewar wasteland.

THESE ARE JUST HUMANS

OF COURSE SHE WANTS TO PERFORM TO MILQUETOAST HUMANS

my child

is this an art style choice or did they get the people from that one studio to make this

HANNA FINALLY GETS TO FULFIL HER DREAM OF INSERTING KANEDA INTO ADVENTURE TIME

the red jacket he wears and his head pill shape is a big kaneda reference actually, which i suppose makes sense considering he’s a rival to our protagonist, but it’s a bit on the nose

bufo killed one of his own students? but why????

“MY UNCLE’S A COP”

“no one likes a rat”

i actually really like blaine, though im confused. did their VA change halfway through the special?

HOW NATURAL, NO WASTE, IT IS AN ENDLESS CHAIN

did doctor caledonius steal the trophy,,,?

EVIL SNAIL EVIL SNAIL

MONMSTER HUNJTER DISCOVERY NOISE, this time it’s a tetsucabra

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I HAVE QUESTIONS

god i wish this is what this special was about, i miss adventure time

these remind me of the comics with their art style :) i wonder who designed them? the one on the right with pb and pep, in particular, very comics-y.

fdgfhgf because he’s like 500

“pep can be kind of a jerk but he wouldn’t kill anyone”

sorry, cadebra, i have news for you

is doctor calednoius the true villain? if bufo’s out of the picture, she MUST be,

ANTS

oh no, he might gbe stuck in wizard city :(

HELP

the writing on the wall...

SPADER LITERALLY FUCKING DIED OH YM JESUS CHRIST

PEPPERMINT BUTLER’S OWN CULT????

THIS IS JUST OK KO NOW

okay im not surprised all the teachers at wizard city are cultists in worship of peps, maybe they killed spader and bufo because they bullied peps T_T

wait no, they thought spader had the potential, but sadly not

HE FUCKING KILLED HIMSELF

sorry, i was distracted by the pretty dope fight sequence and now the special is over????

fucking jesse, hes probably at least partly responsible for the cult nonsense

This credits art is by Maya Petersen!!!! Holy shit it’s adorable!

LRETGFDRGTFGMHGFHFG

LEAF MAN

DO YOU THINK THEY PUT HIM IN RETROSPECTIVELY

DO YOU THINK MAYA PETERSEN DREW THIS AND ADAM PUT IT IN THE EP RETROSPECTIVELY

HE LIVES

MAYBE THIS IS WHY CHOOSE GOOSE WENT TO HELL

okay, it’s over :)

first thoughts out of the way: not a big fan of this special. it’s like watching a completely different show. it’s not got the PZSHAHH of the normal wizard city stuff and there weren’t a lot of funny jokes or even hearty moments in the thing.

it suffers from a lack of invested character interactions, much like BMO did. there was not a single main cast member in the whole thing! and like i said before, much of peppermint butler’s character in the show is based on his very sweet relationship to his mother, princess bubblegum, so when they showed a single (hilarious) photo of them together it made me sad we didn’t get any scenes with them together. it would have STOLEN this episode. and they teased the hunson golf photo, and death!!! and jake appeared in a photo T_T last jake appearance.

it also suffers because Peppermint Butler is clearly not himself, imo he was way more entertaining in the Together Again special, where we seem him back to his “normal” self.

i dont think peps being a dark wizard was something to “kill off” exactly. i wonder what was going on there? was that actually peps, or was that a spirit he cursed himself with based on himself? we at least know in the future he does become a dark wizard again, and even princess :) this special didn’t answer those questions but lol.

THE GOOD STUFF, because yes, there was a lot of good stuff!

God, I’m with Aracle and Maya on this - I LOVE Cadebra and her relationship to Pep. I wish she was even in more of this - I would love to watch the adventures of Cadebra and Pepbut in their first year of school, like in the end credits.

That, imo, is where the heart of the special lay - Peppermint Butler’s attempts to impress himself, versus Cadebra’s self acceptance and desire to follow her dreams of being a goofy goober, no matter what other people thought of her.

It turned out that Cadebra is a responsible student and family member. I really liked that. Her scenes with Abracadaniel were, somehow, my favourite in the entire special!

I like that theres a lot of cool magic towards the end of this special, and a lot of HORRIFYING DEATH. It wouldn’t be adventure time if you didn’t randomly kill off child characters. Poor Spader, I hated you but damn, what a grim fate.

I like that Bufo and Caledonius had this crush/hatred thing going on, but they were part of the same cult in the end.

I didn’t like the giant peps scene at the end, the monster was extremely milquetoast compared to the madness we usually get in AT. Obsidian, for example, had the awesome Larvo design. Nemesis had some INSANE dark magic!!!! I wish they drew more from that episode.

Considering how much Steve Little appears in this special, I do feel bad for Mace (little Peps). He said he would have really benefitted from coaching, but recieved none. He had to re-record his lines 3 times! Judging from his description of events, Wizard City was a hard time for him.

The wizard school did remind me, heavily, of both The Owl House and OK KO. Personally I was hoping AT would offer me something more insane, but I do love both of those shows, and I know Wizard City was on a really tight schedule.

I think they should have spent less time on the school bullying plot, and skipped straight to MURDER.

We did have a cold opening, not on par with Together Again’s at all, but damn!

I am wondering where I would put this in the watch list? I do think it should sit after Obsidian as the third special. The intro scene makes it clear this takes place at the same time as Obsidian!!!

Well, that was it, the last ep of AT for the next few years at least T_T

i think together again was the better finale, definitely. but wizard city feels pretty detached from AT for me, despite the familiar characters it tonally isn’t like the show other than the awesome brutal death scenes. I thought the last 11 minutes was easily the best in the special! Which, honestly, is how it should be, though I do wish it gripped me more. Maybe I’m just not the target audience for Wizard City? It feels like something I would find very compelling if I was a bit younger!

#adventure time #wizard city #atimers

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ad1thi · 4 years

Text

frequent (emergency room) flyer | AU-gust Day 6: Hospital AU

AU-gust masterlist

i wrote this a while back, and a couple of people seemed interested in more, so here is another piece in that AU. tagging @m-e-i-c-h-a-n, @severelytinyeagle and @warmachinesocks (who was the original prompter) and im sorry if you asked for a continuation and didn’t get tagged. note: this can be read a stand-alone fic (but reading the original ficlet will help)

I’m begging you, please help me out here and get me something edible, I’m so tired of hospital food (from this prompt list)

After his first visit, Bucky isn't expecting to see Tony again. Despite how garish the burns had looked on his arms, the actual injury itself had thankfully not been that bad - and Tony only needed to come in one more time for a check in, just to make sure everything was healing well. It was a short visit, nothing to write home about and Bucky privately wished that the injuries had been a bit more severe.

Not too severe, because he didn't want Tony hurting himself, but severe enough that it warranted a couple more visits. Of course he kept that particular inclination to himself, because it wasn't normal to want your crush to be hurt and it was unbecoming for a doctor to want an injured patient, but it was there - in the back of his mind.

When Steve pages him a month later and tells him that he's got a repeat customer, and he ducks into A&E to see a familiar mop of hair; he's secretly pleased.

"What are we looking at?" he asks Steve, holding his hand out for the chart. Steve passes it over with a grim face, "His roommate brought him in. He was unconscious. Apparently he's been locked up in his lab for the past week, and when his roommate went to check on it - he was slumped against his desk. We managed to get him conscious again, and it looks like a case of a lack of food and drink."

Instantly, Bucky regrets the way he felt when he first found out that Tony was back in A&E. He nods sharply at Steve, and pulls back the curtain to see a pale Tony on the bed, and a black kid who can't be more than a few years older than Tony standing near the side of the bed.

"Bucky!" he croaks when he looks up, lips stretching out into a wide smile. He pulls at the black kid's sweater, "Rhodey look - it’s Bucky!"

"I can see that Tones," Rhodey says in a wry tone, and holds his hand out for Bucky to shake. "James Rhodes, but this punk likes to call me Rhodey."

"Doctor James Barnes," he says back, "also cursed with a bestfriend who gives out terrible nicknames. You must be James the original."

Tony gives him an indecipherable look, "You remembered."

Bucky can't tell him that he's played the weekend that Tony was in the hospital in his mind on repeat, revisiting the memories like they’re treasure, so instead he clears his throat and asks, "So what brings you to my neck of the woods this time?"

Tony opens his mouth to reply, but Rhodey beats him, "He doesn't know how to eat. Don't even start with me Tones you know it's true. Doctor," he turns to Bucky with pleading eyes, "maybe you can knock some sense into him. Explain to him that human beings need sustenance three times a day and they can't survive on coffee and ramen."

Bucky frowns, "You've only been having ramen and coffee? Tony you need vitamins, you need protein. While it's possible that you just fainted because of hunger, I'm going to keep you around for a couple of days. Run some tests to make sure you haven't given yourself scurvy."

His lips twist into a pout, and Bucky has to tamp down the urge to lean down and kiss it off his face. "This is all your fault," he glares at Rhodey mulishly, "I'm stuck in a hospital instead of at my lab like I should be. All you had to do was splash some water on me and this whole thing could've been avoided."

"I did, you didn't wake up" Rhodey says, obviously not rising to Tony's bait. He oddly reminds Bucky of himself, back when Steve wasn't a hunkering man made of muscles and Bucky had to wrestle his four foot ass in bed because he couldn't go five steps without dissolving into a coughing fit. "Besides, what're you complaining about? Now you've got all this free time to ogle at the doctor you've been talking my ear off about for a month."

Tony's cheeks pink, and Bucky excuses himself before he does something he's going to regret.

(Like find out exactly what Tony's been saying about him to his bestfriend)

Thankfully, Tony doesn't seem to have any serious illnesses apart from a mild case of dehydration and malnutrition; but Bucky keeps him under observation to be sure just in case. He's heard horror stories of students cracking under the pressure at MIT and almost starving themselves to death, and he's got a special interest in making sure that Tony doesn't become one of those horror stories.

Besides, he's fairly certain that Tony can afford the medical bills.

The downside of Tony not being at high risk of death is that Bucky can't justify visiting him often. So he does the next best thing, he assigns Steve to Tony. It's standard hospital procedure to have a nurse dedicated to their VIP patients, and it soothes something inside Bucky to know that Stevie is looking out for him.

What he fails to take into account, is the fact that Steve and Tony are remarkably similar people, and are therefore bound to clash.

"I can't take it anymore!" Steve bursts into his office, interrupting what was promising to be an extremely rewarding fifteen minutes of sleep at his desk, "He's so - UGH!"

Steve tugs at his hair, and Bucky gestures at the couch in his office, wincing when Steve slumps against it face-first.

"Use your big boy words Stevie," he says in what he hopes is a calming tone, "Who's got you so worked out?"

"Your ickle Tony," Steve props his head up and says in a scathing voice, "Is the most infuriating person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. It's like he wants to die. I don't know what you see in him Buck, honest to god, he drives me crazy."

"What did he do?"

"He refuses to eat!" Steve moans, but when he notices the expression on Bucky's face he backtracks a little, "He eats, but like ridiculously small amounts. His tray is never empty, and one time - I even caught him shovelling food under his plate to make it look like he'd eaten it. The kid is going to kill himself if he goes on like this."

Bucky wants to go over there right now, but he's got patients that can't wait. "I'll visit him after my rounds today," he promises, "find out what's going on."

When he enters the suite that they've put Tony in, he's in the middle of a very heated conversation on his phone. His skin is no longer pale, flushed full with colour, but he's still too skinny for Bucky's comfort.

"No Pep I -" he looks over when the door slides open, and his face transforms into a smile, "Bucky! Pep, let me call you right back."

Whoever it is on the other line is clearly not happy about Tony cutting the line on them because he hears the beginning of what sounds like yelling - but Tony ends the call before they can get anywhere. He cocks his head and bats his eyes at Bucky, "What can I do for my favourite doctor?'

"I'm your only doctor Tony," Bucky says with a chuckle, "Nobody else is willing to treat you." It isn't a lie, but it isn't the complete truth either. Bucky is Tony's only doctor, but only because he put dibs on any future Tony related visits. So it wasn't that nobody else was willing to treat Tony, it was more that Bucky wasn't willing to let anyone else treat Tony.

"So, what's this I hear about you not eating food? Keeping you under observation for malnutrition is counter-productive if you're not eating Tony." Tony frowns at that, his face twisting like he's had something sour.

He hears out and clasps Bucky's hands, looking up at him with wide eyes, "You have to help me. You gotta get me out of here. They keep trying to make me eat hospital food," he says 'hospital food' in a hushed tone, like he's worried Stevie is going to jump out with a tray and shove it down his throat.

(Knowing Stevie, it was completely possible)

"Tony," he says gently, "You have to eat. It's for your own good. You're dangerously low on vitamins and protein, and if we don't get that stuff in your system you could be running the risk of serious illness. Then you'll be shackled to a hospital room for the rest of your life, with no choice but to eat hospital food."

Tony contemplates that for a second, brows furrowing in concentration. "Okay, how about a compromise? I'll eat hospital food, two times out of the day, if you smuggle me in a cheeseburger for lunch."

"How about this? You eat hospital food all times of the day, and I'll buy you a cheeseburger when we discharge you?"

"You mean like a date?" Bucky suddenly becomes intimately aware that Tony is still holding his hand, "You asking me out on a date Doc?"

Bucky wants to say no, he knows that he's supposed to say no, but what comes out is, "Not yet."

Tony's face twists at that, before smoothening out in comprehension, "It's because I'm your patient isn't it. There's rules about this stuff, ethics or whatever."

"I could lose my license over it," Bucky admits, "not to mention that you're still in college."

"I'm a master's student," Tony says breezily, "I'm older than I look. I turn 22 this May. So how long?" Bucky makes a quizzical noise at him and he explains, "How long until it's okay for you to date a patient?"

"6 months," Bucky rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, "There's a bit of debate on it, but six months is pretty standard."

Tony nods, "I can do six months. I can wait six months."

"You have to stay out of the hospital for six months," Bucky says weakly, "No malnourishment, no lab accidents, you can't even get a scrape on your elbow, otherwise I could get written up."

"I can do that," Tony says confidently, and Bucky knows that he should talk him out of it, but he smiles toothily at Bucky, and he's gone, "I can wait six months for you. Can you?"

"Six months," Bucky says back, and it feels like a promise.

Fin

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starlocked01 · 4 years

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Rivals to Soulmates Speedrun

AO3

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary: Logan is confident in his ability to compete academically. He's not prepared for the consequences of ignoring his team. Content Warning: Brief swearing, Kissing, one mild nsfw mention

Day 24 Loceit- When you first meet your soulmate you see a vision of the future. Modified so that the vision happens at their first touch.

"Alright I need everyone to focus. I don't know how we managed to get this far but we did and we are not going home empty handed," Logan looked each of his teammates in the eyes. He really did not know what miracle had gotten them all the way to the championship- no wait, yes he did. It was him. The unfortunate truth of attending a small private school meant that getting on the Academic Challenge team was not so much a matter of skill or knowledge, rather it was asking to be on the team.

Logan was used to pulling more than his fair share of the burden anyway. And at least Roman knew theater stuff and Patton- well, Patton was there for moral support.

"Just remember, all answers go through me," Logan stood straight and smiled confidently.

"Whatever you say, Spock," Roman sighed, more interested in his nails than the team captain's speech, "let's get this nerd royale over with."

"Remember to have fun, kiddos," Patton grinned and clapped his teammates on their backs as they made their entrance on stage.

Logan's first thought was to size up the competition. He wasn't intimidated in the slightest but one must know their enemy.

First was a boy who looked like he'd been dragged out of the alleyway and forced on the team. If his monochromatic outfit and terrible posture matched his enthusiasm he wouldn't pose any immediate threat to Logan.

The second boy looked, in a word, deranged. His large grin and wide eyes were out of place among the serious faces of the other competitors. Logan did have to note that the frilly black and green skirt complimented him well. The boy caught Logan’s eye and winked at him. Eugh.

The third, the team captain, was on a different level entirely from his team. Logan immediately felt utter loathing for that casual smirk. Everything about him just screamed "pretentious asshole who thinks he's smarter than everyone in the room". Logan scoffed at his socially deviant attire, which included a bowler hat and black capelet. Logan adjusted his tie. How ridiculous looking. This boy thought he was a threat to Logan. That misconception would be quickly rectified.

"Welcome to the Academic Challenge District Championship! I'm your host tonight, Thomas Sanders," the man grinned widely at the seven people in the audience, "today's game will be three rounds. Team captains, if you would step forward and shake hands."

Logan stepped forward and met the other captain in the middle of the stage. He offered a yellow-gloved hand to Logan.

"Gloves?"

"You can never be too careful. May the best team win."

Logan grabbed his hand and shook firmly, "we will."

"We'll see," the other captain smirked and turned back to his team with a flourish of his cape.

Logan smirked and pivoted to walk back to Patton and Roman who were already set up at the podium. Both boys looked absolutely bored out of their minds already but Patton at least tried to give Logan a supportive smile.

Logan gave the host a self-confident smirk, "it's game time."

They quickly ran a buzzer check for both teams and started the categories round. The other team seemed pretty evenly matched with Logan and not many points were turned over while toss-ups became a matter of who was faster to the buzzer. By the end of the round Logan had a slight lead and felt very confident.

"Alright! Now it's time for the alphabet round! Today's letter is 'N' and all the answers will start with 'n'. Teams here are your sheets, you have 4 minutes starting… now!" Thomas declared and both teams quickly flipped the list of questions.

"'Musical about the effects of mental illness on a family'," Logan read the first question aloud, "Roman, what's the answer?"

Roman shrugged, "I dunno."

"What do you mean, 'I dunno'?" Logan hissed, "this is your area of expertise!"

"Just because I'm an actor doesn't mean I've seen every show," Roman scoffed, reading down the list of questions to himself, "well I don't know any of this. Try Hamilton."

