#a couple of years ago there was an edit floating around | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rpschtuff · 1 year

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What is going on with cutting posts?

You may have seen some posts floating around lately about the beta editor and trimming reblogs, and possibly found yourself extremely confused trying to figure out what this tangled web of editors, extensions, and add-ons even means. I’ve been on this site for years, and I still find the whole thing terribly confusing.

So this post is my effort to explain everything -- legacy vs beta, New XKit vs XKit Rewritten, editable reblogs vs trim reblogs -- everything. This also doubles as a tutorial for the various methods of cutting posts.

TL;DR

Tumblr is in the process of switching to a new post editor that some old users have opted into, while new users have been forced into it.

The old Editable Reblogs extension does not work with this new editor, requiring people to use a new extension called Trim Reblogs.

Trim Reblogs and Editable Reblogs are not compatible. If your partner uses Editable Reblogs, you cannot cut their posts properly using Trim Reblogs (unless you’re willing to do some tedious and frankly unreasonable workarounds).

The only way for everyone in the RPC to cut their posts properly and efficiently is if everyone moves to the new system and uses Trim Reblogs. Clinging to the old system with Editable Reblogs is actively creating issues for the people using the new system -- some of whom do not have a choice.

Cutting Posts

Cutting posts is the act of removing older replies on a thread when reblogging it. This goes by several other terms, including trimming replies/reblogs or any variation of that wording, but I will be referring to it as cutting posts to avoid confusion with the Trim Reblogs extension, which will be coming up a lot.

Typically, when cutting a post, you only keep your latest reply and the reply from your partner that immediately precedes it. This means that instead of a thread looking like this...

It would like this:

Or like this, depending on the method used:

In either case, the first post is gone while the second and third post remain.

Cutting posts is done so that threads aren’t all extremely long on the dashboard. When there’s three short replies like this sample, it’s not that bad. But imagine a thread with twenty replies where each is several paragraphs long. That would require people to scroll and scroll and scroll to get past it. And since the same thread would be reblogged multiple times, your dash might become the same posts, over and over and over again, with only one new addition at the end each time.

Cutting posts is extremely common Tumblr RP etiquette. Many people won’t follow you if you don’t regularly cut replies, due to how irritating the alternative is.

Copy and Paste (Outdated)

Once upon a time, you used to be able to cut replies without any kind of extensions. Unfortunately, those days are gone.

That method worked as follows. You would go to reblog as usual...

Copy and paste the last reply, putting it in a blockquote (or using any other formatting you like, really), then add your own reply underneath.

Then you can simply hover over the older replies and click the red X in order to remove them.

And this used to work. But now, the very first post in a thread cannot be deleted -- only later reblogs can. This means that the first post will always stay above the others, no matter how far along in the thread you are.

So since cutting posts can’t be done normally, we have to rely on browser extensions. This is where things get complicated. And also where I need to explain the different editors.

Legacy vs Beta Editor

Every time you make or reblog a post, you are using Tumblr’s post editor to do so. This is the area where you type up your post, add images, etc. Tumblr has been using the same editor for several years now, and it’s called the legacy editor.

However, Tumblr has been slowly rolling out a new text editor, called the beta editor. You may remember the beta editor when it was first rolled out a couple years ago as a buggy, unstable mess -- that’s not the case anymore, and it’s no more buggy than the current editor. For text posts, it’s functionally pretty similar, and even has a few features that some of you might want, such as easy colored text and the ability to make posts non-rebloggable. (Photo and other posts are fairly different, and I know gif makers have some pretty understandable reservations and complaints about it, but I won’t be covering that here.)

Older users have the option to toggle between the legacy and beta editors at will, while new users (starting around November/December 2022) are locked into the beta editor and cannot switch back to legacy.

To check which editor you have, go to make a new text post and look in the top right corner.

If you see either of these:

You are using the legacy editor, with the option to switch between the two.

If you see this:

You are using the beta editor, with the option to switch between the two.

If you don’t see anything at all, you are using the beta editor, and cannot switch.

While the text interface of the two editors isn’t terribly different for roleplay purposes, the methods by which you need to trim reblogs are entirely different. Each requires a different extension -- specifically, a different version of XKit.

XKit

XKit is a browser extension designed to add features and functionality to Tumblr. It includes many quality of life features such as a mutual checker, better tag tracking, queue improvements, ad blocking, more detailed timestamps, and so much more. (It was preceded by a similar extension called Missing E, if you’ve been here long enough to remember that.) And among all of these many features is the ability to cut replies.

The original XKit is no longer in use, having stopped updates in 2015 and being entirely unusable now. However, a few new versions of XKit have popped up throughout the years.

New XKit & Editable Reblogs

A different team created New XKit as a successor to the original, a similar extension designed to restore many of the same features.

New XKit’s feature to cut posts is called Editable Reblogs. It works by adding a pencil button to the left of the post when you reblog.

Clicking that button will break the post’s formatting -- actually changing it to how Tumblr posts used to be formatted -- but allow it to be edited however you wish.

So in this instance, I could simply select the first reply and delete it before adding my new reply underneath.

Editable Reblogs is only available if you use the legacy editor. It does not work with the beta editor and does not even appear as an option.

XKit Rewritten & Trim Reblogs

In 2020, Tumblr began to roll out its updated dashboard, which is now permanently in effect for all users. While the new interface looks very similar, the code was actually entirely redone, and behind the scenes functions very differently from the older dashboard. As a result, some of New XKit’s features no longer work as intended -- though a few still do, such as Editable Reblogs.

In response, the New XKit team decided to similarly start from scratch and created XKit Rewritten, another iteration of the add-on with similar features once more. However, not all New XKit features are available on XKit Rewritten, and vice versa. Many people are running both extensions simultaneously to take advantage of features on both.

XKit Rewritten’s feature to cut posts is called Trim Reblogs, and it works completely differently than Editable Reblogs. With this, you first need to save the thread to your drafts with your reply already written.

You’ll see a scissors icon appear along the bottom of the post. Clicking that will open the trimming options, letting you select which previous reblogs to delete.

Clicking Trim will remove the selected reblogs.

You can then click post. You’ll note that this method preserves Tumblr’s formatting, as opposed to Editable Reblogs, which breaks it.

EDITED TO ADD: Apparently you don’t need to already have your reply written in your drafts anymore. You can save the post to your drafts without adding anything, use trim reblogs, then edit the post to add your reply. Either works fine.

This method does have two major issues, though. First, if the first post of a thread was created in the legacy editor, then the system gets really buggy and just doesn’t work.

This is what happened when I tried it out. Initially, it seemed to work as expected.

However, when I posted the reply, or simply refreshed my drafts, this happened.

Attempting to trim again simply caused this to repeat. There is no fix for this. This means that for this method to work, both you and your partners need to be using the beta editor.

EDITED TO ADD: You can fix this double posting by either using trim reblogs before adding your reply, or by adding your reply, using trim reblogs as intended, refreshing your drafts, editing the post, and clicking the red X to remove the first of the double postings. I have a better guide here.

The only other alternative is to move the thread to a fresh post when you reply, so that the new first post was made with the beta editor. Then you can cut future reblogs of the post using Trim Reblogs as normal.

However, the other major issue is that if your partner uses Editable Reblogs, you cannot use Trim Reblogs as intended. Let me show you why.

Say I want to reply to this post.

I’ll add my reply and save it to my drafts, as before.

You may have spotted the issue already. The first and second replies are now “combined” so that Tumblr sees them as a single post. We want the post to be interpreted like this, so that I can remove the oldest reply while still keeping the one immediately prior to mine.

But Trim Reblogs can only see it like this.

When I go to trim reblogs, I can only remove the previous replies as an entire unit. I can’t remove just the oldest reply and keep the one immediately prior -- either it all stays or it all goes.

This is admittedly better than nothing. However, most people do want to keep their partner’s previous reply for reference, and just to have on their blog. This means a lot of people using Trim Reblogs simply don’t cut their partner’s posts at all.

You might be able to get around this issue by combining it with the outdated cut and paste method I described above. When saving to your drafts, paste your partner’s last reply above your own, using a blockquote or whatever formatting you like to separate the two.

You can then use Trim Reblogs to remove the first post, leaving only your copy pasted reply. The formatting is broken, but it’s at least workable.

However, this will only work if the very first post of the thread was made with the beta editor -- since people using Editable Reblogs have to be using the legacy editor, you’re likely to still run into issues on a lot of posts. Which can again be solved by moving the thread to a fresh post made with the beta editor, but at this point we’re stacking so many issues on top of each other that I really can’t blame you if you just don’t want to bother with any of them.

All of this brings me to...

It’s time for the RPC to collectively switch to the new system

I’ve stuck to the legacy editor myself due to the issues described above -- using Trim Reblogs when everyone else still uses Editable Reblogs is an enormous pain that I don’t want to deal with. Even as I make this post advocating for people to switch, I’m dreading actually doing it, because I know that most of my partners still use the old system and I will have nothing but headaches.

But the thing is, everyone refusing to switch is what’s creating the headaches in the first place. If we all moved to the new system together, these issues would simply disappear, and we would all be able to effortlessly cut our posts using Trim Reblogs without ever having to worry about it again.

The RPC needs to collectively make the switch, for two reasons.

First, Tumblr is going to switch everyone to beta eventually. Refusing to switch now is really just delaying the inevitable -- it’s not a question of if you’re going to be forced into the new system, but when. By switching now, you can go ahead and get used to it and start giving feedback to both Tumblr and the XKit Rewritten team if you find anything buggy or broken.

Second, as I said above, new users are locked into beta, with no option to switch back to legacy. Trim Reblogs is their only option for cutting posts -- and as long as most of their partners are using Editable Reblogs instead, they cannot cut their posts properly. Their only option is to use a series of increasingly ridiculous workarounds that most people won’t understand. The fact that it took me 1500 words just to explain everything should tell you how confusing the whole thing is -- you can’t be that surprised when a lot of people, upon realizing that they can’t cut posts without a whole lot of tedium, decide to just not bother cutting them at all. The best way for everyone to be able to cut their posts properly and efficiently is for everyone to be on the same system.

Yes, the beta editor is different. It has some weird quirks. It will be a bit of a learning curve to get used to a new system of replying to threads. But this is a change that’s going to happen eventually, and is a change that needs to happen for a lot of people to able to cut their posts properly.

(It’s also worth noting that -- assuming you still have the option to switch -- you may be able to toggle between the two systems during the adjustment period. I haven’t been able to test this yet, but I see no reason it wouldn’t work. Use Trim Reblogs whenever possible, and especially for the partners that have already made the switch. But when you get to a reply that it just won’t work for, toggle back to the legacy editor and use Editable Reblogs just for that thread. It’s a bit annoying, but it could be the middle ground needed to help people start making the switch. And once the majority of the RPC is on the new system, then this won’t be an issue anymore.)

#rph #rpt #rpc #editable reblogs #trim reblogs #*my stuff #*my tutorials #this started as a tutorial for cutting posts and led into something else lmao #beta editor

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writeonwhiskey · 4 months

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the skz house: ch 9

a/n: So excited to get this one out to you guys! I hope you enjoy it 😁Thank you again to @cloverstayy for the beautiful graphic 🩵 she's amazing and is on insta & tiktok under the same name.

edit 1/22/24 - I have changed a few things around, this was previously chapter 7, but will now be chapter 9. Stay with me people!

