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chromatic-lamina · 4 years

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rascal: law and robin brotp fanfic

I have a lot of brotp Law and Robin in my fics, and one fic with them as a couple. I like the brotp interaction. Two cynical and supportive friends, but the writing is mostly in my multi-chaptered works, which are dark or canon divergent or both.

Anyway, I’m going to include an excerpt below. Robin’s painting Law’s toenails while they both chat about current and past loss and love. It’s from a three-chapter work that I don’t think will make much sense without knowing the rest of the world that it comes from, but hopefully this interchange can be followed and strikes a chord with some. I know the LawBin fans are thirsty. Post canon with canon-verse history and elements. This is an older piece.

🐞

Law sat back in the garden recliner in Robin’s backyard, a book over his face. He wasn’t in danger of burning easily in the late morning sun, but had no intention of making himself prey to melanoma. Robin perched on the edge of the recliner, holding one of Law's feet.

He'd spent the night at Robin’s in anticipation of the tea-towel convention they'd be visiting today. She’d spent the night trying to share his enthusiasm as he sat, tattooed arms spread on the table, poring over catalogues. His inked hands pointed out designs featuring disproportionate tulip-ensconced windmills, and disembodied body parts that had less to do with Dali and more to do with morticians.

She assumed all the creators were outliers. Commemorative tea-towels hadn’t quite taken the art world by storm yet, but they did remind her a little of Ryuunosuke, the very cute but badly drawn dragon that had struggled and succeeded in taking them all to the top of Zou.

That was last night though and now, soon, they’d head off to gossip and gander with the convention organisers, the Dishcloth Dames, once she’d made Law pretty.

“These are so cute.” She pulled at the few black gnarly hairs curled on Law’s left big toe.

“Freak,” Law mumbled, moving his foot.

Robin laughed, righted Law’s foot and wiped the brush over the nail of his big toe.

“When did you last clip these?”

“What’s it to you? You’re the one who wanted to dress me up.”

“You’re the one who’s letting me. You’ve got old man’s feet, by the way.”

Law arched his bridge and Robin slapped it, held it down.

“The sexy surgeon’s pedes don’t please? You said they were cute?”

She studied languages. She had no difficulty with Law’s fancy Latin terms.

“Mmm. I wouldn’t go that far. But I guess you got those tattoos to distract from your tootsies.”

The ink on the bridges of his feet matched that on the back of his hands. She felt the arc of the bone against her palm as she admired the designs, although it was one of the more simple ones to adorn Law and, historically, definitely not his favourite.

“And yet, there you are, making them all presentable and shit.”

“Does Marco like them?”

“He’s got his kinks.”

“And . . . ?”

“They remain in the bedroom,” Law grinned. At times he thought the Phoenix liked every part of his body, though they’d never had a deep conversation about those particular extremities.

“Ah, you’re no fun.”

“I’ve been told.”

Law felt her move to the next digit.

“What colour are you painting them?”

“Tch.”

As if it could be anything but black.

“Well, you sent Chopper out for the colour once,” Law said to her silence.

Bubble gum. Robin snickered, remembering. Law peered at her from under his book, her shoulders rose and fell with laughter. He liked that violet t-shirt.

Law seemed so disinterested, and therefore, Robin guessed very trusting, when she or anyone else painted his nails. He usually paid little attention to the colour, or even the action. It was something that pleased those who found it amusing to decorate him. Just so long as they let him read whatever he was researching, he indulged them. A small compromise for a larger gain.

No way in hell could someone he didn’t trust do this, though it had been done. Robin knew that trust was hard won. Law told himself that he let them all think he was vain this way so he could go for their jugulars some other time. Plus, he liked giving the Dishcloth Dames even more to gossip about.

Thinking of Chopper, Law laughed as if the sound was rationed—a clipped exhalation. The tanuki reminded him of his navigator.

“Bepo. Lord, Bepo got it into his head once to paint me. Maybe he wanted to practice so he could surprise some lucky Mink in the future, and who better to be his chump than his ferocious captain?”

Robin turned to him for a second, curious, before proceeding to the next toe. Her extra hands manipulated Law’s foot for the best access. Law’s own hand kept the book in place. She liked that silver band he sometimes wore on his wrist—a solid link—a flash of sky reflected in the metal.

“His fine motor skills aren’t the best. You’ve seen his maps. Shachi and Penguin thought I’d amputated my own toes without the benefit of a Room.” A rumble lifted Law's chest and then dissolved. He smiled easily. The book didn’t cover all of his face. “He even dabbed a paw print on my heel.”

“He chose red?” She loved that flash of teeth.

“Mmm. So. I guess it’s black?”

Robin finished the last toenail and told him not to move his feet about for a while. She then drew up the recliner next to his, lay on it, leant on her side and looked across. Law could be asleep for all she knew.

“Oi, talk to me endling. Of course it’s black.”

Law’s lips twitched. Only Robin could get away with that.

“So needy, terminarch. How am I meant to do that without moving?”

They may as well have just called each other Flevance and Ohara. They did at times, but neither could be feeling too off-colour when they did, or the devil fruits would come out to play. The town names as nomenclatures were off-limits to anyone else.

“Take that book off your face at least. I know you can’t read it like that.”

“Your makeup bag’s not nearby, is it?”

“Just the toes today, Dr. Death.”

Good. He was only happy for modification to go so far. He sighed, grumbled, but lifted a hand and picked the book up by its spine, and rested it—still spreadeagled—on his chest. He blinked into the sun, then tipped his head her way. Not the most comfortable of positions.

“Can I sit up?”

The grey of Law’s irises were sometimes shot through with gold. She wondered what his parents had looked like. “Give it a few.”

He turned his face skyward again, his arm over his shut lids.

“How about Luffy?” she asked. Luffy was before island living, before Law’s casual feet days. If they’d ever played around with nail polish, she’d never seen the results.

Law groaned.

“He approached my nails as if they were made of seastone, his hand was that shaky.” The softness in tone betrayed the annoyance in his words. “For some reason he thought a pearly pink would suit? Maybe it reminded him of marbled steak or something? Of course, he had absolutely no patience.”

Law scratched at his sideburns with his spare hand.

“He slapped it on, forgot to cap the varnish, jumped on me, bringing the sheet with him, or whatever we were lying on, wherever we were. It smeared over everything; our clothes, or more accurately, my clothes. You know, Luffy somehow always escapes his own chaos—and then he declared the whole thing stupid and boring, as if I’d dreamt up the activity and forced it on him.” Incredulity hissed through the back of his teeth.

He tapped his earrings. "Somehow the polish even managed to get on these. Nami-ya probably talked him into the whole thing for a bet."

“And you let him?”

Law didn’t need to look at Robin to know her expression; amused and bemused.

“You choose your battles.”

“Mmm.” Her captain could be quite domineering. She wondered if they were the same earrings. It wouldn’t surprise her. She’d kept the same jewellery over the years, but added to her collection with each pirates' haul. The ones that Luffy didn’t somehow swap for food.

She sat up and twisted her neck. They needed to get going soon.

“Phoenix?”

“Still trying to unearth his kinks?”

“Now that you bring it up.”

Law’s smile, the one Robin and only a few others ever saw, made her lips curve.

“I paint for him at times. I mean, my own nails. He’s got a lapis grounding stone, and his flames are blue when he’s in Zoan form. I try to match those shades—a balance between the two. Other times, I paint for myself.”

“Does he notice?” Marco had a grounding stone? But then again, they all had their talismans.

“Sometimes.”

“You don’t tell him?”

“Not always. Other things are more pressing.”

“Does he know you’re a freak?”

“I thought that was you.”

Law paused for a second. He tipped his face Robin's way again, his hand still protecting his eyes. How come she got to sit up?

“The dogs have never liked it. And you know, all that waste. It’s not really hygienic in the clinic either.”

“You operate with your toes?”

Law laughed. “When I do my hands . . . It’s not hygienic.”

Robin cast a glance at her back yard – the trees that offered privacy from the neighbours, the small pond. She enjoyed life in the New World now Luffy was pirate king.

“The dogs don’t like it, but Bepo can handle it?”

“Well, he’s a freak, too. Minks wear makeup, right?”

Robin nodded. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“Makeup?”

“Being a freak.”

“To the contrary, some of my best friends are freaks. You can’t all be Chopper.”

Law calls Robin a freak and gets away with it. heh. Perhaps. Anyway, I’ll put the link to the AO3 story as the source (just edited it in. This post has been up for long enough). It’s actually about dogs and links back to another story, and is kinda sad, and features Robin, but is about Law and Marco, and there’s plenty of humour too. If you want to read it, be my guest. It’s an older one, written a few years ago. T-rated.

#platonic lawbin #lawbin #one piece #one piece fanfic #opfanfic #marco/law mention #past lawlu mention #trafalgar law #nico robin #my writing #my stuff #one piece fanfiction

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oldfritz · 4 years

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this was surprisingly hard because half of them I wanted to throw in f, but then felt guilty about it so here’s where we are. explanations under the cut to be nice (fair warning: I’m writing this while tipsy so this is a journey)

S-tier

Old Fritz: look me in the eyes. look at me. are you looking? good. where else was I was going to put him? where? in C with the other losers? foolish. I am ruining my life for this man, I’m going to go into debt so I can be moderately qualified to write books on him so Tim Blanning and Christopher Clark don’t boo my off the stage. I sit here sometimes and I’m like ‘y’know, I would start a podcast to talk about his life’ as if I’m some straight white guy who thinks any of you want to listen to me for an hour. he’s a bastard, a smug bastard, and is the epitome of self-destructive tendencies. and, honestly, I wouldn’t mind if he wasn’t so fucking misogynistic all the time. ‘oh women aren’t fit to rule’ shut up Fritz before I time travel to fuck your wife and make her have one night where life feels worthwhile. but he’s funny, I enjoy how he does foreign policy, and he’s unfortunately relatable to me. cheers, Fritz. here’s to never being satisfied from one gay disaster with anger issues to another. may we burn in hell together

A-tier

Friedrich iii: “Suzanne, he was only on the throne for 99 days!! how can he be this high up when some of these bastards refused to die?” I hear you, my friends, and I have answers. I’ll tell you two words you’ll be shocked to hear put together: liberal Hohenzollern. a rare breed, isn’t it? imagine, friends, a world where he got over his throat cancer because he listened to a doctor and we get through the 1910s, 20s, even the 30s without Wilhelm II Electric Boogaloo being in power. Prussia is still on the map, the Anglo-Prussian alliance is strong, and I live in peace. but no. this stupid man had to keep smoking. because he’s selfish and doesn’t care about my needs. you know, he actually loved his wife. rare in this family. loved her and wasn’t abusive. the bar is so low, guys. and his wife is amazing too, Victoria. the world would’ve been in competent hands if they’d been in power longer (and Bismarck would’ve been out of a job still but at least these guys are smart. their son inherited grandma Vicki’s IQ). I would sleep with both of them and would thank them for the honor (when it should always be the other way around, remember that)

B-tier

Friedrich I: if your name is Friedrich and only Friedrich, we’re buds. that’s my rule. I have to give him credit where credit’s due. he was the first. while I agree with Fritz in his proscription that he was ‘small in big ways and big in small ways’ (I may have flipped that around), he wasn’t a bad guy. he just was born into the wrong job for him. I appreciate that he rode on his father’s coattails of proving useful to the Habsburgs and did a little himself to get that sweet, sweet kingship. smart move. I also like that he saw Louis XIV and said to himself “I stan, I kin, on God we’re gonna do that’ and tried. only for have his stupid, ungrateful, unclassy son to do away with that. I, too, am a woman of luxury and self-indulgance and if I had all the riches of Brandenburg and Prussia at the time (not much), I would spend them ridiculously on outfits and music and art. now, what did he do as king? what policy legacy did he leave behind? that’s a good one :)

C-tier

Friedrich Wilhelm III: now as a king he sucks. and I stand by this because, you know, he lost to him *imagine me pretending to be short and saying ‘oui, oui’ in a bad french accent*. and as any proper Englishwoman I can’t support a monarch who goes around losing to the French unless their name is Mary I. but, he’s a pathetic little man. he really is. so indecisive, so unsure of himself. what are you doing little guy? you think because your last name is Hohenzollern, God thinks you’re a good king? well it is like 1805 and, while divine right isn’t really being used as much, it’s as good as any reason on why you’re the chosen one and my family is eating dirt in Sicily and on the Scottish border. he’s really just a dude, nothing extraordinary about him except that his wife was the only one with brains and was the first to establish that (sorry Wilhelm I). he cried when he found out that his children didn’t call him ‘papa’ and went into a deep depressive state when his wife suddenly died. he’s an average man, of average abilities, but of big heart. and the big heart is what bumps him up, for me, from his old place as an F to a C. though, his moralizing is tedious

Friedrich Wilhelm II: this man should have partied with Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. everyone’s got that one ruler whose all about sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll. for the US it’s JFK, for the UK it’s Margaret Thatcher Charles II, France has Louis XIV. Prussia has this guy and we should thank him. so many mistresses, so much sex, so much revelry and debauchery and sin! this guy’s personal life is like a treasure trove of political and sexual intrigue. if you’re into that - as I am as a town gossip - you’ll love him. I am constantly amazed by the fact that some STD didn’t kill him. syphilis, herpes, crabs. something, man, anything. but he didn’t. he’s a shit king though. absolutely horrible. all he did was whine that he didn’t get taught anything by Uncle Fritz and, yes, that’s not good if it’s true (but it’s not completely because the treatises are detailed but I guess he didn’t have time to read) but c’mon. actually apply yourself and learn on the job. I know that would’ve required him to not be balls deep somewhere, but unfortunately he’s not Dorian Gray. there’s work that needed to be done and he didn’t do it. boo!!

D-tier

Wilhelm I: apparently he was a good guy, unlike the other 3 who populate the lowest rungs of Prussian kinghood. so I give him that and I can respect that. but what did he do? what were his own ideas? I thought about putting Bismarck as king instead because, really, he was. Bismarck was a minister who ran around the king’s back to set things up exactly as he liked and it fucking worked because he was the brains. his wife was intelligent too, but theirs wasn’t a wamr and loving marriage. and Bismarck worked to get Wilhelm to distrust her because she was liberal and the fact that Wilhelm would listen to Otto even if it meant allowing himself to be drowned in the Rhine is pathetic. fun party at Versailles though. hope it was worth the war reparations

F-tier (bastard time) I’m going in a different order because I want to go from the ones I hate least to most xoxo

Friedrich Wilhelm IV: “I won’t accept a crown from the gutter” then you won’t accept a crown at all, stupid idiot! god, the smugness. the authoritarian impulses. I know it was the cool thing in 1848 to put down any revolts/protests with as much force as possible, but man, at least the Habsburgs were transparent. homie was like “yeah guys lol I’ll make a constitution and it’ll be epic! you’ll have so many rights! xoxo gossip girl” and then...nope. and AND he wanted the Habsburgs in charge of things too! Mr. ‘I’m Nostalgic For When HRE Was Great And We Blew Austrian Dick!’ grow up man. it’s Prussia time buddy, Austria is beginning to fall apart. don’t look to the past, look to the future, but you didn’t have that vision did you?

Wilhelm II: *banging pots and pans* I blame this man for everything! now, intellectually, does Germany take all the blame for WWI? no, that’s foolish and propaganda of the Allies only. if you’re a European power in 1914, you get to share the blame (ex: why did UK need to make this a naval arms race? Austria should’ve declared war on Serbia sooner if that’s what it wished to do. Russia, please stay out of the Balkans then and forever). but does my irrational hatred of Wilhelm blind me to this truth when I see his stupid face and that ugly fucking mustache that I wish to yank off? my god, yes. I see him and Rule Britannia and The Yanks Are Coming start playing so loud in my head and I’m like ‘yeah, the kaiser’s gonna pay.’ I’m sorry that Bismarck’s ego was bigger than yours but did you have to prove him right by getting incompetent buffoons who were playing checkers when he set the board up for chess to replace him? Did you have to prove Freud right by displacing private problems onto public life with your little tit-for-tat with George IV (VI?) because his mummy loved you more? Why did you need to fuck every naval vessel you saw like an inferior of Peter the Great who believed he was Sir Francis Drake? but that’s just the first war and he lived to see things setting up for the second. wasn’t in convenient for you to be close with the N@zis when you thought they might want a king back on the throne and you could reclaim your little tyrant. like every goddamn Prussian conservative or Junker, you thought you could play the tyrannical cockroach. sure, you figured out earlier that he was no pal, but you still collaborated and you still allowed yourself to get played like the weak man of conscience you are. cheers!

Friedrich Wilhelm I: ladies and gentleman, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! the biggest bastard straight outta Berlin, FW1! and who doesn’t love an abusive father? who doesn’t love a man, so insecure and pathetic, that he needs to terrorize children to be able to look at himself and have a little pride. I understand that it was because he wanted his kids, specifically Fritz, to be best. but being best and perfect meant being miniature versions of him and aren’t we supposed to want our children to be better than a carbon-copy of a small man? honestly, I could live with the occasional smack for this time period. it’s within the norm and, while horrible, isn’t irreparably damaging. this guy really had to beat the shit out of Fritz and Wilhelmina and I’m sure Augustus and Henry and Amalia and all the others (so many kids) didn’t get spared either because if you hit one, you’ll hit ‘em all. and I judge them for their flaws all the same but, for some of them, it gets hard to. because what fighting chance did they have when their father was telling them how worthless they were and beating them senseless and threatening death and life imprisonment on some? I’m constantly impressed by Henry and Fritz and Wilhelmina for amounting to any semblance of maturity, even though it’s always fleeting, because this man didn’t give them the tools to be functioning adults. but each of them managed to be greater than their father, as did Amalia managing a really cool coup in Sweden. and what did FW1 get? he built up his army, had a tall guy fetish, increased the treasury, and made the cabinet and executive offices more efficient. there used to be this one guy on here that would argue that that was all a good king made and that this lowlife didn’t deserve the contempt he got by some on here (an obvious vague of me) for his behavior as a father. and maybe I’m a crackpot, but I believe the quality of a man outshines all those other achievements and that that’s meaningless to me, in my personal life. and when I get to hell, before I go to any of these other men, I’ll go to him and ask him how hell’s fires feel because, if his God was real, it would never love him. and that’s beautiful

#i just wanted to give you guys the mental image of ol maggie doing lines of coke #i dont like her i just like to give nicknames to all my enemies #makes them uncomfortable #im very tipsy so this is weird #i apologize #but i hope its kinda funny and enjoyable #frederick the great #old fritz #the name frederick officially looks meaningless to me #frederick william i #frederick i #frederick iii #frederick william ii #frederick william iii #frederick william iv #wilhelm i #wilhelm ii #prussian shitposting

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randomoranges · 3 years

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is it lame to do art or write fics for a character’s “birthday”? prolly. do i care? nah. Also guess the song referenced-ish in the title!

