#Like i get its aesthetic but that's not how eyesight WORKS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

markanddebbie-protectionprogram · 1 year

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hi!! i was wondering how you made that cool profile thing you did for your invincible oc?? it looks super neat and i’m genuinely really curious bc i wanna do stuff like that meself cause i think it’d be really cool

ahhh thank you so much, and thank you for the submission <33

i use canva!!

i’m generally pretty scared to touch photoshop cause it looks intimidating, but i really like using canva! it’s easy to navigate and use, you can download the app or use its website (although my go-to is definitely the website, i edit on my laptop cause my eyesight needs it)

disclaimer: canva has a canva pro option where you pay so you have access to all templates, pics, and other elements. but good news, even without canva pro, there’s already a lot of free stuff in it.

this post is long-ish so under cut is a breakdown of my process :3

so before i got to make these:

i started out with this as my base/inspiration:

the best thing about canva is that it has tons of templates. if you have something specific in mind you can freestyle it. and if you want inspiration, you can always search it up and canva will offer you tons of pre-made stuff to choose from.

2. i mostly go for minimalistic templates for a clean look, especially if i’ll be including a lot of text in the edit. the size of the audora design moodboard thing earlier is 20x25 cm which was enough space for me, but you can always customize that to any size you need it to be.

^^ for a specific size, click on ‘create a design’ then pick the plus sign that has 'custom size’

3. i start out with changing the fonts first. since i’m making character profiles, i wanted to incorporate their handwriting. i put 'handwriting’ in the font style search so i can pick styles that resembles it (i love that canva has a lot of aesthetic cursive styles <33)

if you’re not sure on which fonts to use or which combinations look good, there are options under text that you can pick from

and if you have a font you already like but want to modify it, go click on that text and pick 'effects’

the effects work best when the text is bold but it’s still good with unbolded text too. the effects i use the most are shadow and lift (shadow if the background is a solid color and lift if the background is a photo)

4. to add little designs and details (like the blood splatter, circle, arrow, etc.), go to 'elements’. graphics portion is the one i use the most. but if you need photos or moving graphics, canva has those too! i promise they literally have everything

just drag the graphics to where you want to place it and resize it with how big or small you want it to be by pulling on one of those white circles around it.

you can also change the colors of some stuff. just pick what you want to change, then the square that shows its color, and click the ’+’ thing - feel free to drag through it if you want to play with a shade or put the hex code

there are a few graphics that have a default color scheme tho, so there’s some stuff that you can’t change the colors

5. now you’ll notice this from time to time (especially when you have a lot of stuff in a page) that when you move text boxes and details, there’s always those pink lines that show up. sometimes they even have certain measures that let you know the distance of certain items from each other

^^ you can ignore them if you’re casually moving stuff but if you want items to be aligned or placed accordingly in the middle or have equal distances from each other, i recommend using it for basis so you don’t get lost (sometimes i get frustrated with using the mouse cause it moves a bit more than i want it so i use the arrow keys)

6. after having my texts and details, i move on with the photos. you can simply paste a photo as is, but if you want it to be inside a certain shape, put 'photo holder’ under element’s graphics.

^^ you need to paste your photo on the page first. after pasting your photo, select which photo holder you want. now that both items are on your page, simply drag the photo inside the photo holder and it’ll be inside it (you can always crop the photo before dragging it inside the photo holder if you got to take out specific portions you don’t want to be included)

7. canva has multiple features that can help you a change your photos too! just pick the photo you want to alter and then click on 'edit image’

there are filters, a background remover (although sometimes it doesn’t totally take out the whole background but it’s a good 8/10 feature for me), and options for you to adjust brightness, contrast, and saturation

notes:

def take time to check out canva’s walkthrough (is that what it’s called?? i’m not sure haha). i remember that canva showed the ropes on the basic stuff so first time users get a general feel of how stuff works.

check out the labels. i really like canva cause all the tools have its name listed below it so i know exactly what they’re for. and if they’re not written bellow, let your mouse kind of just hover on it and then the label will appear.

there’s no proper arrangement of what to do first and do last. if you wanna focus on the photos first, def go for it. if you wanna type the content before adding any design, add the text first.

when i finished making my first page for my oc’s profile, i roll on from there :3 i use similar font styles and color scheme on the following pages.

have fun!! experiment with styles you see on pre-made templates, take out stuff and slap on things you want, rearrange some things, change the colors. the more you experiment and explore the options, the more you’ll get the hang of canva <33

#i hope this helps and you enjoy editing! im open for dms if you wanna talk about it <33 #invincible oc #canva #tutorial #summer askbox #well more on:#summer submissions #this is my first time to make a tutorial-ish thingy so if there's need for clarification feel free to hmu :3 #summer.txt

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karasa · 3 months

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Do you think i'm crazy?

Originally Published Jul 24th, 2017

Do you think I’m crazy?

Because my therapist does.

I’d like to preface this with a quick thank you, to the internet. Specifically weird facebook, specifically aesthetes. Thanks for giving me space to completely ignore my own shitty shitty thoughts and delve into a more reformed sense of self-deprecation and great humor. Thank you, mr. skeletal

I’d also like to say that it is close to a miracle that i am still here, and alive. If you told me when i was 12 that i would actually make it to see 20, it wouldn’t have made sense.

Depression creeps. It creeps up on you like lights dimming in a theater. Your eyesight gets fuzzy and your breathing slows down and you let your mind set into a new reality. Depressed is a word I learned early but never actually used, because from what i understood about the word, if you are depressed, you need help.

Help isn’t a hug or a smile or someone who wants whats best for you: help is a waiting room with no one in it. Help is a 3 page consent form and no family vacations because you have to pay for therapy. I never ask for help anymore.

Moreso depression is the feeling that help cannot come, it is not available to you and it never will be. it is hopelessness, helplessness, loneliness incarnate. I am in love but I am lonely. There are places to go for help — but I can’t.

Can’t. Can’t means a lot more when you talk about yourself. It’s a reflection of what you think you ought to be doing, and how much you believe in yourself. If someone says that you are qualified and you say you can’t, the idea is that you are being modest, because you can! you, are qualified, able. Can’t is a failsafe. Can’t will get you nowhere. Cannot’s have not gotten many people anything they deserve in life. However with depression, it seems like you can’t be deserving of anything.

I constantly find myself apologizing.

One time I apologized to a woman, for opening my backpack and getting my notebook out, though it had nothing to do with her and she wasn’t in the way at all but i felt compelled to admit that i’d been so foolish and stupid and dumb, moronic and unfit for society because my notebook was in my bag, not my hands. She laughed at me and told me not to apologize, so i apologized again, cursing myself for being so stupid as to apologize to someone who clearly didn’t care. Apologizing for existing, in my experience, is the most intense rejection of self.

It’s hard to do things for yourself when you’re feeling undeserving. Bathing, brushing your hair and putting on a full outfit. Making breakfast, lunch or dinner. Making a Healthy breakfast, lunch or dinner. Making plans. Going to the grocery store. Going to the pharmacy, going to your friends, going to the kitchen, going to the mailbox. getting out of bed, cleaning your room, smiling, hobbies, calling your parents. Every little thing feels like a to-do list written in the worst handwriting imaginable. By even trying to get started, sometimes, it becomes too much to bear. and we break, and we curl back up in the blankets, and promise to try again tomorrow.

If i could explain anxiety, I probably wouldn’t have a headache right now. I wouldn’t be afraid to go outside if anxiety had a cause/effect kind of spiel, but instead anxiety is best defined as Jean-Paul Satre’s hell: a feeling you cannot escape. Anxiety is getting off the bus one stop early because you don’t want to miss your stop and you’re not confident enough that when you press the button, it will work. Anxiety is spending 2 hours getting ready for a party and spending more time trying to convince your friends to leave than actually enjoying yourself. Anxiety, goddammit its that feeling you get when you don’t know whether you completely aced that math test or if you got every question wrong and it keeps you up for three days only to go into class and find out that on the way to work, your professor had her window open and all of the papers flew out, so you have to take a make-up test that day. It’s wasted energy because your body can’t think straight.

Somedays i can’t leave the house. Makes it hard to have a job and class and friends when that happens. It’s never as bad as I expect, but expectations are our own form of realities, so when I make it back after my scrimmages I find myself, exhausted.

Why did I do that Why did I do that

Why did I do that

Why

Did I

Do that

(why did I do that?)

Every scenario you wonder why it went wrong, every scenario it is your fault why it went wrong. It’s schrodinger’s predicament, as it may or may not have happened in the way you believe it did, but you will never really know what happened until you peel back the lid that you’ve closed tight on yet another experience that haunts you, like if you forgot the name of the person’s birthday party you were at, or rather, you weren’t sure of you’d forgotten it, so you tried so hard to avoid using any name to refer to them all night that you ended up hiding behind the snack bowl, hoping to listen in on a conversation that would open your mind up to the realization that you were right about this person’s name the whole time.

Every layer you reveal is another one of your close friends, verbally giving you a pat on the back “don’t worry about it, it’s really fine.” If I had a genie, if genies exist, someone should ask for a redefinition of the word “fine”

Is it fine that I spilled some water on my lap at dinner? Or is it fine if I knocked the whole pitcher over. Is it ok? Or is it just “fine”? With the redefinition of fine I believe I’ll find myself at ease a lot more, but then everything will not be fine.

I started to carry around reminders about how insignificant some problems are, however the panic sets in before I can get my shaky little fingers around the crumpled up fortune in my pocket.

At the end of it all, im grateful for a mind able to dissect my own faults and frenzies, grateful that I am not debilitated by such fears and feelings.

At the end of it all I still breathe and walk around, I brushed my teeth today and even though at the end of the day I don’t think anyone really gets what I’m saying,

At the end of it all, it will be ok.