Summary: Welcome to Sigma Kappa Zeta, the most popular fraternity on campus. When you, down on your luck and looking for a place to live, see their ad for ‘IN-HOUSE STAY’. You're one of the four girls chosen and find that your duties for the rest of the school year will be cooking, cleaning, and pleasing your assigned house members: Hyunjin & Bang Chan.

Chapter Nine: Of Halloween and Hallways

It’s now approaching the end of your first month at the SKZ house. Hyunjin still has not pressured you to move further, but you have continued to explore each others bodies more. Whenever you’re with him, kissing and cuddling in bed, you both allow your hands to roam freely across each other. He’s made it clear that you have control of the reins with him. You enjoy the power—getting both yourself and Hyunjin worked up, kissing, touching, fondling, just to back off. Maybe Chan’s sadism is rubbing off on you a bit.

Speaking of Chan, your nights with him since offering your submission are always like rolling a 20 sided die. You might be teased, you might get fucked, he might be sweet, but more often he’s rough. He does seem to make some kind of effort to not come off as a dick, however there is definitely still a wall between you two. You feel more comfortable conversing with him, though it’s usually just small talk and nothing remotely deep.

Lee Know’s birthday passes on Wednesday, October 25th and everyone celebrates with dinner, drinks and dessert. You and Allie helped Felix bake him a chocolate cake (they wouldn’t let you add arsenic, which was a bummer).

It’s now Saturday, October 28th—the day of the Halloween party. The morning of is spent with everyone moving throughout the house making sure their appointed tasks are complete. As evening approaches, your excitement for the event grows—everyone has kept their final costume reveals a secret and you can’t wait to see what they have all come up with.

Your main goal is to have a good time and possibly, finally have sex with Hyunjin. But, oh, sweet girl, you have no clue what the night has in store for you.

6:00pm

All of the decorations and finishing touches have been put in place. There are spiderwebs and bats strewn across the ceiling in the living room, a couple skeletons are seated at the dining room table that’s surrounded by floating candles, severed hands and feet rest on surfaces throughout the home, spiders of various sizes adorn the walls, and there’s even an animatronic Pennywise in the in the guest bathroom guaranteed to scare people shitless, but, hopefully not literally as that will just be a nightmare to clean.

6:30pm

The kegs arrive and are carted off to the basement and backyard. You’re setting up the snack table, putting out the orange and black paper cups, plates, and napkins when you hear a commotion coming down the stairs.

“This is stupid,” the familiar voice of Lee Know grumbles and you immediately smile.

“I can’t believe I’m wearing a dress,” says Changbin.

Two weeks ago you challenged Changbin and Lee Know in beer pong—winner got to choose the others Halloween costume. You had Hyunjin on your team and came out victorious.

“I don’t look that bad,” comes the voice of Seungmin.

Seungmin you challenged in a game of pool, same stakes. You’re shit at it, but he sank the 8 ball early and thus, you had all of them right where you wanted.

You turn around to face the stairs as they finish making their way down and bring your hand to your mouth to cover your laugh. They really committed…and their assignees had obviously helped put their looks together, from the makeup to the faux cleavage.

“The Sanderson sisters have come to SKZ house,” Han announces, pointing and laughing at the trio.

Changbin is dressed as Mary—eyebrows drawn on pencil thin, lips crooked and painted red, with a black wig shaped like a witch’s hat. Seungmin is Sarah—thick, dark eyebrows and eye makeup and a long, blonde wig. And the beautiful Lee Know is Winifred—copious amounts of blush on his cheeks, red lipstick only on the middle part of his lips, red wig and, of course, the look wouldn’t be complete without the trademark buck teeth.

“BoooOOOOOoook,” he wails as he enters the living room and everyone fucking loses it.

7:00pm

You finally have a chance to shower and get changed into your costume. It took you a while to decide on what you would be, but Hyunjin suggested an idea to play off what Chan is going as and you went along with it.

With your dress, corset, fishnets, calf-high combat boots in place and make up complete, you make your way back downstairs. The regular lights have all been turned off so the house has a darker feel to it, but there are various purple, red, and orange lights throughout to compliment the decorations and mood.

Hyunjin is sitting on the couch and offers you a look of appreciation when he sees you. You can only giggle at his costume. He’s half-assed it, for sure, but he still looks adorable. He’s wearing his regular clothing and has a headband on with pink ears, a pink bow tie, and a pink pigs nose covering his own. He turns around to show you the squiggly tail hanging near his butt.

“Cute,” you tell him.

“You look way better,” he says, pulling you close and lifting his pig nose to kiss you on the lips.

You look around the living room and survey everyone’s costumes. Han is dressed as Jack Sparrow, Felix looks like a man being taken by an inflatable alien and Allie is dressed as an agent from ‘Men In Black’. Jeongin is Woody from Toy Story and Charlotte is Jesse, they’re adorable. Rhiannon has decided to play along with Seungmin and Changbin as the Sanderson sisters and dressed as Binx, wearing all black with cat ears and whiskers, she even popped in some yellow cat eye contacts.

You don’t see Chan though and you’ve been dying to know what he’s put together. You excuse yourself from the room and check for him in the kitchen, but he’s not there either so you make your way to the basement.

It’s dark there as well, but lights have been added to each step to prevent anyone from falling. The lighting in the room is purple and a projector casts various Halloween themed images against the walls in slow, spinning rotation.

Chan and Changbin have their back to you as they struggle to get the dry ice machine working.

“Need any help?” You ask, and they turn to look at you over their shoulder.

Changbin’s eyebrows raise at the sight of you, followed by a nod and thumbs up thrown in your direction before he turns his attention back to the machine.

Chan turns around to face you, smirking as he takes in your costume. The first thing you notice on him is the amount of skin showing on his upper body and the slash-like wounds that have been added to it. You look from his bare navel up to his eyes and arch an eyebrow. It’s definitely not what you had expected but holy fuck does the sight of him make you want to let him do despicable things to you.

In his ears he has one silver stud earring and the the other is shaped like a fang. On his upper half he’s wearing a furry, grey vest that has a hood with a realistic wolf’s head attached to it. On his lower half he has on a pair of black boots and low hanging, ripped black jeans with black Supreme boxers peeking above the top. His hands are covered in grey, furry gloves with nothing but his finger tips out.

“Little red, eh?” He asks, looking you up and down.

Your costume consists of a dress that is white at the top (frilly and off the shoulders) then turns red near your hips accompanied by a black bustier that’s squeezing your insides together and pushing up your breasts. A red cloak is also draped around your shoulders, tied in a delicate bow across your clavicle. The fishnets and combat boots add a sexy, grungy feel to the look.

You pinch the sides of your dress between your thumb and forefinger, extend your right foot back and curtsy.

9:30pm

You hate to admit that Seungmin was right. Actually, you would never admit that. However, telling people the party began at 7:30 ensured they actually started showing up around 8:30. Everyone is now scattered throughout the first floor, basement and backyard.

You start the night off with a shot to calm your nerves from being in the house full of so many people. You also can’t help but feel like a hostess, wanting to make sure the snacks and drinks are never empty. You make sure the best costume voting station has pens and paper. You refill bowls of chips. Changbin follows behind you as you refill the drink dispensers to slip more alcohol into it. You eye him carefully and shoo him away from the one dispenser clearly labeled as non-alcoholic. Not everybody wants to get shitfaced tonight.

When you’re not playing hostess, you float around from room to room. With all the housemates here, you always have someone to wander off and talk to, which is comforting. You spend some time cheering Lee Know and Allie on as they reign over the beer pong table. You listen as Jeongin engages in a conversation with a group of girls, talking about needing models for an upcoming project. He has his arm wrapped around Charlotte’s waist as he addresses them, and she looks so out of her element, but leans onto him for support.

As far as you’ve seen, the boys really live up to the rule about not sleeping with anyone else outside of the house. Jeongin could probably pull any one of those girls in that circle, but he’s making it clear he has someone and is not interested.

Felix really did put himself in charge of the music and made a master playlist that’s blaring throughout the main floor. You spend some time with him in the living room, watching the people mingle and dance. Later you join Seungmin and Rhiannon in the backyard, sitting around the fire pit with a couple of others.

11:30pm

The house is fucking packed. With the music so loud, people’s conversations sound more like shouting matches. You take another shot with Hyunjin and snack on some of the Halloween-themed food that was catered. There are several giant, soft pretzels shaped like spiders, stuffed peppers that look like Jack-O-Lanterns, witch hat shaped calzones, white chocolate covered strawberries that look like ghosts, cheese wrapped with prosciutto and a green olive in the center to make it look like an eyeball. You’re delighted with the selections you and the girls made.

Eventually, you duck off from a conversation with Han (who, after two drinks is taking his roll as Jack Sparrow a little too seriously), to head to the bathroom on the second floor. You bypass the yellow caution tape blocking upstairs to let everyone know it’s off limits, and head up. It’s dark and the lighting has been changed to red, making it feel extremely eerie.

Once in the bathroom, you quickly relieve your bladder and wash your hands. When you’re done, you stay inside for a bit longer than necessary, just needing a moment of silence. You can still hear the music bumping and people chattering, but it feels calmer in here. You lean against the counter, check your makeup and adjust your costume. The corset is tight around your chest—but it does look good. You bounce, tipsy enough to giggle at the sight of your boobs jiggling in the mirror.

There’s a knock at the door that snatches the laugh right out of you.

“Yes?” You call out, wondering who it could be. The girls would have walked right in, but no one else should be up here.

There’s no response, so you open the door, ready to tell off whoever it is.

“Second floor is off—“

The first thing you see is a wolf’s snout.

“What are you doing?” You ask Chan, shutting the light off to the bathroom. You place a hand on his chest and force him backwards into the hallway.

You move to drop your hand from his chest, but his fur clad hand stops you, keeping it in place.

“Just making sure nobody else was up here,” he shrugs.

He places his other hand on your waist and pulls you to him.

“Hmmm,” you hum, looking up at him skeptically. “Did you find anyone?”

“This costume,” he switches gears and releases your wrist, not allowing you time to call him on his bullshit. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, but he’s not drunk.

His eyes trail down to your cleavage. He brings a hand up to trace lines back and forth across the top of your breasts with his finger.

“So you did wanna play dress up with me?”

Your eyes drop to his fingers touching you. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of saying yes.

“It was Hyunjin’s idea,” you reply.

“Oh?” He cocks his head to the side. “Those are two different wolves though—from the three pigs and little red.”

“And?” You counter.

His hand slides up from your breasts to your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. You are slowly growing accustom to the feel of this. You were shocked the first time he did it—there must have been an intense look of panic on your face because he eased up his grip and assured you he wouldn’t hurt you. It’s odd to think you trust him more sexually than in your everyday life, but he’s shown you enough when fucking you to let you know it’s all meant to be pleasurable in some way—sometimes for both of you, sometimes just for one of you.

“You guys never clarified what wolf I am,” he says.

His hand drops from your neck to yank down the fabric and reveal one of your breasts. You look down the hall, a look of shock plastered to your face, but there’s no one in sight. He doesn’t seem like he would care, even if there was. When your eyes meet with his again, he’s staring right back at you. Daring you to protest.