Party [For Three]

January 9th 2021

It would be silly to say that this plan had been in motion since late November, but the truth of the matter is that the plan had, in fact, been in motion, since the end of the month of November. On a day that Edward had been out on errands, Calvin had cornered Étienne between two classes to ask him whether or not he had given any thoughts to Edward’s birthday. Étienne had blinked, confused, and had reminded Calvin that Edward’s birthday was over a month away – they had time, but that yes, he had given it some thought in the vague sense that he was aware that Edward’s birthday was coming up, eventually, and that something should be done about it.

Calvin had laughed in his face, patted him on the shoulder, and had then told him that he would e-mail him the Docs with his current brainstorming.

Étienne had done the mistake of assuming that Calvin was kidding, but sure enough, ten minutes later, he had received a rather elaborate document titled “Brainstorm for Deadward’s Birthday – COVID LOCKDOWN EDITION 2021.”

Étienne had – not been surprised.

Therefore, he’d read the document and through it, the both of them had discreetly figured out what to do for their respective boyfriend for his birthday.

Now, Edward never really bothered with his birthday. It was too close after the holidays and everyone was always tired from over-indulging and over-spending. It often went unnoticed and the post-holiday depression settled in on people. There wasn’t really anything to look forward to or to keep the moral up and so, Edward never really went out of his way, unlike some people he knew, to create a big bash or make a big deal of it. It was just another day, after all, and in his case, birthdays were highly insignificant in the grand scheme of things. On top of that, this year was even less than stellar, considering the current pandemic and the fact that nearly everything was shut down.

Therefore, he planned to eat the, hopefully, last of the leftovers, sleep, spend a quiet day, do some cleaning and maybe watch a movie. Keep it lowkey and such.

Still, he had to admit that the fact that both Calvin and Étienne were in town with him was rather nice. That was gift and indulgence enough. He’d had birthdays with Calvin, especially since they’d started dating, and Calvin always did do something special for him, which was nice, even if it always made him flustered. However, this would be the first time, in probably ever, that Étienne was here for his birthday – that they could celebrate it together. (He was partially to blame for that. He had never visited Étienne beyond a few days post New Year’s and he had shut down Étienne’s suggestion one year of coming back with him to spend the week until his birthday under the excuse of work and such. In his defence, he’d always assumed that Étienne didn’t want to come over or be with him for his birthday. Which, retrospectively was really stupid, considering the fact that Étienne always did something for him on their last day together for his birthday and then called him on the day of. Sometimes, he wondered if the drugs hadn’t actually affected his brain capacities at times.)

What he failed to take into consideration, (or maybe he had and he was just playing along) was that both Calvin and Étienne would not stand for that and that they had, over the past month, developed an elaborate and full plan for his birthday. Cake included.

Seeing as the possibility of activities was limited, Calvin and Étienne had agreed that they would focus on what they could do to make the day special. All chores and other such tasks were not to be done by Edward, regardless of what he said, no matter what, no questions asked. The cake would be delivered during the day by Edward’s favourite local bakery. They’d thought of baking something together, but with Edward around all the time, it would have been hard to hide the cake or the evidence. Even if they waited for him to be out of the house, Edward would most likely smell the cake upon his return and even if they hid the cake and made extra batter to say they had made cupcakes for fun, the risk of Edward finding the place where they would have hid the cake was too high. (Calvin had thought of all possible scenarios and Étienne had been surprisingly good into figuring out how Edward could find out.)

Obviously, they could have made this easier on themselves by telling Edward that they wanted to plan something for him, but Calvin and Étienne had agreed that making this a “surprise” would be better and way more cooler. Plus, Edward would shoot the idea down and tell them both that he didn’t need anything special or something equally lame and boring and old man like.

Hence, they kept to their secret document and tried to keep a low profile.

“Y’know, the whole idea of birthday breakfast was for everything to be ready on time and for the food to be hot. How long does it take to make your parfaits? At this rate the French toast will be cold and the bacon will have coagulated!” Calvin complained for what felt like the seventy-third time since the sun had risen.

“You can’t just rush art, McCall. Isn’t there some fancy “keep warm” option on that monster? It’s not my fault you decided to get up earlier still to get a head start. I told you to wake me up if I was still asleep!” Étienne tried to calmly retort as he added the delicate chocolate shavings on top of the parfait he was currently trying to finish.

“Yeah, well, how the frig was I s’posed to know that your no-bake-super-fast-and-easy-parfaits would take literal hours to make?!” Calvin asked as he leaned over Étienne’s shoulder to observe his handy work.

“I’ve been in this kitchen for less than twenty minutes. You’re the one who hogged the entire counter.” Étienne added as he nudged Calvin away so that he could reach over for the raspberries.

“You said you didn’t need the kitchen!” Calvin whined.

“Where the hell did you want me to assemble the parfaits; space?”

“Well, that would’ve been interesting to see.”

Étienne sighed and rolled his eyes, “Anyways, I’m done.”

Their carefully constructed plan was to make breakfast for Edward. They’d established a menu, had gone over it more than once, and had had to find creative ways to put some of the ingredients on the grocery list without raising any questions. (Eventually, Calvin had gone out to get some of the things himself and had just hoped that Edward wouldn’t find them.) Their plan was also to make dinner for Edward but their collaboration wasn’t at its best. Still, they supposed it was the thought that counted and so long as the food was good and Edward liked it, they’d count it as a victory.

The rest of the plan for the day could be summarised as “spend time with Edward” and “make sure he has a nice time” and “spoil him” and “give him gifts” and “make sure he doesn’t wash the dishes or do any laundry” and “do whatever it is he wants to do so long as it’s not a chore.”

The stakes weren’t exactly very high, but considering the current situation, it was a pretty good plan.

The bottom line was that they both wanted to do something nice for Edward and spend the day with him.

The only problem that they hadn’t taken into consideration was the fact that their little discussion could have potentially woken up the one person they were trying to let sleep in for as long as humanly possible.

“Ahem.”

They both stopped their bickering and slowly turned in time towards the sound of the interruption, only to find Edward, sleep rumpled and small smirk in place, standing at the entrance of the kitchen, with his arms crossed over his chest.

They blinked and looked at one another, trying to figure out how to solve this before their perfectly crafted plan fell to ashes and to smithereens.

“Good morning, gentlemen, I hope you both slept well. I slept fine and I must say, that for as much as I did enjoy having a few hours to myself to hog the bed in any which way I wanted, I was a little bit disappointed to wake up and find it completely empty.”

Calvin opened his mouth to say something, but Edward raised his hand to stop him, “I had been looking forward to at least one birthday morning cuddle on the day of my actual birthday, but even Mercury had abandoned her post. So, do enlighten me, what’s going on?” He asked with a kind smile that both Calvin and Étienne knew was entirely fake.

Without missing a beat, the other two nodded and then Étienne stepped forward, “This is all a dreeeeeaaaaaammmmm,” He started, changing his voice and flailing his arms as if he were a ghost or something of the sorts.

Calvin mimicked Étienne and did the same, “You are sleep waaaalkiiiiiiinnnnng. You have seen noooooothinggggggg.” He added, his voice low.

Edward tried hit utmost best not to laugh at their antics.

“Go back to beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed.” They finished off in unison as they walked towards Edward to shoo him back to the bedroom.

“All right, all right, I’m going, I’m going. No need to be so rude, hallucinations. I’m gone.”

Calvin and Étienne made sure that Edward was back in the bedroom, before they returned to the kitchen and slumped against the counter.

“Well, that was close.” Étienne said as he stole a grape off the platter he’d been assembling earlier.

“Think he actually fell for it?” Calvin asked him. They gave each other a look and then laughed, potentially knowing better. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

They made sure to set everything on the table so that it was picture perfect, with every last detail accounted for, right down to the carefully folded napkins and the utensils placed the “proper way,” before going back to the bedroom to join Edward.

When Edward “came to”, it was to find Mercury using his chest as her personal pillow, Étienne with his legs sprawled over his own and Calvin sitting by his head, seemingly engrossed in his phone. Mercury was the first to notice that he was “awake” and proceeded to lick his face, despite his feeble attempts to gently nudge her away.

“Good morning to you, sleeping beauty,” Calvin teased as he levelled with him to peck his other cheek.

“So nice of you to join us,” Étienne piped in, grinning, as he slung an arm over Edward’s chest.

Edward shook his head, fond and amused, and did his best to try to sit up, what with everyone seemingly draped over him in some way.

“We have it on good authority that today is a special day, actually,” Étienne went on, his grin only growing.

Edward played along and nodded.

“Yeah, it’s Saturday! So we made brunch! Come with us!” Calvin added, before bounding off the bed.

Before Edward had fully wrapped his mind around what was going on, he found himself once more in an empty bed, resigned himself to getting out of it, and followed them to the kitchen, he presumed.

Edward padded after them and expected to find the table set with brunch, but he had failed to account for the fact that both Calvin and Étienne would most likely go all out for his birthday, again.

“Surprise!” They shouted once he’d stepped in.

Instead, he found the table covered with one of the nicer tablecloths. There was a painted banner that hung from the wall that had not been there earlier, the spread on the table was gorgeous and looked delicious, there were fresh flowers in the center of the table and there were even presents carefully stacked up together at the spot where he always sat.

He was touched, moved, really.

“Happy birthday!” Calvin said as he walked over to him to give him a hug he accepted without thought.

“We love you,” Étienne added as he walked over as well and then added himself to the hug.

Edward couldn’t quite form a coherent sentence, so instead he let both Calvin and Étienne shower him with hugs and attention for the time being.

He would get his revenge, eventually – after they ate.

It would be a shame to waste such a feast.

FIN

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #pc: calgary #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #calvin BRISEBOIS LOL #calvin something #fic #projocanondoko

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dreamiehan · 5 years

Text

SCORE

⇥ ravenclaw! 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰 𝘹 slytherin reader 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

⇥ 𝘩𝘰𝘨𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘶

⇥ words 3.2k

⇥ 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

dedicated to @luvknow, someone who continuously inspires me.

To say you hate Lee Minho was an understatement. Since you two were first years, he’s been nothing but a thorn in your side.

You could admit it, he was devilishly handsome, top of his class in potions, and Ravenclaw’s prized seeker on the quidditch team. The boy had everything, and that included the cocky superiority complex that all Ravenclaw’s had.

In retrospect you two were fated to clash. You were a Gryffindor with a strong-head attitude. Beauty, brains, and president of the dueling club. Your fifth year was off to a great start and you wanted it stay that way.

Despite things always changing at Hogwarts, you’re morning rush routine always remained the same. Even after five years.

Running down the the corridor and into the great hall, taking a seat beside your best friend and house mate, Jisung.

“The queen graces us with her presence.” He mocked, stuffing food into his cheeks, causing you both to let out a loud laugh.

Since you started attending Hogwarts, you and Jisung were attached at hip. Besides yourself, he was also super close with two other Slytherin boys by the names of Hyunjin and Changbin.

It wasn’t uncommon for houses to intermingle, but Gryffindor’s and Slytherin’s had a house rivalry that even the stars would take to their graves.

Hyunjin and Changbin weren’t bad company at all, you enjoyed being around them for the most part. They looked out for you and always made you smile, but it wasn’t like that at first.

Once Jisung became close with the two, the trio was always causing some type of disaster on school grounds. Whether it be pranks gone wrong or menial duels with other students, those three we’re always the root of the problem.

It bothered you a lot. Mostly because you were running out of excuses to tell professor Mcgonagall.

As time passed, the four of you stuck with each other and were kind of invincible. You even managed to recruit the two Slytherin boys into the dueling club with you and Jisung.

Changbin was scary good and currently undefeated for his house title. The boy really had an aptitude for defense against the dark arts.

The only negative thing about being close with the two boys was Minho. Minho was always friendly with Hyunjin and Changbin, way before you came into the picture.

Maybe that’s why you we’re always running late in the mornings, because you knew Minho would be sitting at the Gryffindor table. It was a never ending equation of mutual relationships between your friends. Which was fine, until Minho used it a valid excuse to sit at your house table for almost every meal period.

Your eyes rolled back as you took a seat besides Jisung, disregarding his morning animosity.

“What is he doing here?” you groaned, suddenly losing all desire to indulge in the foods before you.

Minho smirked, making annoyingly unbreakable eye contact. “Oh come now (Y/N), you know wherever you are is where I’ll be.”

With those words, any chance you thought you had at eating had dissipated.

“Well since my past want to consume food has now perished thanks to pretty boy over there,” you complained, glaring towards his direction. “I’ll unfortunately be getting a head start to potions this morning.”

Minho flirting, or at least trying to be the center of your attention was a constant ever since you started here at Hogwarts.

You always brushed it off with some witty come back while the boys would shamelessly encourage him. Both Slytherin boys had mentioned in the past that Minho was interested in you but it was never more in depth besides them suggesting for you to give him a chance.

Even with a head start, you still didn’t move fast enough for Minho not to catch up with you.

“Come on (Y/N), it’s the first match of the season,” Minho pleaded.

“If I had no interest four years ago, what makes you think I’m suddenly interested now?” you countered.

He paused at your side, dramatically sighing at your response.

“Whatever, I’m not going to chase you down and beg you to come.”

Instantly, a little pang of guilt flooded your conscience. Minho was really irritating but he was always dedicated to whatever he put his mind to. The boy was a prodigy in so many things and he never made excuses for himself. That was probably one, out of a very small list of traits you admired about him.

You tried to think it over in that moment. Hyunjin and Changbin would definitely be there to support their housemate and you were more than sure Jisung would follow if you went.

“Minho!” your voice came out quieter than expected but still managed to stop him in his tracks. You ran up to him, patting his shoulder for reassurance.

“I’ll be there- tonight, so good luck.”

He smiled in response, sending that familiar overused wink in your direction but this time, you laughed. This time was different, this time your heart was racing because for the first time you noticed Lee Minho smelt like jasmine flowers, eros cologne, and winter.

II.

The weather was absolutely brutal, the banter between the stands was loud and fierce, and every time Slytherin would score you swore you could feel the wood between the stands tilt.

These observations alone were more than enough to remind you why you never had much interest in attending quidditch matches in the first place.

“Hell (Y/N) .. you look like you’re going to be sick,” Hyunjin commented between you and Jisung.

“Yes cause you know the constant screaming and tilting wood works is the perfect remedy to a headache that started as soon as I stepped foot into these stands.”

Hyunjin giggled at your response, he knew you were being dramatic but somewhat being serious.

“Look!” Jisung pointed, “There goes Minho.”

The crowd of students roared once more as Minho zoomed by the stands.

“Ravenclaw’s Minho goes for the snitch but wait!- Hufflepuff’s Seungmin won’t give up that easily”

You watched breathlessly as the two players fought in spirals throughout the arena. Every time Minho would clash with Seungmin you found yourself at the edge of your seat, hands clenched in desperation.

Quidditch was a popular sport amongst the wizarding world, you didn’t know too much except for the rule regarding the golden snitch.

A smaller object in play, tinted in gold, faster than most eyes could see, and sometimes seemingly impossible to catch. Whichever house’s respective seeker managed to catch the snitch during the match was the winner.

“Come on pretty boy, win this,” you muttered.

The two boys danced around arena, occasional members from the respective houses would fly past with the quaffle but you were fixated on Minho. Anytime he would even get an inch too close to the snitch, his broom would pull him back and jerk around.

If you didn’t know any better you would think he had just learned to ride a broom for the first time but Minho was certainly not an amateur.

Your gaze scanned through the opposing crowd and sure enough your hunch was correct. A younger student, presumably a Hufflepuff, was crouched over, wand in hand, mumbling some type of jinx.

“You’re kidding..” you scoffed, standing up from the bench.

“Where are you going?” Jisung asked, looking up at you.

“The Hufflepuff’s are cheating,” you explained, alerting the attention of Hyunjin and Changbin.

Changbin furrowed his brows in disbelief, “Are you sure?”

You nodded without having to say more. From your gaze alone the boys knew you were being serious.

“What’s the plan?” Chan whispered.

“The plan is you and Bin alert one of the professors because this might get ugly and Jisung you come with me.”

Hyunjin placed a hand on your shoulder before the four of you broke off, “Please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Oh come on,” you winked, “I don’t have a drop of stupid in me.”

You and Jisung stood underneath the stands, low enough to where the gaped spaces between the wood would give you a clear view of the student jinxing Minho’s broom.

“There they are!” Jisung whispered, pointing to your left.

You raised your wand ever so slightly, pointing it in their direction.

“Flipendo.”

A jinx for jinx.

It was fair game. Instantly the student was knocked back from their position in the stands, falling onto those who sat in front of them.

Jisung laughed, exchanging a quick high five with you for your quick thinking but the small victory was short lived as screams and gasps echoed throughout the arena.

The sight before you made your stomach turn. Minho laid on the ground, his broom a few feet away from him as he groaned in pain, clutching his arm. From what you could tell, it looked broken and you felt instant regret.

Maybe you should’ve told a teacher, instead of taking things into your own hands.

“It’s not your fault (Y/N),” Jisung mumbled as he examined your panicked state. “Minho will be fine, a healing spell and he’ll be good as new.”

“You’re right but I feel bad, I should’ve came up with a better plan but I was kind of in my own head and didn’t really think.”

“For someone as bright as a Ravenclaw, that act-first think-later trait must be in the heart of all you Gryffindors,” a familiar accented voice commented.

You turned around to see Hyunjin with Changbin at his side.

“Guys I’m so sorry,” you exclaimed. Truthfully, you didn’t think of how jinxing the student controlling Minho would also affect him once they lost control over the spell.

“It’s fine, seriously. The teachers know you were just trying to protect him and so does Minho, speaking of,” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow pointing back towards the direction of the castle, “You should go see him.”

III.

You absolutely hated the hospital wing. It smelt like medicine and pumpkin juice which made you gag and the temperature was always unnecessarily cold.

The past fifteen minutes had been spent pacing near the outside corridor, you were nervous but also slightly scared.

Would he be upset that you interfered?

“Sad lady! Just talk to the man, for he desires a helping hand.”

Your gaze landed above the door to a painting you had seen plenty of times before.

Sir Cadogan, the obnoxious portrait of a knight that was infamous for running through other pieces of artwork throughout the castle. This time he stood at ease in front of an 1800′s style chapel, it was quite amusing,

“Sad lady! it is okay to admit the act of care, you should tell the poor lad before it drives him into the grave.”

“Sure thing Sir Cadogan, farewell,” you mumbled.

You could literally feel the flush of embarrassment throughout your face. A painting just gave you relationship advice and nothing could be more humiliating than that.

The creak from the door resonated throughout the whole hospital wing. With a door that size it was enough to wake anyone in the whole vicinity up. Your eyes locked onto Minho’s bed side as he shifted towards the direction of the door.

Your heart was racing, mostly from guilt but also from the fact that when Minho was sleepy, his hair always swooped to one side of his face making him look extra soft. Over the course of five years, it was something you always noticed when you would come running through the great hall, late for breakfast.

“I’m so sorry, I was just trying to do the right thing but I let my anger get the best of me- you were so great out there and the fact that they were cheating was stupid, I was stupid..” You rambled on and on, completely ignorant to the fact that Minho’s hand was resting on top of yours.