#words #therapy

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210-tatump · 1 year

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Summary #6

With life expectancy getting higher as the years go by design doest seem to keep up. Don Norman writes how design seems to be created without elder in mind at all despite elders being great customers often with more free time. What elders need starts at the utter most basics with design; the text. Don states how reading labels is near impossible without a flashlight, magnifying glass, or holding the object unnaturally close to his eyes. Next he talks about hearing, and how him and his wife chose public restaurants based on its noise level instead of the food quality. Something with bad accessibility that nearly everyone has in their pocket is their cellphone. Small text, touch sensitivity, and tucked away or hidden options in order to keep a clean or minimal aesthetic. Don touches on how he doesn’t think design should be changed just for elder, but for every user. Inclusive design is exactly what you think it is, it doesn’t exclude any party and it truly benefits all customers.

In access-ability RGD it shares tons of tactics for designers to follow in order to make their design inclusive. It starts with cognitive considerations to be aware of. For example; eyesight, hearing, and multi-modality. To help with these, it compiles a list of things to follow in order to make the end product assessable. Stuff like language usage it suggests making it scannable, short, literal, proper pronunciation, etc. Next is colour usage, colour used needs to have tonal contrast. Another thing touched on is typography, which needs to follow the same rules with legibility and readability. All of these and more have to be carried into digital media. When working in web design these are all still relevant issues but now you add the difficulty of interactive navigation.

For the real world example I chose this Aveeno lotion bottle. As someone with good eyesight I even had trouble reading the print on the back. The blue type tends to blur together and is difficult to read due to low contrast. To fix this I would choose a darker blue that would have high contrast with the white bottle. It also has no safety precautions ie: what to do if someone were to ingest the product or get it in their eye. I would add this with the chances that may happen.

Statements:

Are we really worried about accessibility?

Club accessible (exaggeration of accessible traits)

Do we really need a guide for this?

Forget or just not care

It will be you one day

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boytouya · 3 years

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𝙄𝙣𝙠𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙊𝙛 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚

words: 1k

request: “aizawa with a male reader who's mean looking and has a punk aesthetic, but actually just looks angry all the time because bad eyesight and bad memory”

a/n: i didn’t write this! @8ucki did, i just added a sentence or two in. if you still want me to write it i’d be happy to :)

Shota’s class is quiet after hours, the air of the classroom humid from groups of sweaty teens bustling in and out all day, the summer sun beating through the window panes of the ample room. You’re sat on a random desk, kicking your legs out childishly while music dances through the bud of your earphones. It’s not often you get to see Shota working, his dedication to keeping work-life separate from your relationship works most of the time, unless you’re pestering him to spend time together- even if it does mean listening to music while he scribbles corrections on his kids’ english papers.

You’re busy tracing the empty space of skin that adorns your tattooed forearm when you hear a cough in front of you, Shota’s idly staring over at you with a small smile on his face.

He’s a kind man, with a considerable amount of love for his job and his friends. His long black hair is swept up into a lazy bun that’s hanging loosely at the nape of his neck, strands falling out around his face and into his vision. There’s pale bruise-like bags that sit heavy under his eyes and an uneven shadow of stubble across his jaw. He’s still smiling at you, softly, wordlessly asking if you’re okay and you find yourself copying his expression, and nodding his way.

He goes back to scribbling and you can’t help but wonder how you got so damn lucky. Everyone’s first impression of you is always along the lines of ‘mean’ or ‘intimidating’ there’s little to the imagination where those descriptions of you came from. You have tattoos inking your body, spiraling from your neck down to your ankles, in between the crevices of your ribs and the expanse of your back; piercings too- ones that adorn your face, bars of black metal sticking through the curves of your ears and the skin of your nose and lip. It’s never been a second thought to you, about how you look or what people think. Until you met Aizawa.

You remember the first time you met his homeroom class, a bunch of teenagers with a passion for getting into trouble. Of course, you had heard all about them multiple times before; Shota may not show it but he has almost as much parental instinct when it comes to those kids as he does when it comes to your cat or the inhuman amount of houseplants that cover your flat.

The fond memory of your first meeting with his class brings a smile to your face, remembering a few students who came to ask about your tattoos and even some about the nature of your quirk. Then the questions came, about how their Sensei got with such a punk- or how did you meet (not that you’d answer that one aloud).

“Hey,” Shota says grumpily, pulling you out of your fond train of thought, his voice rough around the edges “Been trying to get your attention for five minutes. You ready to go?” He says, failing to stifle the ghost of a smile that contorts his face. Of course you’d forgotten about it, even for just a minute, but he didn’t mind. He’s stood against his desk now, leaning against it with his head cocked towards you. His shirt sleeves are pulled up to the elbows and the pale expanse of skin is risen with light blue veins, even after your constant pestering he hasn’t gotten a single tattoo on his empty canvas of a body.

You meet his eyes and suddenly there’s that all too familiar warmth flooding up the back of your neck, creeping its way to the tips of your ears and creating a swarm of butterflies in the depth of your stomach. “Yeah.. yeah I’m ready.” You say, smiling, the bar of your tongue piercing pressing against the roof of your mouth as you do so.

Shota decides to walk home, your shared flat a comfortable few blocks away from the school. The air is still humid from the heat of the beating summer sun and you walk lazily next to him, loosely holding hands as you do so.

“I think I want to get another tattoo,” You say offhandedly, watching the way your intertwined hands sway as you walk. Shota just raises a brow and makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat, “Yeah, I want a cat in a sleeping bag, thoughts?” You end up laughing out, squeezing Shota’s hand when he tells you that you’re embarrassingly cheesy. You squint your eyes at him, making out the blanket of stubble framing his face.

“Yeah but you love me for it.” You reply, poking your tongue out at the older man in response. He only rolls his eyes to that.

The kids have warmed up to you by the fourth time you’ve seen them, happily greeting you with smiles as you sit on the wood of Shota’s desk. Some of them ask to see your new tattoo and end up cooing at the sensitive picture that’s been buried into the skin of your forearm. A little black cat snoozing in a sleeping bag, it’s simple really, but everyone who sees it seems to get the message.

Hizashi swings by with a cup of coffee for you and Shota, he comes over to you and pulls you to the side, uncharacteristically quiet as he speaks. “He loves ya, y’know? Crazy for you. Even the kids can tell.” It’s a small gesture, something so tiny and seemingly obvious to absolutely everyone else but just being told how in love with you he seems to be- how explicit it can be read from his face- it has your heart bursting.

“Yeah, I love him too.” You smile, thanking the blond haired man for your mug of coffee before turning to look in Shota’s direction, your eyes meeting happily.

Maybe you’ll convince him to get that tattoo after all, if you remember.

taglist:

@lustclubs @indigowren21 @cannedfoodisbestfood @junkwhoore @kissesdenji @sanderssidesangsttrash @i-d0g @kaito-asmr @jream-23 @princejasno @mel-bigia04 @mhasimp666 @onehellofasimp @corporeal-terrestrial @angelaturservice @shootingstars-and-burningsuns @sleepyslvt @rintarosaku

#💕.aizawa #aizawa x male reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x you #aizawa shouta x y/n #aizawa imagine #aizawa fluff #anime x reader #anime x male reader #mha x male reader #bnha x male reader #bnha x you #mha x you #x reader #x male reader

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 24

first time reader click here

TWs/Summary: The party, finally. Nerds be nerds. They're all dorks tbh. Booze and partying. Clint is a disaster. Natasha is a queen. I beg for comments from y'all cuz I'm short on serotonin 🥺🥺🥺💚✨

This is a Spotify playlist I made for the first half of the party. Sets the mood 😌

The party was booming, the room was flooded with a large amount of people dressed in various extravagant outfits. It was enough to sweep my eyes over the crowd only once to take notice of the thought and money people had put into their outfits. I hardly noticed any cheesy "angel/devil" or "sexy cat" ensembles, my eyes caught on gemstones and feathers and floor-length gowns instead.

First Avenger to catch my eye was Thor - only because the people surrounding him barely held back from drooling. Hell, I did a spit-take: the usually graceless giant stood casually posted at one of the snack tables, wearing silver robes embroidered with tiny sparkling gemstones; a sleek, angular crown rested atop his head, his blonde hair was longer, lighter and straight. One look at his ears and the realisation struck me: Thor was Thranduil, the Elven king. It made sense since Peter had the thunderer hooked on the Lord of the Rings movies a couple of weeks ago...

Both Loki and Wanda cleaned up no less nicely. The Witch was wearing a midi dress, airy and soft, in pastel tones that brought out the natural rosiness of her cheeks and the scarlet undertones glimmering in the strands of her hair. Unlike me, she chose to wear a sparkling tiara, which Loki had created after a short debate - it was an intricate material illusion meant to last for at least ten hours.

Loki himself was a work of art: dark and macabre fantasy painting. I could barely tear my eyes away from the pale, tall man clad in dark green silks and brocade. The candlelight threw shadows on his angular face and his sharp cheekbones stood out more than ever: twenty minutes I spent on convincing him to let me put make-up on his face paid off spectacularly. Flickering lights toyed with the emeralds and forest greens of the shiny silk of his vest, giving Loki an ethereal glow. His eyes shone crimson red, making nearby people throw equally startled and appreciative looks.

As for myself, the stares I got were no more and no less than I expected. The dress I'd been aching to wear fit me perfectly, earthen tones, hand-embroidered blossoms and delicate golden threading. The layers of my skirt were just voluminous enough to give me the extra airy, floating walk, the medium-height platforms of my shoes lightening my step. The ropes securing them to my legs were decorated with flowers so delicate they looked real.

The peak of my outfit took an arm and a leg in bribery of the resident sorcerer-turned-vampire, but in the end, even Loki himself could hardly look away from his creation. An hour of research and some serious magic voodoo shit was what it took for the fluttering fairy wings to sit between my shoulder blades. I felt them as an extension of my own body, and whilst flying was definitely out of the question, I could flicker them and felt the delicate brush of Wanda's fingers as she admired the translucent, blue-green, marble-patterned sheen of pure, concentrated magic.