"It has to start with 'N'!" Logan groaned.

"What about 'Next to Normal'?" Patton didn't look up from his paper where he was drawing.

"Okay fine. What are you doing?"

Patton showed him the doodle, "it's a nectarine for number 17."

Logan looked dumbfounded and scrambled for the last two minutes to answer as many as possible. He glanced over at the other team to find them all talking calmly while the green skirt boy scribbled down the answers.

The buzzer sounded and both teams handed their sheets to Thomas who quickly graded the answers.

"And with that round both teams are tied! It all comes down to the lightning round. To your buzzers everyone!"

Logan only started to mildly panic when the other team got the first three answers. He knew them but couldn't buzz in fast enough.

"Help me out here, guys," he hissed at the others.

Roman rolled his eyes and buzzed in halfway through the next question, "the answer is American Gothic."

"How could you possibly know that?" Logan was furious but turned to give their official answer, "uh Grant Wood."

"No, sorry, Team B?"

The boy in the cape leaned in to the others before responding, "American Gothic."

"Correct!" Thomas replied cheerfully.

"Told you, you're on your own, wonder nerd," Roman sighed and went back to not paying attention.

Logan did his best to keep up but was falling miserably behind.

"Okay last question, where did Descartes claim the human soul resided in the body?" Thomas waited for the buzzer.

"Shit!" Logan dropped his head in shame,then heard the buzzer ring and looked up to see Patton had rang in.

"The pineal gland!" Patton blurted out cheerfully. Logan’s head hit the podium. That was the dumbest-

"Correct! And with that the final score is Team A 350 to Team B 470! Congratulations to Dark Knell High!" Thomas led the scattered applause for the team.

Logan stood, furious, and walked back to the center of the stage where the other captain stood, looking smug as hell and holding the trophy. Logan stuck out his hand for the congratulatory handshake, scowling. The boy made a show of removing his glove before taking Logan’s hand.

Logan’s back against a brick wall with that smug face inches from his. The expression softens and a finger traces his cheek before he leans in to kiss Logan. A cacophony of conflicting emotions screams through his head and settles on "wait, am I gay?" just before he kisses back, anger and humiliation temporarily forgotten in the arms of-

"Janus, my name is Janus. Looks like I'll be seeing you behind the school," Janus winked at a stunned Logan. Logan quickly straightened up and returned to his team.

"What was that about, Specs? You two were standing there for like a minute," Roman looked amused.

"I-" Logan couldn't make himself speak.

"I'm sorry we lost, Lo," Patton smiled apologetically, "they worked really well together as a team. It was going to be hard to beat them."

"No- Patton you did marvelously. I'm sorry for doubting you. And Roman, I'm sorry for not trusting you and not working together as a team. I failed you both," Logan looked down to his feet, ashamed.

"Aw, it's okay, Lo! Maybe we can practice together more before the next tournament and work together next time?" Patton gave him a reassuring smile.

"Assuming I'm even still on the team. Honestly, this sucked. I'm out of here," Roman turned to leave.

"Roman…" Patton chided

"Ugh, fine, yes we'll do better next time," he waved the others off as he left the stage to talk with their advisor.

"He'll come around," Patton grinned, "but seriously were you okay up there?"

"Patton, I think I need to go meet my soulmate. Don't let Dr. Picani leave without me," Logan was distracted by Janus slipping out a back door.

"What?? Okay I'll stall," Patton looked incredibly happy for his friend.

Logan followed Janus out the back door and soon found himself reliving the vision he'd had.

"That was a close game. I wasn't certain we were going to win until your team fell apart," Janus smiled at him, hand still in Logan's hair.

"Well, I didn't expect- you," Logan's mind was whirling.

Janus slipped him a scrap of paper and kissed his cheek before turning back to the door, "call me."

Logan looked at the phone number, "I'm Logan. And I'm sorry you're stuck with me for a soulmate."

"I'm sure we'll make it work. I was quite impressed with your performance today. Until next time, Logan," with that Janus slipped back inside and Logan realized he needed to not miss the bus back home. He sprinted around the school and found Dr. Picani patiently dealing with Patton's antics. He climbed on the bus while their advisor was distracted and collapsed in his seat.

"So where'd you disappear to, L?" Roman asked without looking up from his phone.

"Janus is my soulmate. I saw the vision when we shook hands the second time," Logan confessed.

"Oh my god! Good for you, Lo! Maybe getting laid will make you chill out," Roman smirked, texting his own soulmate.

"Wow, rude. I expected nothing less from you," Logan smirked, fishing his phone out of his backpack and programming the number in his phone before calling Janus.

"Love you, Specs," Roman grinned as Patton and Dr. Picani finally boarded the bus.

"Nice job today team! We didn't win but you gave it your best, which is what counts! Did you all have a good time?" Dr. Picani gave them all a broad grin, genuinely proud despite the loss.

"Logan sure had a good time," Roman snickered.

"I had fun!" Patton beamed.

Logan held the still ringing phone away from his ear, "today was adequate. Thank you, Dr. Picani."

"Great, let's get home," Dr. Picani turned to the bus driver and they started driving back. Logan grinned as Janus finally picked up the phone.

"Hello, Logan."

Tag List: @stoicpanther @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @tsshipmonth2020

#tsshipmonth2020 #Soulmate September 2020 #loceit #logan sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #dr. emile picani #c!thomas sanders #logan centric #soulmate au #high school au #academic challenge #ironically this buzzer beater... was posted late #damn my phone but I figured it out

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a-wanderin-whirlybird · 3 years

Text

Flight if Destiny: Prologue

(An Ever After High fic, set in an au where the evil queen decides to be a good mom. Cowritten with @offwiththeirbuds )

It was over. Finally. Robin Queen leaned against the back alley wall. Her enemy, Snow White had decided to try and do more than banish her after awakening. She tried to have Robin arrested and tossed in prison. Thankfully Robin hadn't done anything outside the realm of their story, so there was no way to arrest her. But Robin was furious.

How dare she? Robin only did what was expected and for what? An empty, temporary marriage and a lonely future.

She could get revenge. Get power and fame on her own and a kingdom to show up that brat Snow White!

Robin sneered, that could work! She could strike Wonderland first, it was disconnected enough from the rest of the world, no one would notice until it was too late. Or maybe she could-

Robin heaved, emptying her stomach contents on the concrete. She had gotten too excited.

"Crap. Crap. What am I thinking?" Robin hissed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand while the other gently held her baby bump.

It was a small bump, barely showing, but it was a grounding reminder for Robin. It was so easy to lose herself to the role of Evil Queen and far safer than facing the future after her story. She felt so alone without the story now. All of her friends were just starting their stories while Robin had to start hers immediately out of High school. She was only 27.

Narrators beyond, she was 27 and expecting! And she had considered world domination? What was she thinking???

She hadn't been. In that moment Robin had been scared and alone so she turned to the safety of her role. But… what safety was there in evil? Embracing it would mean she could be truly imprisoned.

"Funny, how you reminded me I wasn't alone, and you don't even have a heart beat yet." Robin muttered to her belly. She had to be better. Better than Snow who wanted her dead or tortured, better than her mother who left her alone too young. Too focused on the Evil part of the Evil Queen.

Robin vowed to be better. A Better Mother and Better Person. Robin stamped her foot, eyes narrowing with determination.

"For you my Baby bird. For you I will face the world. I will be the best Mother for you…" Robin said pulling out a small slip of paper and racing to a nearby pay phone.

The small paper had a short list of numbers. Friends from school. The top of the list was Nana Breadhouse, she may be the Gingerbread House Witch, and specialized in candy houses, but Nana also had some connections.

The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Nana. Its… its Robin."

"Robin?! Are you ok? I heard Snow's speech. Did she?!"

"She tried to arrest me but it didn't work. Nana I need a house Im… Nana I have a kid on the way. I wanted to- I…" Robin felt tears fall. "I almost became my Mom…"

"Oh SweetPlum. Where are you? Ill come get you. We can talk after." Nana said. Robin couldn't help but smile, Nana was the kindest woman.

"I'm in Bookend outside the Library. Ill wait here." Robin said. Her hand never left her little bump, she had to fight the urge to conquer and the little lump was helping.

"I'll be there faster than you can say Taffy, hang on love." Then Robin waited.

It only took ten minutes for Nana to arrive, her Bubblegum punk hair made her easy to see in the rainy gloom. Nana's Broomstick landed and the plump woman raced over embracing the soaked Robin tightly. Robin held her friend dearly.

"Oh Honey Tea, come on. Let's get you home and dry. You can tell me what your plan is after we got some food in you."

"You're the Fairest Nana." Robin hiccuped. Her tears hadn't stopped the entire time.

"Tell me that after you're dry and warm. Come on." Nana said, pulling Robin onto her broom. Robin leaned into Nana's back as they flew a comfortable silence filling the night air as they escaped the rain clouds and finally reached Nana's home.

Nana silently ushered Robin inside. Trapper the huntsman was seated by the fire, rocking Nana's 1 year old Ginger. The gruff man looked concerned as Robin was sat down by the fire.

Trapper gently placed the sleeping Ginger back in her crib and began to sign as Nana raced around.

"Are you ok? You look awful." He signed, Robin nodded weakly, shivering in her soaked clothes.

"Im… shaken. But ok, thank you Trap." Robin said, Trapper gave a soft smile and nodded. Only to sign some rather vicious things about their classmate Snow White. Robin shook her head. "Trap its… im not fighting back. I cant. I have a child on the way. I- I refuse to be my mother. Or worse."

"You don't have to do anything. But I could get Arthur and-" Trapper started signing only for Nana to bustle between the two and give Trapper a glare.

"No. You are not storming the castle Trapper. If you try You get no Daughter time for a month!" Nana scolded in a whisper. Trapper shook his head but signed in agreement.

"You both adore Ginger so much. I hope I'm as good to my baby Bird…" Robin muttered. Nana Gently pat Robin's hand.

"You will be darling. Trapper and I have our system. I'm not denying him his ability to be in his daughter's life. And you did the right thing walking away today." Nana said. "Now I have some clothes you can use, tomorrow we can get your stuff back- Robin? Sweet Plum whats-?"

"She burned my stuff." Robin muttered, tears falling anew as she hugged herself tightly. "Snow… She. She did more than try and arrest me. She destroyed all my things. I just did my part! I just did what they expected of me…"

Nana's eyes lit aflame, fury rolling off her like an oven.

"That, that, That witch! Disgusting. I knew Snow was Twisted but this? And she calls herself a Royal." Nana turned back to Robin, eyes softening. "We will get you new clothes and goods tomorrow. I have an extra plot of land nearby you can live on. We can design it tomorrow as well."

"Doctors appointments." Trapper signed. "We can come with you too."

"You guys are too good to me. How can I repay you?" Robin asked sniffling.

"How about you babysit some days for us? We can always use an extra hand with Ginger and it will be good practice." Nana offered.

"Deal."

The next day was strange. Replacing her missing clothes had been easy. Robin knew she needed maternity clothes and she wanted to move away from her old doom and gloom vibe. She wanted to be comfortable and to distance herself from the role of the Evil Queen.

Then she saw someone she never expected to see.

"Robin?"

"Arthur?!" Robin had turned to see her best friend. "Look at you! Your beard came in!"

Arthur laughed, rubbing his blonde hair.

"Yeah and I finally lost the tit scars too. What are you doing this close to Camalot?" He asked. The two walked down the various aisles grabbing what they needed.

"Oh well. I finished my story and I wanted a fresh start for me and the Baby Bird." Robin explained, Arthur sputtered.

"You're a Mom?!"

"Not yet. I'm expecting. I'm only about a month along." Robin explained giggling as Arthur started blushing. He loved kids, but never really did well with the idea of pregnancy.

"Oh wow! Uh well congrats!" Arthur said. "Uhm… you live nearby? If you do I'm sure Merlin and Giles wouldn't mind if you dropped by. Giles was really worried when news broke that your story started so early."

"That's sweet. I would love to visit. How are your Boys doing?" Robin asked.

"Oh well… they are doing well. Milkshake is still a jackass to Giles about our relationship. But well… I'm going to propose soon. " Robin gasped.

"Really?! Oh Arty that's wonderful!"

"Actually I was going to see if Nana knew where you were. I need your help to make it memorable." Arthur said, Robin smiled.

"Of course! You're my Best Friend Forever After. What were you thinking?" Robin asked. Arthur smiled and the two discussed proposal plans.

The next few months were a flurry of building, Reconnecting with friends and doctors. Robin had no time to stop and consider the ever disapearing urge to conquer the world. Instead it was replaced with eagerness to meet her future daughter.

Robin got to visit Arthur, Merlin and Giles again. Her life was filling up with friends again and she felt lighter than ever.

Then the sonogram appointment. As she had set it up her doctor had warned her, they would not allow anyone other than the father in with her. Robin was terrified.

"Birdy whatchya doing so down?" Merlin practically chirped as he picked her up to go for the Sonogram. Robin sighed sitting beside the mage and watching the countryside roll away.

"My doc warned me they won't let anyone but the father in with me…" Robin muttered. Merlin clicked their tongue

"Ain't old Good King in a Nursery Home, senile out of his mind? And-" Merlin paused. The Mage was an empath and didn't need any other powers to know why Robin sank into depression when the old king was mentioned. Merlin nodded silently.

"Fine. I'm the Dad now." Robin jolted up, turning to Merlin.

"What?! Do you honestly think they'll believe that?" Robin asked. Merlin smirked, tossing his scarf to the side.

"They don't have too. They aren't getting rid of me. Though I'm calling back up." Merlin cooed, casting a minor sending spell before Robin could stop him.

"Who'd you call?" Robin asked.

"The rest of the fathers!" Merlin said happily. He didn't say anymore until they arrived at the office and the two enter the waiting room. Robin was stressed, clutching her bulging stomach as Merlin went to check her in. She stood near the door, when-

"They let any old rabble in here don't they?" Robin tensed as the sniveling tones of Snow white met her ears. Robin turned. The new Queen was with her Prince, Fabian Charming and obviously expecting as well.

"Snow." Robin hissed.

"Queen. What are you doing here? I told them, not to accept your ilk." Snow sneered. "Or did you break in? I can arrest you for trespassing. Better yet I should have the guards toss you out. Maybe you'll get the mess- AIYYYYYYYYYY!"

Snow shrieked as her dress suddenly burst into Merlin's iconic Pink flames. Merlin sauntered up and slung an arm around Robin. She didn't realize she had been hyperventilating until then.

Fabian put out his wife and glared at the smirking Merlin.

"Oops, sorry I still miss fire when I get stressed ya know? And our girl is expecting our little bird, of course Im stressed." Merlin purred.

"Our?" Fabian muttered.

"Yes. Ours. Move Fabian." The Charming swung around to find Giles, Arthur and Trapper in the doorway. Arthur looked slightly mortified and Trapper looked ready for a fight. But it made Robin feel safer.

"What is the meaning of this?" Snow hissed, shaking off the ashes of the fire. "I know none of you are the father!"

"No we all are. Because we were asked to be." Giles said calmly as Arthur pushed over to Robin and held her close.

"No you weren't. Merlin decided." Robin muttered to Arthur who snorted.

"You didn't say no." Arthur retaliated earning a laugh from Robin as Snow tsked.

"What ever. Just Leave, I have an appointment here!"

"So do we." Merlin said as a nurse came up, nervously fiddling with her clipboard.

"Uhm, Ms. Queen? We are ready for you and uh… your child's fathers?" She seemed to ask if the four men were with her despite knowing the anwser. Snow went slack Jared as Robin left, surrounded by her friends.

The panic the run in caused vanished when she saw her daughter the first time. She cried so hard, her baby Bird was healthy and growing. And Robin forgot all about Snow White.

Then her new home had been built not 2 miles from Nana's own home. Robin could easily visit and watch Ginger, who was growing so fast.

Robin helped Arthur propose to his boyfriends. Merlin may have been a powerful mage. But Robin was the trickiest witch alive. She was able to make the moment Magical without Merlin catching on.

And of course they said yes. The three looked radiant at their wedding. Merlin opting for a ballgown as he preferred and Giles and Arthur for a suit and armor respectively. And Robin was Arthur's Best Witch.

Then suddenly Robin was giving birth, post ceremony. Nine months had gone by so fast. And before she knew it, Robin was holding her daughter in her Best Witch suit. She was so small and pale with a little silky tuft of black and Purple hair.

Raven Queen entered the world in Summer. Greeted by her mother and her friends.

#eah #Ever After High #ocs #so many ocs #Baby Bird AU

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cecilspeaks · 4 years

Text

170 - To the Family and Friends

Love the winner, hate the win. Welcome to Night Vale.

I start today with sad news. I must inform you of the passing of Intern Victor. To the friends and family of Intern Victor, we extend our condolences. Oh, that reminds me. Our intern program has a new open spot available. Hours are flexible, as is time itself. You must be fluent in at least three languages, although one of those can be your own dream language, and another can be a future language that doesn’t yet exist. This is an entry level position. All applicants must have 30 years experience in the field of community radio, and have been the managing director of at least 2 radio stations, or equivalent unregistered stations broadcasting coded messages to our brave spies in the field. This is a non-paying position, but we do give you 4 credits to the institutions of your choice. Please apply in person by groveling before the Station Management door and crying: “Choose me! Choose me!” as their tendrils draw you slowly toward them. I look forward to meeting whoever is hired. Always so fun when we get a new intern.