Finally you noticed and you swear to Godric Gryffindor that you’ve never felt so terrified. Minho was smiling and he just continued to get lost in your rambling before you finally stopped yourself.

“You know, five years in and I certainly didn’t foresee me breaking my arm being the incentive for you to finally admit you like me,” he teased.

Your face cringed at his comment.

God forbid, come hell or high water Lee Minho would never pass up an opportunity to be a smart ass.

“God you’re so irritating,” you snapped, pulling your hand back. “You know for a fact I have always liked you, since that day on the train five years ago!”

Your hands shot up to cover your mouth. You admitted it, a truth you were trying so hard to bury but know you had to face the music and of course, Minho’s irritating smirk.

“Score,” he smiled, pulling your hands away from your face.

The proximity between the two of you was enough to for nausea to consume your whole body. You didn’t know where to look but it was hard to avoid not staring.

“I wasn’t supposed to fall for you Lee Minho,” you whispered, feeling his short breaths on your face, noses brushing.

“You didn’t have to, I fell for you instead.”

His lips were sweet and that jasmine scent overwhelming. He shifted his body enough to use his other arm to gently cup the side of your face.

Your head felt like a drug rush. You were dizzy and wide eyed, unsure of what to do until Minho finally pulled back to catch his breath.

He stared at you once more, taking in the sight of accented blush on your upper cheeks, your swollen lips that were a lot more pink than before, and the strands of hair that surrounded the outline of your face.

“I hope you can give me a chance,” he whispered.

His gaze was soft as he stared at you. Like you were the brightest star in his galaxy.

“Alright Lee Minho,” you replied, resting your head on the open space and reaching out for his hand once more. “Let’s see you score.”

#stray kids #stray kids reactions #stray kids imagines #stray kids au #hogwarts au #stray kids hogwarts au #bang chan #seo changbin #han jisung #lee know #lee minho #lee minho imagines #lee felix #hwang hyunjin #kim woojin #yang jeongin #kim seungmin

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reneejuliet · 5 years

Text

If These Walls Could Talk

Welcome back.

I’ve wanted to make another post for well over the last week, but unfortunately that desire came while I was working 7 straight days in a row, 12 hours each day. So to say I was a little more than exhausted by the time I got home each day is an understatement. In addition, I’m once again switching to my night shift schedule, so my mind and body are all out of whack. HOWEVER. As I try to go back to sleep this beautiful rainy morning before returning to work tonight, I can’t. Because my mind is alive with everything I haven’t been able to share with anyone this past week, and it needs said.

It’s still a little strange for me to turn to my blog in these moments, and not my journal. As you can imagine, since I was never a very good blogger, I certainly am not a great journalist, either. But it was an outlet - is an outlet, still. Only, with carpal tunnel in my right wrist/hand, it’s become increasingly harder to hash out all the thoughts I want to on paper. Plus, my fingers have always kept better pace with my mind when keys are involved versus a pen; not to mention the legibility this affords me upon later reflection, as sometimes I’ll write so goshdarn fast and messy that even I, myself, can’t decipher what the hell I was trying to say.

So, sleepy and shivering, I welcome you back into the pit of thoughts.

I am going to be addressing some slight depression issues, “broken home”/family issues, self-harm, and anxiety issues in this post. Still not sure how exactly this whole thing works, so I hope this is enough of a warning for anyone sensitive to those.

Without unraveling the entire rat’s nest that is my childhood, let me just say that I’ve never really known a “peaceful” home. Brief summary: my mother was absent a lot due to her own depression, my father has quite a temper, and they both fought like it was their jobs. This is why I came to love Peter Pan - whenever the yelling came pounding through my walls, I curled up underneath my window with my suitcase packed and wished for nothing else than for Peter to come take me away to Neverland. Obviously, this never came to fruition, but it helped some part of my tiny brain cope. If you’ve ever read Peter Pan, you know each child’s Neverland is their own making - I cannot tell you how upset it makes me that every. single. version of Peter Pan never includes Wendy’s pet wolf. All the same, whenever I imagined my own, it was fantastic. Full of wonder and joy and happiness, just like in the story. Only, very unlike the story, I always came home. Here, however, my home was happiness. My parents didn’t fight, my sister didn’t hate me (of course, she didn’t really hate me, but I was the pesky younger sibling that she just couldn’t be bothered with), and no one was ever angry with me. This, I realize, is probably where my anxiety began to stem from - always wanting to please everyone, at any cost. It made for a very self-inflicted traumatic childhood on my end, because I quickly learned to silence a lot of who I was just to satiate what everyone wished of me.

And for a long time, I remained this person. It wasn’t until I was about 10 years old that the depression hit, though we hardly knew that’s what it was at the time. See, I had finally made friends with a group of girls that I could be myself with, and I was happy. But, we were considered weird. Or, at least, they were - they were still more free with themselves than I was, comfortable with making strange noises and doing strange things just because they wanted to. And while I indulged in those moments shared with them, I still kept fairly quiet and reserved when on my own. This led to bullying from my classmates, because of who my friends were. It wasn’t so much aimed at me personally, but at my choice of friends. And these girls meant the world to me - they still do, 2 decades later as our friendship remains as strong as those early days. I couldn’t grasp why someone would make fun of me, tease me, because of something that finally made me happy. There just had to be more that my little preteen brain wasn’t understanding.

There had to be something wrong with me, right?

I promise, this has a point.

My non-diagnosed anxiety (I didn’t even know what anxiety was, back then) only worsened as I began struggling with finding some reason for why these kids were picking on me. None of my friends seemed to care - why did I? Because I was a people-pleaser. It ate away at me to know that someone didn’t like me, regardless of the reason for it. I tried so hard. I let people say what they wanted to about me, I gave people second and third and fourth chances all because I was afraid of what would happen if I stood up for myself. I changed how I acted, how I dressed (a whole other can of worms we will probably never address, haha), how I lived, just to try and fit in with everyone. It was exhausting, and it wore me down quick.

It also didn’t help that by this point, my older sister had hit high school. She was pretty, she was popular, and she was damn good at sports. I’m pretty sure her track record at high school is still intact, and she graduated 16 years ago. This only served to create my inferiority complex.

Why couldn’t I be as great as my sister?

Going back to the family issues - my dad was my everything growing up. He did so much for our family, made sacrifices I never knew how to appreciate until I got older. All I ever wanted was to make him proud of me, to prove to him that everything he did for us wasn’t in vain. I could see that pride in his eyes when he watched my sister excel at sports. Field hockey, basketball, track and field. She had his love in a way I coveted. I played those sports too, while in middle school, but never nearly as well. Never well enough to see that shameless pride gleaming back at me from my father’s eyes. And that killed. Because no matter how I tried, I wasn’t her.

I was more like my mother. Interested in arts (though not art itself, I can’t draw to save my damn life), music, theatre. When I finally made it to high school, I was too damn scared of failure, of being compared to her, to really try anything I had once enjoyed. It distanced me from my father. You would think, then, that this would have brought my mother and me closer; it did not. That chasm carved between us by the lack of her involvement as I grew up was too wide to bridge entirely. I grew to feel isolated in my own family, unwanted and certainly unneeded. What did I possibly bring to the table?

When I turned 16, I told my mom I needed to talk to someone. Depression still wasn’t something anyone really talked about. A taboo in society, frowned heavily upon. Full of labels and judgments I wasn’t able to bear just yet. My mom understood, even if my dad didn’t. He never used to believe in depression. He was one that agreed it was all attention-seeking, an excuse. And here I was, drowning hard and fast in it, afraid to confide in him lest he think less of me as well. So I got good at hiding it. So damn good. Because how do you tell the man you idolize that you’ve started cutting when he’s made the statement of, “if you’re going to start it, you should just finish the job”?

It wasn’t until I was much older that I was able to tell my father much of any of what I suffered through back then. Now, he tries to understand. But he’s getting older, and more ornery, and sometimes that patience wears so thin it could snap in a light breeze. More so now, because I finally stand up for myself. And while he encourages that, he certainly never anticipated I would have to do it against him.

There’s still so much screaming inside these walls. Some of it is mine, now. I hate it just as much, hate how involved with it I’ve become. But I simply cannot shoulder the weight of the world anymore.

Atlas, I am not.

My father and I never used to have such blow-out arguments. I never used to have to scream until my throat burned, my lungs ached, and my chest collapsed. Not with him. Yet I’ll do it a thousand - a million - times over if it means remaining who I’ve become. This version of me may not be perfect, and I’m certainly not happy with her just yet, but it is so much better from who I used to be. Because the girl I once was would have been dead by now. She already very nearly was.

ANYWAY.

This particular fight started over something incredibly stupid - a statement. A belief I have that doesn’t necessarily align with my father’s. I have no political affiliation. He’s a strong Republican. I made the mistake of voicing a belief that apparently leans more liberal, and he just... lost it. Got super nasty with me, made hurtful comments, refused to hear me out. And I know it’s only because he’s getting older, and like his father before him, losing his temper more often because of it. My mom constantly insists I be the bigger person, that I understand the true reasons behind his behavior and brush it off. “You know he doesn’t mean it. You know he’s in pain, how that makes him lash out.”

Yes, I do know. That doesn’t make it okay.

All my life I’ve been the punching bag for this family. The therapist listening to every member complain about each other. All my life, I’ve tried and given everything to fix it. To somehow fit this family into the mould I had imagined for us. All my life, I have sacrificed more and more of me just to make things right.

When is enough, enough?

I called my boyfriend that night, shaking and crying. Trying to understand how a parent can talk to their child that way, wondering when my family became... well, this. He listened oh so patiently, let me just cry in silence until my body was spent. He will never know just how much I loved him in that moment. Because though Peter Pan never came to steal me away, I know exactly where my Neverland is. And it’s in my boyfriend’s arms.

My father still hasn’t apologized for how he spoke to me, let alone what he said. He’s not the type to. I love him with everything I’ve got, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without him, but. I am done. I am done suffering for his - or anyone’s - sake. Sometimes, it has to be about me. As hard as that is for me to do.

If you have made it this far - if you have read any of this at all - know that you are worth so much more than you think. It isn’t always obvious, and it certainly isn’t easy, but there is meaning in your existence. I still have yet to find what mine is, but I know it’s there. Somewhere. Yours is too.

If these walls could talk I’m afraid of what they’d say The shouting they would echo The image they’d portray But I’m not afraid to hear it because I don’t know what was said No, I heard it all the first time It still rattles in my head

So give me all the silence All the quiet that you’ve got Enough to end the crying And drown out my own thoughts

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chilligyu · 5 years

Text

info: wen junhui/reader, teen, high school f2l au genre: fluff | word ct: 3k warnings: none summary: for as long as she could remember, junhui was her best friend. that’s what he told her, at least. but as they grew older, as his popularity increased and hers did not, things started to change. what they were could no longer be what it was, and neither of them knew what they could be.

Being friends with a celebrity was never easy. When that celebrity was Wen Junhui it wasn’t going to be any easier. Not that he actually did anything warranting his stardom beyond being extremely attractive and insanely smart. That didn’t stop the swarm of girls that followed him around from class to class, squealing his name and stroking his already overinflated ego. He would strut across campus, shirt untucked and hair tossed by the wind, casting a smug smirk at anyone who even dared to look at him. High school was his kingdom, and he loved being the king.

How she remained his best friend through all of that was completely beyond her.

“Wen Junhui is so gorgeous…”

“Wen Junhui is top of the class again!”

“Wen Junhui could kick me in the teeth and I’d say thank you.”

She couldn’t help rolling her eyes whenever she heard someone fawning over her best friend. The whole thing didn’t make any sense to her. His popularity was unprecedented, he became the “idol” of the school in a matter of days. When they both entered high school she didn’t understand what the big deal was. Junhui wasn’t even that popular in junior high but suddenly he was beating off girls with a stick. She really didn’t get it. She didn’t want to either.

“Hey stupid.” Junhui teased, sitting on the table she was working at. “You busy?”

Leering up at him, she pointedly turned a page. “Yes, unlike you. Now scram, I have a big test to study for.”

“We have a test?” He asked honestly. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” She sighed. “It’s been on the board for the past week. Don’t you ever pay attention in class?”

He shook his head. “Not really. I had no idea.”

“Because you don’t need to bother studying.” She muttered bitterly. “You’re going to get the highest grade in the class no matter what.”

He leaned back on his hands and smirked knowingly. “For once you’re not wrong.”

“Bite me Wen Junhui.” She spat as she stuck out her tongue. “If you knew what was good for you you’d probably treat me a bit better.”

“Oh yeah?” He challenged with a coy smirk. “What could you possibly do?”

“I don’t know, perhaps expose some of your deepest darkest secrets.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Maybe I should go around to everyone in the grade and tell them about your huge crush on Ms Park back in grade school? How your ears would turn red whenever she called you her little JunJun.”

Junhui’s eyes widened in fright. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh I would.” She threatened easily. “So stop being a pain in my ass if you know what’s good for you.”

Pouting, Junhui crossed his arms in a huff. “Here I was trying to have a pleasant conversation with my best friend. But, as always, you’re so mean.”

“Who starts a pleasant conversation with hey stupid?” She asked. “If you think that I’m the mean one in this friendship then you’re the devil.”

“That wouldn’t be the first time someone called me that.” He winked playfully.

She had to force her lunch back down. “Please don’t make me sick. Your face is enough to make my stomach turn on its own without your personality making it worse.”

“Nice try.” He scoffed. “But you’re not fooling anyone.”

Rolling her eyes, she stuffed her books into her bag and stood abruptly. “I don’t need to fool anyone into believing the truth because you’ve got all your lackeys eating up the lie. Now do me a favor and stay put so I can go study in peace.”

“Wait,” He started, hopping down from the table. “I actually—”

“Nuh uh!” She interrupted him with a wag of her finger. “You stay!”

“But—”

“I said stay!” She persisted. “Stay!”

Shaking his head with a sigh, he waved her off. “Alright fine, have it your way. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Probably.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “You always find your way back to me sooner or later.”

He offered her an affectionate smile. “Yeah. I always do.”

“See ya later Jun.”

The Wen Junhui that everyone at school thought they knew wasn’t the one she met back in grade school. When she met him he was this awkward little kid from China, barely spoke her language, barely left his house, he was even kind of cute. She actually used to have a bit of a crush on him until they entered high school and he turned into the egocentric jerk everyone knew and loved. Not that she’d ever admit that to anyone now.

Junhui used to be shy, considerate, courtesy and kind. How he managed to turn into a skirt chaser that only cared about sports and his hair was a complete mystery to her. Everyday he would have a new piece of arm candy, someone who basically worshipped the ground he walked on and looked good beside him. He barely associated with her during school anymore. The only times she would get to see him was if he was bored or if no one else was around. She hated feeling like she was only his friend out of convenience and nothing more.

“Whatcha doing?” He prompted one day, sitting beside her underneath a tree in the courtyard. “Are you skipping class like me?”

“As if. I have a free period.” She explained curtly. “A period free from you.”

Chuckling, Junhui leaned back on his elbows. “You’ll never be free from me.”

“I’m starting to realize this.” She muttered underneath her breath. “Don’t you have someone else you can bother? What about that girl from Class D? Haven’t you been hanging out with her?”

Junhui groaned dramatically. “She wants me to meet her parents. Can you believe that? Why do these girls always think that we’re dating?”

“Maybe because you send them flowers and tell them how beautiful they are.” She offered without looking up from her book. “Something in there might give them the wrong impression.”

“It’s all just a bit of fun.” He sighed. “Fun that they always seem to ruin. Looks like I’m going to have to text her and call it off.”

“I think you should start drafting up contracts with these girls.” She returned sarcastically. “With I will never meet a girl’s parents in big bold letters at the top so they won’t get the wrong idea.”

Pouting, Junhui sat up and nudged her with his elbow. “That’s not entirely true, I’ve met your parents.”

“I’m basically your sister.” She scoffed. “That doesn’t count and you know it.”

“Ugh, all this talk is giving me a headache.” He deflected, scooting slightly and lying his head down in her lap.

When she didn’t respond or acknowledge his actions, he started to squirm. A minute passed, two, and she still didn’t say anything. Her lips twitched slightly in amusement at Junhui’s evident displeasure. He never liked it when he was ignored, he was just like a little kid in that sense. It was the one thing that she was able to hold over him. She never felt the need to indulge him like everyone else.

“C’mooon…” He whined. “Pay attention to me!”

She shook her head. “I’m busy.”

“But I’m bored!” He continued. “At least read to me or something.”

“If I read to you will you shut up?” She sighed, deciding to at least meet him halfway. “Because if you’re going to keep bothering me—”

“You know listening to someone drone on and on always puts me to sleep.” He stated, shifting slightly in her lap. “I’ll be out before you know it.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Thanks for calling me boring.”

He smirked triumphantly. “Anytime.”

“Whatever.” She grumbled. “You better keep your promise.”

As she read Anne of Green Gables to him, she could feel him drifting off. Subconsciously she started running her fingers through his hair, something she used to do when they were young and honest. Moments like these truly made her miss the old Junhui, made her wish that he would act more like this around all of his other “friends”. She always regretted these moments because she would get too attached to them. Even if she knew that she could only get a few minutes like this with him a day she foolishly yearned for more.

Sometimes she wondered why she was so different. Why he didn’t treat her like all the other girls. Perhaps it was insecurity, but she always knew it was because he never saw her as a woman. She was just the childhood friend, the crutch, the person he leaned on yet never wanted to be with. It didn’t bother her, not really. Her romantic feelings for him died off long ago. The Junhui she loved was gone.

In the following months she did her best to distance herself from him. She was finally fed up with being Junhui’s obligatory best friend. Their friendship had always felt one sided, he only ever came to her when he was bored or running away from his latest fling. So avoiding him wasn’t even that difficult. All she had to do was hang out with her friends and he wouldn’t even bother with her. He didn’t want to be seen by her side.

“Why do I feel like you’re ignoring me?” He asked towards the end of their junior year. “Like—more than usual.”

Taking a sip of water, she didn’t even bother to look at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“There it is!” He exclaimed. “Right there! You’re mad at me!”

“Why would I be mad at you?” She sighed laboriously. “Do you ever think before you speak?”

“I’m very good at knowing when a woman is mad at me.” He returned, his chest puffing with pride. “I’ve practically made pissing off others an art form.”

She flipped through her flashcards. “If you think you know me at all then you’re more delusional than you let on.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He asked, almost offended. “We’ve known each other since we were kids! I know you better than anyone else!”

“Then why don’t you tell me why I’m mad at you.” She challenged in a dry tone. “If you even want to call it that.”

Pursing his lips, Junhui, for once in his life, was at a loss for words. “I—I don’t—I don’t know…”

“Looks like I’ve made my point.” She clipped. “Get lost Junhui. I’m busy.”

“Don’t be like this.” He tried to persuade her. “Seeing you upset like this always makes me sad.”

She wasn’t swayed. “Why don’t you go find someone who will fawn over you. That always makes you happy.”

“Is that was this is about?” Junhui asked in disbelief. “You’re pissed at me because I’m popular?”