In hindsight, I should have simply bought a set of pre-made wings and asked Loki to enchant them to move on their own. Hindsight... I wasn't good at that. So, in this moment, with the wings syncing up with my jittery nerves, the shiny traitors shook with the force of stares directed at our little trio. There was an absurd amount of gorgeous people and breathtaking costumes, yet even then, we stood out like Mona Lisa in an indie art gallery. Muted 'woah's and 'oh-my-gods' traveled across the room, turning even more heads towards us.

"And you wanted to wear Walmart," I weakly chuckled in Wanda's direction, seeing her wide eyes and Loki's arm rapidly wrapping around her waist, catching her a brief moment before she stumbled. The trickster looked unimpressed and bored for all the world to see, but to me, the slight twitching of his eyebrow told me he wasn't feeling that much different from us girls either.

"Brother!" Thor gestured us over with a drink in each hand, parting the crowd of people easily.

Noah, et tu? I had no choice but to swallow my unease, hoping my concealer and highlighter did their job and my face hadn't lost the sublime glow I was aiming for. For a girl like me, the Fae aesthetic wasn't easily achieved: naturally, I wasn't innocent, I wasn't playful... However, I was mischievous. Plenty of that.

Spotting a semi-familiar face in the crowd of partygoers, I gave the man a lopsided grin and a wink without actually taking note of who he was. Tonight, I would be a fairy. I would play.

"King," Wanda mock-bowed with a laugh, carefully embracing Thor. Even Loki did a brief, composite left-handed tilt with a slight smirk.

"Where's the rest of the gang?" I giggled, immediately making grabby hands for the nearest brightly coloured, fruity concoction that fell into my eyesight. Being sober at a party was not something I had planned to be: first drink went down like water as Thor explained the whereabouts of our various friends.

"Steven and James are with Lady Natasha, there is a knife-throwing contest outside on the patio," As soon as those words left his mouth, Loki immediately perked up, not-so-subtly turning his torso towards the large open area.

"Go," I ushered him. "Win us something, good sir," With a chuckle of my own, I grabbed Wanda by the hand for both of us to give a chaste good luck kiss to each of Loki's cheeks. He smiled as I threw a tiny amount of sparkles at him, shouting "GOOD LUCK!" to his retreating back.

"Princess?" I heard a curious voice pipe up behind me, an arm carefully wrapping itself under my wings. Said arm jerked as the sensitive matter of my wings fluttered away from the touch, shivers running down my spine and making me shuffle in place awkwardly.

"Tickles," I breathed out, voice pitched.

Tony's utterly perplexed face came into view as he gave me an open-mouthed once-over. "Darling..." He cleared his throat. I had managed to rob Tony Stark of his words! "You look... Exquisite." His eyes critically surveyed the amount of make-up and glitter on my face before he lifted the inside of my wrist, touching his lips to the pulse point for two long seconds, stealing my breath away with the simple, intimate gesture. It was by far more powerful than having to get glitter out of his beard if he'd kissed me on the lips, or even on the cheek.

"Congratulations, you've caught a Fae," I grinned mischievously, my own eyes widening at the amount of tiny little details on Tony's costume. Delicate, moving clockwork gears and metals interwoven with dark brown, harsh leather; he wore a tophat decorated with a pair of glasses and both his arms and harnesses had moving details of polished, dull-grey chrome. It was unreal, like Tony had stepped out of a Steampunk graphic novel, like he'd just got done filming the Wild West movie. "Nerd," I affectionately brushed my fingers - glitter-free hand - along the handlebar mustache he'd grown out.

Tony spoke over Thor's laughter, pressing himself closer to me, this time careful around my wings. "Do I get to make a wish?"

"Don't be rude, Tony. The Fair Folk should be treated with politeness and respect," Bruce's amused voice signaled his arrival before I even saw him. His costume and Tony's complimented each other: whereas Tony the wngiy obviously was some sort of inventor, Bruce was a doctor, or perhaps, a chemist. Instead of moving gears, he had an array of brightly coloured vials attached to a gold-and-green embroidered belt, and a single monocle replaced his usual rectangular glasses. The scientist gallantly raised my palm to his lips, fighting a smile of his own. Utter nerds! "You're the most beautiful thing in this room, Princess. Everyone can't take their eyes off you," With that, a brief, bright flash of green blinked in his eyes and then I knew, Bruce and Hulk would be on my back, watching out for me wherever I would decide to go.

The knots in my back, in my stomach, slowly began to unwind, the feeling accelerated by the warmth of alcohol sitting low in my belly. I was happily sandwiched between my two men, chatting with Wanda and Thor, nibbling on the spooky treats that Tony's catering services had provided. They were delicious.

Sam appeared, dragging a flushed Clint in tow. The archer had evidently gotten well into his drinks, seeing as he was holding a horn in one hand whilst the other still barely held onto his head. Despite the costume fail, he seemed to be having the time of his life.

"We need glue," Sam announced, smiling in our direction. "Well, hello, ladies," Briefly, abandoning his bird bro, Sam kissed a giggling Wanda on the cheek and wrestled one of my hands from Tony to peck it, too. "My, my eyes have been so blessed!"

"What are you?" Wanda asked the man curiously, pointing at his... a sort of toga, brown leather shoes that looked more like hooves and a crown of... grapevine?

"Dionysus," Sam mock-bowed, "And this is my Pan. Who happens to be a lightweight and enjoys annoying witches that can throw knives with scary precision!" The man announced, annoyed, whilst Clint just drunkenly giggled as he was helped by Thor - the Asgardian-Elf was doing something to the archer's headdress and putting the wonky horn back in its place, hands steady despite Clint's swaying and squirming.

"Classy," I toasted Sam. "Who's the knife-throwing witch?"

"Natasha," He grabbed a drink of his own. "She went as Yennefer, both fossils are Witchers and Pietro is Jaskier. He looks like a proper court jester in that purple... Thing," The dark man was giggling, too, somewhat tipsy.

"The Ass of America could fit his sizeable rear end in leather pants? How much KY jelly did they use?" Tony snorted mockingly as all of us laughed. I remembered seeing an interview with Henry Cavill and his troubles regarding the leather pants - Tony's question was valid and you can fuckin' quote me on that.

"Man, don't ask me. I've already seen more than enough of him and Barnes in the supply closet," Sam winced, downing the remainder of his drink in one go.

"And what were you doing in the supply closet, Wilson?" Natasha was absolutely breathtaking in the black mesh dress. Pietro next to her looked like a masquerade attendee - in a good way. He had gone with the video game version of Jaskiers outfit and was a bright addition to or our mostly black and pastel coloured party.

Sam grumbled something unintelligible, striking a conversation with Pietro and Clint, pulling the rest of us into it one by one. People came by and went, saying their hellos and asking to take pictures - the party was attended by mostly SI and trusted SHIELD employees with the exception of a few B-level celebrities Tony knew personally, no press was allowed beyond their designated area so all of us could afford some degree of frivolity.

Steve and Bucky - oh my God their costumes were tight - shared kisses and heated glances over the tops of our heads. Bruce's hand snuck under the highest part of my skirt, caressing my legs and Tony's soft pecks on the top of my head filled me with the warmest sense of adoration. Loki, being the gentleman he was, had won both me and Wanda each a stuffed spider which we gracefully accepted, thanking the trickster with a dance.

Or three. Wanda went first, eyes sparkling and smile ten miles wide as she soaked up the admiration, the envious stares of the people in the room. The witch looked simply stunning, she was glowing, and Loki next to her shared the sentiment wholeheartedly - a small grin decorated his face, eyes kindest I'd ever seen them. In that moment, Wanda truly was a princess.

Three and a half drinks in, I swayed gently to the music, unbothered by the smile creeping on my face as I watched the two magical people dance and mingle. "You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey..." Singing along was a pesky habit of mine that manifested itself after a certain amount of liquor circulated through my system. It wasn't like I was a bad singer - my parents had made me take music classes until I was sixteen - but it was generally an embarrassing moment nonetheless. In that moment, I didn't give a damn. "You're as sweet as strawberry wine..." Trust Tony to pick the kind of music I actually knew and liked.

A flash of purple and my glass was snatched out of my hand and promptly downed. Shamelessly grinning, Pietro gave me a look with that cocky tilt of his lips, blonde hair in utter disarray. "That your work?" He nodded towards the dancing couple, giving the empty glass to Bruce who was now watching my swaying with a careful eye.

"My and Loki's," I replied dryly."Thank you," Pietro replied sincerely. "Wanda needed this," Briefly looking me over (fuckin' glitter! I was missing out on so many hugs!), the blonde settled on squeezing my hand between his own. "May I steal your lady for a dance?" He addressed Bruce, seeing as Tony was immersed in a conversation with some dude dressed as Marty from Back to The Future. IT department, maybe?

"You may, but no funny business," Bruce looked godly in his outfit with the stern expression: eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed and irises having just a tinge of green. Hulk watching me added an unexpected sort of spice to our interactions. It made me feel...

"Let's go, Printsesa," Pietro unceremoniously dragged me to the dancefloor, all but stomping over other people's feet, shoes, tails and various other accessories. Boys will be boys... And we danced, and we laughed - until Loki and Wanda floated over to us, promptly swapping partners with fluidity I didn't expect from either of the twins. I watched Pietro spin Wanda with a smile as the Witch shrieked and cursed at her overenthusiastic brother.

"How's it going, Lokes?" I addressed the resident vampire, placing an arm on his shoulders. Tall ass bastard.

"Better than I expected," He admitted. "Although I cannot say I appreciate intoxicated Midgardian males."

"Nobody likes drunk dudes," I rolled my eyes. "I've lost count how many faces I've punched and balls busted at parties. They just don't learn."

"Oh, indeed, you're a fighter, little one. How could have I forgotten?" Loki teased me, doing an elaborate twirl to narrowly avoid the slap I was aiming at his chest. Tall, cheeky bastard.