He pushes the wolf head off and it falls to his back. His dark, curly hair is stuck to his forehead after having it on for so long. You lean back instinctively as he lowers his head to take your nipple in his mouth and let out a surprised gasp.

“Chan,” you say, gripping his bare waist.

He swirls his tongue around your nipple and bites it, eliciting another gasp from you. He releases your nipple and stands up straight, cupping your breast as he makes a declaration you’ll never forget.

“I wanna be Red’s wolf.”

No smirk, no smile…it doesn’t feel like he’s joking or teasing you. Does he mean it?

Your hand shoots up to his neck lightning fast, pulling him down and crashing your lips to his. He spins you both around so your back is now against the wall as he kisses you. You roll your body, pressing your hips against his as his tongue clashes with yours.

He leans back for a moment, biting his furry glove with his hand to pull it off so his hand can feel you completely. When his lips are on yours again, his other hand takes hold of your neck once more, squeezing it as you slip your tongue in his mouth and he sucks it in further.

With his now glove free hand, he lowers it to rub at your fishnet covered thighs. His hand inches higher beneath the hem of the dress until it’s right between your legs. But then he freezes.

He breaks the kiss, still gripping your neck. His thumb rests on one side, pointer finger directly on your chin, and the other three are on the opposite side. He pushes your head up, pressing your head to the wall as you both catch your breath.

“Is shark week over yet?” He asks, cupping your pussy.

You start to repeat the phrase back to him, but chuckle as the realization hits you. The last three days you had been with him you were nearing the end of ‘shark week’ as he just called it. He had kept his distance, for the most part, aside from an impromptu morning blowjob before he trotted off to class on Tuesday.

“Yes,” you breathe in response.

His thumb and pointer finger squeeze your jaw, lowering your head and allowing him to recapture your lips. He resumes moving his other hand, hooking two fingers between the fishnets and the side of your underwear. He sucks on your bottom lip as his fingers rub your pussy, feeling how wet you are. He groans into your mouth as his fingers circle between your lips.

“I wanna fuck you so bad, Red,” he says, breaking the kiss once again.

He withdraws his fingers and brings them up to his mouth, popping them right inside and sucking your juices off. You watch him through lustful eyes, loving how fond he is of your taste. He’s not even remotely communicative with you but in these small moments you share, you understand all you need.

He pulls his other glove off and tosses it aside before dropping to his knees in front of you and bringing both hands to where the fishnets are at your crotch, poised to rip them apart.

“Chan!” You yell, grabbing his wrists. “I’ve only gotten to wear this for three hours, the party isn’t even over yet.”

“So?” He says, breaking his wrists free of your hands with ease.

“So, relax.” You say, taking hold of his wrists again. “And wait.”

He drops his hands and sits back on his heels, looking up at you. With only the red light illuminating the hallway, his gaze feels ravenous. Perhaps he does not like you telling him what to do. You second guess your word choice…maybe you should have added a please in there. You shift your weight from one foot to the other as his continued silence makes you anxious.

When his hands move back to your thighs, you don’t even try to stop him this time. Resisting is futile. You always give in to the pleasure. They slide up beneath the hem of the dress again, but instead of ripping them, he respectfully finds the waistband of the fishnets. His eyes never leave yours as he hooks his finger inside them and slowly pulls them down, dragging your underwear with it.

You bite your lip to keep from smiling. So maybe he disregarded the part about waiting, but he did at least grant your request to not rip them. He has a smug look on his face, seeing your reaction. You avert your gaze down the hall, wanting to check that the coast is clear but also wanting to keep him from seeing how much of an affect a small act of kindness from him makes you feel.

The hallway is still empty.

You look back to Chan and pull your dress up and out of the way. He uses one hand to keep the fishnets and underwear pulled down as the other guides your leg over his shoulder. And as soon as he leans forward, taking your pussy in his mouth, you know you wouldn’t fucking care if the entire party walked up here right now.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you roll your hips, pushing your pussy against his face so he can properly devour you. The music downstairs is muffled, but still mostly drowns out the sound of him slurping you up. He replaces his mouth with his fingers, playing in your wetness. He uses his thumb to rub circles around your clit as you grip his hair with your free hand.

“Fuuuck,” he drawls, pressing his thumb against you harder, watching your hips move in response. He slips his fingers inside of you and swaps his thumb and mouth again.

Your eyes snap open at his words and your hand forces his face against your pussy even more. You had already declared you belong to him the first time he fucked you. Hearing him say it, hearing him claim you drives you wild.

His fingers pump in and out of you rapidly as his tongue licks up and down your pussy. You put your head back against the wall, moaning at all the feelings. His fingers inside of you, his mouth on you, being in the hallway where anyone could come up and see you. But most of all, being his.

“Please, Chan,” you say, feeling so fucking turned on you think you might burst.

He detaches his mouth and stands up, causing your leg to fall from his shoulder, and reclaims your mouth. You can taste yourself on his lips as his fingers keep thrusting into you. His other hand finds it way back to your neck, squeezing it harder than before.

“Please what?” He asks, lips pressed against yours.

You keep your eyes on his as your hips fuck his fingers back, whimpering. You reach your hands between you, undoing the button on his jeans and pushing the zipper down. You slip a hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and grip his cock, feeling how hard he is.

“I need you,” you force out with his hand still around your neck and he grins.

He knows how he makes you feel and he loves it. Seeing you desperate and needy, begging him to fuck you.

Before he has a chance to, you see someone step onto the landing from the corner for your eye. The thought of being caught and the reality of it are two very different things.

Chan reacts so quickly, turning to shield you, lowering his hand from you neck to pull your dress up and cover your breasts. You drop your dress and pull your fishnets and underwear back up. You peek over his shoulder to see who’s come up.

It’s Han.

He sees you two, but he doesn’t say anything. He opens the door and walks into his room, but a moment later his head pops back out, adorned with his pirates hat and he throws a grin in your direction. You flip him the middle finger and he disappears fully into his room.

You press your head to Chan’s chest. Maybe he does care about people seeing you exposed and he just talks a big game. You don’t want to ask, though. He might just take it as a challenge.

You lean your head back to look up at him and he chuckles, wrapping his hand around your back and pressing your hips against his. You can still feel the bulge of his cock.

“Let’s go back downstairs,” you say, taking a step away from him as you come back to your right state of mind. You need to clear your head—maybe get another drink, maybe get some fresh air.

“Will you stay with me Sunday?” He asks suddenly, pulling his zipper back up.

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. You hadn’t expected him to concede so easily, nor ask you to stay with him. You had yet to spend a Sunday with him. In all honestly, you didn’t think he cared much for you to be there. But maybe he’s only asking since he didn’t get to fuck you during the week and feels like he needs to make up for lost time or something.

“Maybe,” you reply.

Sunday is your day. It would mean a lot, to you, for you to choose to stay with him. What would it mean to him?

He buttons his pants as you pick up his discarded gloves from the ground and hold them out to him.

“Maybe?” He repeats skeptically, eyeing you as he accepts the gloves with one hand.

His other hand—the one that had been inside you—he brings to his lips and sucks his first three fingers into his mouth one by one. He’s silent as he puts the gloves back on, mulling over your answer.

“Okay,” he finally says.

“Okay?” You repeat him this time.

The dark look in his eyes makes you feel as though it’s not okay.

“Sure,” his tone is now sickly sweet and you find it unnerving. “I’ll be back down in a sec.”

12:15am

The keg in the basement has been tapped already. Changbin and Chan work to move the one from the backyard down there with the help of a few other guys. It looks like a disaster waiting to happen and you don’t want to watch. You spot one of your friends that you stayed with after the breakup hanging in the kitchen and talk with her for a bit. You let her know you’re fine and have found a place to stay—sparing the specifics, of course.

1:00am

All the housemates and a good majority of the guests crowd around the living room as Felix MC’s, to hand out best costume awards. Much to your chagrin, Changbin, Lee Know and Seungmin win best group. Some guy dressed as Elton John in his bedazzled LA Dodger outfit wins most like the original. A girl with a literal UFO floating above her head and lights streaming down wins most creative. Sexiest female goes to a girl dressed as a skimpy Mario. Sexiest male costume goes to none other than Chan—he celebrates by taking two shots back to back. You’re close enough to notice a small dribble that’s trickled down to his abdomen and you’re tempted to get on your knees and lick it off in front of everyone.

After the prizes—gift cards and alcohol—are handed out, the crowd disburses throughout the house. You stay in the living room with Hyunjin and Felix as Felix gets the music going again.

Hyunjin wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to his side as Despacito plays. He’s smiling down at you with glossy eyes and you can tell he’s definitely had a couple cups of the Changbin-spiked punch.

“Dance with me,” he says.

“Hell no,” you spit back, shaking your head. “I’m not anywhere near drunk enough for that.”

“Well, drink up,” he says, moving your hand with the cup to your mouth.

You take a large gulp but still shake your head again. He takes the cup from you and finishes it off, sitting it on the table next to Felix. You protest as he pulls you to the middle of the living room where others are dancing. You’re struck with a wave of embarrassment, covering your face as he dances around you. He moves freely and easily to the beat, tongue caught between his teeth with a smile. He stops behind you and puts his hands on your hips, moving you from side to side with him.

He spins you in a circle, then brings you back against him, rocking his hips backwards and forwards to the music, guiding yours in sync with his, holding you firmly to him. You want to feel mortified, but you’re smiling and laughing. You’re enjoying yourself. As you always do with him. He wraps his arms around your shoulder, pulling your back flush against his chest and kisses your neck.

“Y/n?” You hear your name called and as your eyes snap up to the person who said it your smile immediately drops.

Your ex.

Hyunjin still has his arms around your shoulder, holding against him, but he stops moving and looks up at your mood killer too.

“Who’s that?” He asks.

“My ex,” you tell him. He straightens up, but doesn’t remove his arms from you.

Your ex walks closer to you, not even glancing at Hyunjin behind you.

“Can we talk?” He asks.

1:45am

You’re hesitant. You don’t walk to speak to him, not now when you’re having such a good time. You also don’t want to cause a scene, though.

You tap Hyunjin’s arm around your shoulder and he releases you. You gesture for you ex to follow you and lead him through the kitchen to the backyard. There are people out here too, but it’s not as crowded. You fan yourself when you hit the fresh air—you hadn’t realized how hot it had gotten inside with all the people, combined with the alcohol and dancing.

“What’s going on with you?” He asks in an accusatory manner.

“Nothing?” You respond, not sure what he means.

“I saw you a few weeks ago with one guy, now you’re dancing up on some other dude?”

“You keep asking these questions as if you’re entitled to answers,” you snap at him. “You wanted to break up with me. You wanted to see other people. You don’t get to say shit about what I do.” You step closer to him and jab your finger into his chest each time you say ‘you’.

“Is this where you’re living now, then?”

You sigh, shaking your head.

“Listen, I think closure would be good here…but this is not the way.”

“I told you I wasn’t looking for closure.”

You let out a wry laugh.

“I’m not going to sit around waiting for you, if that’s what you’re wanting. I’m single. I’ll do whatever and whomever I want.”

His jaw clenches as he glares at you.

“And I have no intention of ever being with you again.” You add. “So, either leave me alone and enjoy yourself at the party or get the fuck out if that’s too hard for you to do.”