If she rolled her eyes any harder they would’ve rolled right out of her head. “You’re an idiot.”

Junhui leaned back and crossed his arms in exasperation. “I’m an idiot because I can’t read your mind?”

“You’re an idiot because you honestly think that there can’t be a plausible explanation why I’d ever be pissed at you.” She informed him with a glare. “Unless you actually think your popularity has anything to do with this. And if that is the case then idiot is far too kind of a word for you.”

“I don’t believe this right now.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I thought we were friends and yet you won’t even talk to me—”

“In what world are we friends?” She interjected angrily. “Name one time in the past two years we’ve hung out outside of school. When’s the last time you came over to study or play video games? Have I ever met your other friends? Have you met mine? What’s my favorite band right now? What did I get on my last English test? Answer any one of these questions and I’ll consider calling you my friend.”

Watching Junhui’s mouth flutter open and shut was enough of an answer for her.

“That’s what I thought.” She sighed, packing up her things and swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Look at it this way, you won’t have to pretend not to be my friend anymore during school. Won’t that make your life so much easier? Isn’t that what I’ve always been good for?”

They didn’t speak after that. She barely even looked his way. Life continued on, nothing really changed for either of them. Girls still chased after him, she still studied diligently, it was like their friendship had almost zero influence over either of their lives. It was a sad thought, one she tried not to dwell on, because even if she was thankful to be rid of him she couldn’t deny that she missed him.

She missed spending time with him, missed laughing over stupid jokes and going out for ramen because one of them had a craving. She missed the Junhui that belonged to her, as selfish as that sounded. Not that he was hers and hers alone, but she didn’t want anything to do with the Junhui that seemed to belong to everyone else. Maybe that was best for both of them.

All throughout senior year he tried to reach out to her. Some days her locker would be stuffed with letters and notes, each were thrown directly into the garbage without a second thought. It was—kind. She really should’ve given him a chance. Of course at that point she knew she was mostly being stubborn, that she was the problem not him, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to confront him. Her own pride prevented them from fixing a problem that could’ve been solved long ago.

“Hey.” He said to her during graduation after cornering her on the roof. “Sorry for tricking you.”

She shook her head with a laugh. “I figured it wasn’t Jisoo, his Chinese isn’t that good.”

“I’m shocked you can even still read Chinese.” Junhui chuckled. “You were always so adamant against learning it.”

“Sometimes I like to surprise you.” She smirked. “What’d you want to talk about anyway?”

“Well—” He started hesitantly. “I really didn’t want to leave today without clearing the air between us. No matter how much you protested the matter.”

Blushing slightly, she ran an anxious hand through her hair. “Sorry about that. I’ve—I’ve sort of been an ass about the whole thing.”

“You’re telling me!” Junhui agreed with a smile. “I’ve been chasing you around for the past year!”

“Hey, I’m sorry.” She apologized once more. “But I appreciate the persistence, I wasn’t sure you even cared.”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “There was no way I was going to let you end our friendship without first knowing the truth. After the shock wore off that day I was running around the school looking for your but you were gone.”

“O-oh?” She stammered. “Really?”

He offered her a shy grin. “Yeah. I hadn’t realized until that moment how I was treating you could’ve easily been confused for shame. I’ve never been ashamed of being your friend, I hope you know that.”

Unsure of how to feel, she nibbled on her lower lip. “I guess—I guess I didn’t know that.”

“And that’s totally on me.” He admitted honestly. “What you mistook for a “hidden friendship” was actually—you’re my only friend. And I literally mean that, everyone else gets on my nerves. I wasn’t avoiding you during school, I was always trying to get away from my swarming fans to find you. Hanging out with you between classes was—it was the one thing I looked forward to during my day. I hate how everyone fawns over me.”

Her jaw dropped in shock. “Wait—what? Now I know you’re lying. You’ve been totally eating up all of this attention since freshman year!”

“About that…” He pressed his lips together. “The only reason why I pretended to like it was because—because I thought that if all the other girls liked the cool, calm, and collected Junhui that maybe—maybe you would—”

Oh no.

Junhui swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Confession time. I’ve sort of been in love with you since we were kids. I’ve always loved how confident you are, how you don’t take shit from anyone, how unapologetic you are, but I never had the courage to tell you how I felt. After we entered high school and everyone just assumed that I was this hotshot cool kid that was enough to make me start believing that I could tell you. And when you didn’t treat me any differently, when I was still the same Junhui to you, I actually fell more in love.

“It was weird. No matter what everyone else thought of me, no matter how much it was rubbed in your face, you never treated me differently. You’ve known the truth all along and you liked me for me, not some image everyone painted me as. I planned on confessing to you eventually, but you always brushed me off. Every time I found you you were already running for the hills.”

When he paused to gauge her reaction, to hear some sort of response, she realized that she was frozen in place. She didn’t want to believe him, or at least a huge part of her didn’t, but she knew that he wasn’t lying. He would never lie to her about something so important. She just had no idea what to say or what to think, his confession had sent her mind reeling.

“You don’t have to like me back.” He added suddenly. “I never thought that you would, you’ve always seemed so annoyed with me. You’ve always compared us to siblings and I can be a real dickish little brother. And—and after what I put you through, even if it wasn’t intentional, I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted nothing to do with me.”

She had to tuck her head to her chin to hide the blush creeping up her neck. “Why are you always so dramatic?”

Blinking in disbelief, Junhui burst out laughing. “That’s what you finally say after I confess to you? You had my stomach in knots for that?”

“Well what am I supposed to say!” She exclaimed, slightly frustrated. “How was I supposed to know you had any sort of feelings for me whatsoever! I haven’t prepared for this!”

Sighing, he took a couple of steps towards her. “This isn’t a test. You could’ve prepared for weeks and you wouldn’t have been ready.”

“Some mental preparation would’ve been nice at least!” She continued to protest. “You can’t just spring this on me like—that’s not fair!”

“Why are you the one freaking out?” He asked, clearly amused. “I’m the one who confessed! If you’re going to drag out this rejection I swear to God—”

“Who said I was going to reject you!” She halfway shouted without realizing what she said. “I mean—y-you shouldn’t put words in a girls mouth like that! I—I have my own opinions and you shouldn’t speak for me!”

A dangerous look sparked in Junhui’s eyes as he closed the remaining distance between them. “So why don’t you tell me what you want to say then? You can’t keep me waiting all day, we have to graduate in a couple of hours.”

“N-no one’s making you stay up here…” She mumbled nervously. “You’re free to go…”

“No way in hell I’m leaving this rooftop without an answer.” He stated plainly, crossing his arms. “I’m not letting you leave either.”

Her eyes widened in shock, her blush deepened even further. “Th-that’s not fair! Wen Junhui, if you don’t leave right now I’m—I’m going to—”

“You’re going to—what?” He challenged confidently. “Call me names? Expose an embarrassing fact of my childhood to our classmates? I hate to burst your bubble but there isn’t anything you can do that’ll sway me from—”

She interrupted him by grabbing at his lapel and pulling him down for a chaste kiss. It was quick, sudden, it sent a shiver down her spine. She hadn’t kissed a lot of boys in her life, but that was definitely the best. The brash action was enough to stun Junhui to a point where he couldn’t move, giving her the perfect chance to escape. Willing the nervous tension from her joints, she quickly bolted towards the door just as he came to his senses.

“See you at graduation!” She teased. “My little JunJun.”

“You’re the worst girlfriend ever!” He shouted after her. “I hope you know that!”

“And you’re the worst boyfriend ever!” She returned, sticking her tongue out at him. “So we’re even!”

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i-am-a-fan-of-empty-spaces · 6 years

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super long 12/21 birthday letter

dear god:

i’m on ritalin and can’t nap.

when i write these things there’s always a kind of balance i have to maintain. emotions and words are slippery and when you get an image you want to complete it, and you have to stop yourself and think: does this stay true to what i’m actually feeling?

the truth is i feel a mix of a lot of feelings at all times. they come and fade. that makes it hard to write about them. i felt physical joy watching the contrapoints video on violence, then switched to facebook and saw my conversation with graham, felt guilt and shame and sort of a self mild-dislike. i felt motivated when ritalin first started coming on, and thought, i could probably do anything right now. but now that i’m faced with the task of studying for tutoring, it’s hard to get motivated, even if it’s easier than normal. feelings exist on scales, but words deal with yeses and nos.

what’s going on w me? a lot happens over the course of a week. maybe one dominant theme of this week is shame and frustration over not being a good friend. some expectation to be comforted by others when i share this with them. a small degree of guilt over my desire to share this as a way to be comforted. not enough to demand anyone tell me what they honestly think about me, which is what i want most.

i get the desire to have immediate access in crucial moments to the things that would make me a better/interestinger friend--the right words, responses, a good understanding of their feelings, more intelligence and insight, genuine interest in their lives, more skill at writing and art,

part of this feels very myopic and selfish and pointless. if i were a non-me person reading this i wouldn’t care.

steven asked me how my friends were doing. i told him they were probably busy with finals. it didn’t dawn on me until then that that could be a reason i felt annoying. in the past whenever he got busy i got depressed and insecure and then i’d realize it wasn’t anything about me at all, i wasn’t messaging more he was just responding less.

honesty about situations and not editing in little narrative-enhancers is a difficult task when writing for my future self and knowing an audience can read. it’s easy to believe my own lies. things like “here is why i am like this”, that make for a more coherent life story. the truth is just “i don’t know” for 99% of all things, so the method is to use as few words as possible and to be as direct as possible when describing any emotion or circumstance. even highlighting a truth like this is dangerous. you can’t be sure your insights will ever hold up over time. you can only describe your feelings in the moment. the closer you zoom and the less you make sense of things, the less dangerous things get.

i wrote that on mdma feelings can only be defeated by larger contextualizing feelings.

ok god that’s out of the way. lemme do a thing real quick. lemme express feelings dishonestly to beautify myself and my life. the ritalin is wearing off sharply and my head is clouded by noise suddenly and my writing ability has vanished.

i said on mdma i wanted you to save people. i still want you to save people. i want you to save all of us. my tendency to read humanity as being sad and deserving of pity probably gets me in trouble with friends, probably makes them feel condescended to. but can i indulge this for just a second? i feel helpless a lot, a lot. i see people feeling helpless, even if they don’t admit it or recognize it. and i worry about a lot of people, about how they might never find someone to understand them, about how they might lose faith in the capacity of humanity to save them. i see them feeling sad and wanting to die. they talk about not being worth anything. my friend graham has tried to kill himself a lot of times already and he is a great person who should not die. i’m afraid they’ll always struggle with sadness or alienation or all of the weight they carry from past hurts. i don’t have enough love in me to give. even if i were to have all the love they needed to feel important i wouldn’t know how to express it in a way that could save them.

i confess that these days i believe in you less, believe less in some power outside of human effort and blind luck that can change hearts, but i think when desire is powerful enough it will escape in the form of prayer, and a god becomes necessary as a receptacle of something so impossibly good that reality can’t contain it. we find ourselves bargaining, promising tasks, changes of heart, our lives, in exchange for an answer, and then we find all of it falling short and hope you have enough love for us to grant us mercy. the desire for a loving god is woven into the human heart.

it’s taken an hour or so to write these past few paragraphs. writing on a ritalin comedown is an uphill battle against mental noise.

let’s try short sentences. i can’t think long.

i pray for graham. i pray for cherr. i pray for JC. i pray for steven. i pray for giulio. i pray for felix. i pray for ace. i pray for arielle. i pray for myself. i pray for my sisters, though i find this oddly hard to say sincerely.

i pray that i have more love for my sisters.

i pray for myself, that i can sincerely want what’s best for people even after growing close to them and seeing their selfish bits in high resolution. i pray for love that doesn’t rely on projecting my own desires on to people.

i pray for my parents.

i pray for more love and more wisdom and more desire for love and wisdom, and stupid courage to face my own lack of it no matter how depraved and awful it gets to look at and courage also to develop where i need to develop even if it will never be close to enough, and i pray for my very best to be enough for me and i pray that people will be patient with my faults and i will be patient too,

i pray for humility and trust and stupid faith in you to provide for them all,

i pray for all of them to go places in life that are good and to find things that are good that help them survive and become fulfilled and beautiful. at the time of writing this i really feel it.

i pray for a good world. i pray for strong people. i pray that you are real, and one day things will be made right. i am angry at people who try to see things as good as they are now because things are fucked and awful and the world hurts people without recompense. i pray that you are the fulfillment of every unfulfilled desire.

i pray to be less selfish.

i pray, selfishly, to be less insecure, because it feels bad. i want to be a healthy happy person with good thoughts and intentions.

god these days i get stressed a lot and i’m weak so instead of powering through i say things like “god save me” and “i feel lost” when it’s not actually that bad. and i curl up and let the noise in my head scatter in a million directions until i feel okay.

being honest is hard work. sighing to you like a child to a doting mother is much more satisfying. i would like to sigh to my friends because they respond more readily but humans don’t take well to self-pity. so i sigh to you.

God, help me. i feel lost. help me, help me, save me, please. teach me strength sure,

but right now also save me and make me float in the confident knowledge of your strength and beauty so i don’t have to be strong and i can just walk forward effortlessly knowing graham and cherr and steven and giulio and felix will be okay always and forever and that one day i will be good and wise and loved and so will they.

make this world beautiful and okay. this world is fucked and we are sad.

like a child’s cry is designed to be heard by a mother our suffering exists to invite your grace.

amen

PS shit sucks and i’m confused a lot and stressed out and i’m a coward so i like it when it gets bad enough that i feel okay napping.

PS my therapist sucks

PS odesza is good i wanna listen to em on molly

PS i wanna be a good friend but also this is code for i wanna be liked by people i like forever

PS remember that time in taiwan i shouted at my mom and she cried and said she felt unloved even if she knew i loved her? i know how that feels and it sucks.

seriously god how do i become likable and make people’s lives good and enjoyable, and how much of this is selfishness vs genuine desire to help others and when this happens how do i make sure my whole life is constantly in a state of this and never in a state of me being annoying and needy and what is the meta truth i need to defeat my fear of being annoying

lastly PS here’s to a good 25th year

and thank you god for letting me meet graham and cherr and everyone even mel and thank you for letting me see humanity in its richness and interestingness

and thank you for giving me emotions and for keeping me safe all these years and giving me a sense that i am loved and understood and valuable no matter where i go

thank you for this unwavering confidence in the beauty and goodness of the human experience. you’d better not take this from me.

like can i brag? my life rocks, taiwan was beautiful, i am cool, i am likable to a lot of people and able to get close super fast, i travel and try drugs, i am deep and interesting and moody, i bought a fucking sick cat hoodie and it makes me cute, i feel cute sometimes like right now, this bed is soft as hell, i can read tarot cards drunk at parties, i’ve grown so wise, i made a comic w cherr,

can i thank you double for my friends because holy fucking shit they are such great great humans and in every measure no matter how deep or shallow they are A+, like on the shallow end they’re easily as cool as me and have interesting opinions worth hearing and if i weren’t weird about hugging i’d hug like 2 or 3 of them maybe,

ecuador is gonna rule, maybe one day things will fall apart and i’ll lose a sense of joy over things as shallow as sick cat hoodies but like lemme have this moment, lemme have this joy okay god

amen.

oh but

on the one hand i wanna say 3 hour journaling is the norm for me. but also, i distinctly remember being on 40 mg methylphenidate and spending the 3 hours writing a letter to nathan, i also distinctly remember this molly trip a few weeks ago where i spent 8 whole entire hours writing, and each of those times it felt totally natural and not a drug compulsion, and my therapist was like “holy moly that’s a lot of writing” and i was like “nah i write when i’m sober” but shit i think he’s right

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cookinguptales · 7 years

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update: lmao I am so fucking doped up right now. sorry to the world that I got behind on shimamatsu translations, but have you ever tried to translate while on muscle relaxants? it’s a bad scene. god, I’m in a lot of pain rn.

gonna talk about some of the movies from the film festival below the cut. doped up af but I’ve seen like 14 movies so far, hella. tomorrow I probably have to skip bc I just took two cyclos and that is gonna fuck me the hell up.

movies I’d recommend:

thelma a norwegian film which is basically a coming-of-age story for a fundie christian girl who goes to college and realizes she’s a lesbian. oh, and that she has insane supernatural powers. (it’s kind of carrie-ish but with canon f/f, but imo a lot better than carrie.) the love story is really interesting, if incredibly dark. like if you’re in the mood for dark, kind of mindfuck-y f/f, this is your film. despite the very long upcoming list of potential triggers, it’s not as scary or brutal as it sounds. lmao. highly recommended, probably the film I’ve enjoyed most so far. (tw: violence, nudity, drug use, death, [spoilers] child abuse, possible mind control, child death)

custody a french film based on a short film that I saw a few years ago, and it’s fantastic and gut-wrenching. the short film was about a woman running away from her abusive husband with her children; this feature-length film is about what happens when a stupid judge ignores what both the wife and children have to say and gives him joint custody. (spoilers: it doesn’t end well.) interestingly, it has all the same cast as the original short film, though the kids are markedly older. idk if it’s meant to be a straight sequel or if one just inspired the other. really well done, tho, I was fuckin white-knuckling it in the theater. people were like. yelling. the climax of that film is INTENSE. probably the best quality film we’ve seen so far, though I think the plot could’ve been tightened up a little. (tw: very explicit depictions of physical and emotional abuse, very terrifying moments. [spoilers] but no child death.)