I definitely should have put salt in his tea sugar.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader #party favours #bun writes

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lizhly-writes · 3 years

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i do not have anything very new for you this week. i do, however, have this revised version of the first chapter of the ‘villainess’ side of my heroine-villainess isekai bodyswap story, which is, essentially, a full rewrite. i have made some changes that have brought our pov character a little more in line with my mental image of her. to quote someone that i had look at this: ‘Before mina seemed more refined like she kills u by poisoning u thru ur tea and then "ohoho"ing as u slowly lose consciousness and die, and now mina seems like she kills u by straight up ripping ur spine out lol’

i always did wonder why i never saw the ‘original’ villainess in otome isekai stories do some major physical damage for funsies, y’know?

warning: this thing is 2k+ words long.

Why’s it so fucking loud. Who’s screaming bloody murder in here? Shut up, I got the worst headache and whatever slick steaming pile of shit you think you are, you ain’t making it better. If you won’t keep that hole in your face quiet, what if I just heal it closed? You won’t get a choice then, how about that?

I’m laid out flat on the floor, too. It’s wet, there’s something soaking in my shirt and my hair. It better not be vomit. Three fucking faces of Knight, how much did I drink last night.

I crack an eye open. “Th’ fuck’s goin’ on.”

There are people with the dumbest fucking faces staring down at me. “You’re awake!” one of them exclaims, like everyone else has useless holes for eyes. Course I’m awake, that something you really feel you gotta tell the world?

“Shit, really? Wow! Never woulda guessed,” I say as I drag myself to my feet. Urgh, feels like I drank my way through the entire bar. Did I get run over by a carriage or something too? I’m real fucked up — balance off, arms and legs ain’t landing right, everything aches, and I got clothes on that look like I stole them from a crackpot fashion student.

Though, hey, looks like everyone here is dressed like that. Maybe it’s the crackpot fashion student side of campus. I’m in some really shiny cafe, by the looks of it. The aesthetic here is… really something. Didn’t know we had this kind of place at the university.

Let’s put that aside for now. I crack my neck and ignore everyone talking at me as I give the entire place a once-over. No sign of Emily or Asher, which doesn’t sound right. If I’m this messed up, normally Asher’d be right there with me. Emily, at least, would’ve tracked me down and tried to kick me in the head or something. Not that I’d need a kick in the head, it hurts bad enough as it is. Maybe enough that I can say that I’ve knocked something loose. Hearing’s definitely off, it’s doing funny things to my voice. Not liking that very much at all.

“How much is a drink ‘round here?” I say, because while alcohol got me into this, I’ve heard great things on how alcohol can get me out of this.

“I don’t think you need a drink,” says an absolute fucking killjoy from somewhere behind me.

“‘Scuse me?” I say as I do an about-face. The killjoy in question looks boring enough that I’d forget him instantly if it weren’t for the eyes. Real pretty shade of blue, nice enough that probably some asshole’s tried yanking them from his skull. It’s a wonder he still has them! Maybe he’s a good enough fight that people don’t bother, huh?

He doesn’t react when I step in for a closer look — yeah, there we go, left eye, the scars are barely there, but it looks like someone’s been using their nails to make an attempt. Honestly, you’d think he’d flinch a little with me getting that close to his face, it’s not like his glasses’ll be any good at protecting him. But no, he just stands there and says, “I think you need first aid. You might have a concussion. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re bleeding. A lot.”

…Hmm.

“Am I?” I say. I reach for the bits of me that I’d hoped hadn’t been sitting in vomit and… yeah. My fingers come away red.

Trace a little further up to the back of my head, and there’s the head wound. Not as deep as I’d think, but it’s there, along with a very long braid I don’t remember getting.

Maybe I am concussed. Should’ve noticed both of those things a lot sooner.

“Yeahhhhh, okay,” I say. “Lil later, then.” After I fix myself up, maybe.

“I think you’re actually supposed to avoid drinking after a concussion altogether,” says Absolute Fucking Killjoy.

“Fuck you,” I say. Of all things, that’s what gets him to flinch. Interesting priorities he’s got there.

About the drink, though. He ain’t wrong. I know how head wounds work. But those rules on what to do with them? That’s for other people.

“You need a doctor—”

Please. Last time I needed a doctor was years ago.

This kind of thing, it’s easy enough to take care of. So easy that it should be already healed up, but whatever. Just a little concentration, and —

And.

...What's this?

“That’s new,” I say, squinting at the crackling light running over the palm of my hand. Real fancy, real nice to look at. Doesn’t feel like much, but I bet I could make something like this hurt if I wanted to. Nice little add-on, this. I like what I got — I’m the best with what I got — but power is power. Nothing wrong with having a little extra in your punches.

Except this ain't anything I can do. This ain't anything I should be able to do. That’s pretty fucking strange, isn’t it?

“What are you doing,” says Killjoy, voice sharp.

The face he’s making is probably hilarious. It’s less interesting than the way light curls over my fingers, trailing over my wrist as I twist my hand this way and that. If I let it, maybe it’d spread further up my arm. How much higher could it go, really?

I don’t get to find out, because Killjoy snatches my hand, snapping his own fingers over it until only light you can see has to fight its way out from where skin meets skin. And then it’s not even that, dying away until it goes dark completely.

Oh this bitch.

“Well, ain’t you forward, huh?” I say, baring my teeth. “What d’you think you’re doin’?”

“You’ve got a concussion,” Killjoy reminds me, like he thinks I forgot. I ain’t forgetting nothing, got it? It’s easy to take care of — just a little thought, and maybe it’s taking a little more effort, but the skin knits up just fine.

I sweep a hand lightly over the back of my head, just to make sure everything’s in order. The swelling’s gone down, the bruising’s gone, eyesight seems pretty clear. Headache and bodyache’s still there, which is annoying. There’s been some improvement, but that’s not what I’m looking for. It should be gone. Is it not physical damage, then? What, is it psychosomatic or something? That’s a shit explanation.

It’s only after my self-checkup that I realize that Killjoy is still talking. “— can take you to the clinic,” he’s saying, sounding very earnest. He’s still holding my hand.

I shake him off impatiently. “That’s unnecessary,” I say, and push open the shiny glass doors so I can find Asher or Emily or someone and go on with my life.

I don’t get more than a few steps outside before I realize I’m running headfirst into a problem. Namely, that the outside that greets me is not the university. Not even close. Not unless the mayor sent the entire city crashing down and decided to rebuild from the ground up. Not unless everyone collectively decided to take overly-caffeinated fashion students’ advice when it came to everyday wear. Not unless somebody made far too many innovations in automobile development and decided to implement them on every vehicle I can see here. Not unless all of that happened while I was passed out.

No. I should have noticed that before, too. I don’t pass out. Alcohol fucks me up, sure. But I’ve never drunk so much that I got knocked unconscious. I’ve never been able to drink enough to knock me unconscious.

…I remember now. I didn’t go out drinking last night. No, what happened was that some asshole attacked me— or, you know, tried to attack me for maybe a solid minute before I started beating the shit out of him for daring to ambush me. I was doing quite a good job, if I do say so myself. I know I broke some bones, broke his face, had my hands around his neck, and it would have only taken me a second or so more -- just one good squeeze! -- to pulp his windpipe, and he would be dead.

But I didn’t get to that part. The last thing I remember was putting just enough pressure on his throat to make him choke, and then… nothing. That’s it. That’s all I have before I woke up in the cafe.

I’m missing something. I know I am. It’s pissing me off.

That fuckwad. What did he do? Clearly I made a mistake letting him breathe for more than a minute or so, I should’ve just killed him on sight. If I find him again — no, when I find him again — I’m going to squeeze the answers out of him and grind his skull into paste, I’m gonna make him wish he was never born, I’m gonna make sure he’s in so many fucking pieces no one can tell his —

“Hey,” says Killjoy, because I suppose he followed me out or something. “We really need to get you to a doctor. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but even if it’s not a concussion, it’s safer to get it looked at, you know? You said you were on university insurance, right? So it’s not like it’s even going to cost —”

And then he shuts up, because I have him by the collar of his shirt and he’s suddenly bent over enough that he’s barely an inch away from my face.

“Please. Would you kindly keep your mouth closed,” I say. “If not, I’m afraid I’ll have to make you choke on your own teeth. Do I make myself clear.”

Killjoy doesn’t close his mouth. It’s hanging open gently, his pretty blue eyes wide and shocked. But I suppose he understands the spirit of what I’m asking for, because he doesn’t say anything, even when I let him go and kindly push him back upright.

Well, no, actually, there is one thing. There’s a name he whispers: Allison. But it’s so quiet that I can generously pretend I can’t hear it and let him keep his mouth in one piece. I leave him standing there, and set off.

Where? It doesn’t matter. I walk through black-paved streets and stone-slab sidewalks, speed past too-tall buildings and too-bright colors and hoping for — I don’t know. One familiar building. Something, anything, that I can recognize.

But… nothing. It’s like I’m an entirely different country. An entirely different world.

How long was I out? Am I missing memories? What did that sad excuse for an ambusher do?

As if this day couldn’t get any better, Killjoy finds me at the entrance of a tiny, cramped alleyway, shadowed by buildings rising tall around.

“You just never fuckin’ give up, do you?” I say, sharp smile sliding easily across my face. I don’t know where I am, but I know I’m a fair distance away from where I started. He can’t have just coincidentally run into me. He had to have either followed me or known where I’d end up. It doesn’t matter which. Either option means that he’s still thinking of me.

He starts when I turn around and face him — he probably didn’t expect me to figure out he was there that quickly, huh? Well, I have to give him credit, he really is quiet. And he stays quiet, too, even as he scrambles backwards when I start stalking towards him.

“You gonna tell me I need a doctor again, huh?”

Go on. Say it. I gave you a warning, I told you what I’d do to you, it’s not my fault you can’t listen. I’m looking forward to it, actually! Thank you for showing up just when I needed stress relief!

“… not Allison,” Killjoy says, so softly I barely hear it.

“Pardon?”

“You’re not Allison,” he hisses, and oh, is that a sight — his eyes are aglow, the light behind them illuminating their blue so that it shines against the darkness. How pretty. How valuable. Even more so than when I thought the only thing that stood out about them was the color. Really, how good of a fight must he be that he still has them?

I’m gonna find out.