You throw your hands up at him and shake your head before opening the sliding glass door and walking back into the house. He follows you inside, grabbing you by the arm to stop you before you reach the living room. You turn to face him, snatching your arm back.

“So you give me shit about wanting to see other people, but now you’re living in a house with these frat bros?” He arches an eyebrow.

You shrug. He becomes more annoyed at your response.

“You’re fucking them aren’t you?” He spits, stepping closer to you, leaning down so you can hear him over the loud music. He grabs you by the arm again, dragging you to him.

You put a hand on his chest and struggle to push him away, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. You’re certain the music is still blaring, but it suddenly feels extremely quiet.

“You’re fucking all eight of these squinty-eyed motherfu—“

Your fist connecting with his jaw cuts him off. You don’t know what’s come over you to react in such a physical way, but you’d be damned if you let him finish that sentence.

The next few moments happen in a blur.

He yanks you closer, seething, as he opens his mouth to say more disprectful shit. But someone wraps their arm around your waist and pulls you away from him and at the same time, someone else shoves your ex. Then Chan is standing between you and him, facing your ex. You can’t clearly hear what he’s saying over the music and the erratic beating of your heart, but they look to be exchanging some heated words. Your ex looks furious with Chan in his face, acting like the literal big, bad wolf.

You look back to see who’s grabbed you—it’s Seungmin. He’s holding you close, but his eyes are locked on Chan, waiting to see if he needs to get involved.

Hyunjin and Felix come into the dining room amidst the commotion. He walks behind your ex and places a hand on his shoulder. Your ex shoves his hand off, says one last remark to Chan then storms out of the room. Hyunjin follows behind him to make sure he leaves. Felix puts a hand on Chan’s chest to keep him from following. He forces Chan to look him in the eye to hear whatever he’s saying.

Changbin storms in, coming from the basement a little too late, but still looking ready for a confrontation. All while dressed as Mary Sanderson. The sight sends you into an immediate fit of laughter.

The partygoers go back to their own conversation as Changbin approaches you, Chan, Felix and Seungmin.

“Why didn’t you ride your vacuum?” Seungmin says to him. “You would have gotten here sooner.”

“He’s lucky I was late,” he huffs.

Chan turns away from Felix to face you and Seungmin releases you from his grasp.

“You okay?” Chan asks, softly.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, wiping at a stray tear as you regain your composure.

Chan lifts your chin up with a finger so you’re looking him in the eyes, possibly wanting to make sure the tears are from laughing.

You nod your head, reassuring him.

“Nice job, slugger,” Seungmin says, ruffling the top of your hair. You swat him away and wince as your hand comes in contact with his arm. He laughs at your pain. “I’ll get some ice.”

He disappears behind you towards the fridge.

Chan gently takes your hand in his and brings it up for inspection as you weakly wiggle your fingers.

“Can you make a fist?”

You squeeze your hand together the best you can but it becomes painful before you can make a complete fist.

You hear Chan take a deep breath. He closes his eyes, hand still holding yours.

“Tell me I shouldn’t go after him,” his eyes snap back open and they are brimming with rage.

“Don’t,” you plead.

“I wouldn’t lose,” he says, rubbing his thumb across your fingers. He’s here, physically, in front of you, but it seems like his mind is already out the door.

“He’s not worth it,” you shake your head.

He readjusts the wolf on his head and nods, as if trying to convince himself you’re right.

“Go to Seungmin, put some ice on it.”

He lets go of your hand and heads for the basement with Changbin.

3:30am

You’ve apologized profusely to the members and the other assignees, hoping the altercation with your ex hadn’t put a damper on the night. They assure you it’s alright—they all seem more concerned that you’re okay, and it makes you feel warm and cared for.

The house has mostly emptied, Seungmin and Jeongin are getting the last few stragglers out. Changbin and Hyunjin are supposed to be helping clean but Changbin, drunk off his spiked punch, is cradling Hyunjin’s face in his hands and loudly alternating between calling him the cutest piglet he’s ever seen and asking him to ‘oink’. Hyunjin is cackling, trying to squirm away from his touch, but he’s no match for Changbin’s strength.

Chan, Jeongin and Han come up from the basement and shut the light off behind them.

“Everyone’s clear from down there,” Han says, removing his pirate hat.

Chan has his arm around Jeongin’s neck as Jeongin supports his stumbling steps.

“…and that’s why you’re my baby,” Chan is saying to Jeongin.

“Okay, hyung, okay. I’m your baby forever,” Jeongin is smiling widely, amused.

He must not get to see their chapter president like this often.

You’ve never seen him like this.

“Y/n,” he says with a smile when his eyes fall on you.

He shakes free of Jeongin and walks to you.

“What did you do to him down there?” You ask.

“We had to keep him from going after that guy—he’s at least responsible enough to not drive drunk,” Han tells you.

His words give you some pause. You would never want to condone any further violence, but…had Chan been ready and willing to fight over you?

Chan hugs you from behind, head hanging over your shoulder.

“You should probably take him upstairs,” Felix says, taking the stack of paper plates you’ve amassed and tossing them into the trash bag he’s holding.

You step to the side and drape Chan’s arm around your neck, holding on to it with one hand as the other holds him by the waist.

He lets you walk him up the stairs, giggling to himself as he concentrates on taking one step after the other.

“Do not fucking fall. I’m telling you right now I can’t save you,” you warn him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he giggles again, putting his other hand on the rail to grip as he walks.

Once in his room, finally, you ease him onto his bed and he immediately splays out flat on his back. You kneel on the bed to get his costume off and he lets you remove his gloves, and vest without putting up a fight. However, when you get off the bed to place them on the dresser, he protests

“Come here with me,” he whines.

“You need to sleep it off, Chan.” You tell him, softly.

“No,” he pouts, sitting up on the bed, swaying. He looks like he’s concentrating every fiber of his being on holding steady. “Come here.”

There’s more demand to his voice the second time. You sigh and walk towards the bed.

“Don’t do that,” he chides.

“Do what?”

He mimics your sigh.

“Like you hate me or something. Don’t hate me,” he turns to look at you with sad eyes and pout once again firmly in place on his lips.

“I don’t hate you,” you tell him truthfully, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you sit next to him on the bed. “You’re just always so hot and cold with me. I don’t know how to be or feel when I’m around you. I’m in a perpetual state of conflicting confusion with you.”

You choose to be honest with him about your emotions. You do want him to know how it feels, but you also wonder if he’ll even remember any of this tomorrow.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, leaning to the side to rest his head on your shoulders. “I have to be this way, y/n.”

You furrow your brow at his response. Why on earth would he have to be this way to you? You shake him off of you and he sits back up on his own, leaving his head hanging.

“Why, Chan?” You ask angrily. He doesn’t budge. “Chan. Look at me!”

Your sharp tone of voice causes his head to snap up.

“Why?” You ask again, softer this time.

“It’s just easier this way…I don’t think I cou—“ he starts but trails off and shakes head, unable to finish.

“Chan, please,” you plead with him. “How is this easier? Easier than what?”

He shrugs and places his head in his hand. A silence falls over the room as you wait to see if he will respond. He doesn’t, and it angers you.

“Why would you choose me,” you start slowly, “if you’re so determined to treat me like an object you own when everyone else in this house can be both friends and lovers, fuck buddies, whatever the hell you want to call it with their assignee. Why is it so fucking hard for you?”

“I couldn’t let you end up with anyone else,�� he says, words muffled by his hands.

You sigh. Again. You’re desperate to know what he means, to get some kind of clue about why he keeps you at arms length. Why he wants your full submission but refuses to let you get closer to him. You wish he were sober. It's even more frustrating that even when he’s drunk, he’s not spilling out helpful information. It’s the most of an explanation you’ve ever gotten out of him, though, but talking to him like these feels useless. He’s too heavily guarded.

He looks up again and turns to face you.

“Stay with me tonight?”

What is he trying to do to you? It’s the second time tonight he’s asked you to stay with him. And the way he looks right now, annoyingly adorable, you want nothing more than to grant his wish. But it’s infuriating to think that this isn’t the real him. Or if it is, why the fuck can’t sober Chan be the same? If you give in to him like this, after he’s explained nothing yet expects everything from you, you will lose even more of yourself.

You find logical ways to justify your shared intimacy and lack of anything else, telling yourself that it’s part of the gig as an in-house stay. But what happens if you start to choose him and his behavior doesn’t change? Will you become upset if he continues to treat you the same?

“It’s Saturday,” you say finally, standing from the bed.

He pouts again.

“It’s Sunday, actually.” He corrects you.

He stands, taking a moment to catch his balance. He reaches for your hand and brings you towards him. He rubs his finger over the back of your knuckles. The pain from the punch earlier had mostly subsided after icing it.

You think back to Chan’s actions in the kitchen, how he immediately sprung to your defense. It’s as if he wants to be the only one who can get away with mistreating you.

“We’ll just sleep. Stay with me.” He asks again, bringing your hand to his mouth and placing a soft kiss on it. Your stomach flutters at the sight.

“No,” you say defiantly, shaking your head. “That’s not how it works.”

“It works how we decide it works,” he counters, placing his hands on your hips and looking down at you.

“No, Chan…not like this.”

“Fine,” he mumbles, dropping his hands from you.

He turns away from you and walks towards the corner of the room—to your bed. He grabs your pillow and hugs it to his chest as he walks back to his bed.

He’s acting like the cutest fucking brat you’ve ever seen and yet you still want to slap his face. How had his parents put up with this? Maybe shipping him off to the states for school had been in their best interest. He would have been a handful, and spoiled rotten. You can almost guarantee it.

He climbs into his bed, holding your pillow as he gets comfortable. You stand watching him. You want to go to him. You want to curl up behind him, to hold him. To share a bed with him for the first time. But you can’t keep setting yourself up for failure. If you do that tonight, what happens tomorrow? He won’t treat you any different and you’ll be upset you let yourself fall for it.

“Goodnight, Chan,” you say, turning for the door.

He grunts in response as you turn the light off and exit the room.

On your way downstairs, you stop to listen and see if anyone is still cleaning in the kitchen but it’s dead quiet so you continue to Hyunjin’s room. You make it back to the room and see he’s already knocked out. You contemplate waking him up but decide against it. Any mood you had for fooling around is gone.

You rid yourself of your costume piece by piece and climb into bed with Hyunjin in just your underwear and a shirt. His body adjusts to your presence, as it always does, and you snuggle in to him. What started as a promising night that could have ended with some fun—with either Hyunjin or Chan—turned out to be quite the opposite.

a/n: I am struggling so much to keep Chan in check. I want him to just give in an be the bestest boy ever, but then it'll be a rush and the story will end sooner. So, let's ride this out together.

taglist: @iflmho / @skzstaykatsy / @blackhairandbangs / @ayoitschannie / @idunnomanmynamewastaken / @charmer-c / @ihatemen55 / @channiesprincess / @channniesslefttt / @jiwoos-babygirl / @krayzieestay / @kayleefriedchicken / @sunnyhonie / @cotton-candycloudz / @lubsungie / @conwunder / @puckmaidens / @ashleighland / @hyunjiinnnn / @bmnyy / @ihrtlix / @maqqiekwon / @hynxnelly / @teti-menchon0604 I don't know why it's not letting me tag certain folks. but I will personally dm you if this happens so you're still aware when a new chapter is up. I GOT YOU!

