#I wrote this during class | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

isabel3710 · 3 months

Text

I've dived headfirst back into my old Trolls hyper fixation with the release of the third movie. So I decided to write a little something for the idea of Branch being adopted by the Country Trolls.

I was inspired by some fan art by crunchy_coookies_ on insta and @rocksibblingsau's AU and a post they've made on this idea.

I would love to turn this into a full fledged fic one day but I'm already working on another trolls fanfic plus I got some (very loose) plans for another for when I'm done. But if I every have the time to write more I'll be sure to let you all know!

-----------

A little gray trolling sat on the edge of a dusty road, a worn looking bag sitting beside him. Branch held his ankle with both hands, it throbbed with pain and he was struggling not to cry.

A few weeks ago Branch had decided to leave his tribe once and for all, he was tired of being bounced around from foster home to foster home. Full of people who either hated him or tried to turn him into something he wasn’t. So he packed a bag full of his prized possessions and any supplies he might need and snuck out in the middle of the night.

At first things were great! And then he left the forest and made it to this desert of a wasteland, Branch did okay at first. He was careful to ration his food and slept with a knife in his hand.

Then today Branch had gotten his foot caught in some kind of hole and now his ankle really hurt. He had tried to stand up and power through but couldn’t without pain getting to an overwhelming degree.

He sniffed and whipped at his eyes, Branch didn’t know what he was going to do. He was stuck here with a hurt leg and he had run out of food last night.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by some strange clip-clop sound. Branch reached into his bag and pulled out his little knife. He was alone out here and who knew how many things out in this strange land liked to eat trolls.

Dust had suddenly risen up into the air and got into Branch’s eyes, he tried to blink it away as the strange sound got closer and closer. When his vision had cleared he saw the figure that matched the clopping sound.

And….

It was a troll?

The troll looked like one he had never seen before, she had orange skin and red hair which did remind him of the trolls back home. But that was where the similarities ended, for she had four legs with hooves and a fluffy looking teal tail. Her clothes weren't neon or pastel colored or covered in glitter, but fairly plain looking; with a few dirt stains and patches.

The woman seemed to notice him too for she started to walk over to him, the clopping sound following her. “Hey sugar” she said, her voice sounded strange. Nothing like Branch had ever heard before. “Why’re you out here all alone?”

Branch sniffled and tried to scoot away on his bottom, dragging his injured leg along the ground. The hand holding his knife shook a bit.

“Hey, hey” the woman said, her voice gentle. “I’m not going ta’ hurt you.” She knelt in front of him “what happened ta’ your leg?”

Something about this woman felt calming, Branch hadn’t met anyone who made him feel this way since his Grandma died. “I tripped,” he said, tears running down his cheeks. “It hurts really bad.”

“I’m sure it does” the woman said “mind if I take a look?”

Branch hesitated before nodding, the woman carefully took his ankle in her hands. He winced a bit in pain but stayed still. The woman tutted softly “looks like you sprained it honey.”

“Oh…”

She pulled out a piece of dark green cloth and tied it around his ankle. “We'll have to put some ice on it.”

“I don’t have any ice,” Branch said.

“Not to worry,” she smiled at him, “town’s not too far from here.”

There was a town out here… “how?” He asked, “it hurts to walk.”

“Climb on my back” she said “and I’ll carry ya.”

“Won’t that hurt you?”

She chuckled “you’re sweet, sugar, but not to worry. I’ll be fine.” The women helped Branch sit on her back before slowly standing “hold on darlin’.”

Branch held his bag in one hand and to the women’s shirt with the other. And she began to walk, the clopping sound following them. It was then Branch realized he had no idea what this lady’s name was.

“Ms” he said “I’m sorry but… What’s your name?”

She chuckled “no need to apologize hon. I’m Ms Delta Dawn. What’s your name?”

“Branch.” He said “my name is Branch."

#fanfic #fanfiction #dreamworks trolls #trolls fanfic #trolls fandom #trolls branch #trolls delta dawn #what-if Branch was adopted by Country trolls #I wrote this during class #I Wanna Find A Home fic #country troll branch #trolls au

148 notes · View notes

cherry-pop-elf · 3 months

Note

i really like your work and i was wondering if you could make some headcanons about hermione being friends with a ravenclaw who get made fun of by the other ravenclaws cause they think they arent smart enough to be a ravenclaw (sorry if this is too specific)

More details the better boo boo! And thank you so much!!!!!!!! I love taking requests! I love writting, and it can help me with writers block. It also can help others. Like people who are to shy to speak, or want something similar but unable to afford atm. Everyone wins!

Besties with Hermione as a Bullied Ravenclaw

Seems like Hermione loves collecting bullied Ravenclaws, given Luna would be part of the little bubble all the say. One way, or another, after all

Regardless, houses are houses after all. She learned quickly, from her third year, that a house does not define you. Peter Pettigrew was certainly a coward, for being in Gryffindor

Also, what she learned in her third year is that the muggle way sure can shut people up fast. Ask Malfoy. Man has a scar from it all

She knows better than anyone that people are simply smarter in different fields. You are in Ravenclaw for a reason. She is going to help you find your niche. Luna has her magizoology after all. She is certain you have something you excel at better than anyone else

Anyone who says otherwise will certainly learn the hard way. She isnt one for violence, but it sure can shut people up fast

She can also understand greatly how isolating it can be. She is deemed the brightest witch of her era, but still wonders if she actually is smart. She knows it well

Bullies are bullies, and it can be so exhausting

Least you can make the argument that Smarty Pants Granger wouldn't be friends with the stupid types, right?

Yeah no, but hey that just makes it obvious how stupid everyone else is

No matter, Hermione knows the truth. The truth is you are smart. Smart enough to know people who bully are the real dumb ones here

More fun for you, because Hermione and her boys are always having exciting adventures to tag along on

Maybe that is what makes you smart

You are smart enough to make real friends

19 notes · View notes

the-emeralds-incorrect · 5 months

Text

Barty Crouch Jr — name & origins

In spite of what one might believe, Barty Crouch Jr did not really hate his name.