I, Tonya tonya harding biopic. I’m not really a big one for biopics, but this was a good one. it tried to explain how harding’s life led her to where she got, but didn’t necessarily paint her as some innocent victim. it was sympathetic where it needed to be, empathetic where it needed to be, but rarely let her get away with bullshit. lot of good performances here, but Margot Robbie (even though she looked way too old for the part) did a great job. (tw: explicit child/spousal abuse)

the villainess Korean lady-gets-revenge-on-shitty-men bloody action flick. not really my genre, admittedly, but I feel like anyone who likes this kind of movie would really enjoy this one. very Kill Bill-esque. it’s the story of this girl who basically gets passed around between illicit assassination organizations, in-fighting, revenge on all those who wronged her, etc. it is Very Bloody and many people die. the action scenes are HQ if you are into that kind of thing. I was mostly invested in the huge amounts of f/f potential. like at one point she joins an assassin organization where all the operatives are female and that whole part of the movie!! was very gay!! the actual canon relationships are het, but there is a strong potential for dark f/f murderwives here. (tw: haha oh boy if it’s a problem it’s probably here. implied CSA, child abuse, creepy relationships, violence, gore, nudity, child death, everyone else death, non-con facial surgery...like it’s bloody af okay...)

love means zero this is a documentary about nick bollettieri, who’s this super famous tennis coach. (apparently.) I knew next to nothing about the world of professional tennis going into this documentary, but I still enjoyed it bc wtf this guy is a piece of work. it’s basically all about how he fucked over a ton of people (especially kids) when he was trying to make tennis champions. and how he succeeded! by fucking over a ton of people! the interviews with him are honestly kind of wild bc he’s just such a crazy narcissist. this was especially weird for me to watch bc I grew up in the sarasota/bradenton area and never even knew all this shit was going on there. it was weird seeing my hometown on the screen like that, but also interesting. (tw: child abuse, just generally being a fuckboi)

MOVIES THAT WERE OKAY but like I had Issues

brimstone and glory I feel like I really recommend going out to see this one if you can see it on the big screen. it’s a documentary about a fireworks festival in Mexico and honestly the cinematography is stunning. it’s just so, so, so cool. but the actual documentary part is kind of boring sometimes, and you gotta have a strong stomach bc it also shows some of the injuries people get at this insane festival. like I don’t think showing that is a bad thing; I think it’s the only responsible way to make a documentary about this festival. like it’s amazing, it’s so cool, but also these people are like. going blind, losing hands, dying. and taking their kids!! like if you cannot handle watching kids in dangerous situations, don’t go!! dad was freaking out, lmao. (tw: graphic depiction of real-life injuries)

radiance a Japanese film about a woman who writes audio description for blind movie-goers. the same director made An (Sweet Bean Paste) a couple years ago, which was notable for its depiction of what Japan does to its citizens who have Hansen’s Disease. (leprosy.) it was weird to me when that movie came out that none of the reviewers really talked about that aspect of the movie; they were all like “UGH IT WAS SO POINTLESS AND CLOYING” and I’m like “did you miss the point of the movie?? which was critiquing the social ostracization of these people in Japanese society??? did that completely go over your heads????” anyway, I appreciated the depiction of PWD in Japan bc having lived there while disabled, I know that shit isn’t easy. that’s why I went to go see radiance. it was...okay? I think the most interesting part was when they let the blind characters talk. the movie was otherwise pretty pretentious and self-indulgent. lmao. like... it’s a rent, don’t buy situation.

marlina the murderer in four acts this movie was not bad! it’s an indonesian film about a woman whose home is invaded and she kills all the invaders. it’s definitely a film that critiques misogyny in indonesian culture, but I feel like it undercut its own message by showing such incredibly graphic rapes. like honestly, I don’t really ever recommend movies that have very graphic rape scenes, but I guess she does end up killing her rapists during the rape scenes. I just. I feel like it could have been done in a way that won’t get people all sexually excited while watching a violent rape. : / y’know? other than that, though, I really liked the female characters in the movie and sympathized with marlina’s journey trying to get society to help her and realizing she had to just go it alone with her female friends. bc like. she’s attacked by men, but she’s also revictimized by shitty ordinary men all the time she’s trying to get to town, report the attack, etc. and so are the other female cahracters. so they just. have to be vigilantes. (tw: GRAPHIC rape, violence, mild gore, spousal abuse)

newton Indian film about a guy going out to the jungle to get votes in the main election. but like. none of the people out there even know who the candidates are, there’s a lot of anti-government violene, the villagers are caught between anarchists and the police, it’s just a mess. and I do think the movie was good at showing the futility of it all and showing how the people who really end up getting fucked over are the poor people in rural areas, but at the same time like. pacing was uneven, tone was ???, and I found the protagonist irritating. and there was what appeared to be some pasted on het which made no sense. (like honestly I cannot figure out why she ever wanted to talk to his dumb ass again.)

blade of the immortal it’s takashi miike making blade of the immortal. I mean. I feel like if you are familiar with those names, you already know if you want to see it or not. if you aren’t, idk how much you’d like it anyway. after already having watched miike’s ace attorney adaptation, I sense a pattern. the guy just looks at a HUGE corpus (like a VG with 5 cases, or a manga with 40 volumes) and is like “welll....then I guess we better make things fast.” so you have Big Bads being introduced in the same breath that they get killed, 30-second backstories, just a frenetic pace and a huge amount of information, and it’s confusing and overwhelming if you don’t already know it. and honestly, I haven’t read BotI so I can’t say how faithful this was. but if you already love the characters and just want miike’s trademark bloody action flick style, then I mean. fair enough. this here’s a bloodbath. I had a hard time getting emotionally invested as a fresh viewer, tho. highlight of the evening: an old man walking out grumbling about how he only likes classy martial arts movies, and apparently this did not qualify. having seen a lot of classics of the martial arts genre, still unsure what a “classy” martial arts film looks like. (tw: offscreen rape, death, blood, gore, just an unreasonable amount of killing honestly like it was funny by the end, attempted CSA)

gemini this is a “neo-noir” thriller. so essentially a murder mystery. unfortunately, the title of the movie basically gives away the entire story lmao. so while the build-up wasn’t bad, the entire last 15-20 minutes of the movie are a total letdown. it was nice to see canon f/f, I guess, but I feel like the movie never went in hard enough on that. like were they trying to make a point about how hard it is for celebrities to have same-sex relationships? I’m not sure!! I can think of a lot of things that would make this plot more interesting, but they just didn’t do them. acting was fine, I guess. John Cho was in it, even if his character was pointless. Zoe Kravitz is always fun. (tw: I mean it’s a murder mystery. so...murder.)

DID NOT ENJOY

scaffolding (israeli film, boring af)

the workshop (french film, kind of boring, makes questionable points about neo-nazis)

#haha I'm dying squirtle #if anyone wants a full review on any of these I'd be happy to #these are just some hot takes #i tonya #thelma #custody #the villainess #love means zero #brimstone and glory #radiance #marlina the murderer in four acts #newton #blade of the immortal #gemini #scaffolding #the workshop

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tripstations · 5 years

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Check your luggage or carry on? Readers have their say

(CNN) — Forget “Lord of the Flies.” If you want to see nature red in tooth and claw, lock a bunch of humans inside a pressurized tube for eight hours and see how quickly they divide into factions.

With check-in travelers on one side and carry-on devotees on the other, it’s a darn good thing weapons aren’t allowed in the airplane cabin.

We asked CNN Travel readers to tell us where they stand the on the great luggage debate, after two CNN staffers laid out the pros and cons.

Your answers were impassioned, thoughtful and informative. We had close to 500 responses, and they divided into three camps.

Check-in enthusiasts were the biggest group, at 37%, carry-on aficionados made up 33% of the feedback, and 30% of people said, “it depends on the trip.”

See what readers had to say below. (Responses have been edited for brevity).

Check yourself before you wreck yourself

Check-in fans love that they can glide hassle-free throughout the airport and say that it takes a lot of the stress out of traveling.

“I work for an airline and travel frequently. I try to pack light but always check in my bag, even if it is carry-on size, as I hate carrying luggage through security and the airport.” (Alketa).

Weight expectations

When traveling for long periods or to a cold climate, it’s difficult to squeeze all your goods into a carry-on. Also, plenty of travelers have special requirements — medical equipment, baby strollers, canes, you name it — and pared-down packing simply isn’t an option.

Then there’s the simple fact that some of us are bigger than others. “I am a pretty big guy and those rinky-dinky carry-ons just don’t cut the mustard for me.” (English on Delivery, Japan.)

Unfair policy

Many people have physical difficulties which simply prevent them from reaching up to put luggage in an overhead bin.

“Forcing the disabled, height-challenged and elderly to pay for a checked bag is discriminatory.” (Terry Schumann, Sylva, NC.)

“What to do when you’re a disabled person who must carry extras and/or replacement items in case something important is lost or broken? Two different airlines broke my rolling walker and I had to use a cane (tucked into checked luggage) until I found another. Airlines very, very often refuse to help.” (Austin, Texas.)

Liberate our legs

A common frustration of those who’ve checked in their bags is then being asked to put their carry-on bag under the seat in front in order to make room for carry-on passengers’ suitcases in the overhead bin. “Not only is this uncomfortable, but I’m potentially smashing anything in there with my feet,” Says Nick from Suburban Chicago.

Free the aisle

Our readers hate it when people block the aisle while loading or unpacking bags. “The overhead hassles (not to mention competition) are annoying at best and life-threatening at worst,” says Jim Steele, pointing out that it can hinder an emergency evacuation.

Check in and avoid the line

“I can afford to just wait out the boarding zone calls. I bide my time until all the overhead crammers are on, and finished (protecting my head from those people trying to catapult their carry ons above me).” (Lesley Peter, Yucatan, Mexico).

People love Southwest

Southwest Airlines is adored by some fliers for its check-in bag policies.

AFP/Getty Images/File

A lot of readers travel with checked luggage for free thanks to credit cards linked to airlines. There was also a huge amount of love for Southwest Airlines.

“I really wish that fewer airlines ripped people off with baggage charges, and more were like Southwest with their two free checked bags. If you’ve ever flown on Southwest you know that there’s plenty of overhead bin space and boarding goes faster even on a full flight because people can check a bag without paying through the nose.” (Dave Sturtz, Gold Hill, Colorado.)

Traveling for business

“In the past, carry-on was the smart business traveler move, but now EVERYONE has a carry on. Now you join the fight for overhead space, the hell that is the TSA check, and the dreaded wait in a unorganized line when they have gate-check.” (John Gibson, Omaha NE.)

Packing light and re-using clothing isn’t an option when you’re “trying to make an impression in a business environment. When your schedule is crammed, then you pack the same, leaving nothing for chance.” (Judith Ganes, Panama City, Panama.)

Gate check-in: The case for and against

“Any time I fly, I pack a carry-on. Once I reach the gate, the staff inevitably asks for volunteers to check their bags — for free (and I gratefully indulge).” (Jessalyn Goodman, Cincinnati, OH.)

“With low-cost airlines, there’s always a chance your carefully packed carry-on luggage gets thrown into check-in at the counter.” (Dr. Gopinath, Hyderabad, India.)

“The airlines have forced the current AWFUL situation. Most people know they can gate-check their carry-on for free, so now the gate area functions like the check-in counter used to, and the jetway is now like baggage claim. It’s crowded, slow, stupid, and just a terrible experience.” (Andrew, Madison, WI.)

Rhonda Howard from Chicago: “My vote is that everyone has to pay for their luggage… or no one does.” (Rhonda Howard, Chicago).

Checked luggage weight is important

“Pilots need to figure luggage weight into the weight and balance of the aircraft. Check your bags, give the pilots the data they need, keep a baggage handler employed, save your back, board with ease and slow down.” (Gina from Maryland, retired flight attendant.)

Keep calm and carry on

Sometimes checking those bags is the only option.

Getty/ Alexander Hassenstein / Staff

Show me the money

“I refuse to pay extra for something that was once free.” (Erika Orejola Orange, Ca.)

Save time

Carry-on aficionados love that they can arrive at the airport in extra-squeaky time and skip out quicker too. It can also make it easier to make a tight connection.

“E-tickets plus no check-in queues and no baggage claim let me shave at least an hour of airport experience each way. That’s worth every bit of inconvenience I have in needing to carefully fold my clothes.” (Stephen, UK).

Flexibility

“When flights are canceled/delayed, and you stand in line to be rebooked, they will often ask ‘Do you have checked baggage?’ If you are only holding a carry-on, they have more flexibility in re-routing your flights.” (Quin Wetzel, Cincinnati, OH.)

Derek from Florida got stuck in a bag-drop line for more than an hour and, having missed his flight, was put on standby. “I did not end up making it to my destination, as all flights were full. At least my checked bag had a nice visit to St. Louis, while I stood waiting standby at the airport.”

Board early

However, passengers said they had to board early — either by getting in line, buying priority boarding, or having airline status — if they were to be certain of getting their bags in the bin.

“The simple fact is that the higher your status on the airline the sooner you get on the plane. The low status/no status passengers will be checking their bags at the gate.” (Art, USA).

Take back control

While check-in fans love feeling liberated from their bags, carry-on devotees say they enjoy feeling in control of where they and their luggage are going and when. Smart packers had plenty of tips to offer, from ziplock bags to packing cubes to solid conditioner for hair.

“Wear your nicest outfit on the plane. In addition to saving a lot of space, you tend to get treated better.” (H. Green, Chicago, IL.)

Paring down

“With a checked bag I usually end up with clothes/shoes I never touch, and realize when unpacking that I really didn’t need them.” (Sandy Tello, Houston.)

“It’s easier to navigate once you arrive at your destination. As a 5’1 solo traveler it’s not feasible for me to drag a suitcase nearly as big as me around cobblestone streets, subways and buses.” (Heather Shank, Louisville, KY.)

Keep luggage lovely

“Luggage is so pretty when you first buy it. By the time it’s made one trip in a cargo hold, it floats down the little conveyor belt in a baggage claim with dents, black marks, scrapes, and broken locks.” (Allison, Houston, TX.)

Precious things

A lot of people — especially those with expensive camera equipment or vital medication — like to keep everything close by.

“Whatever indifference airlines have towards their passengers, multiply it for their luggage.” (Joshua Mellin, Chicago.)

“On the rare occasion I have checked a bag and been separated from it, it’s nice to know I won’t die in some strange place without clean underwear.” (Chip Brown).

Once bitten, twice shy

“After you have had luggage not show up (in some cases never getting it back) numerous times you just ensure you will have it at your destination by carrying it on.” (Gail).

The squeezed middle

Around a third of people who responded said that there were a range of factors affecting their decision to go check-in or carry-on: price, duration of trip, time of year, whether they were packing gifts and so on.

And the main thing everyone had in common? A call for consideration for one’s fellow passengers.

Obey the rules

“I am enraged at the size of carry-ons people bring onto planes.” (Charlotte, Fairfax, VA).

“I had an experience in which a guy broke the luggage bin trying to close the door on an oversized case. It cost over an hour of delay to repair the bin.” (Mark A. Butterworth, Muscatine, IA).

Don’t hog the bins

“Unfortunately, there are passengers who have seats near the back of the plane who like to stow their carry-ons closer to the front so they don’t have to deal with them in the narrow aisles. Common courtesy would dictate that everyone place their carry-on in the compartment over their seat.” (Jim from Germany.)

Charge for carry-ons?

“I think airlines should charge for carry-ons and make checked bags free, to streamline boarding and deplaning.” (Frank Perch, Philadelphia). Diane in

“I would vote for seat-assigned, strictly size limited overhead compartments which cost money to book.” (Ruech, Munich.)

“The challenge these days is knowing what airline allows what. Gone are the days when virtually every airline had the same rules.” (Ken McLeod, Ayrshire, Scotland.)

An alternative

“I send my baggage with Federal Express etc to my hotel and back in a sturdy aluminum case. That way you can take anything.” (Fran Gerber).

The post Check your luggage or carry on? Readers have their say appeared first on Tripstations.

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glimmerkeith · 7 years

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(hahaha last one i promise, obviously you can do 1 or zero of these

ty for the indulgence, as always…omfg

***

Staying up until two in the morning to write a term paperwasn’t unheard of in the world of uni students, not by any stretch of the imagination,but most of them were likely doing so because they had procrastinated and putit off until the very last minute. And all right, perhaps some trouble mighthave been saved if Mick had started his economics paper just a bit earlier, but he had gotten started with plenty of timeleft—the trouble was that he kept going back to edit it, to add moreinformation, to re-edit, to make sure it was perfect.

And he set an alarm for early the next morning, to look overhis final version one last time. He’d even forgone his usual early-morning tripto the gym to glance over the monstrosity again, all twenty-plus pages of it,lips moving soundlessly as he read parts of it over. This couldn’t last long,however, the class started at eight o’clock sharp, and the lecturer wouldn’ttolerate late arrivals on so crucial a day.

Throwing an outfit together and pushing the binder with thepaper in it inside his backpack, Mick bolted from his tiny flat with what washopefully plenty of time to spare. The brisk walk to the train station thatwould take him further into the city was marred by gray clouds alreadygathering above, no trace of early morning sunlight visible at all. He didn’tstop to worry about that much right now—what was more urgent was fighting hisway onto the first train compartment he could get on, hauling his all-importantcargo along.

By the time he got to the station, his head been nodding offagainst his seat more than a couple times, the result of a long night up andnot near enough sleep. Checking his watch indicated that there was enough timeto squeeze in a quick visit to the usual coffee place where he would stop by toget a drink in the morning, and his feet were carrying him there without hiseyes bothering to look up at the sky again.

There was a queue already lined up in the warm, brightly-litshop, a sharp contrast to the darker, chillier day outside. By the time Mickwas thinking that perhaps this hadn’t been the smartest of ideas, it wasalready a bit late—he was so far ahead in line, he might as well just stay herenow. It was a popular enough destination for many of the students at variousschools nearby, and he could spot some familiar faces even here now.

The guy in front of him was dressed all in black, with aguitar case slung over his shoulder. When he turned a little, Mick thought theprofile looked vaguely familiar…he’d seen him in here from time to time,sometimes with a skinny blonde woman, but always with the guitar case. Anotherfriend, Andrew, had been in here and said he vaguely knew him through a friendof a friend at the local art college—Keith, maybe? Something like that.

He shuffled forward and gave his own order, leaving Mick toall but fidget with impatience on the spot as he checked the time on his phoneagain. He’d be fine if he hurried. There wasn’t any need for concern.

A few minutes later, he was grabbing his own coffee orderand hurrying outside the shop and onto the pavement—and just in time to noticethe now-sinisterly dark sky, accompanied by a rumble of thunder. There was onedrop, then another…and within moments, the rain started to come down inearnest. Mick swore profusely and moved faster, his wet hair starting toplaster to his cheeks as he tried to remember if he had an umbrella in his bag…butstopping under a nearby awning for a moment proved the answer to be adefinitive no. He cursed again, and looked out frantically into the rain thatwas now starting to come down in sheets.

He hadto be on time, there was no way he could dawdle or even wait for a bus inthis. But he had little doubts that the rucksack was far from waterproof, andif he did rain damage to the critical and godforsaken paper he hadworked so hard on…

His eyes landed on a solution in the next moment. Underneaththe awning of the building next to him, the art college student (Keith?) was stompingout a cigarette under his shoe, and preparing to go back into the rain…with ahuge umbrella opened over his head.

Mick moved as fast as all his sports training had evertaught him, darting over to Keith in a blink. “E-excuse me, pardon me! Listen,it…it’s Keith, is it?”

He looked utterly gobsmacked for a moment, and Mick didn’tblame him. “Er…yeah. How the hell d’you know my name?”

“Andrew. Oldham. He knows your friend Ronnie. I…are yougoing in the same direction LSE is?”

Dark, almost dangerous eyes looked him up and down. “…yeah,thereabouts.”

God, he could have been a little more talkative—but hehad better things to worry. “Look, I hate to ask, but I’ve got the one and onlycopy of my bloody term paper probably falling apart in my rucksack right now,and I could use…I could use an umbrella to get to school. Please.”

Keith gave an incredulous snort at that. “Are you winding meup here?”

“No, not at all! I’m fucking serious—”

“And what am I supposed to do, walk all the way in the raininstead? I don’t think so.”

He was tired, so tired and frazzled and overworked, healmost contemplated throwing himself on Keith and wrestling the umbrella fromhis hands before peeling off down the street. The thought—or else hisdesperation—must have been written all over his face, as Keith studied him oncemore.

“…you look like a drowned fucking rat.”

“Jesus…thanks for that.”