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfic #bangchan fanfic #stray kids #bang chan #skz smut #bang chan smut #bang chan imagines #bangchan smut #hyunjin #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin x reader #bangchan x reader #bangchan x y/n #hyunjin x y/n #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n

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blehrbie-blog · 1 year

Text

Neteyam x Reader story

Sooo, I haven't written anything in genuine years. But after watching Avatar:TWOW I've become hyperfixated and have been scrolling and refreshing the Neteyam x Reader tag basically since the movie came out. As a consequence I've had this idea in the back of my mind that I thought was very sweet and cute (something we all need after that movie) so I decided to sit down and give it a go and see what comes out of my brain. So here it is. I haven't properly edited it and it's pretty much a 1000 words of word vomit and a bunch of time skips but it made me happy to write so I'm sharing it.

Oh, BTW SPOILERS!! but also I don't stick to the event's of the movie so idk I'm just putting it out there in case someone hasn't watched the trailer.

So the idea is our girl meets Neteyam informally for the first time when they're 9. She gets cornered in the jungle by a Palulukan and Neteyam helps her run away from it. She had always known who he is being the firstborn son of the Toruk Makto. She remembers her mom telling her about the big ceremony the Tribe had when he was first born. Everyone knew him.

- You shouldn't go into Palulukan territory without being careful - he says, looking a bit unsure about her now that there's no imminent danger.

- I didn't know I was in its territory

- Don't wander off too far on your own then.

___________________________

After this meeting, you get closer and become friends, which means as a consequence you occasionally hang out with the rest of Neteyam's family. However, as he gets older and his Dad starts preparing him to be a warrior and later on Lo'ak as well you don't have as much time to spend as you once did laughing and roaming around in the jungle exploring thick forests and shallow pools of water. It's not like you have nothing to do with your life, you do! You've been thinking of taking up lessons from the Tsahik, to see how you can use the spirit of Eywa and nature to help people who are hurting. It just so happens that the Tsahik is Neteyam's grandmother so you sometimes end up seeing him come back from a mission with his father and you share sweet smiles from across the camp.

When the tribe moves to the floating rocks, you are required by the Tsahik to help those injured from the journey and the ones getting used to the new terrain. So you're even more often in the same circles. As you're working one day about to go over to help Ninat with her sprained ankle, someone taps you on the shoulder

-You seem busy with work. - says Neteyam smiling sweetly at you

-Oh! Yes, I was just about to start. How's your training going?

You hadn't spoken in a while, just a quick wave or nod when crossing paths throughout the day. You hadn't noticed but he towers over you by a couple inches now. He nods towards his dad who's speaking with Neytiri at the edge of their tent.

-You know, just the usual responsibilities of carrying on the legacy. - His eyes gaze into you softly, like he's memorizing your face after not seeing it for long. He shakes it off and looks down - Have you got many tasks today?

-Not too much actually, just need to check up on Ninat and prepare some medicinal salves.

- I want to see you later – He looks back up into your eyes and smiles – Maybe we can go on one of our expeditions like before.

You chuckle – Sure, I'd love that.

With a final nod of approval, he stalks away to his parent's side.

When you meet later towards sunset he's waiting patiently with his Ikran by the vines connecting the Hallelujah Mountains to the Jungle below.

-We won't go too far out into the jungle so we have time to come back before sunrise. - He says as he connects his Queue with the Ikran and gazes at you expectantly – Hop on.

Can I trust that I'll come back alive from this flight? - you raise a skeptical eyebrow. He only went through his Iknimaya ritual not too long ago.

He reaches out a hand to help you up onto the animal – I don't think Eywa would forgive me if I wasted you on a simple flight.

You smile warmly into his shoulder as you hold tight onto him feeling the powerful animal shift under you as you fly out.

Roughly 10 years later

____________________________

When he comes back from the Mitkayina islands. He's taller and broader and his hair is much longer pulled into a loose braid around his Queue. You have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach when you first see him. He's magnificent and commanding in his presence. The tribe has gathered all around to accept him and Jake back with a warm welcome. And even though you're hidden by your fellow Na'vi, his eyes immediately find you in the crowd and issue an eager and warm smile on his face.

As soon as he has settled the greetings with the current Olo'eyktan and the Tsahik, he finds you – walking to your sleeping pod. You would have gone to say hello and see him up close but, honestly, you were a bit intimidated. What you now knew was a childhood infatuation with him all those years ago still couldn't handle seeing him all of a sudden in all his... perfect glory. You were a little intimidated. But that doesn't stop him from reaching out for you. You see him jog over with a grin. He grabs you by the shoulders about to pull you into a hug but stops himself at the last moment. His eyes roam you over from head to toe and he looks up with glistening eyes -You've grown! - His tone sounds almost unbelieving

-That tends to happen as time passes, yes – you chuckle, hands coming up to hold onto his arms. His strong arms.

-I'm not too sure what I expected you to look like but you're... way beyond any expectation – He sounds so awe-struck as he's still taking you in, that you start to feel a little embarrassed.

-I can say the exact same thing – You say as you meet his gaze again. As you do his face softens and he brings you into his arms finally.

-I missed you, my friend.

Your hand caresses his hair gently – I missed you too.

You break apart and you decide to go for some late food with him abandoning your plans of sleep.

_______________________

Months later, when they have their first kiss. It's a slow thing. He will say something dry-humoured in his soft voice and she'll forget to laugh too busy staring at him, realizing how in love she is. And has been all these years. And when he notices that she hasn't replied he'll look at her and know immediately. That she's realized, at last. And he'll come to hold her like she's the most precious thing in his world. He'll thread his fingers through her hair bringing her face close to his. Forehead pressed to hers, patiently waiting for her to join him in the reality he has been living. Where they have loved each other for a while, longed and missed unbelievably because of it, and are finally able to bask in it. The warm smiles and looks, the casual closeness that not being apart allows. The things he has been dreaming of. He looks at her lips and back at her eyes, pulling back slightly to give her some space. Maybe she's not entirely understanding his feelings, maybe she's too caught up in her own to recognize his signs, he thinks, ready to give her all the time- When she grabs his neck and drags him back to her. - Neteyam... – her eyes are glossy like she's about to cry. So he caresses her cheeks gently and finally presses their lips sweetly together. And he can not compare it to any other feeling he has ever experienced. It's not like loving her, that's easy and at the same time overwhelming. It has brought him to the point that he is ready to lay down his life and all of his family's expectations to travel back to the tribe just to see her. To be reunited. But this feeling, this kiss is like knowing, that he won't be alone in his love and he can give her his all, his soul. They stay there, lost in the sweetness of being together like never before until the sun has long set and the moon has long risen.

_______________________

That is it! I do realise I keep skipping between tenses, I apologise if anyone finds it annoying and hope you enjoyed!

Edit: I thought it might be useful to put a link to part 2 down here so: Next

#avatar #avatar the way of water #neteyam x reader #avatar 2 #reader insert #x reader #female reader #neteyam #jake sully #neteyam x omaticaya!reader

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breezy141 · 6 months

Text

heart of glass // pedro pascal masterlist

sum: being known in the world of hollywood there had always consequences, especially cheating rumours.

authors note: IM SORRY I DISAPPEARED. college been eatin me uppp

the picture on your phone caused you to rethink almost everything, it was a picture of your husband at a restaurant with another woman, she had her hand placed on his. she was smiling, as was he.

for a moment, you had no idea what you were looking at. before seeing the photo you were crocheting a new top you had seen multiple times on instagram. crocheting was one of your hobbies, when you weren’t working it was your go to. something your husband also loved.

yet when you were sent the photo from your friend, you stopped everything. after physically feeling your stomach drop you had messaged your friend.

‘what is that?’ your hands shook as you typed out the message. ‘it’s all over twitter, i did some digging it’s just some woman, her name is jasmine. i’m so sorry honey’ you didn’t respond.

do you cry? do you message him? do you ask others what they think?

there was so much going through your mind, you got up from the chair you had been cozied up on. making your way to the bedroom.

you zoomed into the photo, looking for any signs of editing. there was none.

here came the tears, they showed no mercy in streaming down your cheeks. you turned off your phone and threw it somewhere on the bed, you began pacing the room.

you never expected your husband, pedro pascal, to ever cheat on you. he’s just not like that. why would he do that? is it my fault? is there something i could have done? these were the questions running through your mind right now.

almost perfectly, the front door opened. you knew exactly who it was so you grabbed the phone and rushed towards the door.

“hey sweethea-” he cut himself off “why are you crying?” he went to hug you but you pushed his arms away.

“what is this?” you asked with a shaky breath, showing him the picture.

he studied the photo, even reading out the caption on the post. “actor pedro pascal seen in a restaurant with a new mysterious woman” he sighed loudly.

you looked at him with red and blurry eyes “tell me what’s going on” you said flatly.

“baby, this picture is from years ago. before i even knew you, if you don’t believe me, look here” he came by your side “see? no facial hair, plus that’s jasmine. i cut her off years ago, for a couple reasons”

the tears stopped but part of you didn’t believe him. he could tell.

“darling, i promise. id never cheat on you, i love you. i don’t need anyone else but you. i swear, this is actually from like what, 2016? i don’t know why its getting brought up now, but this shit happens all the time to people with a large following. it’s just the internet being annoying as always”

you bit your lip as you thought, he’s right. this stuff happens all the time. he loves you to much.

nodding you looked at the ground “i’m sorry” you managed to whimper out “aye, don’t be sorry hermosa, it’s one of them things that we will have to, now, learn how to avoid and address it. it’s not your fault your upset, i understand you and your feelings.”

“can i have a hug?” you whispered, that’s all you wanted to do right now. have his arms wrapped around his body. he let out a soft giggle and immediately pulled you into his arms.

“i’m still sorry though, i should have known pedro. it’s what happens now” you felt him shake his head “no sweetheart, you have every right to feel upset. especially when there’s pictures floating around” you pulled back and wiped your tears with the sleeve of your jumper.

“thank you” you let out a small laugh, what on earth was you thinking? him cheating? never.

“no problemo” he leaned down to kiss your temple “so, what do you say about having take out tonight? my treat” you smiled at him softly.

“as if i’d say no” he let out a small chuckle.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedroispunk #pedrostories #pascalispunk #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x y/n

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leafostuff · 7 months

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Fluffy Pancakes, Fluffy Girl [Ft. CSR Geumhee]

Tags: Fluff, Holy shit its fluffy, Backhugs, did I already mention fluffy?, Quickie, not edited because ffh (Fluffy Fantasy Haze) Author's Note: She is just too cute man, she is just too cute for this world, and its time to give her a true solo fic like this adorable cutie deserves, requested by @libraryoferos so have fun bro and everyone else reading this

================================================

If there was one thing you wish you could've gotten from your girlfriend, is the ability to wake up easily

Saturday morning, 8:15 AM And dear god you have no idea why you are sitting on your sofa, sipping your cup of coffee meanwhile Geumhee is still snoring cutely in your shared bed, you could only curse yourself for your mistake

"hmmm...well she is working a lot for her comeback with her members" you think to yourself, taking a small look toward the bedroom door. "i think i should pamper her a bit" your thoughts added up in your head as you wake up from the sofa and go toward the fridge, pampering your girlfriend the only way you knew how: Pancakes

Pancakes being your favorite food to eat together as a couple is an understatement, since you could honestly say that without this you would never meet you girlfriend, you could only smile as you started to follow the pancake recipe you got from the internet.