His relationship with his father, Bartemius Crouch Sr, had never been good in any capacity. He never was deluded into thinking his father loved him. During his formative years, at first he tried to get his father to at least like him, but he gave up on that around his eight birthday.

Bartemius Crouch Sr had never seen Barty as anything more than an extension of himself. A legacy, a heir, his flesh and blood.

From what Barty has heard from his mama’s stories, his father’s reaction to her pregnancy had been relatively pleased. The problems started after his birth — after it became clear children need care, love. He also knew about her insistency on taking care of him by herself, of becoming a stay-at-home mom had been home of her last acts of resistance, of protecting him from his father’s treatment. An offer she extended upon finding a few weeks old Barty, Imperioused not to cry and hungry after a few hours she slept through, hours in which his father was supposed to watch him.

An extension of himself, in perhaps his most glaring display of egoism Bartemius Crouch Sr gifted his own name to.

All of which should reasonably, given Barty’s character, result in him absolutely despising the name. That was not fully the case.

He wasn’t sure why that was. Maybe it was because there was always a disconnect between ‘Bartemius’ — the father, and ‘Barty’ — the son. Barty couldn’t stand to be referred by his full name; all of his friends were familiar with his plan to legally change it to the shortened version when he turns seventeen.

Maybe it related to the way his mama’s voice, soft and gentle, well known and bringing a sense of security he could never find anywhere else, called out for him. The moments in which she looked beautiful and happy, out of the house, out of the country when they visited her family, babcię i dziadka, where they called him ‘Bartek’ and they could walk down the streets of Poland, so different than London, the city where he grew up.

Wizarding Poland was a complete mess. With the muggle wars, Nazis and currently reigning Soviets with their communism, the Iron Curtain breaking Europe into two, the population was not having a great time. Wizards had it better than muggles — the government rules allowed for Portkeys to be more available, and many were able to protect themselves from the bombings using spells and wards. Nonetheless, it didn’t erase the poverty. Barty remembered the shock the first time when he walked into a store with mama, and there was nothing on the shelves.

Wizards in Poland lived much closer with the muggles, he came to realize. They had an equivalent of the Statue of Secrecy, obviously, but the circumstances brought them together, in contrast to the separated state England unknowingly lived in. Wizarding Poland could never be nearly as removed from Muggle Poland, because Polish people were trying to simply survive and preserve their identity through over a century of their country being erased from the maps and the country being divided between Germany, Russia and Austria.

Wizards adapted to survive. Pure bloods overcame their prejudice to keep their history. The fight for freedom wasn’t over, but Barty knew they would never return to Britain’s levels of separation.

(Both of the sides of his family were Light, but Bartemius Crouch Sr could never deign himself to think about muggles as equals. It was reflected in the way he talked about them. Never with outright discrimination, but instead perpetuating the stereotypes and disrespect towards them. )

Barty loved it. It was the home London never was, with the Ministry of Magic so close, with the house he grew up in always at the back of his mind whenever he was walking the streets. He was sad every time they had to go back.

Barty loved his name, too. Not Bartemius, not Crouch (Jr). But just ‘Barty’. ‘Bartek’. He might’ve liked having his mother’s last name, too, but now, there’s no sense in changing it.

(He’ll be taking his husband’s one, after all.)

#harry potter #hp #marauders #marauders era #slytherin skittles #the emeralds #dead gay wizards #barty crouch jr #polish barty crouch jr #Evan’s character rants #my take on Barty’s family #and kinda on wizarding Poland #bartylus #very slight but it’s here #I wrote this during class

15 notes · View notes

teddyshootingstar · 3 months

Text

i never mentioned this here but I actually do art and have ocs, and recently I've started doodling them on clip studio so I can get used to drawing digitally so here are some treats for my 8 followers and 1 mutual :p

#oc #oc art #if anyone wants to know suff about them 👀#clip studio paint #clip studio art #i wrote this during class

2 notes · View notes

patron-saint-of-cemetary-pigeons · 10 days

Text

Johnny Appleseed

Planted some seeds for apples

They were very sour

So people made booze

Out of poor old Johnnys fruits

and it fed them well

#johnny appleseed #apple seeds #apple #ha ha ha #196 #i hate standardized testing #i hate this #i wrote this during class #i also wrote a lot of these during a test #i wasted so much time

1 note · View note

rizzshimura · 2 years

Text

i think i've learned to appreciate a lot of things i never really appreciated when i had them.

in one of my old houses, we had a lot of warm, orange-ish yellow light, and so it always felt like a big, warm hug whenever i turned the lights on in my room. there's a lot of bright, white light where i live now, and it often reminds me of a hospital. both of my sister's are married, and they have a lot of orange/yellow light in their houses, so whenever i go to visit them, i'm often struck with nostalgia, and i feel more at home there than at my own house.

my dad didn't grow up speaking english, he just spoke his native tongues- urdu and punjabi. he didn't learn any 'formal english' like i did, just the alphabet and a couple other basic things. so, whenever he makes the effort to have a conversation with me in english, my heart just swells and it makes me feel so loved. sometimes, he pronounces a word wrong, like 'rake', pronouncing it raak, i often correct him in a joking matter, and he tries to correct himself, but he usually just ends up pronouncing it wrong, feeling comfortable enough with me to be able to say it wrong.

i remember when i first transferred to my current school, i bought the school cardigan. i found it to be really scratchy and uncomfortable, so i ended stashing it in my closet, hoping to not wear it for the next few years. then, lockdown came and went, and when schools were open during the colder months, i couldn't find the jacket that i would usually wear, so i took the sweater out of my closet it and wore that to school. it wasn't as scratchy as i remembered, but softer and a just a little baggy on me. i did find my jacket, but that's just stored in my extra clothes, the ones that i plan on giving away. rather, now i just wear the cardigan, finding comfort in the wool.