The rain had showed no sign at all of letting up, and mostpeople were opting to take shelter in nearby buildings as cabs and cars rumbledpast on the road, headlights glowing in the torrential downpour. Maybe, Mickthought, he could nick a newspaper or something and use it for a feeble amountof cover—and then, to his surprise, there came a ragged sigh behind him.

“Oh, god…I must be going soft. Look—I’m going the same wayfor a bit. If you want we could…share, I guess.”

Mick whirled around, fully prepared to defend himself fromany joke that might be trying to be pulled on him—but Keith looked sincereenough, and he’d moved the umbrella forward a bit. It really was quite large,there was space enough for both of them under it, and a wild, grateful smileunfurled across his face.

“Thank you. Oh mygod…thank you.”

Now under the relative cover of the umbrella, they set offdown the street together, Mick taking care that his rucksack was definitelyreaping the benefit of this new arrangement. There was room, but not much tobrag about, and Mick found himself increasingly all but pressed up againstKeith’s (dry) side as they walked briskly along. But of course, he was wearing aleather jacket, and it smelled like cigarette smoke and surprisingly, somethingwarm like cinnamon. Maybe it was whatever was in his drink. In any case, it wasan almost comforting sort of sensation, and it was everything he could do notto try and huddle even closer up to him.

“So you know Andrew, huh?” Keith asked him as they werewaiting at a crosswalk, and Mick nodded.

“Yeah. We…go back a bit.” If that was one could say aboutsomeone you used to fuck on a semi-regular basis.

“He’s a character. But, uh…guess I can see why he’d be intoyou.”

Mick blinked at that. “What does that mean?”

“Um, well…don’t worry about it. Forget I said anything.”

It seemed stupid to argue with someone who he now owed, soMick kept any further thoughts to himself. Stupid Andrew.

One of the familiar buildings that belonged to LSE’s campuswas soon looming just ahead, and of course, just as the rain finally started tolet up. It began to slow down to a fine, still-steady patter, but at least onecould reasonably see where they were going now. Mick’s teeth were stillstarting to chatter, as he’d only put on a thin shirt this morning beforeleaving in a rush. Keith glanced over at him more than a couple times, andfinally came to a halt just outside the building with a sigh.

“I really must begoing soft…but Christ, you really do look tragic.” He shrugged his jacket offand held it out. “Just put it on, all right? You’re making me cold just lookingat you.”

Mick’s mouth fell open a little, almost about to stammer outa protest—but at this point in the day, he was still too frayed to turn anoffer of kindness down, and the jacket was plenty warm. “I really don’t…Ireally don’t know what to say, you know.”

“Say you’ll give it back to me, I want to keep the damnthing.” But Keith’s grin was friendlier, not feral. “You know where to find me,apparently.”

Yes, he certainly did—and Mick was surprisingly grateful forthat for more reasons than one by the time they finally parted ways. He bid Keithgoodbye and thanked him again before ducking into the foyer of the building,shaking his hair almost like a wet dog and still wearing the jacket. Peeringout the rain-slicked windows and out to the pavement revealed a distant figurewalking away with an umbrella held aloft, and he had to give a small smile evenas water continued to drip steadily off him.

Maybe the morning hadn’t been a total wash after all.

#my fic #god...i really am a giant sap tho #but ngl umbrella-sharing is one of my favorite tropes sooo u_u #i'll do my last prompt tomorrow #the glimmer twins #✨✨

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puddingcatbeans · 7 years

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title: fall asleep with me (i’ll be here when you wake up) pairing: promptis (mostly platonic but can be read as developing) summary: being the unwilling heir to a crumbling throne would make anyone tired. sleeping is noctis' favourite past time, and prompto? his favourite escape. or, five times noctis falls asleep on prompto, and one time prompto falls asleep on noct.

this was supposed to be self-indulgent fluff but it turned into a 4k mess of headcanons and character/relationship study, so yeah >ao3 link<

“Remind me why we’re skipping class,” Prompto says, laying his head on the table, “to hang out at the library?”

“Because it’s quiet,” Noctis answers. He taps Prompto’s head with a pencil. “Or it’s supposed to be.”

“Boo. You’re the one that dragged me here.”

Noctis rolls his eyes. He goes back to his notebook, and Prompto goes back to staring listlessly out the window.

There are textbooks open on the table in front of them, but neither of them are trying especially hard to study. The librarian let them hide out here, on account of Noctis wanting to catch up on his missed homework—and also Noctis being, well, the Prince—even though they should be suffering in some science class. Prompto isn’t really sure which. That fact alone means he should probably study harder. He can already hear Ignis’ voice going, Bad influence on the Prince, neglecting your education for trivial pursuits. But it’s not like Prompto’s a hopeless student; in fact, his grades are actually pretty level with Noctis’, and he doesn’t even have Ignis’ private tutoring (private torture, as Noctis insists) half the time. Prompto just prefers to chill, sometimes. Like all teenagers do.

Including Noctis. Who is currently sketching something across his notes, head bent and tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.

Prompto rolls his head until his cheek is pressed against the cool surface of the table. “Whatcha drawin’?” he asks.

“You,” Noctis answers without looking up.

Prompto has to admit he walked right into that one. As it is, he sighs, lifts his head up so he can cover his face with his hands. Not like there’s much point, since Noctis knows he’s blushing. Prompto has never hated his pale skin more.

It’s quiet between them for the next few minutes. Late afternoon sunlight casts their shadows long against the carpet floor, stretching until they touch the bookshelves. The librarian has disappeared from his station at the front desk, and the only sounds to be heard are the faint rustling of leaves from the open windows and the soft scritching of Noctis’ pencil on paper. It’s as if they were the only two left in all of Eos.

“Here.”

Prompto looks up to find Noctis’ notebook shoved in his face. He grabs it before it can smack him across the face, and peers down at the page. It is a drawing of him, but Prompto thinks Noctis took way too much liberty. There’s a rough sketch of a boy leaning his head against the table, face turned one way, sunlight catching his peaceful, sleepy expression. The tufts sticking up at the top of his head and the smattering of freckles across his nose are the only indication that it’s Prompto, otherwise, the drawing is of someone much more pretty and regal-looking than him.

“Those aren’t my cheekbones,” he says, and receives a shove on the shoulder.

“They sure as hell aren’t mine,” Noctis responds. He’s put his pencil down and pushed the textbooks aside, creating a clean, empty space on the table where he sits. Movements languid like a cat, he folds up his jacket (black, as in royalty, never to be mistaken for anyone else’s) and lays his head on the table, much like Prompto did before. Noctis closes his eyes.

“I still think you should have signed up for some arts classes, Noct.”

“Nah... Too many rules.”

“Shame,” Prompto says, and he means it. Noctis is surprisingly good at drawing. He only does it when he’s bored and alone, and only recently, when he’s bored and alone with Prompto. He says it helps calm his mind when he can’t escape to go fishing. Sometimes the city just gets too much, too loud for him. Prompto understands. He’s only honoured that Noctis deems him good enough to intrude on his little pockets of quiet.

When Noctis doesn’t answer for quite some time, Prompto glances over to find his friend asleep. He’s still amazed at how quickly and easily the other boy can fall asleep. The first few times he caught Noctis in the act, he was worried. Isn’t this sort of extraordinary skill unsafe for a Prince? But he soon realized Noctis only does it when he’s able to let his guard down. Which then led to weeks of freaking out because Noctis! feels safe! around him!

Noctis’ face is half-covered by his elbow. His bangs drift up and down when he breathes out, all soft and steady. He looks a lot more approachable when he’s asleep. A part of Prompto, deep deep down inside of him, is glad that he’s one of the few rare ones able to witness this side of Noctis. He doesn’t want to have to share the wonderful person that is his best friend, which doesn’t make sense because Noct—Noctis is the fucking Crown Prince, the heir to the throne.

Prompto is only a boy, a boy who’s spent far too many years clawing his way out of loneliness. Who can blame him?

Slowly, hand shaking slightly, Prompto reaches out. He touches Noctis’ head, and when the other doesn’t stir, he gently, gently runs his fingers through soft black hair. Noctis remains asleep, but almost seems to lean into the touch. A smile unfurls on Prompto’s face. Petting Noctis’ hair with one hand, he reaches out with the other and pulls a textbook towards him.

(In the end, they are scolded by Ignis for missing an important lecture and forced to sit through a tutoring session with him, but Prompto can’t complain. Ignis teaches much better than their teachers, anyway, and Prompto would never say no to being able to spend more time with Noctis.)

ii.

Prompto isn’t sure what to expect when he makes it to the train station that was in Noctis’ barely coherent text at 1:32 in the morning. Summer is in the air, but it has rained a lot lately, so Prompto pulls his jacket tight around his shoulders as he hurries inside.

“Noct! What’s up, br—Whoa.”

His best friend is leaning against the wall of the near-empty station, knees pulled up and head resting on them. He has on one of his sweaters, the hood pulled over his head, and if Prompto didn’t know better (and if Noctis isn’t wearing, as always, the royal black), he’d think this sad lump in the corner of the station is just some lost hooligan wasted on a Friday night.

“Noct?” Prompto crouches down next to his friend. “Are you okay?”

Hazy blue eyes squints up at him. Noctis smells like fine wine and expensive perfume. He probably came straight from the Citadel. Prompto has half a mind to wonder how Noctis managed to leave without his entire security detail following him. “Prom,” Noctis says. “Wh... Why are you here?”

“Dude, you’re the one that texted me.”

“Nnnn? I did? ...Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem. But, uh, what are you doing here? I thought you said there was some important royal party thing you can’t miss.”

Noctis’ face scrunches up, and his head lolls against his knees again. “Party was stupid. Nobles are stupid. Royalty is stupid.”

Fighting the urge to laugh as Noctis continues to list things that are stupid—which, apparently, is everything, tonight—Prompto taps Noctis’ arm for his attention again. “Hey, Noct. I get that the party wasn’t fun but do you maybe wanna get out of here? The train station at this time of night isn’t exactly... safe.”

“I’m not going back there,” Noctis says immediately.

Prompto lets out a brief laugh. “Yeah, dude, I don’t think they’ll let me in there either. And you’re certainly in no shape to be going anywhere on your own. Hold on, let me call Ignis—”

“Ugh, not Specs!”

“Sorry, buddy, but I’ve only recently been accepted into his good graces, I’m not about to screw that up.”

Noctis groans and begins to tip over on one side before Prompto reaches out and rights him. As expected, Ignis answers with a franticness that causes Prompto to pull his phone away from his ear briefly. In the end, they decide on meeting up at Noctis’ apartment since it was closer and less of a hassle than returning to the Citadel. Prompto pockets the phone after reassuring Ignis that he will call him as soon as they arrive.

“Come on, Noct,” he says, nudging his friend. “Let’s get you home, okay?”

It takes some maneuvering and awkward balancing and more than a couple elbows against his ribs, but eventually Prompto manages to heave Noctis onto his back and stand up without both of them doing a spectacular faceplant. He starts to walk them out of the station.

“The heck,” Noctis says, arms tightening around Prompto’s neck, “you’re strong.”

“Thanks, dude. I do work out, you know.”

“Nnn, but you—you’ve got—” Here Noctis untangles one of his arms and flops it in the general direction of Prompto’s biceps. “—got muscles for days, Prom.”

Prompto presses his lips together. He’s never seen Noctis this drunk before. A part of him wishes he had a free hand to record this. For reasons. “Thanks, Noct. At least someone appreciates these guns.”

“I... love your guns,” Noctis mumbles. His movements are slow, and he presses his face into the back of Prompto’s neck. He’s heavier than he looks, but not by much. Most of it is muscle mass, which is unsurprising considering the amount of training the boy devotes his time to. But Prompto’s regimen has also changed since becoming friends with Noctis, and by extension, Gladiolus, so he walks through the quiet streets with Noctis on his back no problem.

They’re crossing the street when Noctis huffs a little, breath warm against Prompto’s skin. “Prom,” he says.

Prompto waits a bit, but when no further words come, he turns his head slightly. “Noct? What’s up, buddy?”

“Prom,” Noctis murmurs again, and he shifts a bit, until his cheek is squished on Prompto’s shoulder. He repeats Prompto’s name, this time softer and more slurred.

Hefting his best friend’s weight up his back, Prompto hums a random tune under his breath. Noctis’ breathing begins to slow, evening out until the steady lull of his chest against Prompto’s back calms the adrenaline that had pumped through Prompto since he received that text. He puts one foot in front of the other, and carries his best friend home.

(Noctis is stupidly hungover the next morning, but when Prompto comes over bearing his favourite greasy foods, he pulls Prompto into the seat next to him and presses their legs against each other, and Prompto hears his silent Thanks, Prom. Prompto presses back, wordlessly replying, Always, Noct.)

iii.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Noctis says as they enter the Argentum residence.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Prompto says quickly, “the house is empty.”

He catches the curious glance Noctis sends his way and Prompto sighs to himself. Noctis won’t say anything, because he’s nice that way, always respecting people’s boundaries despite people rarely extending the same courtesy towards him. But Prompto feels a bit guilty for always shying away about his private life and, well, life in general, when Noctis has given him so much. There just really isn’t anything Prompto can offer that ever feels good enough for what Noctis has brought into his life. Besides, it wasn’t like it was anything Noctis didn’t already know, as Prompto’s pretty sure Ignis had ordered a background check on him as soon as he made contact with the prince.

“My guardians,” Prompto says, leading Noctis into the living area, “they, uh. They work a lot, so they’re away most of the time. So I get the house to myself! It’s kind of like you and your apartment, though this place is no way as swanky as your apartment...” He catches himself and hurries to wave his arms, feeling the familiar weird tightness and heated panic rising in his chest. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything—because I’m not! I’m, I mean, I know I’m very lucky to have a roof over my head and everything, and this place isn’t that bad, I mean, it’s pretty spacious and I get my own room and everything, it’s just. It’s...”

“It’s just not home.” Noctis’ soft voice fills the stifling stillness of the house when Prompto falls silent. His eyes roam over the unused furniture, the faint layer of dust on the cabinets, the emptiness of a room that is meant to entertain the most activity of a house. “It’s like... you live here, but it’s not really your place, is it, Prom?”

Prompto nods. He fiddles with the wristband on his right wrist. “I’ve been thinking, you know, when I graduate, if I save up enough, I could get my own apartment? And it’ll be small, probably, but it’ll be—it’ll be mine, you know? So I could. I could make it a home. And if you want, I mean, I know it won’t be much, but if you want, you could come over and visit...?”

Noctis is studying him in that quiet way of his, eyes half-hidden behind his long bangs, but Prompto can’t tell what he’s thinking so he just keeps talking.

“—but you’ll probably be busy with, you know, being—being royalty and all that, you probably won’t want—I mean, won’t have time. To. To bother with me, but that’s fine, I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“Prom,” Noctis interrupts. “I’d love to come visit your future apartment, on one condition.”

Prompto stares back, trying to remember how to breathe properly again.

The corners of Noctis’ mouth tilt up. “You have to promise to let me nap at your place with no complaints. Even if Specs is blowing up your phone.”

A slow smile settles on Prompto’s face. “Do you even have to ask?”

“Yeah,” Noctis says, smiling back. “Do you want to show me your room? You weren’t lying about that limited edition giant chocobo plush, were you?”

“How could I lie about that?!”

They spend the next hour or so going through the organized mess that is Prompto’s room. Prompto insists Noctis sit on the bed, and his friend doesn’t protest as much as he would have. Prompto doesn’t miss the way Noctis’ face loosens fractionally with relief when he lifts the pressure from his knees. He doesn’t comment on it, instead reaching over for his camera and proceeding to show his friend every single photo. Noctis makes a few quips here and there, but for the most part remains quiet, nodding along to Prompto’s babbling commentary. When his yawns begin to escape, though, Prompto asks if maybe he wants to return to his apartment.

“No,” Noctis says instantly. He sinks back against the wall. “Um. I may have... stormed off on Ignis this morning.”

Prompto gasps. “You had a fight? Wait, does this mean I’m hiding a fugitive in my house?”

Noctis shoves him half-heartedly. “I told him I was headed to your place after school.”

“Aw. Well, you know you can stay here as long as you want.”

By the time Prompto comes back into his room after relieving his itchy eyes of his contacts, Noctis is curled up on his bed, chocobo-themed comforter wrapped around him, sound asleep. He must have been really tired.

Prompto sits on the edge of the bed, a small smile on his lips as he watches his friend breathe in, breathe out. There’s a slight knot in his brow, and his fingers clench together periodically as if aching, but Noctis doesn’t stir when Prompto reaches over to tuck the blanket over his shoulders.

He should probably text Ignis that Noctis probably won’t be making it back to the apartment tonight. He has half a mind to do that, and to grab an extra blanket so he can camp out on the couch for the night, except his room has never felt more inviting, and his bed has never felt more comfortable. Prompto yawns, and lies down next to his best friend.

“Goodnight, Noct,” he mumbles, rolling onto his side. He shuffles close enough to feel the warmth of the other boy, and closes his eyes.

(He’s startled awake the next morning to Gladio practically breaking down the door and a frazzled Ignis behind him, but seeing the colour return to Noctis’ face and the dark smudges under Noctis’ eyes fade just the slightest bit was worth it. It always is.)

iv.

The sky is an overwhelming shade of blue, barely a wisp of cloud in sight. A lazy breeze flows through the air, rustling the trees and ruffling their hair on its way. Prompto sighs contentedly, putting down his camera.

“Man, if I’d known the Citadel gardens was this pretty, I’d have bugged you into showing me around sooner.”

Noctis glances over from his sketchbook. “I did invite you over to the Citadel many times,” he reminds Prompto. “But you refused.”

Prompto makes a face. It wasn’t like he was avoiding the Citadel. Okay, maybe he was, a little bit—but only because he didn’t want to seem like he was taking advantage of Noctis’ friendship! Plus, the idea of him, Prompto, a no-name commoner, stepping into the heart and capital of Insomnia, where the King lives, where Prince Noctis is more than just a title and source of gossip as guards and servants bow when he walks past... It’s an understatement if Prompto said it was daunting.

“I’m surprised they let me in so easily,” he says out loud.

“Well, you are my friend. And there are a bunch of Crownsguard hanging around in case you do try anything funny.”

“Ah, that’s why the back of my neck’s been feeling itchy,” Prompto exclaims, and he smiles when that manages to startle a laugh out of Noctis. His friend has been more sullen than usual lately. Prompto doesn’t want to pry, because it’s really not his place and besides, he’s more than happy to be the one Noctis turns to when he wants to escape. Being the prince isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Prompto at least understands that.

Noctis flips his sketchbook shut and places it on the grass beside him. Leaning back on his hands, he squints through the thick branches of the tree they’re sitting under. “Hey, Prom, you wanna stay for dinner?”

“Like, here? In the castle?”

“Yeah.” Noctis hesitates. He doesn’t meet Prompto’s eyes, but his gaze is doing that sliding sideways thing which means he’s mustering up the courage for something he wants, but doesn’t want to force. “My... father, he’s been wanting to meet you for a while.”

“Your—?” Prompto chokes. “Your father, as in, the King?”

“I don’t recall being adopted by anyone else.”