Each step you follow of the recipe give you memories that start to float in your head, like how you confessed to Geumhee 2 years ago. date or your first kiss which was during a meteor shower, you cant help but smile as you continue making the pancakes

time passes, the pan is warming up as you style your art of pancake making, first bunch of pancakes gets a bit weirdly shaped, but its doesnt matter since what is important to you is the taste and the smell.

speaking of smell, the scent of the pancakes slowly creeps up to the bedroom as soon enough you could hear a sound akin to a moan coming from the room which means two things: she is awake, and she is hungry resulting in a small giggle from you

however for now you could only focus on the pancakes, not trying to burn them as your eyes look at the pan, while your right hand is holding the spatula, the left hand is holding the pan, making it easier for you to flip the pancakes, slowly but surely more and more freshly made pancakes are added to the plate as suddenly you could feel two hands creeping behind you, slowly wrapping around you.

"Morning Jagi" you simply say as you turn out, revealing your girlfriend in her "just woke up" attire, a white sweater that she probably stole from your closet and very short pants, her brown hair messy however her bangs stay in their place.

however said girl doesnt say anything, instead she opens her mouth, signaling she is hungry as you fork one of the pancakes and slowly enter it into her mouth, letting her munch on the pancake as she hums in response, flashing her iconic gummy smile showing she is enjoying her breakfast in

"You really made those just for me?" Geumhee mouthed the question, her mouth still full of the pancake she is eating.

"Mmm...Maybe?" you answered, causing both of you to fill the room with your laugh, so much so that you couldnt notice that the fork was taken from your hand, taking another pancake with it

"I cant be the only one tasting right oppa?" she asked as you just rolled your eyes, however before eating the pancake you quickly attack her lips, giving her a quick peck before taking a bite from the pancake, making your girlfriend flustered from your sudden action.

"What? i needed something sweet before eating the pacnak-Owww" you did your best attempt of flirting however you only recived a small punch to your shoulder.

"That was corny as fuck oppa" she cutely said, for a minute so you just cant help both of yourself. finding both you and geumhee looking at eachother's eye for a long time, soon enough you both started laughing again.

"Wanna watch some saturday morning anime?" you ask as Geumhee without even answering took you to the sofa, turning on the TV and changing to an Anime channel, your hands quickly go around your girlfriend's neck. pulling her closer to you resulting in her resting her head on your shoulder.

"Now that...is a good morning" you thought yourself, letting the day finally start for the both of you, while it is a slow start, its a start you love

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Posted in10/10/2023

#kpop fanfic #kpop #fluff #kpop fluff #csr kpop #csr #geumhee #csr geumhee

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mysunandmoon98 · 6 months

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Sending waves to wave to earth as we grow alongside each other across the ocean 🌊

(rambings from a while back, edited to be coherent, please share this time of love with me)

I am someone who often questions things about myself, especially the things I am into and enjoy. I like to figure about exaclty what it is that captivates me. Wave to earth have been on my mind a lot recently with their US tour kicking off. Subsequently I started to wonder a little, what is it about this band that I am so captivated by and feel so connected to? To put it simply, music is art, and I honestly live day to day examening and thinking about art. What draws me into art is typically one of two things: admiration to anothers dedication/view of life or its relatability and how I see myself in that art, how it fits with my daily life and thoughts. Wave to earth's music is one of those gems that fulfils both categories. What captured me was their specific nestling into a blur of genres, and their appreciation and dedication to art, as well as their lyrics about life and love.

The first live performance of theirs that I watched was purple lake. It was just daniel and donkgyu in a little room, I vividly remember the purple glow of the room, and the multi coloured lights dancing across the walls. Dongkyu had a pair of sunglasses hanging from his shirt. Watching that performance, when the camera pans to dongkyu on the drums, it felt like the whole universe had singled into this one person, fulfilling their passion and translating feelings into sound. I had never been so captivated in this way before.

I started getting more into the lyrics too. I had been a fan of Daniel for a little while before I heard wave to earth so was familiar with his voice and lyrical style from the little snippets of what I understood before. I vividly remember one day, sat at the kitchen table listening to seasons, just recently after its release. I sat there with the lyrics in front of me, and I felt my heart warm a little. A delicate hum of pain and nostalgia which stuck with, and resonated with me so strongly. "I'd give you all my life, my seasons" Listening to songs like light, wave, ride and surf made me fall more in love with life. The link of love and life with the sea and nature fit hand in hand so beautifully. It gives a sense of connection, a grounding feeling, whilst also somehow making me feel like i'm floating in the clouds, my mind completely at peace, even in the middle of a hectic day.

Then as the autumn and winter come, I grativiate to songs such as bonfire and bird. A couple years ago, on my journeys back home from college, I would listen to these songs as the sun set. I shut the door on a difficult day listening to music that made life feel beautiful again. "Bird, how does it feel to fly. Hey bird, do you look down or forward?" These lyrics stuck in my mind, as I felt stuck in the sickening routine my life had back then. Do I look down to my heart, do I look to myself, to this moment, or do I look into the future? How is everyone around me living, how do you see? I felt confused, life was a blur of one day to the next. I would listen so intently, every lyric, every chord. One listen for the lyrics, one for Daniel's voice, one for the drums, one for the bass, one for the harmonies, one for it all together. It was moments of peace in during a messy time. From this, I found one of my big happinesses in life: bass guitar. I was drawn into John Cha's bass lines. I always pondered on which was a favourite. For autumn, I like bonfire, the bass gives a rich yet fluttering feeling, like fireflies dancing in the night. There is a certain part in gold which I adore it's like velvet, so smooth, so deep but also powerful. Then in daisy, in this one break- where often the guitar gets centre stage, there is just this epic breakdown, giving that depth, that almost tangible grip on the song, all the desire and the love just bursts out, and I think its incredible. I came to realise how beatiful bass guitar is. I love the melodic charm of John's playing, the variations during live performances too (I remember learning the term 'bass fills' from his youtube, which I know I probably use incorrectly haha, but just that little extra something special, I love it). I'm not too educated on music, I really only write from the heart, but I feel like John's playing, it really feels like another voice, another vocal, another expression of the lyrics. I never understood music in this way before, so deeply, so interconnected, so beautifully.

From this, music became such a bigger part of my life. I started listening to more instrumental songs, and I gained a whole new outlook on music and instruments. Side B of flaws and all... it really is my everything, that lofi jazz sound they have.. it is everything to me, and sparked my love for a new kind of music. I listen to side A when its sunny and bright out, as well as when my gloomy days need some sunshine. "I'm broken, so take me to the evening glow, and lay me down on the sun, the tender sun" This song, their music, is like a warm ray of sunshine.

So I think about this a lot, as time passes and things change. I feel I have changed and grown, and I look and see their success as a band and see how they have changed and grown and I feel immense happiness. I adore how wave to earth craft their music, their performances, their albums covers. It is always a big creative inspiration in my life. So I just wanted to talk about it, I'm a little bit lost for words, but these days I find myself tearing up thinking about these things so I just wanted to try and express how my heart has been feeling :')

#wave to earth #seasons 100 mil streams?!#i love john cha #kim daniel #shin dongkyu #korean indie #live love music #웨이브투어스

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rainydaywhump · 5 months

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Whumpcember2023 Day 5!

When I first saw the prompt "impalement," I audibly groaned. I hate the idea of being impaled. I mean, to be fair, I'm pretty sure no one actually likes the thought of it happening to them, but y'know. But I actually had a lot of fun with this!

Edit: this is an ongoing thing now, so here's part 2

@whumpcember, @i-eat-worlds ,@pigeonwhumps

CWs: impalement, merman whumpee, mention of a human corpse

Zale had always wanted to talk a human.

He wasn't a freak about it, of course. He knew some mers who literally hoarded any odd human artifact they found. A couple hundred years ago, when Zale was young, the artifacts were actually cool and rare: mers could proudly show off gold coins, packets of hard tack, weapons, old clothes and shoes, the like. But these days, the human-crazy mers bragging about plastic forks and styrofoam cups were...well, they were a little weird.

But Zale had been unerringly confident that he could befriend everyone since before he learned to talk. He was social, even for his species; even the deep-sea ones liked it when he came around. He picked up other dialects and languages quickly, just so he could hold a conversation and make other sea creatures smile.

His socialness got him into trouble sometimes, of course. For example, his sister was fond of reminding him, he had tried to befriend a giant squid -- that didn't end well. And there were a few Deep Ones that the deep sea mers refused to tell him the whereabouts of, because the Deep Ones were dangerous and Zale was just a little too trusting for his own good.

But humans! Zale had heard horror stories, yeah, but he was sure that humans, like the treasures they left, had changed. He was also sure that he could change them if he needed to. The few he had met already proved that: a group of drunken tourists on a cruise ship were entranced by his flashy tail and quick swimming (Zale chuckled when he thought about how no one would believe them when they said they saw a merman); the occasional group of marine researchers (those humans knew about mers already and had agreed to keep their existence a secret. They were endlessly curious about Zale's experiences with rogue waves, and they gave him their undivided attention); and even some random dead guy floating on the surface. Zale talked to his ghost and felt flattered that the spirit was even more fascinated by him than Zale was with the literal human ghost hovering above him).

So, one night, Zale decided to head for the oil rig that had been completed last year. By now it would be fully operational and staffed with people who actually knew about the sea and who liked the creatures in it.

Just for fun, he dove as far down to the ocean floor as he could without getting cold before he sped back up alongside one of the rig's many lines. His species was built for speed and agility. Zale's body and tail were narrow, sleek, and perfectly aerodynamic. His tail fin, a beautiful mottled blue and green and gray, was split in the middle for added speed. His dorsal fins were large compared to other species. These helped him keep both balance and speed when making sharp turns.

There were other adaptations, of course, but most mers had them on similar scales. He had five gills, large eyes, and a lateral line that was marked by a subtle shift in color tone right above it.

Unfortunately, Zale was so preoccupied and so confident that he didn't notice the vibrations above him.

Another mer was hanging by the line just below the surface. Zale somersaulted back and laughed in surprise. "I didn't think I'd find anyone else here!"

The mer's eyes were hard to make out, and not just because of the dark -- but Zale could tell that the mer was even more shocked than he was. More alarming, he could sense a jolt of fear run through them. Their hands flew to their chest and they almost dropped their flashlight.

...Wait. Flashlight?

A person!

(Zale was trying to be more language-inclusive by calling them 'people' instead of just 'humans' all of the time. He was proud of himself for doing that now.)

He drifted closer to see better. Sure enough, this "mer" wasn't a mer at all -- it was a scuba diver, a human that used fake fins on their feet (ha! Feet were so weird), some kind of breathing apparatus, some kind of weird piece of clothing that covered their body, and goggles. Just like the researchers, only with a flashlight too.

"Hey! Can you hear me?" Zale asked eagerly. "I speak Spanish and English and a lil bit of Estonian. Any of those work for you?"