And now for a look at the day’s news. The Night Vale Medical Association has ordered a review of the management of Night Vale Asylum, after a number of irregularities have cropped up involving a transdimensional missing plane and a pilot who could control people’s thoughts. “Honestly, we had a lot of cases like that back in the 60’s,” said Lonnie Chapman, chairman of the Medical Association. “Mental institutions used to be cruel places, where the fragile rift between dimensions was regularly breached and telekinetic powers were exploited. And people were treated as less than people, for the simple crime of having an illness that could not be found in the blood or the bile.” Lonnie settled back into the sagging comfort of his old arm chair, sighed and rubbed his forehead. “We endeavour to help, not to other,” he whispered. “It should be common sense, this kindness. Why is kindness not common sense?” He said this last so quietly that no one heard him. Dust motes circled tirelessly in the afternoon sun through the window. The Night Vale Medical Association is looking to shut down the outdated asylum and replace it with a brand new state of the art treatment center, located near Grove Park. More on this story as the story has more to it.

I guess I should get into a little more detail about how Intern Victor died, since some of you might be curious. You know, I think the story starts back in my very first days as host of this radio station. After the previous host, Leonard Burton, after – umm… ehhhh.. Once I took over as host of this radio station, Victor was one of my first interns. Eager and earnest and always helpful. He was first in the station in the morning and last one out at night. His research was impeccable.

“That’s not true,” he would say every time I said something that wasn’t true. “That’s not true either,” he would say. He would say stuff like that a lot. He was very diligent. It kind of felt like we were starting this great adventure in radio broadcasting together. I thought that some day after I… after… ehhhhh.. ummm… once I was no longer host of this radio station, perhaps Victor would be the one to take over. “Some day, Victor,” I would murmur in the quietest hours of the night shift, “Some day maybe you will be where I am now.” “Maybe, Cecil,” he would say back into the intercom from the producer’s booth, “But for now, please stop murmuring that into the mic. We’re live right now. Then one day he told me he was leaving. That he appreciated all the time he had spent as an intern, that he had learned a lot, but that he felt his place in the world was not with radio after all. [sputters] “Not with radio?!” I sputtered. I simply did not understand the concept. “If there is not community radio, then what is there? What is there besides that? Will someone tell me what else there is?” “Thank you for our time together,” he said gently, and then he left. It would be the last time I saw him for many years.

And now a word from our sponsors. Today’s sponsor is White Claw’s new line of non-alcoholic alcoholic Seltzer beverages. Listen, everyone loves a good carbonated beverage. On a hot day, out at the beach, or not at the beach, the two places it is possible to be. It’s great to just pop one of those bad boys open and really let that water with bubbles rip on your gullet. But not everyone likes to drink alcohol, for a variety of reasons that are never ever your business. Just don’t ask or bring it up. It’s so easy to not do that. That’s why White Claw is proud to announce the newest version of our alcoholic Seltzer beverage, now without alcohol! It’s everything you loved about Seltzer water, but for the first time, you don’t have to get intoxicated. Flavors include blackberry, wild nettle, wet stone, and one we’re just calling “Tumbleweed Crush”. Even we aren’t completely clear on what that one tastes like, but hey, it’s water and it’ll make you burp without making you drunk. White Claw’s new line of non-alcoholic alcoholic Seltzer beverages. Available wherever you buy your alcoholic Seltzer beverages. This has been a word from our sponsors.

I didn’t finish with the story of how Intern Victor died, I guess. Ummm, let me quickly wrap that up. So, a few years after he left, he came back again. He was older than me now with salt and pepper hair and a stiffness to his walk. When he had left, he had been several years younger than me, but time changes us all, I suppose. “Cecil! I didn’t know if you’d still be here,” he said. I bristled at this, hearing a perceived implication that I should have gone on to something larger, that by staying put I had allowed him to be pull ahead of me in some intangible way. So I responded with manic friendliness to compensate. “Still here!” I shouted. “Great to see ya, buddy wo-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-how! What have you been up to?” He told me that he had left Night Vale, gotten an apartment just outside of somewhere called Fresno, that it was difficult at first, and that he felt lonely much of the time. But that he had slowly made friends, so many friends, and had found a job that became a career that became part of his life. He worked with teenagers who were going through a tough time, seeing them through to better times. He was very well liked for what he did, and he was very good at it. “But I’ve decided to retire,” he said. “I’m getting up in the years, you know? But wow, you don’t look like you’ve aged a day.” “I haven’t,” I said. He was so much older than me then. I wondered where the years had gone and what I might have accomplished, if I had aged as well. He had retired to Night Vale to be with his family and friends and the people who knew and loved him best, and relax into the soft years of his latter life. So that… wait. Well, that’s not how he died, but I have to get to this next report. I’ll finish it in a second.

And now traffic. There was a song once sung by sailors of an island in the west, where the sun would shine forever and not a minute less. They say that on that island a sailor could find their rest, finally let slip shut their eyelids on that island in the west. But I’ve been searching, and been searching all my life, as though some cruel test, and have never found my way to that island in the west. There was a song once sung by sailors and I believed it, I confess. A foul lie I still believe in, my sweet island in the west. This has been traffic.

Intern Victor lived in Night Vale for many years more. He was active in charities and volunteer groups, continuing to offer counseling to students at the local high school. He lived in the Hefty Sycamore Trailer Park, watering a garden of flowers that he kept in pots around his trailer. It seemed that Victor was even more busy in retirement than he had been in his long career. Returning to his community seemed to invigorate him. He helped Carlos with experiments at the labs, donning goggles and lab coats and writing down numbers with hearts around them, all of that science stuff. Carlos said he was surprisingly good at it for someone without training. He worked with Dana at City Hall, creating the No More Pit initiative, which strove to keep one teen a year from entering that pit on Clement Street and disappearing forever. Now, the initiative was unsuccessful and the pit continues to devour but they, it was the attempt that matters. He acted as a volunteer lifeguard at the Waterfront Recreation Area, at which he saved a record five people in one day from drowning! A truly astounding record when you consider that there is no water at the Waterfront Recreation Area, Night Vale having an entirely arid climate.

Yes, Intern Victor was accomplished and well liked. He would have made a fine host at this radio station some day, but he never showed much interest, which is a pity. Because after I… After, well… Who will take up that mantle? Not Victor, not anymore. Well, I guess I still haven’t told the story of how he died.

Uh, let me do that just After the weather.

[A List for Spring” by Joseph Fink https://josephfink.bandcamp.com/]

Victor was in bed. The curatin over the window shifted slightly in the breeze, so the sun flickered in the room, shadow and bright, like a message from the world outside that he would never live to understand. His breath felt like a finite quantity, slowly drawn out of his chest. He knew that the last of it was coming soon. He wanted to use the drags of his breath for words that would sum up his life, but he couldn’t think of any. He could only think of “I am tired”. He could only think of “Thank you for being here.” He could only think of “I wish I had more time”, although eh didn’t know what he would have done with that time if he had any.

Around his bed were the people who had known him throughout his life. There was his sister Carly, and his brother Herman, and his aunt Ronnie, ancient and brittle but apparently destined to outlive him. There was his friend from college, Norm, whose hands shook as he looked into Victor’s eyes. There was former mayor Dana and her brother, leaning into each other in sorrow, keeping each other upright as a family creature of grief. There was Carlos in an understated lab coat, frowning. There was nothing more scientific than death, and yet Carlos hated the fact of it. And he wrestled with the contradiction within himself. Some natural processes feel unnatural, no matter how many times they occur to us, they are a surprise that our whole life spends telegraphing.

In the corner was Rosario, one of the teenagers Victor had worked with back in Fresno, who had eventually moved to Night Vale after getting lost in the shelves of a strange antique shop and waking up in the vacant lot out back of the Ralphs. She was middle-aged now, her face glistened with tears. “Everything I am is because of you,” she said. Victor snorted. “Don’t blame me,” he said with one of those last precious breaths. And she grinned despite herself. “You were the first person that cared about who I was,” she said. “I’ll never forget you.” “Already I’m in past tense,” he said, but he grabbed her hand and clasped it in a fervent silent thank you. Because she was testament that he had been useful, and there was nothing more important in a human life than to be useful to other people.

I was there too, and I stepped forward. “You were the best intern I ever had,” I said. “I know,” he said, and he winked.

It can be… strange when we first meet someone when they are young and just started out, and are in the entry positions in the career they want, to realize they have the potential for an entire life. Victor ended up a great man. A man with deep roots in the community. A man who went from 10 years younger than me to several decades older than me. And I… well, I still think of him as an intern, and I suppose I always will, but his potential was realized upon the lives of everyone in that room, and many other lives still.

A strong breeze came through the window and the flickering of light increased, as though that incoherent messenger was getting more frantic to be understood. Victor knew that his finite breaths had reached their last few. And he did not use them to say anything at all. He smiled, and met each of our eyes, and then… And then after…

To the family and friends of Intern Victor. To the family. To our families, blood or chosen. They are the net on which we can fall again and again. To the friends, to our friends. The people who make life worth living. Who help us when we need help. Who we help when we need to help.

Intern Victor was a good intern. He was a good person. He is gone. We are here. Let’s make ourselves useful. To all families. To all friends.

Stay tuned next for a tall glass of water greedily, drunk by a person who did not realize they were thirsty until the liquid hit their lips.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Earth is technically a sandwich, where the upper bread is stars and the lower bread is stars and the filling is rock and lava and a few incidental humans.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv transcrfpts #episode 170 #to the family and friends

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sincerelyreidburke · 3 years

Note

ooh also 4 for Bri and Reid because I love them

Friends! Romans! Countrymen! ARE YOU READY for some good shit?!?! I say this because this is my very first time writing Reid/Bri! I mean, they’ve been in the background a few times in drama club stuff, but I’ve never actually gotten to focus on them. Toby enables me, because xe loves me.

“Who’s Bri?” Reid’s girlfriend!

In today’s episode of prompts, you will get a glimpse into Reid’s post-graduation life! If you want to read more about what’s in store for him after Kiersey, you can check out this post. And even this one, too, if you’d like.

Here, you’ll see a Reid two years removed from graduation and a little down on his luck. You also finally get to see inside his brain. *Slaps hood of Reid Burke* This bad boy can fit so much mental illness in him.

From this list of sappy prompts, which I am still accepting and filling as we speak!

4. “Shut up and kiss me.”

two years after (reid's) graduation | may

Reid considers himself spectacularly efficient when it comes to fucking things up.

He knows this. Has always known it. He figures it’s a good thing to be self-aware, at least. He’s probably one of the more self-aware human beings to ever have a conscience, come to think of it, given the amount of time he spends policing his own every action. But still. There has to be some benefit in being so well aware of your own flaws that you can constantly predict your fuck-ups before they even happen. It’s like damage control when the damage hasn’t even set in.

Anyway. Reid knows he’s good at fucking up. But if there’s one thing he would really prefer not to fuck up, it’s Bri’s birthday.

Easier said than done.

When midnight strikes on the day she’s turning 24, he’s not even home, which is the first reason he feels guilty and useless. He’s at work, apron around his waist, tie done up too tight, sneaking glances at the clock across the room in between customers and refills. He wishes he had his phone on him, as the minute hand lines up with the second hand at the 12. He could at least text her. He could make up for the fact that he’s not there in person, to ring in the first moments of the day. But his phone is in the back, in his locker, because this is the best-paying place he works at, and he doesn’t want to risk his employment by getting caught with a phone by his manager. Or worse, a nosy customer, who will subsequently rat him out to his manager, and, well— yeah. Not to mention the fact that it’s usually so fast-paced in the bar that there’s no time to check your phone anyway.

The point is. He wishes he could text Bri. But he can’t. It’s probably for the best. She’s probably not even awake. It would actually be bad if she were awake. A healthy sleep schedule is something she deserves.

Actually, she deserves a lot. The entire world. A lot more than Reid has ever been able to give her, and there isn’t a day that goes by when his brain fails to remind him of that particular fuckup in his life thus far. But tonight, he shouldn’t think in huge terms. Tonight, he should just worry about her birthday.

Man, he wishes he were home in bed.

The strike of midnight, although it provides something to focus on, isn’t even the sign of his shift nearing an end, because the bar doesn’t close until 2:30, and the latter two and a half hours of work wind up passing by even more slowly than the beginning of his shift did. When he finally sees his last customer out, after last call, and he’s the only lonely, lingering person in the place— then, the end is in sight. He has closing chores ahead of him, but at least he doesn’t have to wait around to go home anymore.

It’s nothing that out of the ordinary, really, to be working this late. Between three jobs and sneaking in open mic nights between them any chance he can, he can’t remember the last time he had a night entirely off. Or a day, honestly, and tomorrow— or today, since it’s past midnight— isn’t any exception. He has the lunch shift at the street diner he works at, and the jury’s still out as to whether he’s going to bag his shift at the second bar he works at tomorrow night.

All of this is to say: he’s working a lot. Which is fine. Work means money, which means staying alive, especially with the New York cost of living he’s gotten used to since they moved here after graduation. It’s a necessary part of life. He just wishes life could stop, for one day, so he could do this right. So he could at least give her something, to make up for all the areas in life where he’s lacking. Where he’s an extremely underwhelming excuse for a future husband.

And, look— he did actually get her a present, so that’s not the issue here. It’s more the lack of time. It’s more the overwhelming sense that, despite her stability, despite the fact that she’s stuck with him for six years, he doesn’t deserve this patience, and that one day she might finally come to her senses and decide that she doesn’t feel like waiting around while he slums it in New York and tries to make it big, that she wants, like, a normal life, with a partner who makes a salary and a house or at least an apartment with more than one room and, like, basic predictability and success—

Ugh.

For now, for this very early morning, he won’t think about all of that, no matter how much it rings in his ears as he cleans up and closes the bar. For now, he just wants to make sure Bri has the most perfect morning possible. And to do that, he has a checklist.

Step one: finish work. He considers that done as he locks the front door of the bar, and steps out onto the street. It’s kind of breezy but not exactly cold out, since Bri’s birthday marks the last day of May, and summer is pretty much here. It’s not really busy outside on the street, but he’s not the only one out, either. Rule number one of New York City: you are literally never the only person out and about, no matter what time of day it is.

Step two: the bodega. It’s on his walk, open twenty-four hours, and he stops there so often at weird hours of the night after work shifts that he’s established a rapport with the cashier who works the red-eye shift. “Eyyyyyy,” he sings, as he swings through the door into the small, artificially lit space. “What’s up, Charlie? You working hard, or hardly working?”

Actually, it’s not so much a rapport. It’s more that he’s constantly the loudest customer who graces this place between the hours of midnight and four in the morning, and Charlie probably hates him, but still tolerates his presence. So.

He needs flour, half a dozen eggs, a tied-up bunch of yellow and white flowers, and rainbow sprinkles. He also slides three Red Bull onto Charlie’s till, and then grins across the counter to remark, “The necessities.”

Charlie grunts or maybe chuckles, and scans his stuff. “Right.”

Step three: get home and get to work.

It’s, like, six minutes on foot from work to the bodega, and then four more to the subway stop, and then the subway is a whole host of issues that land him back at the apartment building around 3:30 in the morning. Bri’s alarm goes off at 6:30 for work, and he figures he can intercept her for a proper birthday breakfast before she goes to the gallery. Given that he kills one of the Red Bull from the bodega while he’s in transit to get home, he is at least ninety percent confident that there’s no point in not pulling an all-nighter.

It’s fine. He’s not even tired. He has stuff to do, anyway.

The apartment is dark when he gets in, and he tries to make the smallest amount of noise, which, when you think about it, is kind of pointless because it’s only one room and any noise he makes could count as a disturbance, but— but— Bri isn’t a light enough sleeper to wake up at that kind of stuff. A fact he is grateful for. So he puts the bag of groceries down, gently, on the counter, and turns the light on over the sink while he loosens his tie. Or more like yanks it off. The uniform at that job is seriously not his style, but you take what you can get.

Across the room, where their bed is tucked up into the corner, Bri is asleep. Thank Christ. He would be concerned if she weren’t. While he gets out of his work clothes, he looks at her in bed— she’s peaceful, and looks comfortable, and he kind of wants for a second to just crawl into bed with her, but if he does that, he’ll never get anything done in time, and she’ll wake up to a normal old morning. With nothing special. On her birthday.

She doesn’t deserve that.

When he’s finished changing, it’s 3:41 Apple time. The morning is young. He sneaks a kiss to the top of her head and pulls the covers a little higher over her shoulders, then slides across the room in his socks, back to the kitchen side of the apartment.

Sure, he’s great at fuck-ups. But he’s not going to let this one be a bust.

It’s a quick three hours.

He blames executive dysfunction. Time passes too quickly when he’s on a crunch, literally every time. He starts with her card, which he bought a few days ago— writes it out, seals it into its envelope, and weighs it down with the corner of one of her vases, which he fills with water and puts the flowers in. It’s glass-blown, psychedelic colors; she made it in the glass studio junior year at Kiersey, and it followed them to New York.

With that done, he gets all his ingredients out for breakfast. He can’t start cooking at 4 in the morning, but he can get ready— a bowl out on the counter, their one good frying pan on the griddle, dry ingredients for pancakes measured out. He’s not the most versatile cook in the world, but he makes a mean Kraft Dinner, and this, too, he can do— birthday cake pancakes. With sprinkles. It’s Bri’s favorite breakfast.

He doesn’t know how it winds up being 6:30. He loses time, doing all of this and also nothing at all. He’s two and a half Red Bull deep, mixing up the actual pancake batter, when Bri’s alarm tone across the room pulls him out of his haze.

“Shit,” he hisses, and nearly knocks over his frying pan. It’s 6:30 already? The kitchen is a mess, and he’s been stuck in the distractible part of his brain for the better half of the past two hours, and now he looks like he’s made a huge mess, and—

The alarm stops going off, and he hears the mattress shift. He’s rinsing off the questionable spatula he’s been using to mix the batter in the sink when he hears her voice. “Babe?”

“Hey— hey, good morning.” He turns, and puts his back to the counter, like it’ll hide the actual disaster he’s created. “Happy birthday,” he adds. “Did you sleep okay?”