“B-but, I? Are you—are you sure?”

Noctis finally looks at him. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“No, I do! I just... It’s just a bit nerve-wracking, is all.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Noctis agrees, and his posture relaxes a little. He nudges at Prompto. “Hey, let me nap for a bit.”

Prompto blinks. “Alright? I mean, I’m not going anywh—!” He cuts himself off as Noctis promptly flops over onto his lap, eyes closing and expression clearing without a care. “Uh, Noct?”

“Shh, let me borrow your legs for a bit.”

Prompto watches with wide eyes as Noctis drifts off into sleep. Absently, his fingers find their way into Noctis’ black hair. Noctis lets out a small sigh, but only shifts to lie more comfortably on Prompto’s thigh. Prompto smiles. He’s used to staying still and keeping quiet for long stretches of time. It’s a habit that comes with befriending Noctis, he supposes. But Prompto doesn’t mind it at all.

(Later, when the sky starts to turn purple and orange at the edges, Gladio will come sit next to Prompto, while Ignis wanders his way over to Noctis’ other side. They wait for their prince to wake, soft breeze kissing their skin, and Prompto has never wanted to stay in a moment more.)

“No fair, you cheater!”

“You can’t accuse me of cheating, that’s treason!”

“Then bring me to trial, you filthy cheating bastard!”

Prompto squawks indignantly as Noctis reaches over and shoves his controller out of his hands, again. He gives up, and proceeds to tackling Noctis onto his couch.

He’s glad Ignis isn’t here, because this is probably one of those ‘misconduct’ things he talks about. But it’s the weekend, and Prompto’s hanging out with his best friend, and nothing’s going to bring him down.

“Oomph, Prompto, you’re heavy.”

“Am not!” Prompto protests, but he eases his weight off Noctis anyway. He stares down at his stomach, frowning slightly. He’s pretty certain he hasn’t been gaining weight recently. It’s not the red-hot panic he would have felt years ago, when he was still trying to fundamentally change who he was just to be worthy of approaching the Prince of Lucis. Noctis himself has chided him countless times for that line of thinking, but old habits die hard, Prompto supposes.

“Prom?”

He looks up to find Noctis’ concerned gaze on him. Prompto waves it off. “Just thinking about how hurt I am that you’d sabotage me in a kart-racing game starring two plumbers and their assorted friends.”

“You know you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Prompto, rolling his eyes.

They browse through the character select again, but neither of their concentration is really there. Prompto’s barely seen Noctis at all this week, nor the last couple of weeks, either. There’s been rumours of higher tensions between Lucis and Niflheim, and even Prompto can see the King’s deteriorating health from keeping the Wall steady. He wants more than anything to be there for Noctis, but he’s not sure how to do that when he can barely keep it together watching the news, when his right wrist burns as he listens to the radio talk of airships and gathering troops throughout the kingdom. So Prompto threw himself into Crownsguard training, hoping that at least he can be useful to Noctis in some way. At least he can say he’d give his life for his best friend, and swear it on the Crystal’s powers to prove it.

Noctis sighs, tossing his controller onto the table. “I’m tired.”

“Do you wanna put on a movie instead, or...?”

Instead of answering, Noctis turns his head and looks at Prompto. The bags under his eyes are prominent, but his expression is much more relaxed than it had been when he opened the door for Prompto earlier. Without warning, he reaches out and slides Prompto’s glasses off his nose. “Prom. Lie down.”

“Um, okay?” Prompto allows himself to be pushed down onto the couch. He watches curiously as Noctis climbs on top of him, and shuffles the pillows until they’re both lying down along the length of the couch. Prompto blinks when Noctis lays his head on his chest.

“Noct? You want to take a nap?”

His only reply is a gentle hum. Noctis’ eyes are closed, his legs entangled with Prompto’s, his fingers hooked onto the side of Prompto’s shirt. Having his best friend’s weight on him isn’t unfamiliar, but it’s been a while since they’ve been pressed together like this. He’s missed it. Without thinking too hard about it, Prompto runs a hand down Noctis’ spine, up and down slowly until he can feel some of the tenseness fade from his best friend’s body. The cheerful game tune is still playing in the background, but lying here underneath Noctis, warm and comfortable, Prompto feels his eyelids grow heavy. He falls asleep to the steady rhythm of Noctis’ breathing.

(He stirs awake slightly, hours later, to Ignis’ blurry form above them in the darkened apartment, and a blanket being tucked over them. There’s a hand ruffling his hair lightly, a soft whisper of, “Go back to sleep,” and then Prompto is sinking back into the void of his dreams, arms wrapped snugly around his best friend.)

et i.

They’re in the Regalia, Ignis at the wheel and speeding them down an open freeway, with miles and miles of empty road stretching behind them and miles and miles to go in front of them. The top is down, and Noctis lifts his face to the wind whipping past them. He listens to the mild conversation Ignis is engaging with Gladio in the front seat and the quiet guitar strings trailing from the speakers. Things are slower here, outside the Wall, but Noctis thinks he likes it.

A weight drops onto his shoulder, and he glances over to find blond hair tickling his cheek. Prompto’s fallen asleep. A rare sight, and he’ll probably be sad later when he wakes because of missed photo opportunities, but Noctis knows his friend’s been having trouble sleeping lately. They all have, but that’s to be expected, given the gravity of their task.

Carefully so as not to jostle the head on his shoulder, Noctis extricates the camera from Prompto’s loose hands. Glancing back up, he takes in the sight of Prompto’s sleeping face. His mouth is open slightly, nose twitching occasionally, but for some reason, he looks more mature when he’s asleep. More... weary. Noctis has half a mind to lift a finger and trace along the freckles scattered across Prompto’s face.

He catches the eye of Luna, sitting on Prompto’s other side. She’s watching them quietly, something soft in her eyes, and when she notices him staring back, the small smile teasing on her lips grows into a full-blown grin. She winks at him. Noctis can feel a blush staining his cheeks, but he doesn’t know why.

“Here,” she whispers, holding out a hand. She takes the camera from Noctis, and smiles at him again. “Go on,” she says, “we’re still a long way from our destination.”

He nods, and settles back against his seat. Prompto’s fully leaning against him now. Noctis doesn’t mind. He rests his cheek on top of his best friend’s head, and joins him in sleep.

(They wake too suddenly, too forcefully, but by now they’re used to it, jumping straight into battle with glowing blue and ready bullets. They don’t dream anymore, only nightmares, but maybe that’s what growing up and leaving home means. But when Noctis closes his eyes, he knows his best friend and his faithful companions are right there by his side—and he’s no longer afraid to wake.)

#promptis #prompto argentum #noctis lucis caelum #ffxv fanfiction #promptis fanfiction #beanfics

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randomoranges · 5 years

Text

Birthday

Edward let out a frustrated sigh and crumpled the piece of paper he had been brainstorming on. It seemed the end of the school year had really killed off all remaining working brain cells, for he had spent the better part of the past three days trying to come up with something he could do for Étienne’s birthday. He knew he should have started thinking about it earlier, but between his exams, getting ready to graduate and trying not to freak out over his parents flying in for his graduation, trying to find a future job and not knowing in what city he would be living in come the end of summer, he had put off Étienne’s birthday until now.

He still had a lot of time to think about it – or at least, that’s what he liked telling himself to calm down, but time was running out and he still had no idea what to do for Étienne’s birthday. On top of that, this was going to be the first time he was actually going to be in town for his boyfriend’s birthday, it could potentially be the only time he would be in town for his boyfriend’s birthday (he hoped not, but he still didn’t know where he would be next year – and now was not the time to freak out over that) and therefore, he wanted to do something special for his boyfriend’s birthday. Especially since Étienne had always, without fault, gone out of his way to make Edward’s birthdays special, from the moment Edward had moved in, some four years ago.

Edward had asked Étienne what he would like to do for his special day and if there was anything specific he wanted as a gift, but apparently Étienne was part of those annoying people who responded with the ever vague and unhelpful “surprise me” and “I just want to spend time with you” and “anything that comes from you would be great”. Edward tried pushing for a clearer answer, but Étienne turned even vaguer, if that could be possible. Therefore, Edward attempted to make a list of anything and everything that he could do and give his boyfriend for his birthday and came up empty handed. Edward wanted to do something special – he wanted to take Étienne out, spoil him rotten, but even after four years in the city; Edward wasn’t as well versed in the Montreal scene as his boyfriend was. It was always Étienne who found the new in-terasse or up and coming bar or restaurant. Étienne had a sixth sense for these things and Edward didn’t just want to take Étienne to one of his favourite restaurants either. It felt too simple. It had to be special or so help him.

Then, there was the problem of the actual gift. In an ideal perfect world, Edward would have all the money he could dream of and he could get Étienne anything and everything his heart desired. Realistically, however, he had a budget and his boyfriend was hard-ish to gift for. Étienne preferred giving gifts to others instead of getting them, he didn’t need any clothes or accessories (and was a sharp dresser that Edward wasn’t even sure he could try and match), he had very clear interests, but the problem was that Edward didn’t feel he could competently get him something related to those interests.

It’s the thought that matters, Murphy, He reminded himself, but as much as he could get some newly released jazz album, Edward wanted it to be a thoughtful gift that was meaningful and not just something that would look like Edward found it last minute Because He Had To. He even thought of getting Étienne some art supplies, but the problem was that he didn’t know what Étienne was low on, didn’t really know what he preferred using, and felt like just getting art supplies for the sake of art supplies was lame. He tried asking Étienne and had poked around his art bin to see, but that little venture had left him more confused than anything else. On top of that, he felt like everyone else would get Étienne art supplies or a gift card to one of the art stores, because that’s what regular friends got, but Edward liked to believe he wasn’t just some regular friend. Hell, Emma had already planned an entire day of things to do with Étienne. Élyse and Étienne had their own birthday-brunch ritual. He had to have something worthwhile as Étienne’s boyfriend.

He knew he was making this more difficult than it had to be, but Étienne deserved to be treated right for his birthday.

Therefore, when finally he couldn’t think of anything else, Edward did the only last logical thing he could think of; he contacted Élyse.

Edward wasn’t sure anymore how it had come about, but sometime between his first Christmas visit at the Maisonneuve household and his second, Élyse sent him a friend request and Edward approved of it, never expecting that he would eventually find himself exchanging actual messages with her that didn’t always have to do with Étienne. With time, he got to know Élyse and realised that she was quite funny, a good conversationalist and a genuinely nice person and on such an occasion, a really good resource for his current dilemma. He would have contacted Emma, but he still couldn’t fully read her and he didn’t want to look like a terrible, ungrateful, unworthy boyfriend. (Because he knew, deep down, that Emma was very protective of Étienne and that she would crucify him if Étienne had a subpar birthday due to his negligence or stupidity.)

Edward: Help?

El Ma: What’s up?

Edward: I don’t know what to get your brother for his birthday :( and he’s being annoyingly vague

El Ma: You realise you can get him like a pair of socks with lobsters on them and he would adore them

Edward: Ugh. I know. But I want something…. Nicer than socks? I want to do something special?

El Ma: Make him dinner?

Edward: I make him dinner often enough.

El Ma: Take him out to dinner? To a club? A bar? A terasse? A show?

Edward: But it has to be somewhere nice/different/special and I don’t know wheeeeereeeeeeeee. Plus, you’re going to brunch with him in the morning-ish, your folks invited us with the family over the weekend for your joint birthday dinner, his friends are already taking him out to something the weekend before and Emma reserved all of Friday. H e l p m e .

El Ma: Omg. This is it. This is the proof. This is why the two of you are perfect for each other.

Edward: ?

El Ma: You’re both idiots.

Edward: Hey!

Edward: I resent that.

El Ma: Truth hurts, loverboy. It doesn’t have to be this complicated. Like I’m dying over how the both of you just keep trying to like Go Out of the Way when you both just want to spend time with each other. Like rent a movie and make popcorn and then do what you do afterwards.

Edward: >:[ Edward: Also you don’t have to make our movie nights sound so unsexy. El Ma: Honestly, the fact you have movie nights is endearing, if a little lame, but like I think you make a cute pair, so I won’t judge. And also, I don’t want to know what happens afterwards and having lived all my life with Étienne is enough TMI, thanks. I don’t know how you share a room with him. Then again, I suppose there’s a difference between sister and boyfriend. Ha.

El Ma: ANYWAYS – Just like combine two of the things he loves together.

Edward: ?? I don’t speak Maisonneuve, Élyse.

El Ma: Étienne loves jazz. He loves going out. He loves doing anything with you. Take him to one of those restaurants that has live jazz shows.

Edward: … THOSE ARE A THING?!

El Ma: Wait – you’ve been dating my brother for HOW LONG and you didn’t EVEN KNOW?! Are you sure you’re even dating him????? Edward: He never even mentioned them! How was I supposed to know?!

El Ma: I’m judging you SO HARD. And also LAUGHING SO MUCH. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA WOW. YOU DIDN’T EVEN KNOW THERE WERE RESTAURANTS THAT HAVE LIVE JAZZ SHOWS. I CAN’T BREATHE. WHAT ROCK HAS ÉTIENNE KEPT YOU UNDER OMG.

Edward: You’re officially the meanest Maisonneuve twin.

El Ma: You mean the Best.

Edward: Pretty sure I said the meanest.

El Ma: Buddy boy, you wish I was. ;)

El Ma: Anyways, there’s a whole bunch of them. Like I just googled this shit and I found out about like 3 I didn’t even know existed. So, you’re welcome.

Edward: Thanks – I think. I feel like this will come with a price, but I appreciate your help. I’ll see you this weekend and happy birthday in advance as well!

El Ma: I expect cake, Murphy. I like orange cake.

Edward: Like I said, #worstmaisonneuvetwin

El Ma: ;) In your dreams! See you this weekend!

With that taken care of, Edward did his own research and looked into each of the restaurants he found. He needed one that offered shows on the evening of Étienne’s birthday, and not just over the weekend, and after eliminating two from the list, he finally settled for the fourth one. The jazz bands at this one played their original songs, the menu seemed interesting and the overall price was more or less within his budget – he made himself a note to call for a reservation tomorrow and then tackled his next two dilemmas; what to get Étienne as a gift and what to make him as a cake.

On the morning of May 17th, Étienne’s birthday played out the following way; Étienne woke up to gentle sunlight filtering in through his bedroom window and to Edward Murphy rubbing his back. When Étienne came to and realised that his boyfriend was here, in Montreal, with him, for his birthday, he launched himself into Edward’s arms and hugged him tightly, already declaring it the best birthday ever. Étienne set his mind on spending the entire day with Edward, here in his room, exchanging kisses and holding Edward in his arms, until Edward reminded him that he had brunch plans with Élyse. Étienne brushed him off with another kiss and told him that Élyse could wait a little. This was the first time he had Edward for his birthday, after all, and there was no guarantee this would happen ever again. Edward indulged in Étienne’s attention, unable to say no to him when he flashed that brilliant smile of his that made his heart skip several beats, and it was all worth it, even if Étienne did end up being a little late, and even if Élyse mocked him through text messages for a good part of the morning, while she waited for said brother.

With Étienne off to brunch with his sister, (an old tradition they had since they were sixteen, where they took each other out for brunch for their birthday and paid for one another’s meal, which Edward thought was endearing and sweet,) Edward had the whole kitchen to himself to bake Étienne’s birthday cake. He hesitated between trying something new or going for something tried and tested, and eventually settled for a type of cake he knew Étienne enjoyed (he was not about to repeat the pineapple fiasco again, thank you very much). Once the cake was in the oven and the timer was set, Edward wrapped up Étienne’s gift – a gift card to the art store – he had finally given up on finding something useful and thoughtful and figured that he’d heard Étienne complain enough about being low on everything that he could use it towards that – and finally, he sat at the kitchen table to write Étienne’s birthday card.

While the cake cooled, Edward showered and dressed, figuring he might as well be ready for when Étienne returned so that they could save some time before their dinner reservations. He knew Étienne would probably end up spending the better part of the afternoon with his sister and since he had been vague about what the plans for the evening were; Étienne would probably want to change as well before heading out.

To be honest, Edward was a little nervous about this evening. He was afraid that Étienne wouldn’t like it, that the food wouldn’t meet his approval, that the jazz band wouldn’t be good and that Étienne wouldn’t like his gift. Edward logically knew that none of this would happen, and that even if all of his fears came true, Étienne would still appreciate the thought Edward had put into the evening, but he still couldn’t help himself as he nervously fidgeted while he waited for Étienne to return.

His boyfriend returned, late in the afternoon, smile on his face, in a good mood. Étienne was pleased to find that Edward was still here – that he hadn’t hallucinated him this morning and that he had him to himself for the rest of his birthday. His face lit up when Edward told him he was taking him out for dinner and that he should change into something nice. Étienne tried to get Edward to shower with him, but as much as Edward was tempted, he knew Étienne would be carried away and he really didn’t want to miss out on their reservations.

Étienne emerged from the washroom a while later, dressed in his nice fitting beige trousers and one of his many short-sleeved button down shirts that Edward liked so much; he looked good and happy, and Edward couldn’t really take his eyes off him. He was rewarded with a brilliant smile and Edward sincerely hoped he could be the cause of many more. “Are we ready to go?” Étienne nodded and Edward made sure he had his wallet and keys, before they stepped out. “You still won’t tell me where you’re taking me?” Étienne asked as he linked his arm with Edward’s. “It’s a surprise – you’ll see when we get there.” Étienne mock pouted, but Edward rolled his eyes, fond, slowly turning immune to some of Étienne’s tactics, “It won’t be a surprise if I tell you.” Étienne dropped the subject for now and instead launched into a recap of his day with Élyse, while they walked towards the métro.

“Oh! I’ve been here before!” Étienne had the misfortune of saying when Edward led them down the street to the restaurant. Edward’s face fell and thoughts of a previous Significant Other taking Étienne here for a special occasion flooded his head. What if Étienne still held fond memories of that time? What if he hadn’t liked it? What if it brought back terrible memories? “You have?” Edward recovered, trying not to sound too disappointed, but something in his tone must have given him away, for Étienne’s expression changed to one of slight worry, “It was ages ago, though! My grandparents took El and I here for our fifteenth birthday. I’ve never been since – honest!” He defended, trying to reassure Edward.

Edward was silently relieved and let out a chuckle, realising how absurd this all was, “It’s fine – so long as you don’t tell me you got terrible food poisoning here and never wanted to come back,” Étienne assured him that it wasn’t the case and that he’d had a lovely time, actually. “Although, I have to ask, why did you never take me to one of these jazz bars, or clubs, or restaurants?” He asked and Étienne shrugged, “Jazz was never really your thing – or at least, your interest in it has never been as big – didn’t think you would enjoy it as much or that you’d want to. Plus, it’s not like there’s a lack of things to do around the city.”

Edward supposed he had a point. “You still could have asked.” He reprimanded gently and Étienne promised him he would in the future. With that taken care of, Edward pushed open the door and led his beau inside, amused by Étienne’s excited chatter as he made one comment after the next about the décor and related his experience from almost a decade ago.