#original fiction #my writing #isekai #otome isekai #writeblr #everything #violence #implied violence

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jockvillagersonly · 3 years

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Prompt Drabbles, #20

@humanlighthouse prompted me for HeiHua, “Im thinking either fake dating/honeypot, or XH gets mildly injured and a lot freaked out, and HXZ proves to be surprisingly competent at stitching and emotions? And XH feels comforted and it's WEIRD for him but also maybe he likes it? A little too much maybe?”

This is not at all what she asked for. Enjoy! 🥰 HeiHua are both involved in freelance espionage that will be thoroughly unexplained 🤩

> prompt me! | > all prompt fills

~*~*~*~*~*

Xiao Hua grimaced, stumbling down the dank side alley with a nose wrinkled against the sour smell of weeks-old trash and a hand pressed hard against the gash torn in his side. He recognized that the effort was mostly futile, his strength flagging too much for the blood flow to really be stemmed effectively. His fingers slipped, sliding in his own blood, catching on the jagged edges of one of his (now ruined) favorite shirts.

He was sure the bright red seeping out of him was leaving stunning patterns against the soft off white of the tee, but he really wasn’t in the position to appreciate the aesthetics.

This was why he hated taking jobs for the Nine Gates. It was never a simple in and out with them. Next time, he would refuse whatever ridiculously cushy reward they promised him.

(Xiao Hua knew this was a lie even as he thought it. He was the best, there was no shame in it, and the Nine Gates would never settle for less than the best.)

Xiao Hua stumbled, hand not clutched against his side flailing out to brace his slackening weight up. He knew he was well and truly fucked when he couldn’t even muster up the energy to wince at the obvious grime he’d landed in. His knees gave out, his eyesight blurred, and between one moment and the next, Xiao Hua hit the floor.

———

Consciousness came back to Xiao Hua in fits and starts. He smelled something (cheap cologne, his foggy brain contributed, helpful at last — the scent acrid and woodsy, layered almost thick enough to cover the undercurrent of spice, dangerous and primal and heavy on the tongue), and his front was shockingly warm. He wasn’t really sure where his arms or legs were, let alone the rest of him, and he was just about ready to panic when a calm, soothing voice crooned near his ear.

He couldn’t understand the words, couldn’t parse out the syllables, but something in those tones — drawled, slow and syrupy in Xiao Hua’s ears — had his back relaxing, vertebrae by vertebrae.

The voice laughed, a huffing chuckle that rang like a rumble of thunder across his aching bones. Xiao Hua was slipping under, too fast, consciousness whipping past, that single sound assuring his body of safety faster than his brain could keep up.

———-

Scratchy linen sheets against his chest, the cold mudge of ceramic against his mouth. Ice sluicing through the cartilage of his joints, a freezing gale in the space between his ribs.

Water, sloshing through his dry throat. Leather and skin, delicately wiping leftover drops from around his mouth.

The relentless return of foggy fuzz, pulling him back under — encompassing and dark but not threatening.

(Not yet, not here, not with that voice in his ear).

———-

This time, blessedly, Xiao Hua regained consciousness not in bursts but in one fell swoop, though awareness was slow to follow. He blinked, edges smoothed and blurred, trying to place meaning, context, anything to the garbled sensory information in his brain. He squinted, shrinking back against even the faint sunlight streaming through the window above his head. The movement, slight as it was, triggered a radiating pain in his side, and he gasped, entirely unwillingly — the sound punched out of him in a lapse Xiao Hua would be more embarrassed of if anyone was around to hear.

Ah, yes, it was coming back to him now. His cover getting blown, and then him escaping, shoes sliding against fancy marble as he ran. The familiar jarring thrum in his hand of his baton making contact, over and over, until someone snuck in a lucky hit.

Xiao Hua hissed, involuntarily, at the memory. He hated knife wounds, and he hated gut wounds the most — they were always so needlessly messy, and there were so many organs potentially involved. If he was going to be out of work for longer than a month because of this, he was going to murder whoever had leaked his presence at tonight’s party.

He had the skills to get away with it, too.

“Don’t worry, it just grazed the flesh. A couple stitches, courtesy of yours truly of course, and you’ll be back to new in 2 weeks or less!” And Xiao Hua had to fight to suppress an eye roll at the cheeky cheer in that voice, even as a part of him relaxed in relief, his most immediate concern neatly addressed.

“Most flesh wounds heal in 10 days. Are you so shitty at stitching that you need an extra 4?”

Across the room, Hei Xiazi stretched noncommittally and pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against (and, Xiao Hua realized with a jerk, just how long had he been there? He spared a moment to pray that the other man hadn’t heard his pained sounds earlier, or he would never hear the end of it). “Sorry, sir, extra stitches are an additional 300 yuan, and you weren’t awake enough to promise me payment,” Hei Xiazi’s mouth fell into its characteristic smirk, so fast that if Xiao Hua had been anyone else he would have missed the brief tightening of an inexplicable tension around the other man’s jaw. He couldn’t spare the time to wonder what had the unflappable Hei Xiazi worried, because the other man was continuing, “Speaking of, 500 yuan for an excellently timed, expert rescue of one blood loss patient! I do accept card, but cash is always preferred!”

Xiao Hua stared up at those black glasses, their owner’s face so wholly expressive despite them, and (for once) felt utterly unable to argue. He mustered enough energy to flap a hand at Hei Xiazi, brows furrowing even as he felt his eyes start to flutter closed.

He must have been more gone than he thought, because as he faded out he heard a whisper, suspiciously fond and confusingly relieved for a voice far too deep to be Xiuxiu’s, “Take backup with you next time, idiot.”

Xiao Hua murmured, assenting (to what, he wasn’t sure, mind already falling into the haze of sleep). He slept, insensate fingers curled around a gloved palm.

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hellroots · 3 years

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『 MOBILE FRIENDLY RULES 』

— here you will find my rules or can also find them on my gdocs as well once i’m done with it. please like this if you read it, but otherwise don’t interact with this post, thank you. rest assured that i always read my moots rules before following and that i fully expect the same courtesy. i tried not to let them get too long but feel free to ask me anything you wanna know about them if it’s not clear ok?

『 THE MUN』

NOXTROMUN, THEY/THEM, 21+, BRAZILIAN

shy but friendly ! i don't follow for follow, if i follow you that means i've read your rules and want to write with you. i have no triggers nor squicks of my own except drama in the dash, for that reason i do not engage in callouts/witch hunts and if you do it on a constant basis i might have to hard block you for my own peace of mind. although i may come off too strong/harsh, i am always up to talking things out privately. as long as you are civil, so am i. any form of hate will be deleted and blocked - sometimes mocked, if i’m feeling cocky…

『 THE BLOG』

HELLROOTS, INDIE ( POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING AND NOT MINOR FRIENDLY ), HIGHLY SELECTIVE & PRIVATE MULTIFANDOM MULTIMUSE

primarily run on a low activity \ effort and with a slow speed.. my muselist changes a lot, depends a lot on what i’m watching lately so bear with me please. this is a drama free zone, therefore do realise that mun ≠ muses and (obviously) writing ≠ condoning !! as a quick note, do keep in mind that my blog is my safe space, just as your blog is yours - you are responsible for your own internet experience just as i am responsible for mine. should anything in my blog annoy/trigger/squick you, i strongly encourage you to block me & not write with me - your mental health is far more important ( for me, and hopefully for you as well ) than rp. on that note, please do not softblock me - that’s annoying, just hardblock please.

『 THE TRIGGERS』

TRIGGER HEAVY, PROPERLY TAGGED AND TAKING NO CRAP

i usually tend to write for trigger heavy fandoms (such as asoiaf, kingdom and others) and may incorporate some of it into my writing, muses' backgrounds and overall characterization. if you're bothered \ squicked \ triggered by that, i kindly encourage you to reconsider and not follow me. no amount of rp fun is worth your mental health. i try to tag everything accordingly and i fully expect the same courtesy for our followers' sakes. be aware that there may be mentions of death, gore, violence, consanguinamory \ endogamy (especially when it comes to the lannisters and kekkei genkai clans), rape ( kingdom, though it will only be mentioned on the character’s backstory ) and cannibalism ( hannibal and kingdom ) , as well as unhealthy relationships and dynamics alongside with powerplay, and otherwise bad behaviours. for all that is sacred, please, do note that i, the mun, do not approve, support or condone any of these actions or behaviours !! i simply am capable of separating fiction from reality. as long as everything is properly tagged, with mutual consent and there are no minors involved (muse and especially not muns), . i support the right of a consenting adult to explore these awful dark topics in a safe fictional environment with other like minded consenting adults, people shouldn’t have to share their traumas to strangers on the internet to explain why they write what they write, be considerate. if that notion bothers you perhaps you might not want to interact with me, for both of ours sakes. fair warning, most of my graphics and aesthetics might trigger those who have xylophobia/hylophobia (phobia of trees or wooded areas), and considering it is a main theme here i will not be tagging it, i'm sorry. but its too many. however, if you want me to create a special tag for you, there's no issue! it will be either "[your mun name] don't look!" or "[your url] don't look!", whichever you prefer. QUICK EDIT/ADDITION: i do not believe that aging up fictional characters is inherently a bad thing - from what i understand, the whole appeal of aging up a character is that while you like their personality but you do not want them to be kids (for whatever reason) but insteasd adults. if you are one of those who think that aging up a character is automatically something bad (without even knowing why it was done in the first place) don’t bother following me because i do think that opinion is quite silly.