honestly, 95% of the time, i'm usually wearing other people's clothes- my brother's black jacket, my sister's t-shirt, my dad's sweater, my other sister's shoes. obviously, i don't wear them all together, but i always am wearing one thing or the other. pieces of them are always engraved in me, even if it is in the form of cotton, denim, and canvas.

i think that finding comfort in the little, practically insignificant things is helping get through each day, helping me mend the holes in my heart and soul. i think that finding love in everything is helping me just be a more positive person, and is something that makes me feel like that i'm a part of something bigger, even if that isn't always the case

#9 am thoughts #i wrote this during class #ok i have to finish my assignment now

0 notes

bixels · 22 days

Text

The idea that uni protesters are "elitist ivy-league rich kids larping as revolutionaries" on Twitter and Reddit and even here is so fucking funny to me if you actually know anything about the student bodies at these unis. Take it from someone who's going to one of the biggest private unis in the US, 80% of the peers I know are either from the suburbs or an apartment somewhere in America, children of immigrants, or here on a student visa. I've heard about one-percenter students, but I've never met one in person. Like, don't get me wrong, the institution as a whole is still very privileged and white. I've talked with friends and classmates about feeling weird or dissonant being here and coming from such a different background. But in my art program, I see BIPOC, disabled, queer, lower-income students and faculty trying to deconstruct and tear that down and make space every day. So to take a cursory glance at a crowd of student protesters in coalitions that are led by BIPOC & 1st/2nd-gen immigrant students and HQ'd in ethnic housings and student organizations and say, "ah. children of the elite." Get real.

#also idk how to tell you this but even if it were true. wealthy children potentially sacrificing their educational careers to protest is #a good thing actually. idk how to tell you that caring about people from other nations is good #personal #“this war has nothing to do with most students cuz nobody's getting drafted” idk how to explain to you that we should be angry #that our tuitions of 10s of thousands of dollars that we pay every year for an education is being used to fund a genocidal campaign #also the implication that if you go to a uni institution you are automatically privileged by participation no matter your bg #i didn't /want/ to go to this school. i was supposed to go to a school with an art/animation program. but i realized my immigrant #parents have been working their whole lives to get me here. and turning the opportunity down would be a disservice to their sacrifice #this is getting into convos of “what 2nd gen kids owe their parents” which is different for everyone but. yeah #i just get pissed off at seeing people misrepresenting student bodies as “wealthy” and “privileged” and “elite” when it's such a blatant li #i remember a year ago a friend told me they can't fly home to hong kong for winter break because the plane tickets are too expensive #so they have to find temporary housing around the area #last quarter for a film doc class my film partner made a doc on a small group of marxist grad students from india discussing praxis #during a rally a few months ago in response to police presence the coalition invited palestinian students to speak about their experiences #and lead songs and read poems they wrote. these are STUDENTS. are they elitist too?#this is not to disregard my own personal privilege either.#this whole narrative's just to rationalize a lack of empathy to me. seeing a 19yo student get shot by a rubber bullet and your first #reaction is “HAW! HAW! bet richy rich didn't see THAT coming when she put on her terrorist hood!”#newsflash. these big uni campuses are HAUNTED by the violence of past protests and revolutions and police brutality. we know.#why do you think these coalitions have been making reinforced barricades at record speed

819 notes · View notes

fatuismooches · 6 months

Note

Okay. Imagining.

When Fragile!Reader went into a coma, Dottore hadn't thought to preserve anything about them. He didn't have recordings of their voice. He didn't have pictures of their eyes. He figured that kind of data was useless because he'd always have his assistant by his side at all times. When would he need pictures if he could just look at you? Why would he need recordings when you never seemed to shut up (not that he'd ever ask you to)?

But when you fell asleep, he hadn't realized just how long he'd be deprived of that wonderful sight and that beautiful sound. He thought it would be fine, he'd help them wake up and it would be back to normal... but nothing worked. Before he knew it, years had gone by with seemingly no progress. What color were your eyes again? He was starting to forget. What range did your voice have when you sang? He found it hard to recall.

This is why, when you finally woke up, he had such a reaction to seemingly nothing at all. When you first opened your eyes, he was starstruck by that hauntingly beautiful hue. When you finally spoke, even with your voice hoarse and quiet from misuse, his heart skipped a beat. He couldn't help but gasp for air as his lungs squeezed in his chest. How could he have forgotten? And more importantly, how did he survive so long without this?

As he finally held your hand after what felt like a millennia, he silently vowed to not only find you a cure but a way to make you immortal like him. There was no way he'd allow himself to be deprived of his lover ever again.

MY HEART IS HURTING SO MUCH I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THIS... this is literally canon bye. Also the sad thing about this is that it could totally happen considering the existence of erosion in Teyvat 🥺. Now I have even more brainrot of this happening to reader too and them slowly losing their sense of self and forgetting him 😭

Sniff... Dottore not bothering to keep any hard data of you because he has the real thing in front of him :( You were always glued to his hip, even if he wanted to get away (he doesn't) he couldn't, always faced with your lovely smile and pleasant voice. Beautiful body and soft touches. And he thinks, the best way to collect data is from the subject itself rather than anything else. Even if he were to preserve you somehow, would it ever compare to your being in real life? No, it wouldn't, and you'd always be here, so if he longed to hear your voice, he would simply go to you and hear it. If he wanted to see your eyes, he would go to you and kiss you to see them flutter and melt. If he wanted you, he would go to you. No need for anything else.