The waiter walked them over to their table – “the best table you have available” Edward had asked – and handed them their menus, “Order whatever you want, my treat,” Edward told him, making Étienne grimace, “And you can’t bribe the waiter or sneak off to “go to the washroom” to actually pay – I’ve already taken care of it – it’s your birthday after all.”

Edward had fallen for Étienne’s sneaky tricks too many times and knew better by now – or, at least, he thought he did, but Étienne was always full of surprises. “Okay, but have you even seen the prices on this menu?! No wonder I never came back! Ed, this is expensive.” Edward shrugged. Yes, the food was a little out of their usual budget, but it was Étienne’s birthday. The first one they were celebrating together. Maybe even the last. And for the number of times that Étienne had spoiled him and picked up the tab… He was good for it. “Don’t worry about it, okay? Just don’t get dessert – that’s at home.”

The diversion took Étienne’s mind off the price of the food and he returned to perusing the menu, making an occasional comment. By the time they received their appetizers, the jazz band that would be playing for the evening was warming up and Étienne was already completely enthralled to the point where Edward gently nudged him with his foot to remind him to eat. “Can we stay ‘til the end of the show?” Étienne asked, his eyes still on the small stage a few feet away from them, his attention going from one musician to the next, drinking in their sight and their instruments, “Of course – we can stay as long as you want.” Étienne beamed and Edward’s heart tripped over itself at the sight all over again.

By the time the show started, Étienne had more or less finished with his food and Edward didn’t even try to stop him from turning his chair completely around so that he could face the group and pay full attention to them. When the waiter returned to clear the table, Étienne moved his chair to the end of the table and motioned for Edward to do the same, so that they could sit side by side and watch the performance together. The moment Edward was seated, Étienne moved next to him and snuggled up to his side, taking a hold of Edward’s arm and leaned his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

Edward spared a look for Étienne and noticed how utterly content and happy he looked. It was a good look on him. Étienne seemed relaxed and at peace with himself and the world. Edward loved seeing him this way and knew he would move heaven and earth to make sure Étienne always looked this way – that nothing would cause him harm.

“I love you,” Étienne whispered to him, taking him off guard from his musings, above the sound of the violin and the piano; the words resonated in his ears much as the last few notes of the clarinet and his heart stilled for a fraction of a moment, filling at the sound of the words, before it started again. He reached for Étienne’s hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, and they remained that way, seated side by side, for the rest of the show, immersing themselves in the music.

When they returned back home, Edward excused himself for a moment and went to retrieve the carefully decorated birthday cake, which he lit up with exactly twenty-four candles (and one un-lit candle – for good luck) and retrieved Étienne’s gift and the card he had written to go along with it. He brought everything to the kitchen table, where Étienne eagerly awaited and his boyfriend was quick to take multiple pictures of the cake, while Edward gently reminded him to make a wish and blow out the candles before they melted all over the cake.

(Étienne made his wish and wished that he could have this every year, with Edward by his side, before he blew out the candles.)

“You know, you didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” Étienne reminded him, after he read the very nice and very thoughtful card Edward wrote him, “But I appreciate it nonetheless, thank you, Eddy,” He added once he opened his gift. Étienne then took the knife and sliced off two pieces of cake, before he licked off the frosting from his fingers and the knife. Edward felt his cheeks flush slightly and he stammered out a fumbled “It was nothing, you’re welcome,” when Étienne went up to him to hug him and tenderly kiss his cheek.

They ate the cake in relative silence, safe for the occasional exclamation from Étienne who praised every single bite (and the second piece he went for) and Edward was glad his boyfriend seemed to be enjoying it – glad Étienne seemed to have had a nice birthday. If this would be the only one they spent together, then at least it had been a good one.

The following year, with Edward still in town, Edward asked Étienne what he wanted to do for his birthday and Étienne told him that what they had done the previous year was perfect. Edward made sure it really was what Étienne wanted and with time, it became a tradition of sorts.

Every year, without fault, Edward made cake for Étienne, got him a gift card from the arts supply store and took him out for dinner and a jazz show.

Edward feared, with time, that Étienne would grow tired of the predictability of the day – that Étienne, who thrived on new experiences and discovering new places, would come to grow bored of the jazz show and dinner, but Étienne assured him each and every time that it was what he wanted – that the menu could change, that he could order something different, and that at the very least, the band would be different – that as long as they could spend time together, he was happy.

And with time, Edward realised that as much as his boyfriend did indeed enjoy spontaneous, new, and exciting discoveries, deep down, he also craved for stability and that as long as he knew he had this one recurring thing with Edward, anything else would be fine. Even when Edward threw him a surprise birthday party for thirty-fifth, he still took Étienne to dinner, knowing his boyfriend looked forward to it every year – and honestly, so did he.

“You know, I was thinking, now that I know when your birthday is, maybe we should go out to dinner? My treat? I walked by this interesting looking restaurant the other day – and get this, they play live jazz almost every single night.”

#pc: montreal #pc: montreal west #pc: edmonton #Edward Murphy #élyse maisonneuve #étienne maisonneuve #fic #au #amnesia au universe lamao let's be real #THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SIMPLE AND SHORT THING #ive been on this since MONDAY

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ourimpavidheroine · 7 years

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so are you saying you never want a comment that disagrees with you? sorry, not trying to be rude, just asking. I don't mean the other kind of comments like transphobic or whatever.

Well, I’m glad you don’t mean transphobic comments (or any others of that ilk) because no one needs to justify and/or explain deleting those.

What it comes down to is the difference between critique and criticism. A fair amount of readers don’t know (or care, in some cases!) the difference between the two.

A critique is something that the writer (or artist, or whomever) could potentially find useful in improving their craft.

A criticism is simply complaining about what you don’t like. There is no benefit at all to the creator in question.

So let me give an example:

CRITIQUE

Wait, I’m confused here. Is Wu in love with Qi or not? It’s not clear from that last chapter.

Why is this helpful? Well, it tells me that the reader is not picking up what I am putting down, so to speak. Now, there could be several reasons for this. It might be that I have not played all of my cards yet - I may have something planned and I am deliberately writing a slow reveal. In which case, all is well! It might be, however, that I have something clear in my head but I am not getting it across to my readers as well as I think I am. In which case, this is very important information! This is good feedback! I can go back and look at my work with a critical eye and say, you know, the reader is right and I am being too vague here, so I need to address this with more clarity in the next chapter (or whatever). I have gotten these kinds of comments and I always publish them. I value them, very much.

CRITICISM

I was really into this story until you introduced polyamory. It’s a terrible idea. I hate it.

What is the purpose of this remark? Will it help me to improve as a writer? No, it won’t. Will I change my story line because of it? Not even close. Is there anything that I, as a writer, can do with this remark? Absolutely not. But see, that’s the entire point of criticism. When people post comments like that it is all for themselves. There is no real exchange of ideas happening there; there is no response I can give as a writer to them that will be satisfactory. I am certainly not going to apologize because a reader doesn’t like what I have done with a story, be it characterization or plot. Why on earth would I apologize? I’m not sorry I wrote it that way. The reader is under absolutely no obligation to continue reading my story; they certainly haven’t paid for it. Only once has any of the readers leaving these kinds of comments been a reader that had left any kind of other feedback for me. In other words, people who make those kinds of comments have never bothered to engage with me before and are still not engaging with me. They just want to make a dramatic exit and have the last word. Why on earth should I indulge them in this?

I’ve been active on the internet since 1992; I have watched the rise of the comment section trolls. They don’t actually care about whatever it is they are trolling, despite their strident claims to the contrary. They’re just there to fuck shit up. People who care about something want to enjoy engaging with other fans, not proving other fans wrong. That’s your litmus test, right there. Is this person trying to engage with me in mutual enjoyable discourse or are they there to prove me wrong? If it is the former, then go for it, even if it might get a little heated (because that happens sometimes). If it is the latter, then fuck ‘em.

As I said earlier, my own personal troll here doesn’t actually like my fic and has said that directly. They are reading it for no other reason than to make horrible comments on it. (And this only came about after months of not actually reading my fanfic but coming here on Tumblr and asking my “opinion” on ATLA and/or TLOK which was a transparent excuse to reblog my answers with really nasty commentary on them, attempting to somehow prove me wrong. It was only after I stopped biting on their Asks that they actually went and started reading my fanfic.) I’m not going to help them do that by leaving their comments up on my work; it’s abuse, plain and simple, and I do not feel under any obligation to help an abuser. Especially not my own. My troll has tried over and over again to tell me that I am wrong for deleting their comments, by the way. They absolutely want me to help them by being complicit in my own abuse. Which is, in fact, a textbook abuser’s move; hell, it’s number one on the list. And it’s just not going to happen.

I have watched a lot of young and/or fragile writers pour their hearts and souls into writing fanfic, only to walk away because a reader felt entitled to leave useless, unhelpful and sometimes even cruel criticism. That goes for young artists as well; I’ve seen the absolutely horrible bullying that goes on here on Tumblr. Sending Asks telling an artist to kill themselves! What the actual fuck! It’s why, quite frankly, I have gently dissuaded my daughter from getting a Tumblr account and posting her art here. Those kinds of comments would devastate her. There is a big difference between telling an artist, “Hey, you know, I see you whitewashed Korra there, and as a person of color I’d really like to tell you why that’s a hurtful thing to do us and oh here are some links that explain about it as well,” and telling them to kill themselves or die in a fire or never draw again. But see, that’s the thing. There is a real sense of entitlement that comes with leaving criticism that just blows my mind. To me, it reads as if the consumer of the art thinks that the creator actually owes them something, even if that something is forcing them to pay attention to the consumer by leaving unhelpful, rude and sometimes even abusive commentary. I strongly disagree with this. Creators are not obligated to their fans. Or as Neil Gaiman once famously put it, “[The Creator] is not your bitch.”

It’s not that big a leap to go from leaving a comment telling a creator that you don’t like something to stalking someone online to making actual threats and/or doxxing them. The anonymity of the internet makes it very easy, in fact. Internet trolls that cross over the line from being an entitled asshole to engaging in actual illegal behavior had to start somewhere. And that start isn’t by reading half a chapter of fic and backing out to find something else they like better or just scrolling past art they don’t like, you know?

Every single time a writer leaves up garbage commentary on their work, they are giving their tacit approval of a reader’s belief that they are entitled to shit all over said work.

It’s not the same when it comes to a professional writer, of course. For one thing, they are being paid for their work. For another, reviews on Goodreads or Amazon or on review sites aren’t about engaging the author in discourse about their work. Authors (unless they are Anne Rice or something, wooo-weee) are not responding to reviews. Reviews are all about readers getting their chance to let other readers know how they felt about the work. Dude, if I am going to be shelling out cold hard cash for a book then I’d like to read some nuanced reviews of it first, for sure. I ignore the stupid troll ones, of course. Most of those get downvoted anyhow because nobody likes a troll but a troll.

That being said…do we leave reviews on AO3 or Tumblr in order to tell other readers how we felt about a writer’s work? No. We do not. We leave comments, because we are engaging in fandom discourse with the writer, someone else who loves the fandom as much as we do.

Reviews and comments are not the same thing, kids. There’s a reason why they are two separate words. There is a reason why AO3 and Tumblr (and fanfiction.net, etc.) very deliberately use the word comments and why Goodreads and Amazon and The National Book Review use the word review. Language matters.

In other words, comments ≠ reviews.

Fanfic is not the same as original published work. Fandom is made up of people who love their particular fandom; fanfic is written by writers that are creating transformative works out of love. (Not that we wouldn’t mind money or anything, but that’s not the end goal.) Two completely separate worlds. Sure, sometimes the lines get blurred - I myself once met a writer at a signing whom I admired and embarrassed the hell out of myself by fangirling all over him. (He was very gracious about it.) But he was there to do a signing, not chitterchat over Tumblr for hours over why it is Bolin can lavabend but not metalbend. Totally different scenario. There are quite a few published writers here on Tumblr who engage with their fans, but they are still not engaging with them over their book reviews, I can tell you that much.

And in any case, who the hell scrolls down on AO3 to read all of the comments before they read the fanfic anyhow? I’m not saying that it couldn’t happen, I’m just saying it’s not the general practice. Not even fanfic readers are using the comments section as a means of deciding whether or not they want to read a fic. People read the tags and the summaries and go by word of mouth when it comes to choosing a fanfic to read. Again - comments section, not a review section!

Some fandom creators can handle critique or criticism and some can’t. Some writers leave up all the shit commentary on their fics and that’s fine. It’s their choice and I’m all about choice! But for me, I’m not going to be any part of teaching a reader on AO3 that they are entitled to shit all over someone’s work just because they don’t understand what the hell the comments section is for. I surely am not going to allow them to think that it is okay to be an asshole in my comments section just because they think it is somehow their god-given right to be one. Freedom of speech does not mean I have to let you take a dump all over my front lawn, you feel me? Go crap all over your own space.

It may not hurt me, a crusty old bitch who could care less if some stranger off the internet is offended by polyamory. But it could hurt and discourage other fanfic writers and anyone who has followed me for any length of time knows how much of a Tumblr Mom I am. I want to encourage new creators. I want to support them as they feel their way about, as they try to improve their work. I try to give as much written support as I can in terms of commenting, reblogging, etc. But I also want them to understand that they are not under any obligation to deal with the haters. Comments are not meant to be reviews; they sure as hell are not meant to be criticism. Leaving up hate on my own work does not get that message across to either the haters or the creators who are having to deal with that hate, as far as I am concerned. And that’s why I won’t do it.

#administrative post #suicide cw #trolls #abuse cw #anonymous

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jessphrase-blog · 5 years

Text

Day 3 - the interior dumping ground.

So, this is a process right? One where you really don’t know your head from your ass for at least a little while. It’s more like day 5, but I couldn’t get myself to write as I was hesitant. See, it finally dawned on me. People lie to themselves way too much. Including myself to myself. I’m too sensitive, I let people get to me super easily. I show any weakness or venerability and boom, they can squash it in seconds with one negativity comment. Hindering me useless and bound. To say I’ve been broken and left for dead is an understatement in my mind right now. I am trying to fix it. I’m just so far out there at this point the thought of pulling my big girl panties up and brushing the hair out of my face seems to hard at the moment. I want to run off the cliff and fly to my next endeavor so badly. But everywhere I turn someone is leaving or is already gone. I feel alone and isolated like usual. I need to be in order to do this apparently. I need to wallow, so I can stand. I need to hide so I can be seen. I need to recharge before I over ride the system. See, I maybe messed up now. But I will recover from this. I will rise again. I will be something to someone more than just the mojo to their grind. I will be my own mojo once again.

We all need people. I try to convince myself I don’t.. But I do. I know I have walked away from people, some not on purpose, some I was running as fast as I can from. My mouth needed a cork for a while there too. I over share as I’m told on a regular. How’s this, is this over sharing...? I have horrible timing and fuck up a lot. But, hey. That’s me. A grown ass dyslexic as fuck fat woman who loves dirty sex, and will talk about the most irrelevant shit on the planet just to hear myself talk if I’m nervous. I laugh at the wrong time about the wrong things, I pick my teeth and rub my feet together all the time. I beat myself up mentally until I’m in tears, which honestly doesn’t take much because I cry at everything. lol But hey.. That’s me. I’m not innocent nor stupid, but purposely ignore the ignorant out of love and over look ass holes who hate in hopes they MIGHT make the right decision sometime. I’m hopelessly forgiving until you disregard me to the point of no return. Hanging on to shards of a rope long gone as I lie on my back in the deep hole calling for help when no one can hear me, or care. Self pity is not admitting who you are. I see who I am. I also see a woman who can stand up, dust herself off, Hide for a year and come back raising hell in hand basket worshiping the light from the moon.

I think I’m a good person, but maybe that’s where I’m wrong. Maybe I just want to be a good person, but in reality, I’m a horrible selfish bitch. I know I wanted to be for a while there. I wanted to live for me for once. But, I tricked myself. I thought I was worrying about only me, when I was still worrying about my son and my boyfriend. In reality it was never about me. I can say it was to make myself feel more in control than I have been. I’m embarrassed when I lose control of my life. Because there is no reason to do so. No man, no child, no family member or job should ever push you so hard or want you to please them so badly that you stop making decisions for yourself.

I had recovered so perfectly. I had lost weight, founded the perfect job for myself, was creating art and thriving in my skin and my life. I had time for my son and had a great relationship with him, minus the things 5/6/7 year olds do. The only thing I didn’t have was my own place to live. Otherwise I felt solid for the first time since I was in 12th grade. but, I really lost it the summer after college. Kinda when my world stopped being about me and started being about other people. I stopped doing the things I loved that filled my soul. Meditation, yoga (this was 96 man no one did it yet, people are judgmental as fuck) and sadly I stopped being artistic. Being creative for a living drained me everyday. I would waver around things, but didn’t ever want to commit to any big projects until that moment living in my folks basement with my 5 year old kid, thriving on self indulgence. That’s why I’m scared. I allowed myself to give up on me again. This is all my fault, this hole I’m lying in. I take full responsibility for me allowing myself to lay here like this. So badly I have made myself sick and crippled to healing properly.

Just let me admit what I have done so I can get past it. If I don’t say it and I just continue to lie to myself healing will not only take longer, but it might not happen at all. Wallowing has it’s place. Beating myself up is not admitting where you went wrong. I’m not beating myself up. I’m honestly working through this publicly for some unknown reason. Maybe to build the fear more. Maybe it will pop, maybe I can have an anxiety attack so big, people will stop telling me I don’t have issues like they do. Maybe they will stop telling me I don’t have to be so hard on myself anymore. I don’t know how to not be hard on myself. Whether it’s said aloud or written it doesn’t matter, it’s still in my head, everyday. Maybe. Maybe if certain people would not make me feel as thought I’m mentally incapable... maybe then I could function again... Why can I not just rebel against what people think of me anymore. I’ve done it my entire life. Now all of the sudden I have to conform to what they think of me. Why do keep doing this to myself? Especially when they are saying these things to try and help me, not make it worse. But... It’s making it worse.. Why?

Do you want to know what I actually have? I have dyslexia with a side of ADHD who is a recovering addict, shackled to Anxiety with some sprinkles of PTSD and monthly PMS. I’m a hoot, let’s hang out.

When I meditate on who I see myself as. I see this amazingly beautiful, strong woman standing on a giant deck over looking a lake with the wind blowing in her hair while she clutches her handmade blanket wrapped around her hands holding a hot coffee and sipping it slowly. Enjoying every drop that hits her tongue. She is healthy and positive and loves to dance, laugh and sing. She creates amazing large sculptures out of plaster and is well known for doing so. She is truly happy, she is no longer waiting for someone to help her become happy, she has created it on her own. But she is not alone. She is loved and loves back deeply. She is no longer aloof, she shows up when she’s needed or even when she’s not. One thing stays the same...her name is still Fraser Fraser. To remind herself never to let herself go again. Jessi 3.0 is only upgradeable, you can’t uninstall it. You either die or upgrade.

PS. I’ve never made plaster sculptures before. I have no idea where that comes from. lol, Guess I’ll have to find out.

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