Bri is sitting up halfway in bed, and she doesn’t answer his question. “What are—” She yawns, and holds a hand to her mouth, which is really fucking cute, the way her eyes get all wrinkled up like this, and he just— loves her, and wishes he weren’t so useless, wishes he could give her the world. When she finishes her sentence, her voice is raspy. That’s cute, too. “What’re you doing over there?”

“I’m, uh.” And busted. He might as well own up to the mess. “Well, I realize now that it looks like a bomb went off in here, but don’t worry; I’ll fix it. I was just— well, breakfast. I’m making breakfast. But it’s not ready yet. It will be. Promise.” He lets all his breath out at once, then tries a grin. “But did you? Sleep okay?”

Again, she doesn’t answer the question. Instead, she swings her legs off the side of the bed, and gets up to walk across the room. He meets her halfway, as she’s combing back her hair, a blonde, wavy, bedhead-y and beautiful mess. She’s in pajama shorts and a tank top, and he may be sleep-deprived and totally useless, but he is the luckiest guy on this planet. “How long’ve you been up?” she asks.

He rests his hands, gently, on her waist, and looks down to meet her eyes, which are hazy with sleep but always so fucking pretty. “I… don’t know if you would love the answer to that question,” he replies, because she’d see right through him even if he wanted to lie about it.

She smiles, but it’s a sympathetic expression, like she can see the Red Bull coursing through his veins or some shit like that. “Answer anyway.”

“Um.” Okay, busted. For real this time. While she hooks her arms around his neck, he tries to gather an explanation. “Okay, so I may not have slept, but hear me out, okay? I wanted to make sure I had stuff in a row so that when you woke up, it’d all be good for you, since I know we kinda have, like, a limited window here, and I didn’t want you to just have to eat, like, peanut butter toast on your birthday, right? Like, that would suck, and also, I was already up because of work, and I had stuff to do anyway, so basically, I didn’t, uh, I didn’t sleep at all, but on the bright side, there is pancake batter ready for you, and I promise I’m gonna clean up all the cooking shit ASAP because I know it looks like a war zone in this kitchen right now—”

“Reid.”

He stops. Her voice is gentle, and she’s smiling— it’s not the pity smile anymore, but just a regular smile. She threads her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he breathes, almost instinctively. “Sorry. That was so much. You just woke up. Hi. I love you. Happy birthday. You look really hot right now.”

Bri laughs, and leans up, on tiptoe, until her forehead is right on his. “Reid,” she repeats, even more gently, and he lets out all his breath again, closes his eyes. “Take a deep breath.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He tries to do as she says. It’s really not hard to breathe; he just forgets that’s a necessary bodily task from time to time. No big whoop. “I promise I’ll clean it up. And I’ll make the pancakes, and— wait, shit!” The realization hits him all at once, and his stomach sinks. “Shit. Fuck. I don’t think we have whipped cream.”

“Whipped cream?” Bri asks, and she sort of laughs, like she’s confused, but this is very bad, because that’s a necessary part of any balanced pancake breakfast, right?

“Fuck,” he repeats, and then groans, bumping his forehead against hers lightly. “Fuck, babe; I’m so sorry. I knew I was forgetting something. I can go out, though. Maybe while you shower? I can get it on the corner—”

“Babe,” Bri says, and it occurs to him that he has once again forgotten to breathe. But when he meets her eyes again, she’s smiling, kind of laughing, and she shakes her head. “Shut up.”

“What?” He blinks. His glasses fog up a little, with how close their faces are, and he squints through them toward her. “I really will go out and get it. What are birthday pancakes without whipped—”

Bri slides her hands up to either side of his face, and she shakes her head again. “Just shut up and kiss me, okay?”

The pit leaves his stomach, and he stops in his tracks. “Oh,” he says, and then laughs, too. “Okay. I can do that.”

It’s a kiss that stops the racing in his brain, which it really always does; she just knows how to do that by existing. It becomes two, and then three, and when they pull apart, Reid can breathe normally again.

“You didn’t have to stay up all night because of me,” she tells him, voice still gentle, eyes still on him.

“I’m sorry,” he groans. “I didn’t really— I mean, I really didn’t want you to have a lame morning.”

“Well, that was very sweet of you,” she replies. Her eyes are catching the sunrise light that edges in through the window. He could get distracted by that. By her body. By every freckle on her face. He is, after all, easily distractible. “But,” Bri adds, “as long as my morning has you in it, I promise you, there’s nothing lame about it.”

He laughs, and kind of feels sheepish, like he might be blushing. “Okay.” He doesn’t deserve her, but he’ll take her at her word.

“C’mere.” She pulls him down for another kiss, and, yeah, this he can do. The apartment is way too small, and he is a human disaster, but she loves him anyway, for some reason he still can’t figure out, and he’ll never stop being grateful for that.

“Thank you,” she says, when they pause to breathe again. “I’m excited for pancakes.”

“I’ll make them good,” he assures her, and she laughs.

“I know you will,” she replies, and then smiles with half her mouth, so her one dimple shows, and that is fucking adorable. Holy Christ. He might be sleep-deprived, but if looks could kill… “But,” she adds, with that smirk still lingering, “not yet.”

“Not yet?” he echoes, and blames the sleep deprivation for how slow the realization is. “Right, yeah. Because you should shower, right? Get ready for work?”

“I think I have a distinct amount of time before I actually have to be ready for work,” she replies, and ohhhh. Oh. Okay.

This, too, he can do.

“I think I understand you,” he tries.

Bri winks. “You definitely understand me,” she says, and then grabs him by the hand and pulls him back toward their bed. “And plus, it’s my birthday.”

He almost makes a birthday suit joke, and then decides that puns are not an effective method of seduction today. Not that Bri really needs seducing. Right this second, anyway.

“I’m so honored,” he says, instead, and grins when she pushes him down to sit on the edge of the mattress. He holds her by the waist and waits, still smirking. “You mean to say you want me to be your present?”

“Something like that,” she replies, with a shrug, and then pushes him so he falls backwards, and he gets exactly three seconds to laugh at the ceiling before she’s kissing him and he gets to move on to something much, much better than rambling about his failures as a boyfriend in the middle of the kitchen.

Breakfast can wait.

#sappy prompts #breid #kiersey college #the insanely cool reid burke #ficlet #my writing #bri doesn't have a tag yet but #that's okay #mel writes

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oh-styles · 5 years

Text

Something About a Loss: Part I

Disclaimer: Before we jump in, I want to disclose that this chapter talks heavily about miscarriage, and depicts violence and bouts of depression. If it is something you aren’t comfortable with, I advise you to skip this one.

In addition, I found this chapter extremely hard to find a finishing point on. I feel it is not as good as my other works, simply because it’s sad as fuck. I don’t write sad stuff well, and I know this now. Nevertheless, I did it.

I also advise that if you are sad after finishing this, you stream Lights Up.

May 18, 2019 Los Angeles, CA

You were ill, and infallibly ill, at that. Since the days leading up to this very moment, the one where you are splayed over the king size mattress with a thin sheet covering half of your exposed body – you can’t decide if you’re hot or cold – you swear up and down you have purged at least half of your body weight. Harry, who was as well as a whistle, claimed you just had a stomach bug, but felt confident enough to remain by your side despite the risk of germs.

“I can pop to the shops real quick, get you some ginger ale?... What sounds good, pet?”

Death. Death sounds good.

You don’t want to risk moving – or risk any movement, really – for the sole sake of your sensitive stomach that is one head acknowledgement away from projectile vomiting like you were in a poorly casted remake of The Exorcist. You can sense Harry standing beside you, and after a beat with no response, he reaches his hand out and holds it front of your mouth to confirm you are still indeed breathing.

“You still with me, sweets?” You wiggle your toe rapidly. “Is that a yes…?” Wiggle. “Alright, I’ll be back in a bit, okay? You want anything else? Crackers?” He’s met with silence, but he watches you from the doorway – giving a subtle glance to your big toe – and nods to himself. “Is it okay if I take y’car? Mine’s low on petrol and I don’t feel like—”

“Keys in purse,” you mumble into your pillow, pulling a hand free from the sheets and pointing somewhere towards the corner of the room.

“Right,” he spots the Gucci bag hanging on the closet door. “I won’t be long.”

But be long, he did, but it wasn’t his fault, really. He had to remind himself he couldn’t get sidetracked, that he had a sick girlfriend back home waiting for him, so he needed to promptly check off his mental grocery list and be out the door before you could say Harry Styles. But, it’s right as he’s awkwardly carrying three Canada Dry’s, and beginning to regret passing on grabbing a basket, that he hears it.

“Harry Styles!”

It was a few photos and a video of a cool hat trick later that he finally found himself tucked away safely back in your car.

“Alright, sicky, I’m home.” He nudges the bedroom door open with a light kick and sets the bag of drinks down on the end of the bed. Where he left you, just a mere thirty minutes before, is now empty, and he spots where you kicked off the sheets in a clear haste; it was no telling where you are now. He can hear the harsh guttural retching from the bathroom door, and with a peek inside, there you were, lay stark naked on the opaque tiles. “Blood hell, pet.”

“I think I’ve fallen ill,” you mutter against the toilet seat. That was a major understatement if he’s ever heard one. This was the second day you’ve been stumbling into the bathroom at all hours of the day, seemingly fine just moments before. It was hard telling how much longer this could last, but Harry already decided by tomorrow he was willing to take you to the doctor if no symptoms have let up.

You were not having it; you had fully accepted death if it meant avoiding any doctors office--needles, blood tests, what have you. It was just a stomach bug, one that would pass, and you’d rather not waste his time and money on something that can be treated with water, rest and back rubs.

Though, the following morning, after you were finished purging your breakfast into the toilet, you spotted Harry in the doorway of the bathroom with your shoes in hand, and a sullen, sunken face.

“Alright, let’s go, pet.”

You were 24-years-old, an adult woman, who at the mention of anything medical, instantly recoils into a ball on the floor. No, sir. There was no way you were going. Water, rest, and backrubs--that’s all you needed, thank you. But, unfortunately for you, your boyfriend stood firmly in the doorway, and already prepared himself for such a reaction.

“There could be something seriously wrong with you, pet. Read something about a parasite--”

“A fucking parasite.”

“It’s just a thought--”

“Something could be growing inside me?”

There was more on his mind than just a fucking parasite, but he couldn’t find the words to say them, not with you hyperventilating on the bathroom for in fear of having to see a doctor. In truth, it was the first thing that came up when he searched your symptoms, and when he called the doctor that morning, they too agreed you come in for tests.

If he were to say the p-word, your panicking might only intensify. It’s not that you didn’t want kids, but it wasn’t something that was exactly on the table for discussion as of late. Was it something you could see yourself doing in the future? Of course, but that was in the future, maybe a couple years from now. You still relied on your boyfriend to remind you to take your vitamins; there was no way you were ready for a baby.

As for Harry, ever since the first morning you chucked yourself off the bed and raced to the bathroom, he knew; it was this gut feeling most would describe as an intuition, and with every passing day, it would only grow in size. If it wasn’t the morning sickness, it was you sleeping your days away, and complaining about the tenderness of your breasts.

You just thought your period was coming.

“Or...you could be pregnant.”

He had his assistant drop off a few tests that morning while you were still asleep, and maybe it was a father's instinct, but he knew the outcome before you even had to glance down at the test. He made a deal with you, if the tests came back negative, they would see a doctor. If they were positive, he’d give the two of you a day to let the shock settle.

He was relatively surprised by how resilient you were when he handed over the tests. There were three boxes, six in total. Throughout the day you would take one, which was easy because your urgency to pee had sparked over the last few days, and whatever response it gave you, you would make a note of it.

By the third pregnant, you stopped taking them.

Harry was making lunch, and the only thing you felt you could stomach was cooked spaghetti, minus the sauce. You sauntered down the stairs, the tests concealed in a ziplock bag, and tossed them up onto the kitchen counter.

“I want eggs instead.”

“Oh, yeah?” He didn’t bother to glance back at you. “Scrambled? Poached?”

“Fertilized.”

He was spreading mayonnaise onto a piece of bread, and you think he might’ve not heard you, but it was once he twisted the lid back on, setting the knife on the edge of the sink, that he turned around, that you realize he’d been crying.

“So,” he sniffs, a smile spreading wide. “We’re having a baby?”

It’s then that you pull out your phone, and do a quick Spotify search, fast forward the song until you’re reached the chorus, before you hit play on Kiwi.

* June 10, 2019 Los Angeles, CA

“Think we can snatch up some Cinnabon today, muscles? I got a hankering for some cinnamon on buns.”

At first glance, you don’t look any different; not from the day before, anyway. To any new pair of eyes, you’re just an ordinary woman who insists on stopping to pet every dog that passes by, and who trips over her shoelace she refuses to tie. No stranger would be vaguely aware of the hidden secret laid burrowed deep inside the swell of her stomach.

“Is it you that wants it, or baby bean?”

You snicker, but you damn well knew the answer. The little baby bean laid protectively inside of you just entered its ninth week of development, and you were proud to say it was the size of an almond. You spent the greater portion of the morning studying over all the changes the little one would be making, and the sexual organs were one of them.

“Okay, get this. It says that the gonads have become either testes or ovaries. We actually have a boy or girl—or whatever it wants to be, that’s their choice, but testes and ovaries, babe!”

You knew it would still be some time before you found out the gender, but it didn’t stop either one of you starting a list of names written in the Notes section in your phone.

“I really like Lily…or Meadow,” you inquire from the kitchen, as you dip a carrot into a tub of ranch. “Maybe even Moonbeam?”

“Moonbeam. Moonbeam Styles.”

“Could be a middle name, too. Meadow Moonbeam.”

“Babe, our child wasn’t conceived at Woodstock.”

No, but the thought crossed your mind frequently as to when your egg had openly welcomed your boyfriend’s sperm, and after some math and a doctor’s visit, you were left with a definitive time: late march, or March 29, to be exact.

“I think you knocked me up after the Rock ‘n’ Roll thing.”

“The Rock ‘n’ Roll thing,” Harry rolls his eyes.

“I remember—I was on my period the week before, and I didn’t want you anywhere near me, and I remember once we were in New York it was finally over, and after the Stevie Nicks thing—” You could see him roll his eyes once more. “—we went back to the hotel and we fucked like…all night, practically.”

“Okay, but you know that doesn’t mean it was that night.”

“Listen, okay. Because of the time change, I forgot to take my pill that day, so I doubled the next day, but because I missed—”

“How do you remember this stuff?”

“Just let me finish, will you!”

In the end, despite your distinguishing facts, the boy that laid sprawled out on the sofa in nothing but his underwear, still was doubtful whether to believe your undeniable facts. Yes, you were right that the two of you did get down and dirty that night, but you also got down and dirty for likely many nights after that, but he’s aware of how stubborn you are, and let you have this one thing.

“I can’t believe it… I bet it was because you were around Stevie Nicks. She put a spell on your sperm, I bet.”

June 18, 2019 Wembley Arena, London, UK

“Are you going to ask Stevie Nicks if she put a spell on your sperm?”

“Pet, I will leave you in the car.”

“No, no, I’ll be good, I promise!”

“And don’t…give anything away.”

You were one who did well with keeping secrets, but this secret was nestled away inside of your body, and it was only a matter of time before that secret was impractical to hide. You and Harry had decided that you would tell family and friends by the twelfth week, because there was something he read about most miscarriages happening in the first trimester – for whatever reason – and it was just better to wait until that risk was lower.

“It’s literally a week away—a week. A week, Harry.”

“6 days, actually.” He pulls his hoodie up and over his head, tousling his hair in the process. “Can wait 6 days, yeah?”

“You’re asking the impossible of me!”

“I’m asking you to not tell my mother I knocked you up.”

Knocked up. This wasn’t some one-night stand bullshit—though, you might recall him shoving your face into the bedsheets and ramming himself into you dripping cunt quicker than you could say, “Yes, baby, right there!” You like to imagine the conception of your child was a moment filled with love and passion, but you can’t lie to yourself and ignore the fact he spit in your mouth, and after he came in you, making you stand and let the cum drip down your thighs while he got off to it on the bed.

No, your child was created by love, dammit!

“Don’t tell Anne we made love and are having a baby, got it!”

Even he knows ‘making love’ wasn’t what you would call it, and the long pause as the two of you walked into the venue was more than proof of that.

Despite being given this absurd task of not letting any cats out of any bags, you did manage to keep your mouth closed upon the arrival of Anne Twist. She was quick to swoop you in her arms, planting a kiss on your cheek, and even rubbing a thumb over your cheek, saying something about your clear complexion.

“Your skin is looking beautiful, darling. Are you using something new?”

Pregnancy hormones. “Vitamins.”

“Oh, what kind?”

Pre-natal. “Hair, skin and nails.”

“Well, you are looking very healthy.” She really was none the wiser, well, up until moments later when you turned down a glass of wine backstage.

“I, uh, was really hung over this morning. Was throwing up all night. Pretty gross stuff.” You weren’t entirely fibbing. You and your unborn child have been playing a cat-and-mouse game of whether it will agree with what you eat or not. Last night, turns out, it did not particularly care much for the chicken and rice Harry had cooked up. “Just sticking with water tonight.”

Two days later, you and Harry attended the wedding of Amy and Mike, which was just another imminent disaster just scheduled to happen. It was one thing biting your tongue for one person, but that evening, you would have his entire family on your tail, and you aren’t completely confident on how many lies you can pull out of your ass in one evening.

But, it was that morning, after waking up in a haste and purging every last bit of your late dinner – you sometimes get hungry around 2 am – that you realize, staring back at you in the mirror, is the well-defined beginnings of a bump. Before, it only looked like you had spent your afternoon at an all-you-can-eat buffet, but now, you were pregnant. There was no way José you could fool anyone into believing you were just simply bloated from a big lunch.

“I think if the morning sickness gets any worse, we should try those pills the doctor was telling you about.” You hear Harry rustling around in the bedroom, seemingly on the hunt for the little slip of paper with the prescription. “D’ya want some toast, love?”