The person was still staring at him. Zale let them stare. No harm in admiring a mer, he thought proudly.

And then, the human...shooed him away.

Zale blinked and fluttered his gills just to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Sure enough, however, the scuba diver was frantically gesturing for him to leave. As he did so, he prodded something on his goggles so that it wasn't facing them. His gestures only became more frantic as Zale cocked his head and asked, "What's all that for?"

The scuba diver didn't answer. Instead, they just made one more emphatic shooing motion before making a break for the surface, not looking back.

Naturally, Zale followed them. "Hey, wait! I didn't scare you, right? Because if I did, I didn't mean --"

He broke through the waves and looked around wildly for the diver, but the latter was surprisingly fast in those fake fins. Zale grunted as a wave hit him smack in the face an briefly lost sight of them before finally catching a glimpse of motion to his left. The diver was clambering aboard a small dinghy.

Oooh. Are those other people on that boat?

Zale swam forward, diving just below the waves to arrive at the dinghy in a matter of moments. He popped to the surface and called to the diver again.

"Hello again! I just wanted to make sure I didn't scare you, are you okay?"

Something in his voice sounded oddly gravelly, but he didn't worry about it. The scuba diver jerked away and muttered something fast and fake-casual to the other two people on board. Zale swam closer. The scuba diver shouted.

"Just get back to the rig already! Wait, don't --!"

There was a blur of movement, and suddenly Zale was thrown backwards by some invisible force. He submerged and tried to breathe, tried to get his bearings back, but as his gills fluttered, he realized all at once that two things were very, very wrong.

1: For the first time in Zale's life, the water just below the surface felt...cold.

2: that wasn't just water flowing through his gills. That was blood.

His own blood.

Zale looked down in a panic, trying to find the wound. It took him a moment to even start processing what was right in front of his eyes: a long metal object was lodged into his side, and as the currents twisted around him, he realized that there was something cutting into his back as well.

Feeling like he was moving in slow motion, Zale moved his webbed hand to feel whatever was in his back.

It was the same metal material.

Something...impaled me?

Something from the humans?

He didn't feel any pain, although he knew -- could viscerally imagine -- that whatever had been thrown at him was buried in his flesh and guts. He was too shocked to think properly. How did this happen? No, he knew the how, although he could barely believe it -- no, why did this happen? He couldn't have scared the people that badly. Besides, people loved mers! Everything had felt alright when the humans were staring at him; Zale loved it when they did that, so why did they...

"Why did they hurt me?" he whispered.

Without warning, Zale was jerked backwards. Something was attached to the sharp metal rod in his side; he must not have seen it in his confusion -- and with the movement came pain and speed and fear fear fear fear I'm scared, why is this happening, why are they pulling me to the boat? That's a weird way to rescue someone; are they --? and then Zale couldn't think anymore because the pain was threatening to split him in two both mentally and physically and his screams were lost in the currents, carried away by the water until he was yanked to the surface, blood now pouring from both sides of him and his screams turning into something more guttural, more primal than he'd ever heard before.

The next thing Zale knew, he was lying splayed out on his side on the dinghy. Two humans were staring down at him. The third -- the scuba diver -- was avoiding eye contact.

For the first time in his life, Zale wished that the two who were paying the most attention to him would be more like their companion.

....

I thought this was a pretty cool and also terrifying diagram oil rigs.

These, meanwhile, are photos of divers employed on oil rigs and ships. Saturation divers help maintain the oil rigs' "legs" by checking for damage, doing repairs, scouting out the seafloor prior to the rig becoming fully operational, etc. They're badass. Look at all these badasses. Consider the fact that some of them are down there in pressurized dry "habitats" for extended periods of time so that they can work every day (saturation divers!). And consider the fact that some of them work in conditions with no natural light. In the middle of the ocean, typically 100 meters down...

And here's a photo of some badasses diving for fun around an oil rig.

Not me, not in a million years. But it's cool to see from a distance!

#mer whumpee #mer whump #whump #whumpcember2023 #whumpcember #whumpcember2023 day5 #whumpcember2023day5 #zale is a fucking idiot #huh i might have to continue this #whump writing #whump prompt #whumpee #whumpblr #kidnapped whumpee #idiot whumpee

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tracingpatternswrites · 4 months

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The Patchwork of Us | Chapter 10

(I'm just copy/pasting my A/N notes into this post)

My darlings! I'm feeling quite emotional now that I'm about to post the final chapter of this story.

I cannot tell you all how incredibly blown away and happy I am over the reception of this fic. It started as a silly idea and having so many people reading along and commenting has really made this into such a special journey.

In this country, we celebrate Christmas on the 24th so I'm back in my childhood home tonight, and I'm sitting on the sofa in the living room writing/editing/posting Wolfstar fanfic while my family watches telly around me and it's like I'm 16 years old again (and not like it was 16 years since I used to do this, hush).

Anyway, I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who has joined me on this journey and everyone who has read and kudoed and commented so far. Without you, this wouldn't be as fun. I'm so humbled and grateful that you have fallen in love with these idiots (and Teddy) the same as I have. Thank you!

Also a special thank you to @heartofspells and @squintclover for being so encouraging, for betaing, for bouncing ideas and for always, always, always being my biggest cheerleaders when I have a new bizarre AU idea. I love you both!

I will post the actual full post for this fic tomorrow, but you can read it from the beginning here.

Snippet below the cut.

“Why can’t I come?” Teddy asked, his bottom lip pushed out in a pout as he kicked his legs against the side of the tub.

He was perched on the edge of it, watching as Sirius was getting himself ready. Sirius had pulled his hair up into a ponytail, studying his face in the mirror. He was pondering whether or not he should add some eyeliner or if that would be too much. He would have to leave in a few minutes if he didn’t want to be late. His heart was fluttering happily in his chest as he thought about the evening.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a date, and he felt quite out of practice. He used to be pretty good at them, but as with everything it seemed to become more and more daunting the longer he put it off. The last one he’d been to had been well before Teddy had come into his life.

He’d hooked up with some guys since then, of course. It had usually happened when his friends (with James at the forefront, cheered on by Dora) had dragged him to a club. It had never turned into anything more than a casual hook-up though, and Sirius knew that was mostly his own fault. He hadn’t felt ready for a relationship, everything with Dora and Teddy had just felt too complicated.

This was different though. Remus was different, and Sirius felt comfortable admitting that to himself now. Remus was already a part of his life, of Teddy’s life. He was someone who was already there and would be there, regardless of what Sirius thought about it. That was a thought that both thrilled and terrified him.

It was a gamble, of course, because so much was at stake, but it still felt like it made sense. Asking Remus out had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, he was floating high in post-orgasm, but the light in the other man’s eyes had told him immediately that it had been the right thing to do.

For a while he had thought that the fight between Remus and James would get in the way, but as Sirius had learnt a long time ago it was impossible to stay angry with James Potter for more than five minutes. Remus had tried his best, Sirius had to admit that much, but in the end nothing ever stood in the way once James Potter had set his mind on something. For the past week he had put every little bit of energy into making Remus forgive him, and by the way he had turned up to celebrate a couple of nights ago he had finally succeeded.

Remus had admitted as much, too. He had said he’d forgiven James for not telling him straight away, and that they’d had a good conversation about it. Remus hadn’t told him any details though, and neither had James, clearly set on keeping his promise to Remus not to spill any more of his secrets. It was okay, Sirius thought, because he figured Remus needed someone in his life that he could trust. Someone aside from Sirius, that was, because he had promised himself that he would be one of the people that Remus could depend on from now on.

Sirius had asked Harry to come over and watch Teddy while he was gone, and that had seemed like a winning concept up until just now, when Teddy had suddenly changed his mind. Once he had clocked that Sirius was going to meet up with Remus, he had been nagging Sirius’ ear off about being allowed to tag along. Sirius loved Teddy, and he was happy that the boy clearly wanted to spend time with him and Remus both, but had really been looking forward to having some alone time with Remus.

“Padfoot!” Teddy’s impatient voice yanked Sirius out of his thoughts. “Why can’t I come?”

“Not this time,” said Sirius before deciding he might just as well go all in, and he carefully applied the eyeliner before smoothing it out with a finger. “You can see Remus tomorrow.”

“But I wanna see him now ,” Teddy pouted, and Sirius smiled a little as he turned around to look at the boy.

“I know, but me and Remus are going to have dinner alone tonight.”

“But why ?” Teddy demanded with a frown.

“Because,” Sirius replied, and this time he grinned as Teddy gave an unimpressed huff.

“That’s not a reason,” Teddy complained. “You always tell me that’s not a reason.”

Sirius laughed, “Well, this time me and Remus want to have some time alone, we have…adult things we need to do.”

It was the truth, Sirius thought, because he had a feeling he’d spend most of the evening picturing how Remus would look bent over various surfaces.

“What adult things?” Teddy demanded, but Sirius was saved by the knock on the door.

“That’s Harry,” Sirius said. “Go let him in, I’ll be down in a bit.”

Sirius chuckled to himself as Teddy stomped down the stairs, and when he heard the front door being yanked open he went into his bedroom to check himself in the mirror. He smoothed his shirt out, half-turning to check his arse in his jeans. He looked pretty good; he knew that he cleaned up well but it was nice to see that he hadn’t lost it even if he was out of practice.

He slipped his silver rings onto his fingers before throwing one last look at himself and then venturing downstairs. He found Harry and Teddy in the living room, and he had a horrible feeling that he blushed faintly as Harry let out a wolf whistle at the sight of him.

“You clean up good, Padfoot. Hoping to score?” he smirked, and he looked so much like James just then that Sirius very nearly flipped him off before he remembered that it was, in fact, not James but his seventeen-year-old godson and he was sitting next to an eight-year-old.

Continue on AO3.