But now, now that this has happened, Zandik curses himself for being stupid. After all, what kind of scientist doesn't keep backups of their data? Yes, the real thing will always be the best, but what happens if the original is lost? Is hurt? Is no more? Zandik didn't think the absence of another person could affect him so much, but it does. You have such an... effect on him that drives him completely mad. His head hurts from the ringing silence instead of your voice that fills it. His eyes burn from the sleepless nights that you are not by his side. After you fall asleep, he writes stuff down, he truly does, filling up pages and pages so everything about you could be recorded, but reading all the detailed words in the world doesn't help him remember the exact hue of your eyes, or the exact tone of voice you used in different situations, or the once-familiar curve of your lips that he can't seem to remember the exact position of. A part of him despises himself for allowing himself to forget, he's the only one in Teyvat who remembers you, but at the same time he doesn't... but that doesn't make him love you any less. He may not remember that stuff... but he sure does remember how much time he spent with you.

Dottore's always wondered how he'd react on the day you finally wake up, he'll be delighted, of course, that goes without saying but would anything else happen? And oh, even he could not have predicted this possibility would occur. Those eyes, that voice, your smile, even while being sickly, you were truly the epitome of human beauty. The way everything about you acts as if he is the only person that matters. When he holds your hand, he feels you squeeze back ever so slightly, and he resolves himself once again. He really can't live without you... never again.

You're really confused as to why he's so attentive, yes there's your illness but that doesn't explain how much he studies you. How he always goes silent and watches you whenever you speak, even about dumb things, when years ago he would roll his eyes at your idiocy. How he likes to stare deep into your eyes without getting embarrassed, which was funny because he always broke away from eye contact in the Akademiya. You may never know, as he's never going to tell you about what he went through without your presence, but right now, he's never going to let that happen to either of you ever again.

I have another hc that sort of relates to this: I imagine Dottore felt indescribable emotions when you finally woke up and uttered his real name - "Zandik." Because really, no one has spoken it in over four hundred years. Perhaps he almost forgot what it sounded like, as he discarded that part of his identity long ago. Maybe he buried it so far back in his mind that he lost it, especially since it carried unpleasant memories. But you, when you spoke that forsaken name again... he truly felt like Zandik again.

#smooches talks #fragile reader <3 #dottore love notes <3 #ANON I LOVE THIS SOS OS SO SO MUCH #my hands r like. freezing up as i write this bc its cold #but GOD DID THIS SCRATCH MY BRAIN SO HAPPILY...#wrote this during class yummyyyy

299 notes · View notes

dottores · 9 months

Text

YOU GUYS MUST LOOK AT WHAT TEE GOT ME FOR MY BDAY!!!! SHE GAVE IT TO ME EARLY FOR CONGRATULATIONS ON FINISHING MY FIRST WEEK OF LAW SCHOOL

#i’m going to explain why it’s so special and you all will listen #ONE this is literally based off a little drabble she wrote for me while i was sad and the drabble was my favorite thing ever and it #literally made me cry sobs #TWO look at the DRESS!!!!!! it fits in with all of my other comms and i’m so happy because i love having consistency with my comms it makes #so happy #THREE #she got it from my FAVORITE ARTIST EVER ??? SOBS THATS SO SPECIAL TO ME I LOVE THIS ARTIST SO MUCH SHES MY GO TO ARTIST #and my face looks so pretty and even the couch and the background matches my other comms and i’m sniffling cuz i love it sm 🥹#quite literally the best way to finish off my first week of school 🥹#sobs this is so special to me i’m literally making it the new background on my watch so i can stare at it during class forever #this is the bestest birthday gift ever sobs i cry so hard it’s so thoughtful & in depth with my ss AND my fav artist ever i’m sobbing #— selfships

210 notes · View notes

anna-scribbles · 2 months

Note

h-how do you ever finish any of your work? genuine question because you seem to be productive despite your agreste syndrome and I need to learn your ways. but also how do you ever finish any of your work

unclear. last night i stayed up and finished a report worth 25% of my grade at about 5am, arrived on time for my 9am lecture, and spent about half of it zoned out while thinking about seventeen year old emilie agreste. and i was one of the most active participants in the class discussion

#in some ways it IS the move to go to grad school right out of undergrad #because your body can still sort of operate like a college kid #i’m on about 3ish hours of sleep rn and this morning it felt SO over but now i’ve eaten something and we’re so back #i also don’t really do caffeine. except sometimes i’ll go get one of those panera death lemonades #i might be able to snag a short nap before work #but anyway about seventeen year old emilie. i was thinking abt how she was in that movie solitude and adrien said she was seventeen #WAIT. NO. HE SAID SHE WAS SEVENTEEN IN THAT PHOTO ON HIS DESKTOP NOT IN THE MOVIE #well. okay whatever i’m gonna tell you what i was thinking about anyway #OKAY i’m back i just checked the wikipedia page and then i watched the end of gorizilla. to make sure i’m not lying. because i’m normal.#anyway i was thinking about the solitude film and how it’s super rare and old and obscure and whatever. and how apparently #emilie wrote it herself and andre produced it #and i’m thinking about how gabe was discovered by audrey and that’s how he got his start in the fashion industry #so now i’m like?? did gabe and emilie first meet on the set of solitude? because gabe was designing costumes or whatever?#and that’s how audrey found him? have people already thought about this??#also i just checked and it doesn’t say emilie’s last name in the credits and also it’s ‘graham films’ with the twin rings logo m #so i’m assuming she’s still emilie graham de vanily at that point #anyway it comes back to seventeen year old emilie because i started imagining seventeen year old runaway emilie having her new life in pari #after escaping her british nobility life #and the first thing she does is write and star in an original movie. of course.#and she meets this repressed bisexual punk upstart costume designer who is so the opposite of everyone she’s ever known #and he’s immediately so unhealthily obsessed with her. which she appreciates.#and then they proceed to have the most toxic doomed evil relationship of all time #also she gets cheated because once gabe gets money he represses himself SO hard that he is now exactly like all the people emilie grew up w #but at least he’s still obsessed with her #this is what i was thinking about during class today. i don’t know how i get anything done either.#ml #anna rambles #asks

112 notes · View notes

ghosttotheparty · 1 year

Text

also on ao3

(cw: tics, bullying)

Eddie started shivering in seventh grade.