『 THE INTERACTIONS』

OC, DUPLICATE, MULTIMUSE AND CANON DIVERGENT FRIENDLY

my tagging system is simple, i tag triggers as "tw; x" and . images that may be sensitive or triggering as "cw; x". you can further see how my tags work by taking a look at my tag dump post, just search ‘tag dump’ on my blog and you will find the most recent one i’m using. i shitpost and talk oocly on the dash constantly but you can easily blacklist my tag if it bothers you. here's something you should know about me: when i'm doing drafts i usually don't feel like chatting much, so please do not spam me because i won't be able to reply, i love to talk with my moots but sometimes it overwhelms me. on that note, please don't pester me for replies ic or ooc, i am slow and chances are that if you try to guilt trip me or just nag me about it i'll leave as the ones i'll get to in the later end on purpose, just out of spite. yes, i be like that. please be patient - i’ll never pressure you and expect the same in return. plotting wise: i prefer to just wing it with just a faint idea of where to take the thread but honestly i'm cool with anything. please be considerate when formatting your replies, i have a bad eyesight & if i can't read it, i won't bother with it. my own formatting is simple and clean. on a smaller note, please bear with me and my muses as my muses ramble a lot but you don't have to match the length, just give me something to work with. if we write together, the chances of me making edits/tagging you in stuff are really big, just lmk if you don’t like that though !

『 THE FLEET』

MOSTLY BI/PAN MUSES, MULTISHIP AND MULTIVERSE, SMUT FRIENDLY

i love shipping but i like my ships to be devices to move the plot/dynamics/muses forward, every once in a while though i partake in some much loved self indulgent shipping. just because i ship a certain pairing don't presume that my characters are approaching yours with second intentions, please. most of the time i like to reblog those relationship memes, so if you’re interested in a ship the best way (other than sending me a message ofc) to let me know is by sending ones. there will be some triggering ships here ( like the lannisters, both cersei x jaime and joanna x tywin are my otps, and potential inter clan ships, like with the hyugas - i mean how the hell you think they keep the byakugan in their family?? ) that may either be played with trusted friends or be mentioned/reblogged sometimes, all properly tagged so you can easily blocklist/avoid it. most of my muses are either bi or pan, those who are not will be specified. don't be afraid to reach out to me for shipping right off the bat - i'd rather have you to be open and honest with me about the interactions you want than lying to me, just know that there will be needed some plotting and threading first to see if your muses match. as an adult, my blog is smut friendly, i partake in sexual sunday a lot because some of my muses are very lewd in nature, you can blacklist my tag if that bothers you as well.

『 THE FINAL NOTES』

GENERAL RP ETIQUETTE APPLIES, CREDITS, THANK YOU FOR READING MY RULES

lastly but not least, general rp etiquette applies on my blog: no godmodding, forced ships, etc. there’s only ONE thing that truly makes me go apeshit crazy, and it’s when people don’t read my rules. i ALWAYS find out and it’s not pretty; i block it like it’s hot, ♪ ♫ ♬ block it like it’s hot ♪ ♫ ♬. i strongly assure you that i always read your rules before both following you and also before sending memes, just in case. on a much smaller note, i’m not so hot on single shipping and i really feel weirded out about people forcing me to pic who i’m going to interact with due to theirs DNI’s. while i get DNI’s when it comes to actual predators, when it’s something seemingly random chances are that i’ll softblock you because it weirds me out how volatile some can be when it comes to a hobby. i have some trigger heavy hcs ( for example, the one about jiraiya’s hypersexuality being rooted in trauma that he suffered at a young age ) that i share with only a few muns that are closer with me, so i’ll be mentioning them every once in a while but won’t share them, please don’t insist. i don’t really like most of the main characters of the franchises i write for, and when it comes to certain characters i reserve the right to decline an rp for my own comfort. for further info on what i use to make my graphics please check my “CREDITS.” tag. most of my stuff is made by me, i’ve got a lowkey rph in case you wanna check it out it’s @brazucahelps, however if you want a custom content i can see if i get a free time to come up with something :D

IF YOU READ THIS FAR, THANK YOU SO MUCH — JUST ONE LAST THING, COULD YOU PLS LIKE THIS SO I KNOW YOU’VE READ IT? <3 THANKS!

#RULES.

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the-shelfish-reader · 2 years

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AMONG THE DEAD

By Michael Tolkin

©️1993; 274 pgs; Wm Morrow & Co

I’m using a photo of the exact cover I used to have on the hardback I just re-read instead of my usual photo of my copy. At some point in the late 90’s or early 00’s, I read that if you had a lot of books, you should remove all their covers because the solid colors and metallic titles on the spines would be an aesthetically pleasing DECORATING CHOICE. A few escaped, but not many. Anyway, my copy is battered, there are actual coffee cup stains on the front, and this photo has the cover I remember so vividly. That cover is a perfect graphic representation of what awaits the reader inside. Jagged, discordant, yelling text on monochromatic bands of sad neutral colors.

I was very fond of this one. I probably read it three or four times, I’m guessing. It’s so jarring to realize that since 2009, when I got a Nook (remember those? Are they still a thing?), I haven’t read actual print books nearly as often as digital versions. Age, limited space, and eyesight make digital books much easier for me. I’ve had an iPad since 2010, and in my Kindle app, I’ve got 430-odd books. This blog is basically me revisiting my reading past, and so it happened that the next book in line was this plain black coverless book, so innocuous on my shelves. You’d never suspect what its pages hold. I’m glad it’s over, but I quite enjoyed the ride. It’s an immersive plunge into a very specific kind of personal hell, which will never happen to me, so it’s safe to explore through fiction. It’s why we ride rollercoasters—they’re like rehearsals for death.

Frank Gale is married to Anna. They have a three-year-old daughter, Madeleine. Frank has been having an affair with a woman who works in his business’s insurance office. Her name is Mary Sifka, and she is married as well. Frank has decided to end the affair, confess everything to Anna, beg for forgiveness, and rebuild their marriage. He doesn’t want to do this in L.A., where they live—he has booked a 10-day vacation in Acapulco for himself, Anna, and Madeleine. He won’t confess the affair until they’re in their suite at the resort. This will force Anna to stay with him for another nine days and give him uninterrupted time to manipulate her into forgiving him. He thinks up a brilliant idea: he’ll write her a LETTER of confession, then on their second day in Mexico (he wants to let her have one day of fun, and he considers himself generous to have thought of this), he will give her the letter, take Madeleine for a walk on the beach, and let her have her emotions in private (he hopes the worst will have subsided by the time he returns because he is a coward.)

The night before they leave, he writes the letter and tucks it into his suitcase. It says

“I love you. You asked me a few weeks ago why I was so desperate to take this vacation and I said I needed to get away from the office for a while, and that’s true, but there’s more. For six months you’ve noticed that I’ve been distant, and I have been. You asked me if there was another woman, and I said no, but I was lying. I had an affair with Mary Sifka. It’s over now. I wanted to take this trip so that we could find a way to heal ourselves. I don’t know how you’ll take this, and all I can say is that I beg you to forgive me, but if you don’t want to, I’ll understand. I love you.”

Frank doesn’t go with his family to the airport. He has to meet Mary Sifka for lunch and actually end the affair (he wasn’t technically lying to Anna in the letter—he said it was over and it was; he just hadn’t told Mary yet). Their flight isn’t until 3:00pm, so he has time…except he drinks a little more than he should (for courage), and the lunch lasts longer than he’d planned. Mary took it well, and this pleases Frank. But he’s running late now, his cab is slow, traffic is awful, and he knows he’s going to miss the flight. At least Anna has his luggage so he can just take the next flight out, but he needs to let her know. He has the cab stop at a pay phone (the 90’s!) where he finally reaches Anna on the courtesy phone at the gate. The plane is boarding. Anna is furious. Frank has never heard her this cold with this hard edge in her voice. “I read the letter,” she tells him, having had to pack some of Madeleine’s toys in his suitcase, whereupon she discovered it. Frank is a raw nerve in a suit by now. He gets her to say she won’t do anything—anything at all—until he gets to Mexico so they can deal with the information together.

Frank’s at the gate waiting for the next flight to Acapulco when the news comes in that the plane Anna and Madeleine and nearly 200 other people were on has crashed just south of San Diego, in a residential neighborhood, taking out two blocks. His wife and toddler daughter are dead, and Frank immediately begins to spiral—not from grief. His brother and parents, who also live in L.A., come to the airport. Families of the dead begin congregating, the airline dispatches its crisis workers and P.R. machines, and the news media go into overdrive. Over the next week, he will experience an episode of hysterical deafness, his bowels will evacuate without his permission—only in front of his parents, so it could’ve been worse—and an open, ongoing display of such truly bizarre behavior that everyone chalks up to his deep grief. Only Frank doesn’t feel much of what we commonly recognize as grief. Frank doesn’t FEEL much of anything except the obsessive need to go to the crash site and look around for the bodies of his wife and child. Maybe he’ll find their suitcases. Will they be hanging in a tree? He’s heard the first responders found a bunch of bodies from the plane like that. He wonders what it feels like to fall at 32 feet per second per second from 30,000 feet, or did the plane explode in mid-air and the altitude killed them before they could fall?

Of course, his written confession to Anna is found by rescuers helping survivors on the ground. This wouldn’t have necessarily been a bad thing, but Frank had named his mistress very specifically, and that name, Mary Sifka, was not only uncommon, she had her own listing in the L.A. phone book. At first, her name is redacted as the mayor of San Diego reads Frank’s letter aloud at the official memorial service. It is considered to be a miracle that this letter was found, but it was unsigned and not addressed to anyone specifically, leaving the public to speculate about who wrote it (the poor bastard is dead now, along with whomever he wrote to), and to discuss how to find out the name of the lover. Frank’s letter is printed on the front page of newspapers everywhere, and when reporters uncover Mary Sifka’s name, address, and phone number, Frank’s entire family knows he’s the letter writer.

“How did Frank feel? This is how he felt: tie a man’s wrists to two posts. Nail his feet to the floor. Take a razor blade or a scalpel, and cut the skin in a circle around his neck. Then, from his neck down to his waist, cut a series of strips, an inch apart. Then pull each strip away from the body, and let them fall, making a loose skirt of flesh. Then throw boiling ammonia on this swamp of blood. Wait three minutes for the blisters to rise. Rub them with hard salt. This should overload the myelin sheaths that protect the nerves from agony.”