You heard a light tap on the other side of the door, and it was once he peeked his head in, that he spotted you, standing bare-chested in front of the mirror, and the obvious little convex mass that he swears up and down was not there a minute ago.

“We have to tell them.”

“Babe—”

“Your mom is already onto me, and I’m only going to get bigger.”

“You can’t announce pregnancies at weddings—that’s a law, or summit, yeah?”

“Well, this wouldn’t be a problem now if we had just told them earlier.”

“All of the books say it’s best to wait—”

“Well, fuck waiting—I’m fucking massive now!”

You ended up arriving late to the wedding, and considerably disorderly, after having to redo your makeup in the venue bathroom because you started crying on your way there because you saw a bird. No, that’s it. Just a bird, one that you thought looked very beautiful. You knew there was no way you could finish the night without crying at least five more times.

Your excuse for that: “Oh, probably going to start my period soon!” They’d get the truth soon enough.

June 28, 2019 New York, New York

“You’re actually going to wear that shirt to dinner,” you affirm, giving your hand a little wave in the air to help dry your nails. Harry gives a brief glance down at his top, stretching it at the bottom to admire it fully. “There isn’t anything else you could wear?”

“What’s wrong with m’shirt?”

“It says Safe Sex…like, in big letters—can’t miss ‘em.” It’s then, with a little more observation, you notice the two figures, and how they each appear to be holding— “No, for fucks sake, Harry. You aren’t wearing that outside of this hotel room.”

“It’s a nice shirt.”

“They are whacking each other off!”

“It’s a Keith Haring, darling. Get with the times.”

In the end, after much persuasion – and a threatening promise of spilling red wine all over his vintage top – he wore the shirt to dinner. A nice restaurant, mind you. One where the appetizer costs as much as a normal entrée at Applebee’s, and to fork the bill at the end of the night, you’d have to ask politely if they accept payment plans.

“Babe, stop looking at the cocktail menu.”

“I’m just looking.”

“You’re going to upset yourself because you can’t have any of it.”

“Babe, they put an actual egg white in a White Lady… Fucking rich people, let me tell you what…” And leave it to the rich guy sat in front of you to wear a shirt promoting masturbation to a 5-star restaurant.

“Maybe I can get the little Styles a matching one, so they can match with their daddy.” You saw the corner of his mouth twitch at the word; he still was getting used to the idea of being a father in the coming months.

“You’d actually be fine with your newborn child wearing a onesie that says Safe Sex?”

And after a moment’s thought, he didn’t bring the topic up again.

In the month since you found out about the pregnancy, there were many lifestyle changes you inevitably would have to change. For one, you weren’t allowed to stand in front of the microwave anymore, nor could you lay on your stomach, because you might ‘squish’ the baby. You tried to explain to your boyfriend that your child was practically the size of an almond, and laying on your stomach would do it no possible harm, but he wasn’t having any of it.

As if giving up alcohol was bad enough, you were forced to abandon your love for seafood. There was a list of things you could eat in moderation, but you weren’t exactly sure how to eat lobster in moderation.

You also spent an hour crying when you were told you couldn’t eat cookie dough do to the raw eggs.

“Love, you shouldn’t be eating it anyway!”

“It’s fucking good, Harry! Like you would know. The only sweet shit you put near your mouth is my cunt.”

Harry realized very early on that pregnancy, for you, was just a rollercoaster of hormones, and he better strap in for the ride. After he had told you that you had to give up coffee and sushi, you locked yourself in the bathroom while you cried in the bathtub.

“You hate me!”

“I don’t hate you! That stuff just isn’t good for the baby.”

“If it’s my baby, it’ll want it!”

You stayed locked in the bathroom for an hour, and only came out because you forgot there was a new episode of This Is Us. Harry then spent the next thirty minutes online trying to track down a eggless cookie dough recipe he could make, that way you could stop giving him the stink eye from across the room.

He was lucky you didn’t make him sleep on the couch that night.

* June 29, 2019 New York, New York

Tonight was your last night in New York, and you would then spend a week in London before heading out to Canada to enjoy a nice, serene vacation with the Gerber’s. Harry called your little holiday in Muskoka a pre-babymoon, but all you wanted was a vacation. You knew it would be later in the year when his schedule began to pick up, and all of the plans they have been deriving for months would finally be set in motion, so it was not set in stone as to when an actual babymoon could fit in that timeline or not.

“We’ll make something work, love.” Harry bumps his hip out and taps your side. “You’re not due until December; I know we can get away for a week.”

December 20th, to be exact. Harry had his fingers crossed for a Christmas baby, but the last thing you wanted was to spend the holidays overdue, trying to push a small human out of your vagina. If you could have it your way, Christmas would be spent cuddled on the sofa with a cup of hot chocolate, your baby girl – or boy – fast asleep in its My First Christmas onesie, snoozing soundly on your chest. Harry would be off in the corner, taking aesthetic photos of you by the Christmas tree, and maybe he would find himself cuddled into your side for a little family nap.

But that was still six months away.

Harry was off doing a photoshoot for Rolling Stone, so you spent your afternoon back at the hotel with his debit card, buying every stretch mark cream that promised fast results, and ramen from GrubHub. You were also mildly surprised when your child decided it liked your lunch choice and let you digest it properly.

“So, we know you like ramen… I’ll make a note of that.” You smile, giving gentle rubs to your little bump. “I think next we should try some… Oh, dumplings sound good. Think you want some dumplings, little bean?”

And once again, you right back on GrubHub.

“Daddy will be back soon, and then we’ll go back on a plane and be home… Nana said she got you some stuff, so we’ll have to check that out, huh?”

You like to imagine that they’re bundled inside you, nodding along to everything you say. “Well, yes, I would like to check out what Nana got me!” Though, only the size of a lemon, your little, growing human has developed vocal cords, teeth, and even fingerprints.

So far, the pregnancy has been pretty smooth sailing for you. You feel like you spent most of the first trimester asleep or puking, but now you’re finding yourself up and moving, doing the dishes and laundry, vacuuming, and trying to find some time to spend in the bedroom.

The idea of sex while you had a growing fetus taking up your insides, for a lack of better words, freaked the fuck out of you both. Would it hurt? Would it damage anything? Every article you read online sufficed your thoughts, but you wouldn’t let Harry’s penis near you until your OB gave you the green light, and once that green light was lit, the two of you didn’t waste a moment.

You also didn’t really imagine the first time having sex since you two found out you were expecting would result in him calling his mom immediately after. In his defense, you trust Anne, and she’s been through this twice, so she must have all the answers. But, I think the last thing anyone would want is having their boyfriend call their mother after they’ve finished fucking you, to ask if it’s normal for their girlfriend to bleed a little.

“Yes, Harry… a little is normal…”

You texted her a few minutes later to apologize.

“I can’t believe you called your mom.”

“I panicked!”

“I don’t like it when she knows we’ve had sex.”

“Well…you are pregnant…with my child… Had to have m’cock in ya for that to happen.”

Harry didn’t waste any time getting back to the hotel after his shoot, and just like every morning right as he wakes up, he made a beeline to your bump and greeted it with a little kiss. “Hello, little bean. Did ya keep y’mum company today?” And of course, a kiss for you. “Are you all packed? Probably going to leave here in a few—flight leaves in two hours.”

“Yep, and—” You watch as he strolls around the room, picking up his phone charger and tosses it in his bag. His eyes, they were different. They were darker. They— “Eyeliner? They really put you in eyeliner?”

“Oh, yeah.” He grins, throwing on his jacket. “I wanted to get back here, so I didn’t bother taking it off.”

“You look like you belong in a pop punk band that writes songs about how much they hate their hometown but refuse to leave.”

Thirty minutes later, and the three of you were out the door. His driver was parked outside, and felt informed to give a heads up that a group of girls were beginning to form outside the building. This wasn’t your first time, nor would it be your last. At this point, all you could do was shrug your shoulders and carry on. All the times before, they never pay much attention to you, nor have they ever bothered to do so.

You noticed how Harry grew silent on the elevator, and even made the comment, “Stay close to me. Don’t stop for anyone.” You felt that was the baby talking, because the last thing he could imagine happening was lingering outside too long and getting jostled.

Outside the doors, he spotted the driver waiting outside the car door, and he reached his hand back to find yours. “Just stay close. We’ll be quick.”

You could hear the screaming through the glass doors, and once you were outside it was amplified. Girls were shoving, and reaching their arms out as far as they could, trying their best to get that small, brief touch. You kept your hand bound tight with his, your eyes fixated on the ground, and you knew you were only a few feet away from the car, until you felt a sudden, deafening whack across your back, one that sent you flying forward into Harry’s jacket.

Before you could find your footing, you felt a pair of hands tangle and twist itself in your hair, and you were violently thrown back, colliding with a hard blow on the pavement.

You could hear the screaming – much different than from before – and most certainly not from the same person. When you opened your eyes, all you could see were a pair of shoes, but they became closer and closer until you felt the kick strike your stomach, and again to your jaw.

“Get the fuck off of her!”

“Go fucking die, cunt!” Spat.

You didn’t realize you had been shielding your face until you felt a pair of hands reach out, taking your in theirs. You saw a brief glimpse of a cross tattoo, and were swiftly lifted up and settled in the backseat of the car.

Two hours ago, it had a heartbeat. It had told you how much it enjoyed the ramen and dumplings, and how excited it was to hear about the presents its Nana had gotten them. It was only the size of a lemon and had developed teeth and vocal cords and fingerprints. It was close to 3 inches long, and not even a full pound in weight, and now it’s all gone.

There wasn’t going to be a Christmas birthday. You weren’t going to sit on the sofa with a cup of hot chocolate, with your newborn asleep on your chest. There wasn’t going to be photos taken by your boyfriend, ones he would show off to every one of his friends.

All the names would go unused. Meadow Moonbeam, Lily Magnolia, Sunshine Rainbow were all ceased to exist now. There would be no family now, just the two of you.

You listen to the nurse talk, and you watch Harry sit beside you, but you don’t say a word. You stare at the ceiling tiles and count 94, and once you’ve finished you notice she’s still talking, so you recount again, but this time you get 95. Maybe the room is just getting bigger, or you’re just getting smaller.

Harry adjusts himself in his seat and squeezes your hand. When you peak a glimpse over, you notice his eyeliner is now smeared, mostly having been rubbed off, and you can confirm that by the black mark on his hand. He says something to you, and you stare at his lips as he repeats it, but all the worlds fly over your head like the wind.

“Pet,” he says again, and this time you acknowledge him. “We can go. You don’t have to say here.”

You’ve already spoken to the police, given your statement. There wasn’t much of a statement to give, anyway. You didn’t see the person; hell, you weren’t even sure if there was just one. They could have had three heads; you really didn’t know. All you remember is the voice.

“Go fucking die, cunt!”

It wasn’t me who died.

There weren’t much more the nurses could do, at least not now, anyway. The nurse – you think her name was Nancy – said there was a chance you could need a D&C, and she went over the details, but you blocked her out. Harry even excused himself out of the room.

Before she left, she dropped a sonogram photo down on the side of the bed, the last picture you’d ever get of your child.

It’s been two hours, and you’ve not said a word. You reach down to feel your bump, to confirm to yourself it is still there, to make sure it wasn’t taken away from you while you weren’t looking. There wasn’t a heartbeat, but you bump remained untouched.

“Sweetheart, we can go. We don’t have to stay.”

You don’t even realize he’s returned, but he’s standing by the end of your bed, and the moment you notice his red nose – the light sniffle gave it away – you immediately reach out to grab the ultrasound photo, tucking it away at your side.

He keeps saying that, but once you leave, it’s really over. Those few months you had spent lying to your friends and family, keeping your little bump a secret, was all for nothing. It was all done. Finished. There was nothing to come tomorrow. No new development news next week. No waking up to Harry draped over your stomach, leaving a trail of drool on your shirt. No kisses, no change, no baby. It was all back to the beginning now, before you met your baby bean.

But life was different back then, because you hadn’t known what special love it gave you, and now that love has been taken away, and you’re just supposed to find your footing again and carry on like nothing happened. It’s only been two hours, but you don’t believe that’s possible.

You stay at the hospital for an hour more, until it’s been confirmed that you and Harry have another flight, this time at a different airport. Instead of JFK, you would be driving to Queens to leave out of LaGuardia.

“Hun,” you hear him walk around to the other side of the bed, reaching down to grab your shoes. “I love you.”

You can’t turn around, not with the pain still inching all across your abdomen, but you feel the weight shift on the mattress, and all of a sudden, a pair of arms wrap around your chest, pushing you back against his chest. It’s silent for just a moment, until a retching sob expels from the back of his throat, and he lays his head on your shoulder, and all you could feel where his tears drenching your skin.

His hand falls and lands on your bump – still there - and it rests there for a while, softly rubbing little circles back and forth, his way of giving his baby bean one last goodbye. You feel him kiss the inside of your neck, and with another sniff, he steps away, and helps you into your shoes.

The two of you leave out of a back entrance where your vehicle is waiting, and in silence, you sit unmoving. You check once again to make sure your bump hasn’t disappeared.

It’s all you have left.

At LaGuardia, you’re escorted in by security, through another back entrance, and only once does Harry stop to take a couple photos. You stand silently, watching the interaction, and you’re astounded at how calm his demeanor is, where just forty-five minutes ago, he was at the hospital sobbing into your neck. You don’t understand how he could pose and smile – if you can call that a smile – despite having been given the news just hours before that his unborn child is dead.

It sounds vulgar; you hate the word dead, but that’s the reality of it now. It’s not living anymore, and maybe if you say it enough, you’ll stop feeling.

Anything to make the pain stop.

By now, the news has spread about the attack, and it’s all every update account and fan page can talk about. They talk about how they’re grateful you’re okay, how you’re up and walking and seemingly unscathed. As Harry walks back at you, you think you see them take another photo – a quick one, probably blurry – and you realize your hand is still resting on your bump.

Doesn’t matter anyway.

“C’mon, pet. Let’s get home.”

#saaf series #harry styles imagine #miscarriage tw #miscarriage mention #death mention #death tw #one direction imagine #harry styles

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lovingyoubetter · 3 years

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What No-One Will Tell You about your Health

In today's fast-paced life, it's so easy to go about your business like all is well. You assume that just because you got out of bed, paced around the house a few times while getting ready and faced the world YOU ARE A-OKAY. Riggghhht? As long as there are no aches and pains you must be as healthy. You just have to be. What a ******** way of living! (I am not sorry). Do you need to fall ill before you schedule a health check? When last did you visit the dentist? How's your multi-vitamin cabinet looking? Veggies, do you atleast eat your vegetables? What about water?! Uhhh, don't even get me started about the water intake!

You are honestly too old to be living like it's still someone's job to look out for you. At just 25 years of age, you huff and puff (no blowing houses down!) like you're dying after walking up a flight of stairs. Do you feel attacked yet? GOOD! Let's digress for a little bit. Take a look at your smartphone. Your entire life in a shiny box with lights and sounds. It's geared up with a fancy cover and a screen protector to go with it yet you don't practice the same courtesy when it comes to yourself. For instance, you don't even use sunscreen. The good news is that you are still alive and it's never too late to make a change.

Let's dive into some Truths NOBODY mentions about taking charge of your health(physically):

Everything takes practice

It takes consistent practice and dedication to get a new habit to stick. It won't magically become second nature to you in the blink of an eye. You have to make a deliberate decision to change your life for the better and stick with it. I read in The 5AM Club that it takes 21 days to create a habit, then practicing it for 90 days basically makes it part of your lifestyle. This is called the 21/90 rule or system. It works with exercising, clean eating, gratitude journaling and so much more.

It is hard work

If you thought it would happen overnight, it won't. There is no way it can happen overnight. I'm truly (NOT) sorry to burst your bubble. It will be hard. Extremely hard. And then once you think you have it all figured out, it will get even harder. It will take a lot of dedication on your part to make healthy living your second nature if you were anywhere near the opposite end of the spectrum.

Take-outs will always have "that thing"

I know that YOU know exactly what "that thing" is. I know of one or two people who say food from outside keeps calling their name. Pizza, Double Cheese Burger, Fries, Honey-glazed ribs, nuggets with an extra carton of jalapeno dip on the side...Are you drooling yet? STOP IT! Take-outs will always seem more attractive and more juicy than home-cooked food. It's really up to you my darling, to fight that urge and build a resistance. Or even better, invest your time and energy into making delicious, mouth-watering yet HEALTHY meals. A cheat day here and there might be a better alternative for you if you really must indulge.

(See? Home-prepped meals DO NOT have to be boring!)

10 Years from now, you'll thank yourself

Imagine this:

You are in your mid-to-late thirties. Infact, let's make it your forties for emphasis. You're taking a leisurely stroll one afternoon with your significant other and kids, looking healthy, happy and content. You've had your morning boxing session but you're STILL as fresh as a daisy. You both look 25 or something like that, no back aches or muscle pulls whatsoever! You're lively and youthful. Wouldn't that be lovely? Now back to reality -- Do you see that happening for you or you are still 'NOT a morning person' ? Stop robbing yourself of a chance to live your best life! Unless ofcourse one of your bucket-list items reads "Waddle like a sick duck by 35".

Healthy habits can save your life

A majority of the time, people end up in hospital beds as a result of preventable illnesses and diseases. Stuff they actually could have avoided. This of-course excludes COVID-19 and its buddies. That's a whole different ball game. I'm referring to sugar diabetes, cholesterol, obesity...you get the gist of it. Things you could have prevented if you had just went for a walk. One or two hikes maybe? Maybe even a run - - who knows, perhaps you might have liked it. Or, something less drastic like putting down that can of something sweet you normally have after a hearty meal. I see you Sis, out here "rewarding" yourself. I see you!