Even when it was hot, even when he was sweating and desperately wanted a non-rattly fan or a better air conditioner. They weren't normal shivers. He wasn't cold. But his shoulders would jerk or shake, or he would tremble for a second, and he didn't know what else it could have been. Others didn't question it for a while, because it started in October. Everyone was shivering. But by March, it hadn't stopped, and he had to explain himself when people gave him questioning looks or asked if he was okay. (Back when people cared.)

'S just a shiver, I'm fine.

He wasn't fine. It got worse over time. He got used to it, to the weird feeling that took over his body for a few seconds, got used to telling people he was cold, joking that he must be low on vitamins or iron, joking that in the future, someone is walking over his grave. But other people didn't get used to it. They thought he was weird. That was fine with him. Wayne realised something was wrong before Eddie started the tenth grade, because he wasn't just shivering anymore. His whole body was jerking sharply, suddenly, his shoulders drawing up, fists clenching. Eddie didn't question it. Wayne did.

It wasn't normal. But nothing about Eddie was normal. Wayne took him to see a doctor. The doctor make him do things, walk in a line, hold his arms out and push the doctor's hands away as hard as he could, follow a flashlight with his eyes without moving his head. It was all weird. It kind of scared Eddie. The doctor kept writing things in a notebook, and Eddie couldn't tell if he was doing well or not. But Wayne was there, watching and listening intently.

The doctor said he had tics. It sounded funny to Eddie, but then it wasn't funny, because the doctor didn't give him anything for it. He just said there wasn't anything really wrong with him. His brain just worked a little differently. (Which Eddie was already used to hearing.) That his tics could get better or go away as he got older, or they could get worse.

They got worse.

By the end of that summer, his arms were moving, flying over his head suddenly, randomly, and his head was jerking back so sharply it hurt. Wayne was worried about him getting whiplash. Eddie was worried about going to school.

That year, he became the freak.

At first, he tried to explain it to people. The movements were involuntary, he couldn't control them. Wayne contacted all his teachers, who mostly got it, but still preferred to make him sit in the hallway so he didn't distract the class. But the other students thought he was possessed, faking it for attention, and everything in between. They'd throw things at him, and complain to the teachers that he was distracting even when he wasn't moving, just to get him out of the room. They would mimic him, make fun of him, and by September, he learned that the tics get worse when he's upset. He could hear them all snickering and giggling as he shoved his hands under his legs and tucked his chin to his chest or held his shirt over his face, as he held his limbs tense so they wouldn't move, so tense he was exhausted and sore all the time, and then he'd go home and cry because he couldn't control his own body.

He'd have to sit on the sofa so when his head threw itself back, it would hit the back of the sofa instead of the wall, and Wayne would just wait, watching with that fucking sadness in his eyes that made Eddie ache even more. When it finally stopped, sometimes after a few minutes, sometimes after an hour or two, he was so exhausted he'd fall asleep right there on the sofa. He couldn't do his homework. His grades dropped even more, but he managed to keep himself afloat. He did the best he could, doing his homework early in the morning before school or in detention. (Some of his teachers thought he was faking. Mr Peterson was in charge of detention, and he was nice. Considerate. Eddie counted him as one of his few blessings.)

His tics got worse.

In December of his junior year, he started making noises. Short screams, grunts, quiet vocalizations. It scared him. He didn't want to go back to school, but he did. The laughter around him got louder, and he was sent out to the hallways more. He started skipping classes. He knew he'd be forced to leave anyway. So he'd sit in the boys' room, on top of a lidded toiler, his feet up on the stall door, and he'd leave cigarette burns on the walls.

Not everyone was awful. Some kids were just curious about him, asked why he acted the way he did, and he did his best to calmly explain it all. I can't help it, actually. It's just my brain works different. That turned into Eddie's brain's fucked. It's broken. He's a fucking--

So he used it. Eddie the Freak. Attention-seeking, desperate for people to notice him. So he started making devil horns, yelling from tabletops, making himself The Freak so no one could use it against him.

No one, not even Wayne, saw him cry at night, because the attention he got was never the attention he wanted. Because he was tired. So fucking tired. His limbs were sore and his voice was rough, and his neck hurt, and he was sick of being laughed at. But that was all he got.

He kept counting his blessings. Mr Peterson, who never minded Eddie's noises or the way his fists would bang against the table loudly in the silent room, who scolded the other detention-goers when they tried to tease. The Hellfire guys, who got used to his tics fairly quickly, and knew when to pause whatever they were doing if Eddie couldn't hear them over a scream or was distracted by his own body. That nice girl, Chrissy Cunningham, who would slip notes from the classes he missed or skipped into his locker or backpack with sweet smiles. (If Eddie wasn't gay, he would have fallen in love with her.) The other few students that ignored him when his tics acted up, just glancing and moving on. Wayne, bless his soul, who would come to the school to confront Eddie's teachers and complain to the principal about Eddie being mistreated by the staff.

And, oddly enough, Steve Harrington.

Eddie never saw it coming. It was a particularly bad day. He was at his locker, trying to line his books up, but a tic threw his hands up, and some books fell from his locker to the floor. He watched helplessly as papers scattered across the floor, as most students stepped around them, ignoring them, as some jocks trampled over them, over Chrissy's neat handwriting, his fists clenched at his sides. When they passed, he kneeled, picking up the books, and when he looked up, Steve Harrington was kneeling too, gathering the crumpled papers and carefully straightening them out.

He gave them to Eddie with a smile, and Eddie thought he might be dying, in some weird, upside-down dimension where Steve Harrington smiles at Eddie Munson. Eddie took them hesitantly, said thank you, and then he hit him.