The whole novel is told from Frank’s point of view, and it includes all his thoughts, ideas, feelings, and perceptions. Frank isn’t an exceptional man. He’s maybe Everyman, full of inadequacy and doubt, just trying to survive this tragic event. But the event he’s working so hard to survive isn’t the loss of his wife and daughter. He’s trying to survive the discovery, dissemination, and publication of the letter, and through it the knowledge of his infidelity. Frank cares what people think. He especially cares what his parents and brother think. He cares what Anna’s parents think of him now that his secret has been exposed. He’s so preoccupied by his imagination supplying him with all the death scenarios he’s imagined for Anna and Madeleine that he acts without thinking. Later he’s so preoccupied by THE LETTER and how long it will take for the media to discover Mary’s name that he makes some Very Bad Decisions. It can be wildly funny, but make no mistake—this is dark. I’d call it a black comedy, except I can’t really use the term “comedy” when a plane crash with no survivors is a key plot point.

Michael Tolkin also wrote “The Player,” which was turned into a movie starring Tim Robbins. I think I’d like to read that one, although I know it would be dated. I enjoyed this unusual, well-written novel of worst-case scenarios, and I recommend it to readers who love exploring the dark side of human nature.

#book report #Among The Dead #Michael Tolkin #fiction #tragic comedy #8/10 stars

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

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Déjà Vu (Or are we losing our minds?) -Modern!Shirbert

A/N: That’s right! I’m starting a new (old if you ask the fellas in Ao3 lmao) AWAE series!! I was waiting to have enough chapters and now that day is finally here! I hope you like it -Danny

Words: 3,961

Next Chapter

Chapter One: Make Your Own Decision.

'Two souls don't find each other

by simple accident.'

Gilbert wasn't a morning person.

Medical school was a pain in the ass, he didn't need to say that to anyone– He didn't like to complain at all if he was honest, after all, it was thanks to school that he was going to become a doctor. Still, he missed the lazy mornings on his bed, no worries in the world apart from what his father would make for breakfast.

That was years ago, though. Now he was an adult (or the closest thing to it, anyway) and he had bills to pay, he didn't have to pay rent and that was certainly a good thing, Bash and Mary were a gift sent from heaven after his dad had died, but he still helped around their house, along with the schoolwork he worked on relentlessly while trying to ignore the uncertain future knocking on his door almost every day.

After all the sleepless nights pacing around the kitchen, lights on and coffee maker ready to go, memorizing things and finishing research papers, he's pretty sure this isn't exactly healthy, but if he's bound to have similar routines for the rest of his life, he might as well get used to it.

He tries not to think a lot about that, his future, that is. All around him friends start to settle down, move out to their own places, find love, travel, having adventures while he spends all his weekends locked in his room learning about a new subject that is just as thrilling as any date he could possibly have.

That's a lie, of course. He longs for a break, an excuse to run wild and free just one night.

Luckily for him, that opportunity comes this Friday.

___________________

Anne's in love with the early sunlight, that warm, clear light that slips through her window every morning to announce a new day with no mistakes in it yet was about to start.

She loves the quiet, how time slows down for her while she pours a second cup of tea for her morning readings before heading to school. She loves the muffled noises Diana and Cole make while getting up, letting her know she has to hurry if she wants to start her routine on time.

She's a simple young woman (a very new one at that, if she was honest) and the little things still manage to give her a thrill that parties or any kind of social interaction simply can't.

That's half a truth, of course. She misses the weekly reunions with her Highschool friends, the bike rides with Jerry, her old neighbor, whenever they needed someone to rant about stupid things and none of their friends was around to do so.

Despite all this, she is fine. Anne follows the path to her dream: to become a successful writer for all kinds of people, to tell the stories that people need most at the moments when all hope seems lost and love is scarce.

However, when her Highschool friends text her and Diana about a much-needed reunion, she didn't have to think twice before replying with 'Oh god, YES.'

___________________

The Orchard was fairly known for its homely 'aesthetic' as some would call it, which attracted the younger people that needed a break from their crazy student lives. The diner had originally belonged to Gilbert's dad, but when he passed away, it fell onto Gilbert's hands and him, not wanting to close the place that had so many memories of his childhood, decided to add Bash's name into the papers.

Their dads had been good friends most of their lives, and although Gilbert and Bash aren't the same age, he thinks of him as some kind of older brother who always helped him get through the hard times, especially right after his father was gone. It was only natural that Bash owned half of the diner, after all, he loved the place as much as Gilbert, for his father had worked there in the bar while Mr. Blythe served the costumers.

The two lousy boys had dedicated most of their free, youthful time, to run around the place like they owned it. Now that they did, it was pretty much the same, only that this time they run around placing food on the tables and scribbling people's orders.

After a few months of hectic confusion, Bash's mother practically forced them to hire more staff, since they had their hands full and Gilbert was breaking under the pressure that it was to keep the business going the same as his career.

They hired one of Gilbert's old friends and a few students that lived near the diner. Moody Spurgeon, Prissy Andrews, Charlie Sloane, and the Pauls (They weren't related, they just happened to be named Paul).

That Friday was the last before their winter break, so it was packed with tons of eager students wanting to eat their money away now that most of them were returning home for the holidays. This meant two wonderful things to Gilbert:

One, the diner was going great.

Two, he was getting the well-deserved sleep he'd been lacking for months.

Excluding that night, because that night he was going to get utterly shitfaced with Moody and company after their evening shift.

___________________

"I've never heard of that place before," Anne replied distractedly as she kept grabbing things from the table and putting them inside her bag.

"Students love that place, Ruby says they serve the best food and she's always there, but Jane says she's actually crushing on one of the waiters, though Ruby refuses to either confirm or deny..."

"Ruby's always crushing on someone, though," Cole replied. "If she's still going after all this time, the food must be worth it as much as any cute boy."

"I honestly don't care as long as there's enough room to sit and have a long, long chat with all of you," Anne smiled dreamily. "I've missed them so much! Even Josie– And you know how often she tends to get on my nerves!"

"You wouldn't be missing them so much if you could put the books down every once in a while to hang with us," Diana rolled her eyes. "Honestly Anne, it's a miracle you're not blind or wear glasses at all after all the hours you stay with your face glued to the pages."

"I'd look awful with glasses!" Anne grimaced. "I hope my eyesight stays the same for the rest of my life."

"Well then, take care of your eyes and take a break from those books. Leave your bag here, you won't need it," Cole grinned.

Anne's eyes landed on the bag laying on top of their table. That bag was used for one thing only: To carry as many books as possible in case she got bored, so she could read at any time, any place. Also to carry her keys and pads, but those weren't as important.

"But... what if the girls arrive late?"

"You can talk to us, or are we too boring for you now, Miss Literate?" Diana teased.

"You know that's not it," She rolled her eyes. "Okay, if you want I'll leave the books."

"Perfect," Cole clapped once and got up excitedly. "Let's go!"

___________________

"Gilbert, come back to earth and take this to table three, will you?" Charlie hissed, putting the plate in front of his nose and waking the boy abruptly.

"Sorry!" He jumped, walking hurriedly to said table.

When he got back, Charlie was still there, examining his face.

"Are you sure you want to go out, man? I can tell you're worn out, maybe you should take a–"

"No!" Gilbert growled. He cleared his throat and continued on a much lighter voice after noticing this. "I- Uh, I'll be fine. I'll sleep all I want tomorrow, but today I really want to go out, before you and the boys go back to your homes for Christmas."

Charlie nodded with uncertainty.

"Maybe you should change places with Bash? The kitchen might keep you alert instead of sitting here and wait for people to call you over."

"Yeah..."

"I'll get him," His friend decided, walking back to the kitchen.

Gilbert heard the entrance's bell ring and turned to see Ruby Gillis and a few other girls enter.

Ruby was a good and constant client. He was glad about Bash taking his place because he believed that Ruby had a crush on Moody, and the waiter always took her orders no matter the table she was in, he didn't have enough energy to watch them ogle at each other.

"You okay, Blythe?" Bash patted his back once he and Charlie reappeared behind him. "You're sure you want to go out? With that look, you're likely to scare all the ladies away instead of getting a date for our Christmas party."

"Very funny," Gilbert scoffed. "I'm fine, I just need to stay active."

Before either Bash or Charlie could reply, he rushed into the kitchen, missing the exact moment when three new costumers arrived at the place.

***

"I see why people love it here," Anne said. "I feel cozy just by looking at it!"

"Yeah," Cole agreed, frowning slightly. "We are going to a bar after this, aren't we?"

"Cole!" They replied.

"I'm just asking!" He exclaimed. "It's lovely and all, but I'm not spending my last weekend away from my maniac siblings eating a freaking burger."

"It's likely," Diana retorted. When she noticed Anne's eyes widening, she quickly added. "No one will force you to get drunk, I know you hate how... uhm– Well, how crazy you get."

"I love drunk Anne!" Cole laughed. "Last time I saw her we were playing truth or dare and she was dared to kiss one of my friends, but then I convinced Josie to change the dare and after that Anne grabbed me by the collar and whispered very loudly. 'Thank you Cole. I actually want to kiss you now' and when I reminded her I was gay, she retorted 'Oh, sorry Gay, I thought you were Cole' "

Diana and Cole chortled, Anne shook her head in horror.

"Drunk me is terrible!"

"No! Only her puns are."

"Can we just get a table, please?"

"Oh!" Diana grabbed her arm, pulling her to a distant corner. "They're here already!"

The next few hours passed way too fast. Anne, finally reunited with her best friends, felt as if she was finally coming back to life.

As Diana had predicted, they decided to go to a bar a few streets down the road from The Orchard. A place their waiter, a young man named Moody and who Anne suspected was the waiter Ruby had feelings for, had recommended to them, casually letting them know that he was going to be there after work with a few of his friends. Ruby practically dragged them to the bar as soon as they paid the bill.

"Bet Ruby ends up declaring her love to that waiter in less than an hour, and ends up spending the rest of the Holidays mourning because she scared him away," Josie whispered audibly to Jane and Anne. The former sniggered and nudged Josie's arm. Anne frowned worryingly towards her friend, really hoping that wasn't the case.

___________________

"Who's ready to lose all memories from whatever happens tonight?" Paul asked loudly over the music, placing a bunch of drinks in front of the group.