All other spheres of your life will begin to improve

Speaking from my personal experience, keeping fit and healthy makes me happy and light. I have more energy, more concentration, more focus and I am of-course an all-round happy-chappy. That in-turn makes me a better student, a productive individual, an active mom and a happy-go-lucky partner to my significant other. It's a WIN-WIN situation! I mostly notice the difference if I haven't exercised in a while due to various reasons (exams, childbirth, travelling, etc.) I feel sluggish, heavy and moody, which feeds in to my next point.

Your mood will improve drastically

Science proves that exercise releases some of those cool kids that in turn tell your brain that you are happy. They are called Dopamine, Serotonin, Oxytocin, and Endorphins.

Class is in session:

* Dopamine - motivates you to take action toward your goals and gives you a surge of pleasure once they are achieved. Procrastination, self-doubt, and a lack of enthusiasm are found to exist where there are low levels of dopamine.

* Serotonin - it flows when you feel significant or important. When serotonin is absent, loneliness and depression creep in.

* Oxytocin - is released to create intimacy, trust, and to strengthen relationships.

* Endorphins - are released in when you are experiencing pain and stress, and helps to alleviate anxiety.

Class dismissed.

The more you sweat and the healthier lifestyle choices you make, the happier you become. Easy maths. By taking charge of your health and wellness, you kind of equip yourself with the necessary tools to take on life. It's almost like magic!

You will look amazing (with and without clothes,wink-wink!)

This is a no-brainer. Honestly. Need I say more? I mean who doesn't want to look like a snack on (or off) the platter? PUN ABSOLUTELY INTENDED!

As an added bonus, your skin will begin to reward you as well. It will look healthier, more supple and give off a youthful glow.

Your health is one of those things you absolutely cannot afford to cut corners with. You only get one body to see you through your entire lifetime, do your utmost best to take care of it. While the extent to which you want to revamp your habits is entirely up to you, it would make me delighted to still get to spend virtual time with a healthier, happier you in the future. Love Your Beautiful Body. Tr(EAT) it RIght.

What are some of your go-to health and wellness tips & tricks?

#health #healthyliving #eatwell #lovingyoubetter

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watchathon · 3 years

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12th Day of Christmas

In case you’re finding this post just by browsing the tags I’ve used, this is the Watchathon, a blog where I watch a movie or TV show and then write a review of what I watched.

Right now, I’m doing the 12 Days of Christmas, a 12-day-long Christmas special where each day is a different Christmas movie or special decided by a randomizer.

And today, for the 12th and final Day of Christmas, I’m feeding a much smaller list into the randomizer of my favorite Christmas special (which is severely underrated) or what I believe is the best Christmas special I’ve ever seen (which is technically a movie), while the other one is saved for next year!

Now, you might be thinking, doesn’t this mean I’ll only have two years worth of grand finales to 12 Days of Christmas? ...Well, yes. Yes, it does. *awkward silence*

On the 12th Day of Christmas, the randomizer gave to me~

The best Christmas special (which is to say, movie), The Muppet Christmas Carol! Really, as much as I wanted to give even a microscopic spotlight to an underrated Christmas classic, this feels only fitting considering I’ve covered two other Christmas Carols this year.

I missed out on this one as a kid, which I do kinda regret since I loved the Muppets so much, but watching it for the first time last year really showed me why so many people hold it in such high regard, especially other Muppet fans. And I hope to show you all the same, in the review I give right after watching it again to refresh my memory:

I’ve said a couple times that adaptations of stories told as often as A Christmas Carol need to bring something new to the table as well as doing the story justice. And that’s a goal that this telling accomplishes with aplomb, being surprisingly faithful as well as doing some stuff that makes it better than any other version I’ve seen.

First off, there’s the involvement of the Muppets, something which will appeal to fans such as myself. But it’s not just novelty; having these parts played by such beloved characters can add impact to sad moments. For example, Tiny Tim’s death is always sad, but it hits even harder when it’s Robin the Frog who succumbed to illness.

But even outside of the Muppets, Michael Caine gives quite possibly the best portrayal of Scrooge I’ve ever seen. When he puts off wiping the snow from the grave, holding back tears and begging to know whether he can still change the future, it brings tears to my eyes every time I see it.

He’s certainly the only one I could think of where I really bought the character development. With other adaptations, it feels like Scrooge just suddenly turned into an entirely different person.

And that segues nicely into the topic of what this version does differently, as I brought up at the beginning: For one, this Scrooge does have visible character development, and it’s not just because of Michael Caine’s brilliant performance.

In most versions, the Ghost of Christmas Present will just show Scrooge his nephew and Bob Cratchit’s family, focusing purely on the negative effects that Scrooge’s greed has on those around him. In this version? Scrooge is also shown the magic of Christmas, why people love it so, in the form of a musical number sung by the spirit as well as the people of London.

Then there’s Bean Bunny as the boy who Scrooge asks to buy the turkey at the end, doubling as a poor beggar boy who Scrooge turns away at the beginning, and who spends Christmas Eve freezing on the streets.

It’s a staple of the Christmas Carol story for Scrooge to refuse to donate to charity, but here we see for ourselves someone who that money might’ve gone to, and who Scrooge’s grimness has (albeit indirectly) affected. And again, a moment that hits even harder because it’s a beloved Muppet that we see in that situation.

Getting back to the musical numbers, those are another thing this movie does that add something to the story. They’re all very well-written (I’ve added quite a few of them to my Christmas music playlist) and they contribute to the story.

I’ve touched on what It Feels Like Christmas brings to the table, but then there’s songs like Bless Us All, a gentle song sung by Tiny Tim and family on Christmas morning. Or Thankful Heart, which displays the change Scrooge has gone through better than anything else could.

While we’re on the topic of the songs, that does unfortunately bring us to one of the few negatives: The absence of When Love Is Gone in modern releases. I’ve seen it said that it messed with the pacing of the film and brought it to a screeching halt. But for better or worse, the song is baked into the film.

The background music as Belle is leaving clearly is the lead into a number, but in the version without the song, it simply peters out. Thus leaving Scrooge and Belle’s parting as simply a short exchange before she walks off.

Then there’s the issue of the reprise at the end, When Love Is Found. Without the earlier number for it to be a reprise of, it loses a lot of the effect it’s meant to have. It just serves as a closing number and credits song, rather than yet another display of how Scrooge changed for the better.

*sigh* Why, Katzenberg, why...?

Luckily, the negatives have been found for this song, and it’s to be reinserted in the 4K remaster. Who knows, maybe it’ll be my least favorite song by far. But, the film will be complete again. It won’t just awkwardly be missing a scene.

I could go on all day about why this film is so great, but I get the feeling that this post is on the long side already. Needless to say, I highly recommend it to anyone who hasn’t seen it yet. And I recommend a rewatch for those who have.

#Christmas #12 Days of Christmas #The Muppet Christmas Carol #long post

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meetthemoosemonster · 4 years

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Glowing Eyes and Shimmering Scales

Introducing: Layla, Sam, Lonna, Jay, and a fuck ton of other side characters, places, and organizations that i didnt really explain, but im to lazy to write something that will explain everything, which will become relevant in the future! Maybe! If I summon the will to write!

also, sorry that I don't post consistently at all, but I hope you enjoy the writing, under the cut.

This is probably going to be a part one for a certain chain of events, and then ill disapear for months agian, so sorry ahead of time, lol.

Tw: abusive parents, torture, emotional breakdowns

Layla's wings flapped as she landed on the training area platform, and saw the instructor stride up to her, looking concerned.

“Layla, you have to leave. Your father is coming, and what he's bringing is not suitable for you to see.”

“Come on Lonna, can’t I stay? I'm going to be of age soon, I need to know what Kron is dealing with.”

“May i remind you that you are not of age yet, and the king still has control over you. Please go back to the cave, its safer there.” Lonna pleaded, fear lighting up her eyes.

“Ok, fine.” Layla grumbled, and started to shift into a dragon in order to get across the castle quickly. But just as she started to flap her wings, a thud was heard behind her, followed by shouts and faint whimpers. Which sounded familiar. Layla turned around to look back at the platform, and saw Sam laying on the ground, shackled, bleeding and shaking violently as the guards sent shocks through his body with wires attached to his temples. Next to him, her father stood, glaring at the child on the ground.

“S-Sam?” Layla could barely breathe, stopped in her tracks as she saw what was happening to Sam only a few feet away. Lonna started to push Layla away, trying to get her to leave, but the king looked up anyway.

“Layla? What in the hell are you doing here?” Laylas fathers voice boomed as he advanced upon Lonna and Layla. “I told you to make sure she wasn't here? You will regret this.”

“O-ok your highness, I'm sorry, I should have-” Lonna stuttered, shaking in fear.

“Dad? What the hell is happening? What are you doing to Sam? Is this why you never tell me shit? Because you're torturing him? Is this-” Layla was cut off by the kings tail slapping her across her face. The tip of his tail scratched at the skin around her eye, leaving blood to trickle down her cheek. She could hear Lonna gasp as the sound of the slap echoed around the training platforms walls.

“Don't speak of things you'll never understand.” the king growled. Layla just stared at him in shock, holding her cheek. He turned to Lonna, who was trying to not glare at him “Why is she still here? I thought I told you to make sure she was long gone.”

“Oh! U-um, I'm- I'm sorry your highness. She came late, and I didn't have time to make sure she had left before you got here.” At the shaky words of Lonna, the king turned to his daughter. “And why were you late?”

“I-I,” Layla was shaking. She was still clutching her cheek and eye, her mind reeling. She knew that her dad had just hit her. She never thought he would go that far. She started thinking about the time that Jay had come back to the cave with a swollen cheek. Anger flared in her chest, her fists tightened, and her skin turned scaly. Her nails grew longer and sharper and cut into her palms. “Did you hit Jay too? How much do I not know about you? And what the HELL are you doing to Sam?” Layla was still shaking, but now she was angry.

“He is a prisoner, and he is treated accordingly. You have no business questioning my authority.” The King returned her glare, then snarled. “You need to leave. Lonna, Make sure she goes to the cave, and doesn't leave. We will talk about this later. Remember, you aren't queen yet Layla. Not for a long time. If I have to correct you all the time, there will be consequences.” Layla started shaking from fear at the word ‘consequences’. Lonna grabbed Layla's arm, and started to pull her away. Layla looked back at her dad as he turned around and advanced on Sam. Sam looked over at Layla in the midst of his pain, and they locked eyes. Layla tried to give Sam a look, hoping Sam would understand what she meant. Sam nodded everso slightly before being shocked back into the torture. Lonna made sure Layla was turned around before she could see Sam again, and they both jumped off the cliff, transforming into their dragon forms in midair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they reached the cave where Layla, and her little sister, Jay lived, Layla turned back to her human form right before she landed, and Lonna shook her head at the young girl. Usually Layla would have done a flip, or rolled her eyes at Lonnas disapproval, but her eyes were still red, tears ready to fall from her eyes. Once she noticed Lonna looking concerned at her, Layla wiped the tears and blood away, and shook her head, trying to return to normal.

“Oh honey,” Lonna said, and hugged Layla. “I'm so sorry you had to see that. You are ok, right? He didn't hurt you too bad?” Layla remembered her cheek and eye, and felt it throbbing again.

“Oh, I guess I forgot. I’m ok Lonna, I swear, stop worrying about everything, god.” Layla tried to cover up her choked voice with teenage annoyance. But Lonna saw right through it.

“Come on honey, let's get you inside, and take a look at your cheek.” The two of them walked into the cave, and Lonna had Layla sit down on the couch in her room. She started to take care of the swollen skin, grabbing a box of magical ointments from the kitchen. Lonna started to hum childrens songs about ghost stories and dragon legends and such and Layla started to close her eyes and drift off to sleep. But then she heard her sister land on the ledge, and run through the door.

“You won't believe what Mica got me!” Jay ran into Laylas room, a wide smile across her face, but it faded when she saw Layla. Layla sat up. “Oh no, are you ok?”

“Yeah, im ok Jay, dont worry about it, training just got a little too aggressive today, that's all.” Jay gave her a weird look.

“Ok, if you say so. Anyway, look at the necklace Mica got me!”

“OoooOh, so Micas giving you necklaces now. It's almost like your, um, DATING?” Layla fake gasped, and started laughing with Jay. Lonna smiled, but then got serious.

“Jay, you have to be careful, you know your dad doesn't want you dating a citizen, much less Mica.”

“I Know, he wont find out, it's all good. Please, just let me have this Lonna?” Lonna nodded, but still looked worried. Jay continued to talk about her day with Mica, and after a while, layla zoned out, and began making a list in her head of the things she would need, and her plan to get Sam out, and FAR away. Shed never really liked him, but she couldn’t let him suffer like that, not now that she knew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night, Layla was packing her bag, going through the list she had come up with earlier.

“Ok, i've got a change of clothes for me, and for Sam, warmer clothes for when it gets cold at night, the straps and blankets for my back that sam can stay on, blankets for when we sleep, enough food for 2 weeks, a water filter, some matches for Sam, and a map. I think that's everything-” Layla stopped when she heard Lonna in the doorway. She threw the bag under her bed quickly, then looked up to see that Lonna had been there the entire time.

“Don't worry, i won't tell your dad, or anyone else, i promise.” Lonna said before Layla could even open her mouth. “Take it from someone with a history of running away, don't expect that anything will go as planned, make sure you have something from the people you're leaving behind.” Lonna threw a necklace over to Layla, who caught it, then turned it over in her hand. “It's a scale from each person in your family. Jay, Me, Mica, Nao, your mom, and your dad. And one of your scales too. I thought you might want to have something to have from us when you're gone.”

“No, I can't take this, I'll be back right away, I just need to get Sam out, I'll be back before they even realize what happened, so you should keep it.” Layla held out the necklace for Lonna to take, but she just shook her head.

“Even so, keep it. I made it for you. regardless of whether you leave or not, I want you to have it.” Lonna smiled sadly at Layla. Layla looked down at the necklace as the six scales shimmered and clinked together.

“Ok, I guess I’ll keep it, but I'll be right back, seriously.”

“Ok honey, just be safe for me, ok? Promise me that you'll be safe. And give me a hug before you go.” Layla nodded, and hugged Lonna tight.

“I promise, I'll be safe. And thank you Lonna, thank you for everything.” Layla felt Lonna nod, and tighten her grip before finally releasing.

“Is there anything you want me to tell Jay? Just in case I mean?”

“Um, I actually wrote her a note already. Can you give it to her if i don't come back?”

“Of course honey, I'll give it to her.” Layla handed the folded up piece of paper to lonna, and then clasped the necklace around her neck.

“I'm going to go hang out with Jay now, bye, I love-” Layla stopped herself, but then noticed that Lonnas eyes were tearing up, and she was looking at her so tenderly. “Um, I love you Lonna. Thank you for basically being me and Jay's mom when Mom died. And sorry for all the times I messed up, I know I'm kinda a lot.”

“Oh baby, you're not a lot, it's an honor to be your step in mom for you and Jay. I love you too honey, come here.” Lonna hugged Layla again, and Layla hugged back. They stayed like that for a while, then Lonna let go, and wiped the tears off her face. “Ok, go say bye to your sister kiddo, and remember, i love you.” Lonna walked out of the room and went to the kitchen.

Layla took a deep breath before going into her sisters room. She listened to Jay talk about the karaoke date that she was planning for her and Mica for their anniversary, the big test she had coming up next week, and her concert.

“Hey, you'll be there, right? Dad obviously doesn't want to go, you know how he is with that stuff, it's next weekend, and you don't have training that day, so you'll be there?” Jay looked at Layla. Layla's breath caught, and her heart dropped down to her stomach.

“Oh,...um, yeah, i'll be there.” Layla tried to remind herself that she would be back before the concert, she would be right back. There was no reason to worry.

“Awesome! We sound really cool, we've been working on this set for a couple months now, it's not easy AT ALL.”Jay looked over to see her sister looking like she would throw up. “Hey, you sure you're ok? You've been acting weird ever since you got home, and so has Lonna.”

“Oh, it's ok Jay, I'm fine, just tired, long day, you know how it is.” Layla yawned, trying to act tired.

“...Ok, if you say so, but somethings up, I know it. You don't have to tell me, but somethings up.” Jay hugged Layla. “Hey, whatever is happening, please just be careful, you know how dad is.”

Layla chuckled. “Yeah, I know, don’t worry about it.” Layla hugged Jay back. “I love you, you know that right?”

“Yeah. I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eventually Jay had fallen asleep in Layla's arms, and Lonna came and stood in the doorway and whispered, “You should go now, I'll make sure she's safe.” Layla nodded, and gently moved her little sister off of her, and under the blankets. She kissed Jay's head, hugged Lonna again, and slung the straps with the bags and blankets attached across her body. Once she was outside she took a deep breath and then jumped silently off the ledge, wings sprouting from her back, scales raising across her skin, claws growing from her fingers, and her tail slicing through the air. She felt the straps slide into place as she turned. She began gliding silently toward the dungeons, hoping that Sam had used Sight to see the plan she had written down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the dungeon Sam was shivering in the corner. He dug his fingernails into his palms hard, and his eyes began to glow white as a vision triggered.

The wind was roaring past his head, and he heard the flapping of wings. Panicked he looked around, expecting to see the king. Instead he saw the mountains in the distance, and bursts of light coming from Layla's mouth as she breathed fire for warmth. He noticed he was sitting on the dragons back, on top of blankets, and surrounded by a couple bags of supplies. He looked behind him, and saw the Gorge and castle falling away behind them as the distance grew. Sam started to turn back around, but his vision flared white, then black.

Sam returned to the dark, damp cell, his heart beating fast.

“It's ok, you're ok, you're getting out.” Sam whispered to himself trying to calm down after the vision. He would panic after even good visions because of how defenseless he was after them. “At least I was able to control it today. I didn't See until I wanted to, which is progress.”