He was mortified, almost dropping the papers again, jumping back as his whole body flushed with heat, staring at Steve's shoulder where his hand had just landed heavily, and he burst with a Fuck, I'm so sorry, oh my god--

But Steve had just laughed. Amazingly, it was a kind laugh, with sparkling eyes, and soft cheeks, and he said It's okay.

And then he was gone. Down the hall, after his friends, and Eddie realised his hands were trembling.

Steve kept smiling at him. Even when his friends were making fun of Eddie's Satanic cult, and of the way he couldn't keep still, and of his sad, broken brain. Even when Eddie's brain made him flip Steve off across the cafeteria, Steve saw how Eddie pulled his hand down sharply, and Steve just... laughed. Eddie fell in love with his laugh. It was kind, and it made Eddie feel better, even when he wanted to cry.

Steve graduated the next year. But he didn't leave Eddie alone. Eddie couldn't stop thinking about him, and his kind laugh, and his pretty eyes, and then the sheep Eddie adopted told him all about how cool and brave Steve was, and Eddie fell harder without even seeing him.

The world went to shit. But Eddie got to see Steve again.

Steve was still kind, even though the world was ending, and even during serious discussions, plan-making, how-to-save-the-world conversations, Eddie's tics kept going. His body jerked and shivered, and his head threw back, and his fists hit his own chest and shoulders, and he had to sit down. And Eddie found out that there are more kind people than he thought. When his tics slowed, Nancy wordlessly got him an ice pack to hold to his chest, and when he flung it across the room, Robin caught it with a casual oops, and brought it back to him. No one questioned him, or stared, or laughed, even though he knew how annoying he was.

When he woke up in the hospital, he hurt so badly he couldn't move. He just cried. Steve sat by his bed and held onto his hand. He was crying too. When Eddie stopped crying, Steve carefully slid his rings, clean of blood, onto his fingers.

This one goes here, right?

Yeah.

On the second day, his brain didn't care that he hurt. As Steve was telling him about what was going on with the others (Max was staying with the Sinclairs, Dustin's leg was almost healed), Eddie's hand smacked him across the face sharply, the sting of his rings bringing tears to his eyes before he even processed what happened. Steve wordlessly crawled onto the bed, carefully pulled Eddie against himself, and set a pillow over Eddie's lap for when his fists started hitting his legs. He'd just murmured those words, the first words he'd said to Eddie years ago.

It's okay. It's okay.

And he waited until Eddie's body fell lax against him before he carefully found Eddie's hand, laced their fingers, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Eddie was released from the hospital a few weeks later. He stayed in the Wheelers' basement for a few days until Steve's parents left town, for good this time, and then he moved into the Harrington house.

He likes it there. Steve is still kind. Always. He lets Eddie lay his head in his lap when his body hurts or won't stop moving, and he drags his fingers through his hair or holds a joint to his lips for him, and he smiles. (Eddie would go through the end of the world all over again for that smile.) When Eddie's head hits the wall while they're in the waiting room of the hospital for a checkup, Steve just shifts to face him and holds a hand up to the back of his head so his hand hits the wall instead, saying quietly that Eddie isn't allowed to beat his record number of concussions. He drives Eddie to Wayne's even though Eddie doesn't tic when he drives except for a few facial or vocal ones.

When Eddie whistles one night, Steve just smiles at him and says Was that a tic or are you hitting on me? and Eddie freezes, his face burning. Which would you prefer, pretty boy?

Steve kisses him.

And then Steve starts holding his hand even when he isn't having tics, even when they're with the Party. Eddie moves into Steve's room. (They always slept better when they accidentally fell asleep on the sofa together anyway.) Steve holds him when his tics are bad, and Eddie holds him during his migraines, pressing kisses as softly as he can to his forehead and his temples. Steve takes his hand when it moves to hit Eddie's face or chest. Eddie stands steady and holds Steve's hand to himself when he gets dizzy. Steve keeps ready-made ice packs in the freezer to hold to Eddie's chest and legs when they bruise from his fists. Eddie keeps his handwriting as neat as possible when he writes notes in case Steve forgets anything. When they wake up at night, breathless and sweaty and crying, the other is there, arms open, lips waiting.

One night Eddie says very softly, You know, they used to say my brain was broken.

Steve just says, Mine too.

#welcome to projection central #hand wrote this during a lecture today bc i was bored and realised a lot of ppl write/hc eddie as autistic and w adhd #but usually those are the only kinda neurodivergencies i see in fan content #(pretend thats a word)#but then i thought eddie having tics would make sense for his character and i have Experience to write from so #(disclaimer i was not bullied in school nor was i removed from classes (unless i left on my accord bc i wanted to hide in the bathroom))#(some kids teased me or mimicked me or told me to 'do it again' but i dealt w them)#(and the one kid that was really a dick ended up being rly nice by the time we graduated he's cool)#(and i got lucky w my teachers i think they were all very sweet and considerate)#(but i thought this story would make sense and go along with eddies story in the canon)#anyway give eddie tics #anotther hc that his tics calm down/stop when he's playing guitar and playing d&d #mine arent as bad as they were in high school but back then (and on bad days now) they usually calm down #when im focused on something or doing something i enjoy (ie drawing or painting or st)#steddie #steddie oneshot #eddie munson #eddie munson oneshot #steve harrington #steve harrington one shot #stranger things #stranger things one shot

813 notes · View notes

homoqueerjewhobbit · 4 months

Text

I want to write a crossword puzzle just so I can have a clue "you just lost it" and the answer is T H E G A M E.