The boys answered by chugging down drink after drink, getting clumsier as time went by.

Gilbert was having a blast, most of his days he wishes he could go back to being a teenager, slightly more different than the one he was. One that wasn't all that quiet and reserved and bitter about his dad's fate.

He longed for his lost youth, where he would attend parties and go to prom looking sharp, accompanied by a pretty girl beside him. All those teams and clubs he had to leave to stay home and spend the last days of his father's life next to his bed, all those gatherings he missed with people from other places because he had to get the best grades so one day he could be a doctor, so he could save the people he loved... so he didn't have to live through the uncertainty and the uselessness again.

Tonight he was finally getting that, he could pretend he was still just a boy, a stupid boy who didn't know how to drink and most certainly would end up throwing up half his stomach out of his body, but a happy boy at least.

"You know," He yelled to no one in particular. "Did you know, that you guys are my best friends?"

The boys replied with words of appreciation, patting his back harshly. Charlie even hugged him.

"I mean it!" He continued. "These last few months have been shit. There, I said it. Shit."

"What you need," One of the Pauls said, he wasn't as drunk as Gilbert, but he was definitely almost there. "What you need is to get laid."

The boys erupted into mayhem, agreeing with Paul. All of them except for Gilbert.

He frowned, not understanding what they meant.

"I said I'm not tired," Gilbert shook his head, his whole body losing stability and crashing against Moody, who held him in place as if it was normal to lose your ground while sitting on a chair. "I don't need to lay in bed just yet."

"I meant sex," Paul retorted, chugging down half of what he had in his glass.

"Oh," Gilbert sat back, eyebrows raising as if he'd never thought about it before. "Well, that's different."

"You need a break," Charlie slurred. "Or is the good doctor too much of a saint to touch a strange girl?"

"I'm not," Gilbert huffed, drinking what was left of his drink. "I can have sex. I like sex!"

"But Gilbert, you've never had–" Moody started, but was soon cut off by Gilbert's sudden movement.

The young man stood up, leaning on the table and losing all the color on his face. The rest of the group moved away as Moody grabbed Gilbert by the shoulders and straightened him up.

"Gilbert?" He asked, slightly coming back to his senses.

"Bathroom," He said quietly.

"Alright," Moody gulped. "Be right back, guys. Gilbert needs a moment."

___________________

Anne spent the majority of the night talking with everyone, and the problem with that is that she gets thirsty when that happens. Which is a dangerous thing to be at a bar.

Still, Cole -what a great friend he was- made sure to always keep her glass full so she could take sip after sip without having to wait.

She knew she was far from sober when she found herself in the middle of an argument with Josie and Tillie about zodiac signs. Anne was talkative on the daily, but after a few drinks she was simply unstoppable- There was no soul on earth or heaven that could follow her train of thoughts, and right now she wasn't even sure she was following them herself.

"I have to pee," She said, interrupting her own story and sliding out of their booth to stand up.

"I'll go with you," Ruby said, impatient to have an excuse to stand up and look around for Moody, she'd barely touched her drink all night.

"Okay, but it's not like I need help or anything," Anne rolled her eyes, accidentally stepping on Tillie's foot. "Woops! Sorry, Tillie!"

Cole watched her along with Diana, both raising their glasses and making a silent toast for their friend. Anne was finally having fun after such a dull term and it was simply amusing watching her act so recklessly during her drunken state.

"Don't stay for too long Anne," Ruby warned her. "Last time you fell asleep inside the stall and Diana had to crawl underneath to get you out!"

"It wasn't my fault!" She replied loudly. "I hadn't slept at all that week, and the alcohol makes wonders to my insomnia."

"I think you've had enough for tonight as well," Ruby grinned. "I'll get you a cold glass of water once where back in our table, okay?"

Anne nodded, silently making her way into the girl's toilet. Since it was just one bathroom, Ruby had to stand outside, leaning on the sink and examining her reflection on the mirror. Two men, one dragging the other, walk past her in a rush and opened the boy's bathroom harshly, the one who'd been dragged quickly fell to his knees and started vomiting his guts out.

"Oh my god!" Ruby gasped, covering her mouth in horror. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," The guy said without turning to see her. "He doesn't drink this much often, that's all."

The young man stood up once he made sure Gilbert was doing fine on his own, not choking or anything, and turn to meet the blonde's eyes.

"Oh," His cheeks reddened. "Hi!"

"Moody!" She exclaimed happily. "You weren't lying, you came here after all!"

"Yeah," He smiled. "We wanted to give our buddy Gilbert a good night before we return home. Now I'm not so sure about it..." He grimaced at hearing his friend's grunts and gags.

"I'm with my friends as well, but I..." Ruby blushed lightly, even that she managed to make enchanting. "If you have time, we could seat together for a moment? Just the two of us?"

"Right now?" Moody asked in surprise.

"Well, no," Ruby peered over his shoulder at the boy's bathroom. "Not if you can't, I see your friend is feeling terrible..."

"He'll recover," Moody brushed it off. "He's studying to become a doctor, you know? I bet he'll see his way out now that the alcohol's out of his system"

"You're sure?" The girl inquired.

"Are you able right now?" Moody looked behind her to see the girl's door. "Were you waiting in line or is one of your friends there?"

"A friend, she's also wasted," Ruby said, pondering her options. "But... I guess if she managed to walk all the way here on her own... she can walk back just fine?"

Moody's smile widened.

"We better go get those drinks, then?"

"Sure!" Ruby exclaimed, holding Moody's wrist and dragging him back to the bar.

A minute after her friend had left, Anne walked out of the toilet, mid-conversation with a Ruby she didn't know was no longer there.

"... and the toilets here are so comfortable, I almost felt tempted to have a nap right there, but a promise is a promise– See, Ruby? I didn't stay for too long!" She looked up to find the spot empty, her confidence falling. "Or perhaps I did..?"

Lightly stumbling her way over to the sink, she focused on washing her hands before going back. Her reflection looked back at her and smiled happily, putting some strands of loose hair behind her ear and failing to notice the boy's door opening.

There was a small slate on her right with the words 'Wash your hands before you leave! :)' written with purple chalk that she found adorable. She picked it up to examine it further when a body clumsily crashed against her side.

"Woops!" The man said, not looking up. "Sorry."

Anne raised her brow for a second before turning her attention back to the slate.

Gilbert washed his face and hands, the world less blurry than before but still awfully intoxicated. Paul's comment came back to him and feeling the girl's presence behind his back he decided it was rather convenient.

"Excuse me," He asked, looking up and facing the girl's reflection. "Can I ask you something?"

It took her a moment to realize he was talking to her, the man kept staring at the mirror instead of turning to face her, but she could sort of see his face under the dim lights looking back at her though, and since she was feeling rather chatty, she obliged.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Do I look like I need sex?"

Anne laughed.

"Dunno, why're you asking?"

"My life sucks," Gilbert shook his head casually. "And I'm about to have the worst hangover ever."

"That makes two of us, dude."

Gilbert tilted his head, turning to see her now, taking in her appearance.

"You would have sex with me?"

"Excuse me," Anne frowned. "I barely know you!"

"Yeah, but am I attractive?"

"It doesn't matter, I wouldn't have sex with a stranger."

"Very well, then imagine that I'm not a stranger," Gilbert rolled his eyes, having to hold on to the corner of the sink so as not to lose his balance. "Would you do it?"

Anne started to imagine, she imagined a great deal so she could give a precise answer.

"Well, I'd have to know your medical records cause I don't wanna get any diseases, and then I'd have to find you likable because looks aren't everything– and if I'm having sex with you I probably want something that lasts–"

"Nevermind," Gilbert snorted. "I think we're both better if we don't have anything at all."

"Why's that?" Anne asked irritatedly, this guy was making no sense to her.

"You overthink a lot and I already do that way too much for my own good," Gilbert explained.

"Oh, so you'd rather take advantage of a dumb girl, is that what you're saying?"

"That's what you're saying," He scoffed. "I only asked if you'd have sex with me in a hypothetical scenario but you rambled on with the rest, Carrots."

"I was giving an honest reply," She stated. "And don't call me, Carrots. You sound like a child."

Gilbert laughed loudly at that.

"Better a child than a grumpy librarian," He walked up to her, grabbed a strand of her hair and pulled lightly, with a taunting voice, he added. "Carrots."

Anne's fingers gripped the slate harder than ever as she flung it to the man's head. It was small and thin, so it didn't cause severe damage, but the slate broke in half with a nasty 'crack' that pleased her a bit too much.

"How dare you!" She yelled in drunk anger. "I don't know who the hell you are, but I'm certain no one would have sex with a jerk!"

She stormed off, giving Gilbert no opportunity to apologize. Although he didn't seem to mind that much at the moment, the things around him spun once more and he had to return to the toilet to vomit what was left of his evening drinks, dreading the following morning.

___________________

Anne, Cole, and Diana returned home with rosy cheeks and loud laughter surrounding them. The trio intoxicated in happiness and many, many margaritas and shots.

"Best night ever!" Anne yelled as she let herself fall on the couch, kicking off her shoes.

"Told you it was going to be fun!" Diana grinned, laying beside her.

"My favorite part was to find Ruby making out with the waiter when I went to ask for the check," Cole cackled. "No wonder why she abandoned you in the bathroom!"

"Don't even tell me about it, I had the most unpleasant encounter–"

"Oh my god!" Diana sat up, looking at her phone with wide eyes. "It's four in the morning! We have to be back in Avonlea in less than eight hours!"

Cole and Anne groaned.

"Can't we have a nap first? We packed all of our things already!" Anne whined.

"Please?" Cole fell on the couch opposite to them. "I'm exhausted!"

"Fine..." Diana sighed. "But I'm certain my mom's gonna kill me for arriving late."

"What can she do? Forbid you to go to their Christmas dinner?" Cole chuckled. "Just sleep, Diana."

"Goodnight, guys."

"Goodnight!"

"Sweet dreams," Anne mumbled, half-asleep.

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