“Yes, it is” Sam jumped when he heard someone else whisper next to him. A burst of orange fire sparked near his head, illuminating the cell with dim light for a second before it died out. Sam saw Layla's face before the light faded.

“Oh, Layla, you scared the shit outta me. Are we going now?”

“Yeah, come on, the guards are sleeping, but now for long, we have to go right now.”

“Ok, cool.” Once they had escaped the dungeons, Layla turned back into a dragon, and Sam climbed on her back and sat down on the blankets.

“I packed you some new clothes in the green bag, and some food and water that you can eat, cause I bet you're hungry.” Layla growled to the best of her ability in dragon form.

“Oh, you think?” Sam immediately started rifling through the bag, pulling out the clothes, and a container of food. “Thanks dude, I owe you one.” Layla just snorted, and took off, causing Sam to get jolted back, and nearly drop the clothes and food. “Hey! Warn a person, for the love of Sight Layla.” Sam changed into the new clothes, ate a sandwich, and drank some water. He saw his vision carry out in real life, and breathed a sigh of relief. Eventually he patted Layla's neck, then tied himself down so he wouldn't fall off, and went to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a long day of flying non stop, avoiding all towns and traces of dragons as to not be seen, Layla eventually reached the forest that bordered Kron and Verlorn. She landed in the forest, and let Sam get off her back before she transformed back to human form.

“Hey, Sam, we're going to rest here for a bit, then you can go off on your own to Verlorn and meet up with the travelers there, they should be able to help you. I'll see you to the border, then make my way back to the Gorge. It'll only be two days, so hopefully my dad will think that i just needed a break and went to the woods for a bit.” Layla started to take off the straps and bags, and started to set up a little lean-to for her to sleep under for a bit.

“Wait, hold up dude.” Sam was looking at Layla, concern etched across his face. ‘Your telling me that you think you can go back? He hit you! And he’ll do it again. You can't go back, it's so obvious that you got me out, if you go back, you'll be killed, 100 percent.” Layla looked at Sam, starting to panic. “Even Lonna told me to make sure you make it to the Resistance base in Verlorn, she said that you had to get out and stop your dad? You didn't know?”

“L-Lonna? But- But she wouldn't do that. She couldn't.” Layla was hyperventilating. She looked down at her necklace, and grabbed lonnas scale remembering what lonna had said to her before she left. “Is that why?”

“I'll take that as a no…”

“I-...I have to go back, i have to go back, right now. He- he wouldn’t hurt me again, he cares. Yeah, he gets angry sometimes, but that-” Layla's eyes filled with tears, and she felt like she was being punched in the gut.

“And I thought I had issues, my god. Dude, he doesn't care about you, he's kinda evil if you didn't notice? How do you not see that?” Layla didn't even look at him, but her breathing got more rapid.

”I have to go back, I want to go back. I can't leave him, I can't leave them.” Layla was full out sobbing now, hunched over as if her stomach hurt, and to be honest, it did. “Oh no, Jay, i cant- i cant- I have to go back, i can't leave her, i promised her, I PROMISED HER. I can't just leave. Oh my god, no, nononononono. I have to go back, i have to go back now.” Layla forced herself to stand up straight, and began to walk toward a clearing so she could fly back. Sam ran in front of her, and grabbed her arms.

“You can't go, he’ll kill you Layla. We have to find my brother, then we’ll be safe.” Layla started to push past him, still sobbing, but he wrapped his arms around her. Almost immediately Layla sunk to the ground, sobbing and screaming.

“I have to go back, i have to, i should have never left, it wasnt supposed to go like this, this wasnt the plan, THIS WASNT THE FUCKING PLAN.”

“I know, but you can't go back.” Sam looked around, unsure how to deal with the situation. “Layla, do you trust Lonna? She seemed to care about you alot, she wouldn't let you do something that she didn't think you needed to do.” Layla was still sobbing on the ground, whispering ‘i have to go back’ under her breath over and over again. Eventually she nodded a little, but then closed her eyes. Sam held her for a while, before getting her to move under the lean-to, and wrapped her in a blanket. Layla drifted off to sleep, exhausted, and Sam just stood watch, occasionally looking over at Layla, worried, and confused at her response.

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lyricfulloflight · 5 years

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Rumour Has It: Part 2

A modern Cherik AU, powered, university setting.

If you haven’t read part one, here is a link:

https://lyricfulloflight.tumblr.com/post/188224206227/rumour-has-it

Tagging @gold-from-straw because she kindly asked to be tagged if I kept going. If anyone else wants to be tagged for future additions, let me know!

I will be focusing on my long WIP for the next little bit, so I don’t expect to update this ficlet series for at least a week - fair warning.

Rumour Has It - Part 2

Erik sat in his seat and groaned. He could not believe that Professor Garcia was going torture them this way. Group work. How could he do this? Erik had actually been enjoying this class until two minutes ago. Professor Garcia wasn’t a mutant, but he was married to one and had a mutant child, so he was very much aware of the struggles of mutants in society and was relatively sensitive in how he approached the topics covered in class. He also openly encouraged debate, which made class lively and far more interesting than it would have been in a traditional lecture format. But this, this was cruel.

“I am assigning everyone a random partner. And yes, before you all jump down my throat, the selections were totally random, I used a computer program. Your pairings are final. You will not change partners, I don’t care how much to plead with me about it. You will work on this assignment – together – for the rest of the year. It accounts for thirty percent of your grade, so this is not to be taken lightly. The list of pairings is right here -” Professor Garcia held up one sheet of paper, “and I will post it up front at the end of this class. Now, let’s talk about the Identification Act of 1985...”

Erik spent the rest of the class half listening to the professor and half absorbed in glancing around to look at all his classmates to try and figure out who would be the worst person to be paired up with. There were half a dozen humans in the class who had apparently signed up just to give speeches about how dangerous mutants were and how identification and separation was “essential for national security”. Erik wasn’t sure he could work on an assignment with one of them without it leading to him punching one of them in their smug human face. Otherwise, Erik figured one classmate was pretty much the same as any other. Regardless of who he was paired with, Erik refused to let this stupid group project bring down his grade point average.

The class ended with a rush of students clamoring to the front of the class to get a look at the list of student pairings. Erik sat at his spot and slowly loaded his notes into his backpack. There wasn’t any reason to rush – the list would still be there in five minutes when the crowd cleared, or his partner would find him before he even had to get up and look.

With his head bent over zipping up his bag, the first thing Erik heard was someone clearing their throat.

“Hello. I believe we’re partners.” Said a crisp British voice.

Erik leaned back slowly, something like dread curling in his stomach. He looked up at the man in front of him and found himself looking into the impossibly blue eyes of one Charles Xavier.

“You are Erik Lehnsherr, yes?”

“Yeah.” Erik spoke, determined to react normally – surely it couldn’t that bad to have been paired up with the most promiscuous man on campus. “That’s me.”

“I’m Charles, Charles Xavier.”

Charles held out his hand and Erik found himself reaching out, and having his hand grasped in a surprisingly firm grip.

“I think it best if we meet to talk about the assignment as soon as possible.” Charles continued. “I have to admit my schedule is quite full and it may be difficult for me to arrange time to meet with you if we don’t plan ahead.”

Erik bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making some sort of snarky comment about Charles ‘schedule’, which the majority of the university seemed to think involved enough sex for about three healthy young men, and instead nodded in agreement.

“I don’t have class until later this afternoon. We could go to the library now and sort something out, maybe pick our first topic from the list Garcia gave out?” Erik suggested.

“Excellent. I have about an hour before my next commitment.”

Erik found himself walking about a step behind Charles as they exited the classroom. Xavier was a startling fast walker and even though Erik had a good five inches on him at least, he found he had to consciously keep himself from falling behind the shorter man.

He was so focused on lengthening his stride to keep up with Charles, he almost ran right into him when the other man stopped abruptly only a few meters outside the humanities building.

“Found a new fuck, have we Charlie?” Sebastian Shaw’s voice dripped with contempt.

“If you’ll excuse us Sebastian, we were headed to the library.” Charles said blandly, head held high.

“You know he’ll have sex with anything that breathes, right Lehnsherr? If you want to join his pussy footed little Mutant Human Alliance, you don’t have to sleep with him, even though everyone knows he’s slept with the entire group.”

Erik glared at Sebastian but said nothing – there was nothing to say to his baseless accusations.

“Fine.” Sebastian shrugged. “Just wrap it up – who’s know what diseases Charlie has by now.”

Sebastian cackled as he walked away, waving his fingers in a jaunty fashion as if he was saying goodbye to a couple friends, not two people he’d just insulted.

Charles didn’t spare a second to look back at Sebastian, he simply soldiered on and Erik followed him in silence until they found an empty study room at the library.

“Does he do that a lot?” Erik asked.

“Hmm, what?” Charles frowned, apparently confused by Erik’s question.

“Shaw – does he go around saying shit about you all the time?”

“Oh, that.” Charles waved a hand dismissively. “Sebastian doesn’t like the fact that I run a Mutant Human Alliance – it clashes far too much with his ‘Brotherhood’ and their belief in mutant superiority. He likes to try to get back at me with petty insults.”

“He’s an asshole.” Erik grumbled. “And his ‘Brotherhood’ is practically a terrorist organization – their blog has a list of all the human politicians they’d like to ‘eliminate’.”

“I’m aware.” Charles sighed. “I feel the less attention I give Sebastian and his efforts, the better. Now, the assignment – was there a particular piece of legislation you wanted to look into first?”

Erik let his desire to dig into Sebastian’s insults about Charles’ sex life drop. It wasn’t really any of his business.

Working with Charles was nothing like Erik had thought it might be. Charles did not flirt – he didn’t so much as bat his eyelashes. He was completely professional and focused the entire hour they’d spent in the library.

It only took about five minutes for it to become clear that Charles was incredibly intelligent and well versed in mutant legislation. He also wasn’t afraid to voice his opinions, or disagree with Erik. They both agreed they wanted to pick the broad topic of ‘Mutant Identification and Suppression in the Education System’, but spent a good fifteen minutes arguing over which specific piece of legislation to analyze first.

Erik was impressed. A lot of people, well most people actually, backed down in the face of Erik’s tirades, but not Charles. In fact, he hadn’t missed a beat – he was ready with a calm rebuttal to every argument Erik offered. Erik finally, after much back and forth with Charles, compromised by agreeing to start with Charles’ top choice (the Dangerous Mutant Identification Act of 1999), but only after Charles explicitly agreed to end with Erik’s top choice (the Mutant Segregation Bill of 1961).

The meeting ended with a quick check of their schedules and a plan to meet every Tuesday for a brief face to face chat after class and to have a longer collaborative work session every Saturday morning.

Erik walked home feeling unexpectedly happy about the whole thing. It seemed that working with Charles was going to be fine, even if he was nothing at all like Erik had expected.

One might think a man described as the biggest slut on campus would look a certain way. Sean had asked if Xavier was pretty and… he was so much more than that, and yet also, strangely less. Today, he’d been wearing an oversized knit sweater, the type you might see a fisherman wear to keep out the cold, paired with rather ill-fitting corduroy pants. The entire ensemble did absolutely nothing to highlight Charles’ body; clearly he had a body somewhere under all that fabric, but Erik couldn’t have told you if he was thin, muscular, pudgy, or somewhere in between. Despite his complete lack of fashion sense, Xavier’s face more than made up for his clothing choices. His face… his face was achingly handsome. It wasn’t quite pretty, not with its slightly too large nose and the freckles, but it was somehow better because of its flaws.

No, Charles Xavier wasn’t pretty. But damn if Erik was going to tell Sean that Charles’ eyes practically glowed when he was talking about something that got him excited, or that his lips looked just as impossibly red up close as they did from across the room, or that he cheeks flushed an enchanting shade of pink when Erik had teased him about how many books he’d had stuff in his book bag. Erik wasn’t going to share any of that with Sean. Sean’s head would probably explode from excitement from the knowledge that Erik had been within five feet of the infamous Charles Xavier.

No, Erik thought, he’d just keep his newfound knowledge of Charles to himself. No need to add fuel to the already raging inferno that was the Charles Xavier rumour mill. How difficult could it possibly be to keep one little secret from his freshmen roommate?

#cherik #cherik fic #rumour has it #cherik univeristy au #lyric writes #lyric writes too many cherik fics at once #part 2

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the-moon-at-zenith · 4 years

Text

‘in 5-10 years I will have ...’ or a happiness potion

TL;DR

Being happy is a state which is more or less the same for everyone: feeling you belong and knowing you’re fulfilled. Happiness is not about tricking yourself into believing that shit is the fairytale you’ve always dreamed to live in. Seek help. Get out of that dark place.

Achievements can’t make the state of happiness last as it gradually fades away all the time, so the race never stops. Being happy and being perceived happy & successful from aside are not the same thing.

Happiness is not achieved but nurtured. That means you do things that you BOTH can enjoy right now AND will enjoy to have done in the past when you look at today from the future’s perspective.

Still, having too many things on your hands can take the enjoyment away, so that’s the balance point for you.

(And I’m not saying that’s gonna be easy. I mean, like every science, potion making is both an art and a skill, which boils down to practice.)

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

Now let me blabber.

A student of mine asked me what I thought the sense of being was. Now, as a person who’d experienced 10 years of suffering from depression (and not having a clue about it as it often happens), I’d say that even a year ago this question would have shredded me into pieces. For somebody as lost as I used to be, thinking about it is a special kind of torture.

But now I think I got the answer for myself, which I still needed to dwell upon a bit in order to come to some sort of a point that makes sense without any but’s.

Let’s start with an initial trivial but still pretty sane idea: the sense of being is to be happy.

Now, what does ‘happy’ even mean? It’s not really a goal, is it? There are things that make us happy, and those vary from person to person. But being happy is a state which is more or less the same for everyone. Being happy is feeling you belong to the place, job, friends, partners, family, activities, etc. To yourself even. It’s knowing you’re fulfilled.

The trick here is to ask the right question. The usual question is,

“What makes me happy?”

I sure can say watching cats do silly stuff makes me happy. I’m even sure it’s gonna make me happy in ten year’s time as well. Unless that’s all I ever do.

Now it’s time for a secret ingredient: time. A long-term perspective (which I usually suck at, there, I said it). As dreadful as it might seem, the right question might be,

“If I fast-forward to myself 5-10 years from now, what do present_I want the future_I to have accomplished?”

I don’t like it, either. Is it the achievers’ attitude that sounds so off to me? In the course of therapy, I adopted the ‘little steps’ approach, which really helped me not to feel I was a complete failure at life.

Comparing yourself to others is usually a big deal for a person with a mental illness, especially if the disease struck in your teens. Everyone around you has some aspirations, dreams, ambitions, they seem so put together while in the best case scenario you just don’t want anything and are called lazy, advised to go to the gym or start meditating, or find a partner, or some other nonsense. Understanding and embracing that I was not a failure but an ill individual was relieving.

Next step was to accept that my worth did no longer depend on a list of achievements. I actually had quite an impressive one, my mom was proud. The problem there was that I really just felt nothing about it. I couldn’t care less, tbh. And that’s when I realized that I’d been fed bullshit all. that. time.

I don’t want to think of my happiness as of something perceived happy and successful from aside.

Coming back to the question, I wouldn’t at all be happy with the “I'll have bought a car/a flat” perspective cos it's not about my growth as a person. It’s about working my ass off and having a two-week holiday which I’m not even able to enjoy (depression at the mic here because I’d definitely be depressed af if I had to pull that shit off. again.)

I mean, it would definitely feel great to have my own apartment. No more thinking about rent, at least. But being a millennial in a post-soviet country? Ha-ha-ha! No, thanks, I don’t want to have literally anything to do with that mortgage thing and stuff alike.

Regards to achievements, you might know from your own experience that however happy you are about some event or success in your life, it fades away. Obviously, happiness is never something constant or forever lasting once achieved. It’s not even achieved, it’s nurtured.

And I don’t mean it in a ‘change your attitude’ way. Sometimes (more often than not, actually), shit is shit, however you call it, so trying to make yourself think of it as if it were unicorn’s rainbow glitter poop doesn’t make it any less shitty than it is. The best way to deal with that is going away from the shit source as far as possible. As they say, if you can’t run, walk, can’t walk - then crawl, can’t crawl - lie in the chosen direction.

It’s not only about mental illnesses. Seek help, that’s the best advice I can give, I guess. I’m not a psychotherapist myself, so off to the point. (Almost, sorry. I’m trying to be cohesive and coherent.)

What I really mean by saying that happiness is nurtured is that the perfect mix is having in mind both today and tomorrow. And 5-10 years later (maybe).

Okay, this is a ‘one year and a half in remission’ me talking. 10 years were literally stolen from me. It hasn’t made me stronger or better, I could’ve lived happily without this experience. But it is as it is, and I can’t change it. What I do have in my hands though is today and tomorrow. Something that will have become my new past. I want to feel good about my past for a change, so I’m gonna create one I’ll be happy with.

That first brought me to the point where I’d dived into everything all at once (it’s a trap of initial recovery, especially after having lived years as a walking dead). I’d been so thirsty for life I couldn’t remember to have had that I tried to have my fingers in all pies possible. Which resulted in me feeling like a newbie equilibrist trying to juggle three apples, five lit up torches and a living tiger while on a monocycle balancing on a rope hung 20 meters above a bottomless pit without a safe net. And genuinely expecting to pull it off. No kidding.

That said, the change you might bring into your life doesn't have to be extreme and all-or-nothing because there's a danger of finding yourself being so overanxious about balancing everything out that you actually forget to enjoy it. And it might just mess you up psychologically.

So, it’s time for another secret ingredient!

Let’s face it, the world might end all at once with no final warning. So, while having some plans for the future, enjoy yourself right here and right now in a way that also corresponds to your global values, self-image, aspirations and dreams.

Now, The Ultimate Question to ask yourself:

“If I fast-forward to myself 5-10 years from now, what do present_I want the future_I to have lived like through that time?” What will make me feel good about myself? The beauty of that question is in the fact that it takes now into account.