#Sorry #The game #crossword puzzle #post o' mine #I actually wrote one in high school while I wasn't paying attention during class. Can't remember the theme #But I think it was mostly ok #A couple sticky corners #It's tough. Props to anyone who can donit

78 notes · View notes

yume-yuurei · 8 months

Text

Smitten Ace × reader drabble

I recently came back from a ve~ery long trip, and I've got a few ideas to share... to be honest, I used to be pretty annoyed by Ace when I first got into twst, but the more content I find of him, the more attractive this prick seems >:/ I swear, liking him as a character feels embarrassing... but who cares? Basically, this post is all about what I imagine travelling with a smitten Ace might be like.

So, almost half of my trip was spent riding the train to get to a camp with a hundred or two of other kids from my region, so you can guess it was eventful. Imagine going on such a trip with the first-years team, having to take a train for three days straight - it's basically like becoming roommates for a short while.

To get at least a sliver of privacy, you call dibs on a top bunk from the very start; that way you can hide away in a space of your own when social interactions start getting exhausting. Hearing that, Ace rushes to claim the bed opposite of yours. It takes him some effort to convince Deuce, who was actually supposed to take that place, to trade, without blowing his cover. When you enter the train car, Ace is already unpacking his things, jumping down his bunk (almost landing on Sebek) to throw your luggage onto a shelf.

Settling down isn't easy, with how many passengers are in the train car and how little space there is, but eventually everyone takes their seat.

The road promises to be long, and what better entertainment is there if not playing card games? Obviously, Ace has brought a whole pack of them, a laminated limited-edition deck with am intricate design that he snagged from his brother. Passing cards out for everyone and starting a game. As expected from someone who's been basically holding cards since crib, he wins every single time, pulling kings and aces seemingly out of nowhere (or, perhaps, right from his sleeves...). When he exits the game, Ace leans closer to you, watching the way you use your deck and giving subtle hints on how to turn the situation in your favor, smirking proudly when you start picking up and winning more frequently.

Whenever your little squad sits down for a meal, Trappola takes a seat as close as possible - either in front of you or at your side. You two often trade or share, swapping food you don't like for something you have a liking for. Ace would never be caught dead admitting to it, but I feel like he might sometimes lie about hating some snack or desert, just to have a reason to share with you.

I don't even doubt that he'd be the one to initiate playing something like truth or dare later into the evening, having prepared a full list of embarrassing questions and wild dares specifically for this occasion. Expect him to bluescreen if, when dared to kiss the most handsome guy around, you pick anyone except him.

And eventually night rolls around. Clad in a complect of comfortable night clothes, you fluff up a pillow and a blanket, wrapping yourself up cozily and turning on one side. You face Ace, barely making out his features in the dark. His two crimson eyes stare into your face, and if at that moment all lights were on, you would've noticed a hint of fondness in his expression. Propping his head up on a hand, Ace whispers,"

Asleep yet?"

You two talk quietly for a few more hours into the night. School, family, plans for future - it's so easy to share with him, conversation flowing naturally. Contrary to the confident and boisterous voice he usually equips around others, right now he sounds gentle. No persona to upkeep (assuming that all others have fallen asleep long ago), nothing to hide or prove; and as you feel your eyelids grow closing and head sinking into the pillow, you succumb to heavy sleep of exhaustion.

The last thing you hear before dozing off is a far-away:

"Good night... dream of me, yeah?"

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #yuurei's fics #the way of a housewarden #ace trappola #ace trapolla x reader #another drabble I wrote during class #plss I'm reposting it for a third time hnnn

96 notes · View notes

asurrogateblog · 3 months

Text

David's Role in The Wall

as always my favorite hobby is Reading Into Things about the concert tour of the wall, and this week's topic is: "since roger is clearly supposed to be playing pink, then 'who' - if anyone - is david?" obviously david sings a good portion of the songs, and in the audio-only album its easy to say "they're both pink who cares" but in the live show, the audience isn't just listening, they're also essentially watching a play, so it matters if two different people have 'lines' for the same character***

...and one interesting thing I noticed is that david never sings lines in which pink is speaking directly to another character. whenever it's his turn, he's either speaking to no one in particular (young lust), as a voice pink has internalized (mother), is physically obstructed by the wall (hey you), or is singing at the same time as roger (run like hell). when its time for pink to actually speak out loud, roger takes over. "well what about comfortably numb?" nobody asks. well, if you watch the concert videos, when david begins his verses in comfortably numb, roger (playing the doctor) freezes still – indicating that pink is thinking that, not saying it.

my conclusion from all of this is that yes, they are both pink, but its not arbitrary. roger is the "real" pink***, and david is a storytelling device that represents pink's internal dialogue, as well as different facets of his psychology that were not outwardly expressed during the album's events.

(***remember that "in the flesh?" takes place at the opening of one of pink's concerts, so during the shows for the actual tour of the wall, the concert itself is -part of- the storyworld. the live show is not roger telling the audience pink's life story, it's pink (played by roger) telling the audience his own life story. the narrative implications of this have done irreparable damage to my psyche)

#(david voice) roger...this is your conscience speaking....#roger is REALLY good at freezing during comfortably numb its kind of freaky #we're ending the tags here bc im just gonna go on and on otherwise #[insert the 20 page essay I wrote for my narratology class]#pink floyd #the wall

52 notes · View notes

raposabranca · 1 year

Text

Okay, I'm going to talk about this on my main art account because I haven't seen this being addressed yet (there are obviously other pressing matters) but I believe it deserves to be acknowledged both by art appreciators and artists alike:

ANIMATIC ISN'T WHAT YOU MAY THINK IT IS. "Fan animation" IS NOT called "Animatic".

This is not me being a snob, it's what the words were created for, and using them wrong may be misleading at best and upsetting/unrealistic at worst. Allow me to explain in as much detail as I can right now, so watch out for a long post:

ANIMATION, ANIMATIC, AND WHY IT MATTERS: THE LONG POST

First of all, remember that every animation is a film or video. Even if it's an animation that is composed by mostly static images and it may few weird to call it "animation", it's still a realized video or film (or MV - music video -, student film, etc)

Very roughly put and with many caveats as every studio/person is different, once the pre-production stage of an animation moves into production the process goes like this:

STORYBOARD: A storyboard is a graphic portrayal of a narrative, concept, or script, divided into sequential scenes (panels). Usually, it is done based on a written or roughly drawn script, and it serves to translate the story visually so placement, movement, timing, and camera angles are better understood or articulated. It's often done even for live-action movies.

They can be as detailed or as general, as clean and shaded or as scribbly as they can. Their point is being a visual sequential reference to the script.

Examples (more here):

Batman: The Animated Series opening

This Batman storyboard puts a lot of effort in making the images very clean and readable and in high contrast, which is useful in a noir series.

Super Mario Odyssey cinematic sequence

Mario is a lively series where depth, character silhouette, and fluidity are favored, so it's okay if the storyboard is scribbled if it's coherent to the movement and characters.

ANIMATIC: An animatic is a string of storyboard images edited together with sound to illustrate how a sequence will flow in motion. (...) [It] is basically an animated storyboard. The same images you’ve already created as a storyboard are now put into a video and can include dialogue, sound effects, and music.

TL;DR it's a storyboard, that is, those static panels that can be as detailed or as rough as they must, put into motion and with added sound.

Animatics are useful to keep track of timing, placement, acting, etc, which you can't do very well with static images. They may contain placeholder images, stock photos, live-action acting frames, and even fully animated sequences that were previously done - whatever it's needed to help. Technically, some are animation. But they are, by definition, unfinished animation.

Examples:

Coco - "Un Poco Loco" finished animation vs animatic:

youtube

This is Pixar here and the animatic is scribbles. There is fluid, expressive animation there in order to communicate the livelihood of the sequence, but no more.

This wonderful thing:

youtube

Dan Harmon recorded a real court order discussion and drew the animatic on top of it, but he didn't intend to do a finished animation from this. Therefore, those are cleaned-up simple static drawings that still convey the absurdity of the video so it can be presented to the audience, like a sketch.

Mari Flexion's "Epiphany" , from the eponymous "fluff" extra from The Magnus Archives:

youtube

Like Harmon, Flexion never intended to fully animate this piece, but unlike Harmon - whose style is simpler and more cartoony - Flexion did this with time and in an elaborated style. There are moving parts and even simple animations in there, shadows and fully conveyed details like clothes and freckles. However, by the nature of being a sketch of an animation, it's an animatic.

ANIMATION: Once you have the storyboard and (if necessary) the animatic fully realized, the "animation" stage can start - this is the refining and production of what will become the final film. This stage is composed of many other stages that characterize how close to the final product something is. Stages will vary depending on the type of film you're doing, but Ill use some of my work to show some of the most common ones in 2D animation. (you'll notice that the timing changes from one place to another; that's because I'm only one person doing that on my pace and not a studio, and also I'm a gremlin)

Rough animation: The closest to animatic; some animatic can be considered rough animations:

Cleaned-up: Rough animation that has the final lineart/style that will be used in the end (sometimes static elements are already finished; animation can be weird)

Flat colors (or flats): Where the colors without effects/shadows/lights are added.

Final: With everything else (and here, because it's a video, it contains the music I timed everything on)

tumblr_video

Originally posted here (final video) and here (work in progress gifs)

AND THEREIN THE ISSUES BEGIN

I've been observing in the last years that a lot of people are calling near-finalized, very-into-production animations "animatics". Not only fans are saying that, but sometimes artists themselves seem to consider stuff such as the following as animatics:

Shandzii's "It's tough to be a god" (original characters)

youtube

It could be argued this is a very elaborated animatic, but the amount of finished animation, detail and cleanness would put it at rough/almost clean-up animation.

@twinkle-art 's and @worldformula `s "The Magnus Archives - villain(빌런)"

youtube

This is a finished video, despite the lack of "animation" mostly.

SprectroliteAAA's "Death by Glamour - Mettaton vs. Frisk Fight"

youtube

This one has been bothering me for years now - it's a fantastic, almost fully realized rendition of this sequence, it's called "rough animation" in the opening, but it's called "animatic" on the title hhh

"But Branca," I can almost hear you say, "why does it matter?"

Well... it's not something that is urgent, or pressing, like I said before. AI- generated stuff and N/F/T/s are actual problems, but that's beside the point. Still, it's a trend that is becoming stronger, and the immediate issues I see are:

For artists: you'll look like a fool: No one is born knowing stuff, but that's inadequate vocabulary in artistic circles - especially in animation ones. If you call an animation "animatic" because it's digital, fanart, or a music video, it may sit wrong with people in the industry. You want to know which words mean what.

For art appreciators: it may sound derogatory: If someone posts their finalized film and you call it an animatic, it may rub the artist the wrong way. What if you wrote a whole fiction book and someone called it "your notes"? It's finalized work - call it for what it is.

For people who make/hire artwork: "But that's not what I/you asked for": The idea that animatics are "supposed" to get to more and more polished levels cause potential conflict between art professionals and costumers. The terms are laid out for clarity, and if "animatic" has a double meaning, people can be upset for getting "less" of what they wanted to get. Worse, calling animation/film "animatic" creates unrealistic market expectations. "Well X artist did that kind of animatic, can't you do that?" is a very hard situation to be in, as an artist. We may sell our work for crumbs just so we get the job, being exploited to do work we're not really supposed to due to a fiction.

For everyone: it can generate confusion and conflict: "Animatic" a term from the film industry. Some terms from some places may be redefined into something better or more appropriate, but this one creates miscommunication for the reasons mentioned about. Worse, it can create miscommunication between groups of people, particularly in fandom. Knowing the right words is the most conducive course of action.

Anyway, I hope this long ramble helped! Go spread the love for animatics and animations and videos all around!

#animation #animatic #art #art resources #information #youtube #raposabranca #god i wrote this during class i hope i stayed on topic

363 notes · View notes