That question makes me stick to things and habits that actually do me good. Stick to activities that bring me not closer but into the 'happy and fulfilled (almost) every day' version of me rather than the 'I wish I'd spent all that time differently but now it's too late to catch up' version.

Happiness is everyday magick. Might not look astonishing and flashy at first sight but it actually pays off in the ways you sometimes can’t even imagine. I mean, even two years ago I couldn’t. I used to think happiness was a disease. Until I found out it’s a drug but that’s another story.

Take proper care of yourself, you, the hero who made it this far through this horrifyingly long entry.

#the ultimate question of life the universe and everything #potion making #witches of tumblr #witch #witches get depressed too #also there are unicorns #potion #little steps #happiness #success #overachiever #sense of being #depression #mental disorder #mental illness #potions

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ivyfics · 4 years

Text

With Me - Chap 5

Even as an alive person, Tetsurou wasn’t easy to live with. He knows that much at least, fleeting memories of frustration and roommate agreements floating around his head.

Not much has improved with him as a not-alive person either.

Read on AO3

Pairing: KuroTsuki Rating: M Chaps: 5/? (May change in the future) Additional Tags: Ghost!Kuroo, Haunted!Tsukishima, Tiniest bit of crack, Future angst.

PREVIOUS CHAP - NEXT CHAP - INDEX

“You are not walking out that door wearing that. Absolutely not.” Tetsurou floats, hands on his hips. Works on learning how to give someone the evil eye.

“Can you hear that?” Kei pauses, hand stilling where he’s tying his shoes. He tilts his head to the side and closes his eyes straining to hear. “It’s me, not caring.”

Kuroo is used to Kei being an absolute little shit by now, so he only scoffs. “You have such a nice ass and you waste it��squander it!–on ill-fitting garments. What has your ass ever done to you? Don’t you fucking grab those shoes!”

Kei pointedly ignores him, sliding his feet in, retying his already perfectly secure shoelaces. He’s a bunny-ears type of guy and it makes it worse for Kei to be ignoring him on purpose while making bunny ears with his laces.

Tetsurou shimmers close, unties the other one side, and starts tying it again, no bunny ears on sight. Kei tries to bat at him. “Don’t micromanage me. Go away!”

Tetsurou swerves before Kei can make contact and when he’s a safe distance away from Kei’s long arms, he pulls on the end of the hoodie’s string until it’s uneven.

Tetsurou hates that thing. Loathes it. “I’ll burn that thing!”

“Excuse me!?” Kei tightens the knot with deliberate force. “I get no respect in this house. This is my place! I pay rent!”

That feels like an unfair shot, Tetsurou has never had to pay rent because he doesn’t live here (Or at all, really.) “Yeah, well, I was here first.”

“You bitch.”

“Asshat.”

Kei’s alarm goes off and he pulls himself away from their squabble. “I’m going to be late today.”

Wednesdays are study group sessions for Kei. He gets home and immediately dives into bed until Tetsurou pesters him to at least change into pajamas. On the days where he’s especially annoying, he might get Kei to have a snack before bed. “Play nice with your study group. Take off your earphones once in a while, talk to another human being.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you later.”

“Don’t forget to eat if it’s getting late. Have a power break. Keep hydrated!”

“Yes, Mom. ” Kei walks away, middle finger high in the air.

Tetsurou doesn’t know it yet, but he started a war that day.

Even as an alive person, Tetsurou wasn’t easy to live with. He knows that much at least, fleeting memories of frustration and roommate agreements floating around his head.

Not much has improved with him as a not-alive person either. He’s nosy and too loud sometimes, he doesn’t hold his thoughts when he should. It’s not surprising that there are, occasionally, consequences to him being himself.

But this? This is going over the line.

Kei’s made a game of it, after their little spat last week. He’s turned it into slow, drawn-out torture. Taken all of the minuscule malice that lives in his gigantic body and poured it into the most miserable punishment.

Kei walks out of the bathroom already dressed. He comes out and stands, just stands, hands in his pockets, and manufactured aloofness radiating from his every pore.

Kuroo stills.

He looks once, twice, and gasps. “I don’t hate it. I don’t hate you in that. This is a mistake.”

There’s glee somewhere in Kei's expression. Hidden underneath all those layers of smugness and superiority, Kei is happy Tetsurou likes how he looks, he’s sure of it.

Maybe.

Maybe Tetsurou has finally lost the last marble he didn’t know he still had.

Kei is wearing what Tetsurou would consider the most obnoxious bright yellow tracksuit and he looks… so fucking good. Like Good good.

Like ‘Tetsurou might have tried to pick him up in a past life’ good. It’s slouchy and baggy and cool, somehow, matching to a tee with Kei’s pre-sleep vibe. The one that makes his eyes heavy and half-lidden and his expression slack. His limbs are leaden heavy and every move is set half a step slower.

It makes Tetsurou feel weird. Fizzy. He doesn’t know how to cope with it. “I’m sick.”

“You’re not sick,” Kei fires back. “You’re a ghost, you can’t get sick”

Tetsurou stammers. He feels off and Kei makes something inside him turn. He doesn't like turning, wants no part of it, no siree. He’s sick . “Oh, how do you know that, Mr.Ghost-Expert?”

“Can you get sick?” Kei's tone is mockingly bland.

“I don't know. What if this is ghost sick? Could I re-die? Like dead but a deeper level of dead.”

Kei’s eyes go nearly white with his exaggerated eye roll. Tetsurou half wants to smack him and half wants to run away and hide in between the walls for thirteen eons.

Kei gets home late one evening, walks in, drops everything, and stands in the middle of this kitchen. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Do you have to?“ Kei pleads. “Is there nothing else you could do?”

Tetsurou doesn’t pay attention to him at all, engrossed in his show.“What?"

"Kuroo."

Kei’s tone has him turning to see him.

Ah.

Tetsurou shrugs. “Pretend I am a cat. Accept my quirks with grace and a little loss of dignity.”

Kei closes his eyes, defeated, for a moment. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again.“Cats don’t crawl on walls.”

Tetsurou doesn’t move from his perch on the wall beside the window. “Only because of physics.”

“I could have lived somewhere else. Rented the other apartment. It smelled like mothballs, old pizza, and weed.”

“Uh-huh.”

Kei carries on, voice warping with his trek to the bedroom. “‘ This one is cheaper ’, I said. ‘ What’s a little ghost now and again’ , I thought?”

Tetsurou lets him be. “Fucked yourself over with that one my friend. Ghost time is all the time.”

Rain, this far up, is soundless. A soft cushion from the everyday noises that reach them from the outside, a barrier sprinkling from the sky. Rain falls.

Storms rage. They are loud winds beating against the side of buildings, announcing their violence with gusts like fists that carry darts of raindrops and shuddering cries of thunder. Unignorable.

Alive.

Tetsurou sighs, contented. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

The storm hasn’t disturbed Kei’s reading against the couch. He’s one of those people who shift, hasn’t been able to be still in one place while devouring pages. He started on the couch, sitting against the arm. He’s on the floor now, sitting with his legs crossed on the second-hand rug his brother sent him in the mail. It doesn’t go very well with the rest of the room with its odd orange circles and green lines, but a rug is a rug and the shabby hair looks soft, even if it’s worn in places.

Kei burned through half of his book since before the storm became one and at this pace, he’ll be done before bedtime. “I thought you liked it when it was sunny?”

He does. He very much does love to gorge on sun until he’s drunk. Storms have that same vitality, energy pouring out of the sky and beating itself against concrete and glass. “I like sunny days and storms. Rain is very middle ground. Overcast is neither here nor there so I don’t like those very much.” It’s quite poetic, really, seeing as Tetsurou is the embodiment of neither here nor there.Maybe it’s just sad. He’d rather think it’s poetic. “I love storms.”

Kei hums in agreement. Someday Tetsurou will learn how he can make even a hum sound patronizing. “Of course you do. Isn’t it like ghost law?”

“What?”

“It starts storming, and out come the creepy ghosts to murder everyone?”

Tetsurou sputters, offended. “I am not a creepy murder ghost. I’m a cute, helpful ghost.”

Kei almost chokes on the scoff that comes out of him. “Sure.”

Tetsurou is about to refute with a ten-point list of why he is a cute, helpful ghost before he’s interrupted by a flash of light, followed by a deafening crack of thunder that plunges them into darkness.

Kei lowers his book to his lap, throws a mildly annoyed glance at the speckled window. He looks up at the ceiling when he’s bored of watching rain hit the window. Let’s out a deep, bored sigh when there’s nothing else to do. “So. What tricks do you have?”

“Tricks”

Kei doesn’t even look at him. “Yeah. Ghost things. Spooky stuff. Tricks. ”

“I'm not a dog.”

“I wish you were a dog.”

Tetsurou smirks. Kei is not ready for this. This is his moment. Finally, he's going to scare Kei shitless and win this thing. He focuses on Kei, on the way he looks around, his human eyes finally getting used to the drastic shift in lighting. He’s relaxed, at ease with the noise and the thunder. Lightning strikes at a distance, it’s light faint through the sheets of water. It sets Kei’s face alight for a moment, bouncing off his glasses and Tetsurou admires his penchant for timing by releasing his question straight into Kei’s head exactly at that moment. What kind of dog?

Kei's shoulders go up with a jump, a choked gasp. His head swings forward with a jerk to look at Tetsurou.

Tetsurou riots. Just gives it all in one big evil villain laugh. Finally!

“Not funny.”

“ Au contraire , my friend, t’was very funny.”

“What the hell was that?”

“Oh, you know, a little creepy murder ghost action.”

Kei rubs at his temple. “So you can just talk into people’s heads. That’s neat. Just great.”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked for tricks.”

“If you can do that then why do you talk normally?”

Tetsurou shrugs.

He doesn't want to forget what it feels like to have a conversation, even with himself, to talk out loud. Losing words feels like losing more humanity. He doesn’t want to forego words for thoughts but Kei doesn’t need to know that. “It’s a bit rude, talking into people’s heads all the time.”

“Fair point,” Kei concedes with a nod, always one for politeness. It takes him thirty seconds to break from pretending he doesn’t want to know. His tongue clicks on his teeth, mild tone betraying the twitching of the hand not holding his book, thumb jammed on the page he was reading. He seems to notice he’s still holding it and places next to his knee after gently folding down a corner. “So, what else can you do?”

“Other than that, not much that you haven’t already seen.”

“Can you make other people see you?”

Kei looks at him, dissecting his expression. Tetsurou doesn’t know what he’s looking for but being on the end of Kei scrutiny always makes him antsy. “Uh, haven’t really tried?”

That is a lie, a bold-faced lie he hopes Kei doesn’t catch.

Of course, he’s tried. He tried, and tried and tried. It never worked. Nobody saw him. Nobody listened to him.

Nobody but Kei.

There are other things Tetsurou can do.

He can be solid but not for long. It drains him until he loses his shape and starts to phase through things unwittingly, making him feel as if there were two tons of bricks weighing him down for a while. He had to learn how to stop going through shit. It was so annoying, trying to grab onto something and going through it instead.

To make himself solid is not to return to his body. It’s not summoning a physical copy. Tetsurou is not flesh and blood. It is to steel the rawness of the entity that he is, pure unadulterated energy. Create a case around it, add weight but still feels like a ghost.

Thankfully, Kei doesn’t catch on and moves along. “Can you possess things? Make the couch cushion possessed?”

“Objects are a different thing. You see me move shit around all the time.”

“But is it like...Telepathically?”

Kei has been curious about it for a while, Tetsurou can guess, hearing the hidden excitement in his voice. “Yes. No. More like, a magnet, I guess?”

Tetsurou basically tapes the energy coming off of him to the energy left behind on objects until he can move them. Objects don’t particularly feel anything but if it’s a big object Tetsurou will feel very icky so he tries to avoid doing all of these things at all costs.

Then he opens his big mouth and gives Kei unsolicited information. “For humans, it feels wrong.”

It’s the best he can come up with to describe it. The energy of living human people is a cobweb of light surrounding them and what they touch. Strings upon strings of energy spooled together and slowly unraveling on all the things they come in contact with. Kei’s are a mix of—as a big Fuck you! to Tetsurou himself– yellow and orange, with some shiny black coming through very rarely.

He hates human strings. Every time he’s run through them even on accident it’s thrown him for a loop straight into hell. Minus zero out of ten, would definitely not recommend.

Kei gives him a look, a full one, with pursed lips and thinking eyebrows.

Tetsurou sighs. “You want to feel, don’t you?”

He nods. “I wanna feel.”

“Dude, it’s going to feel bad. Like, Awful bad.”

Kei juts out his hand, unphased. Tetsurou reluctantly brings his own hand forward, slowly, to give Kei a chance to change his mind. He doesn’t. The tip of Tetsurou’s finger glides over the top of Kei’s palm, phases through the barest amount, and a shock runs through his arm. Kei pulls away first and stares at his hand, runs the fingers of his free hand over the spot Tetsurou touched over and over.

He trips over his words trying to get them out. “It's like ice but more.”

“That’s...pretty accurate actually.” The freezing cold of the universe doesn’t solely belong to the void of endless black among the stars. For Tetsurou it’s frost burn, menthol invading his nose and his chest until he’s sure he’ll shatter.

“How?”

“As you know, there is not much material in the So now you’re transparent department, but I’ve thought about this a lot, so I think I have it down.”

He appreciates Kei’s restraint at the lack of an eye roll, but even in the dark, he can sense the twitch in Kei’s eyelid. “I think people who are compatible just have compatible energy. That spark everyone talks about. Some people aren’t so it feels icky.”

Kei does not appreciate his scientific breakthrough. “What?”

He rewinds a couple of steps. “Energy transfers through touch. It’s why it feels… icky to touch people. Alive people, I mean. For me. I—It’s not meant for me anymore. I’m different so it feels weird. It’s not compatible energy so you feel the oddness. Things—like the walls and stuff—they get charged with the energy of the stuff around them. Your bed, the counter, all of that.”

“My bed?”

“Yeah, your bed has your strings all over it.”

“That sounds so wrong,” Kei shudders out and closes his eyes, leaning his head against the wall. The rain has picked up, drowning out everything else but the two of them, enveloped in the shadows of Kei’s books and the peek of moonlight valiantly sailing through the storm, reaching past the windows to die on the floorboards. A brave, silent death, beaten down by the sound of the wind slapping raindrops against glass. It’s a painting, a vignette of quiet.

Kei’s breathing is even, not daring to disturb the storm raging outside. “Hmm. Tell me more about these...strings I apparently leave all over my bed.”

Tetsurou matches the sound as best he can. He’s guessing at the volume, imagines his vocal cords in his mind’s eyes, and wills them to be calm. “Over everything, really. Just by being around it, it becomes a little more yours. It soaks up who you are, how you feel.”

“Everything should be yours, then,” Kei says, “since you’re here all the time.”

Tetsurou doesn’t leave anything behind. He doesn’t own anything anymore, really, other than what is left of him, his thoughts and his words; but Kei is happy and content with that lazy smile of his he’s probably not aware he’s showing and Tetsurou is not in the business of making Kei unhappy. He’ll be the scary, creepy ghost that owns Kei's apartment and that comes out during thunderstorms.

He laughs it off and they talk for hours and hours in low voices and hushed tones while water beats around them and Tetsurou expressly does not dwell on how much he wishes he could leave something of himself behind in their shared four walls, or own something inside the apartment other than his thoughts.

Bladder pressing down on his need for sleep, Kei crawls out of bed, hands smudging his glasses. If he’d exert the effort of putting them on properly he wouldn’t have walked into a wall, but you live and you learn. Halfway to the bathroom, he stops. The window is open, curtain fluttering with sporadic gusts of wind.

Were he someone else, he’d think of stories of spirits and things from the great beyond told in the dark.

On the windowsill is Kuroo, face lax, and centered on faraway worlds. The ink of his hair blends with the shade of the almost raggedy navy fabric, shoulders slumped and curled where he hugs a single knee against his chest.

Save for now, Kuroo has always looked alive.

Splashes of moonlight dance on his skin, bursts aided by the blowing breeze, light on ivory.

Kei is half asleep, surely, to think that whatever ethereal being is perched on his windowsill is made of the same energy as the bumbling nerd leaving obscene drawings on his mirror.

Whoever, whatever it is, they are filled with melancholy seeping through their form, pools of something beyond Kei’s ability to comprehend with his sleep-addled mind in the half-lidded gaze peering up at the moon.

Kei goes back to his room with slow steps, lays back on the bed, bathroom break forgotten. Slumber pulls him back, witching hour casting a veil of untruth to his late-night sightseeing until he wakes an hour later, bladder screaming.

When Kei wakes next, fully, late night memories are cast as fleeting dreams that manage to escape him in the rays of sunshine now slanting through his blinds, body tangled up underneath covers and a blanket of something close to sadness on his shoulders.

Kei’s missing something, he knows.

It follows him when brushing his teeth, when he drops his toast butter-side down on the floor when he steps on gum on his way to class. He doesn’t have a clue what it might be.

The next couple of nights find him sleepless.

Kei tosses and turns until he gives up, flinching when his feet meet cold tile. He slumps to the living room defeated and wanting company to distract him from his lack of sleep.

Instead, he’s met with a specter.

The odd wave that chokes him is déjà vu , he knows, but the once useless factoid of its opposite lives within that moment too. A new friend with an old face, twisted and blended in mismatching, perfectly fitting parts, stumbling into an unknown place for the millionth time.

Jamais vu has never made sense until it has.

Kuroo doesn’t register his presence at all.

He’s torn between calling out for comfort and breaking the spell that has fallen over them silently.

One more look at Kuroo and he’s set.

Kei’s sheets are as unforgiving as when he first rose.

#ghostfic #withme #kurotsukki #kurotsuki #hq #haikyuu!!

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