#the patchwork of us #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #teddy lupin #muggle au #read on ao3 #hp fanfic #my writing

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sarandipitywrites · 4 months

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saran's year of writing (2023)

hey y'all! saw a couple posts like this floating around and thought i'd hop on the train, because this year has been WILD for my writing (in a really good way). let's start with the bullet points version and i'll put the details under the cut. here we go:

I JOINED WRITEBLR

shared snippets of my work with other, actual humans!

made friends?!

started (and finished!) draft 2 of Dead Roots, Dark Water

wrote 1 short story for every week in october (that's 5 stories in a month! that's great for me!)

first NaNoWriMo in 10 years (and i finished it!)

drafted and re-drafted The Art of Empty Space

started draft 3 of Dead Roots, Dark Water

details, links to projects, me getting maybe a tad too personal, and those all-important wordcounts under the cut:

I JOINED WRITEBLR

i just realized i only started participating at the beginning of october, but it feels like i've been hanging out with you all the whole year 😅 maybe that means i should cut back a bit? nah...

really though, this year was the year i started taking my writing more seriously (not in a 'gotta get published' kind of way, but in a 'writing makes me happier than anything else and that's enough reason to set aside time and energy for it without feeling hella guilty' kind of way) and seeing you all posting your work and being so positive and encouraging to each other was what helped me get up the nerve to join in. and i can say without a doubt that it's the best choice i've made all year. y'all are such a supportive community and i've never once felt like i was encroaching or didn't belong here (and for me, that's really saying something)

so i guess what i'm getting at is: THANK YOU! i've loved reading your snippets and projects this year, and i'm way more confident in my own than i've ever been 💜 y'all are good peeps

Dead Roots, Dark Water

word count (edited and written): 187,789

that's a lotta words! DRDW is both my longest work wordcount-wise, and the work i've dedicated the most time to... probably ever. and i'm SO happy with it, it's a little concerning (/positive)

DRDW is now on its THIRD draft, and (assuming i don't do a massive re-edit) should be ready to start posting in 2024! *excited screaming* i've never released anything i've written in its entirety (the snippets i've been posting are actually a lot more than i've ever shared before), so this is MASSIVE for me and i'm both excited and terrified! overall, though, it's a very, very good thing

Short Stories

this october, i decided to challenge myself to do several things i don't ever do: write short stories; write them on a timeline; and share them. and i did! i wrote one short story for each week in october, and posted them here. they're far from my best work, and due to the timeline, they never could have been my best, which oddly i think helped make it easier to post them? they were also the first pieces i shared here (or anywhere)! they're not awesome, but i'm proud of them and i'm proud of myself for sharing them

NaNoWriMo and The Art of Empty Space

i've done nano once before, ten years ago. i was in college and had a lot more time then (and a job where i could spend the entire day just writing - i didn't know how good i had it), and even so i remember struggling to reach my word goal. but by the power of writing everything in wingdings so i can't second-guess my word choices, i made it this year! and even though i decided to challenge myself by writing a romance-heavy project (something i've historically avoided because IT'S HARD FOR ME, DAMNIT), i love AES and its characters and that feels fucking awesome.

even though my brain decided to spring a surprise plot restructure on me and now i have to rewrite like half of it. it'll be better for it, though, so it's all good 🥲

What's Next?

my plan for early 2024 is, of course, going to be to work on draft 3 of DRDW with the hope of getting some chapters posted (they are LONG, so i'll probably post to tumblr in chunks and the full, unbroken chapters on Ao3 due to formatting). once that's ready, i'll be able to return my attention to AES and getting draft 1.5 all written up. i've mostly figured out where the plot's going there, so it'll just be writing it up to figure out the gaps. if i'm able to write something for november again next year (which i really hope i will; nano did some great things for AES), it'll probably be one of the other Jak & Daxter fics i have kicking around in my head, because i am Obsessed (and switching it up between working on fanfic and original fic seems to work well for my brain).

i've been not super active here for the last month or so because Real Life Work is kicking my ass, but hopefully that will calm down and i'll be able to do more of what i want: writing wild shit, reading your wild shit, and screaming about it together 💜

good vibes and best wishes to everybody in the new year 🥂

#ayearofwriting #a year of writing #writeblr #2023 #writers on tumblr #saran rambles #the art of empty space #dead roots dark water

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clearancecreedwatersurvival · 2 months

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Hey sorry to pop in uninvited, but I wanted to ask: how did you read 2ha? I'm on volume 3 of the seven seas translation and just learned that the full translation will be 11 volumes long, and that'll take so many years to come out lmao I don't want to wait. My Chinese is good but not good enough to read 200 chapters of high fantasy 😭 if you have any idea where to find a different translation I'd appreciate it a lot. Thanks!

Hello! No apologies necessary.

So when I got into it a couple years ago there was only the partial fan translation covering most of the first half and then a few chapters of the ending, and a machine translation of the whole thing, which I skimmed. The machine translation is Rough, it’s literally google translated and lightly edited so it is not an ideal translation, but it does get the gist of the story across. The machine translation is probably still floating around somewhere along with copies of the partial fan translation, but since the official seven seas translation is employing the fans who were writing the fan translation to just finish the whole thing, it may be hard to find the unofficial versions now. I can see if I still have a copy of any of them deep in my google docs and I’ll msg you if I find it.

So I have still only read the first third-ish and then the last couple dozen or so chapters and extras, which was as far as the fan translation got (translated by several different fans which made it rather stylistically confusing), and I skimmed parts of the bits in between using the mtl.

We are together in this boat waiting for the full official translation, I had thought it was gonna be done a couple months ago in December but nope, it’s only on like 6 out of 11 rip. One day……

I’m still holding out a desperate hope that at some point the ccp will chill out about BL drama adaptations a bit and mayyyybe we will get to see the drama hao yi xing/immortality. It’s a fucking tragedy that we know the entire thing is filmed and edited and may never see the light of day.

Edit: JOKES I checked before posting and I did find a working link of almost the entire mtl if you want that. It’s missing chapters 20-130 but that should all be covered in what’s available of the official translation. If I find copies of the fan translation for the last few chapters and extras I’ll add those in a reblog or something.

https://drive.google.com/drive/mobile/folders/16UqGlKDKbS_4-0YRQ-vPt53QbxTqvu75?sort=13&direction=a

#for a sad time you can join me in looking forlornly at the very few cast photos and bts bits of the drama that have been released #2ha #Caitie answers #baymaxnostalgia

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mango-jpeg · 4 months

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best for you

started around dec 3 finished around the 12 then let it stew for a couple days before doing final edits

the whole point of this was limo sex but that didn’t even happen. i am cursed.

the idea of aiba jumping ship made me laugh so i had to commit

doubling down on date’s body dysmorphia 👍 (saito yelling across the warehouse: what happened to my tits date? what did you do to my tits??)

had this vague idea rattling around for a couple months for a wriolette fic and thought the idea of neu giving wrio's strap a literally killer bj was kinda funny. at the same time had the idea of a cut limo bj scene floating around since i finished amateur and i guess they melded in my brain

past tense for the first time since 2020… i always like little jumps in time ‘later he’ll realize…’ sorta thing, but admittedly it doesn’t work as well with present tense so i thought… i could try it out this way..?

wanted to balance out the ending by doing a frame thing at the beginning but it gave me a lot of trouble... ended up cutting a bunch of ryuki stuff:

Ryuki remembers his parents obliquely; through the limo, their portraits on the family shrine, his mother’s earrings, his father’s cuff-links. He brings out his memories of them only occasionally, to savour them without risking their shine. He remembers his brother every time he looks in the mirror. There’s no way to avoid it.

For a time, he used his brother’s license as ID. Whenever a clerk or bartender nodded at the card it was like in some small way he was there too, shopping on the way home, going out for a pint after class, and Ryuki could pretend he’d lived into adulthood. That license expired years ago, but Ryuki still carries it in his wallet.

reading:

The Likeness, Tana French

nevada's fault

also watched portrait of a lady on fire which great news still makes me feel insane!!!

as is typical i wrote the first chunk on the notes app in my phone - around 3k - before pasting it into gdocs. probably did like 80% of the writing/editing for this on my phone, since i wasn't being too precious about it

anyway if you’re particularly nosy (like me) i’ve copied over the original note to this doc since it’s relatively short. i constantly edit as i write but i think you could say this is the first draft.. you can see how often i skip ahead - it’s all about that momentum baybee

ok thx 4 reading love u bye

#writing journal

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lisatelramor · 1 year

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A Hand Outstretched Ch1

Natsume Madara thought he'd seen the last of his sleepy hometown when he left fifteen years ago. Now he's back, homeless, and falling into ayakashi messes again. It's almost like he never left, except Reiko didn't seem to be around anymore. Though there is an ayakashi that looks a lot like her...

A species swap fic where middle-aged Madara (human) accidentally unseals a teenaged ayakashi (Takashi) and tries to put his life back together.

So. Years ago (4? 5? I can't remember at this point) there was a Natsume fic week prompt with role reversal and another with species swap. I went "ok, but what if I kinda did both a bit?" and started writing. It was supposed to be short. It was not short. Years later, and 55,000ish words, you have this fic, which will hopefully be enjoyable. It took this long because I'd open it to edit and write the last scenes, get stressed and close the fic for like 2ish years now. But it is edited! and I am so tired!!! :' ) yeaaaah. I'm still having a hell of a time writing, but I can say that today I got more accomplished than I did the last 3 months, so that's a good thing. I guess. Probably? Please just enjoy the fic and the found family vibes, yeah??

CH 1

Madara groaned as the train came to a stop at the station. Despite napping most of the way there, his hangover was just as strong as it had been that morning, leaving him with a pounding head and a vague nausea upsetting his gut. It had been a hell of a way to get kicked out of an apartment, but that’s why he’d been drinking in the first place. He told himself he wasn’t going to come back to this middle of nowhere town, but here he was, a decade and a half after leaving.

He left with just a suitcase full of clothes and a couple hundred yen in his pocket. He was coming back with even less, so what did that say about his life?

There was an ayakashi in the train station, lurking in the corner. The people coming and going avoided the spot on instinct leaving a meter of space around it in all directions. Madara avoided looking directly at it. Wasn’t his problem. Hell, it could start throwing the trash can and it still wouldn’t be his problem. He didn’t give a damn so long as it wasn’t trying to eat him.

Humid summer air hit like a brick after the air conditioned rail car. With it came the smell of green things and the stink of too many sweaty bodies crowded onto a train platform. He hadn’t missed this. Well, he corrected once he’d dragged his suitcase with him in a shortcut through the woods, he hadn’t missed it too much. There was a great big wide world out there and Madara had gone out and experienced it. There was so much more than a rural town full of backwards hicks that threw sticks and stones with their hurtful words.

He’d only stayed as long as he had back then because, well, he’d stayed that long because of reasons and those reasons hadn’t been there anymore.

He’d forgotten how many ayakashi were in the country though. Floating amid the tree branches. Hiding in underbrush. Lurking with teeth in the dark crevice of a rotted out tree trunk. When he was younger, it had been a problem. Now? Now Madara couldn’t give two shits. So long as he didn’t look and he kept a firm grasp on his powers, nothing would notice him and he could pretend he didn’t notice them, just like how it was supposed to be.

“Years,” Madara muttered, climbing out of a bush back onto a main road. “Years and this place looks exactly the same.” There was the post office. There was the road to the school. There was the house of that older lady that used to chase him off her lawn for picking persimmons she’d let rot on the tree. The green fruit were a long way off from being ripe right now, but Madara was willing to bet they’d still be rotting on the tree come November.

And speaking of things that hadn’t changed, the bar at the end of the street looked exactly how he remembered it, down to the hairline crack in one of the windowpanes and Hinoe’s precise handwriting on the signboard showing the daily specials.

Madara headed for the bar. He was making terrible life choices these days, why not make another?

It was dim inside, even though it was the middle of the damn day, because Hinoe’s bar had the atmosphere of a noir film with half the class. There were a couple people scattered in the corners of the room drinking their sad, pathetic lives away with whatever swill Hinoe served to the day-drinkers and perpetually drunk. Or maybe she’d changed that policy over the years. He kind of doubted that.

Hinoe was at the bar, idly flipping through a magazine and smoking a cigarette. The smoking was new. The magazine full of attractive women was not. Madara sat down at the bar, suitcase thumping against his legs, like it was a normal Tuesday afternoon and it hadn’t been over a decade since he’d stepped into her business. “Hey.”

Ash fell from the tip of the cigarette into an overloaded ashtray as Hinoe looked up. “Huh, well look what last night’s storm drug in. Madara. Long time no see. You look like hell.”

“You look the same as ever.” The same long hair tied up in a bun. The same too-dark makeup. The same bastardized kimono-style top with the sleeves tied back by some brightly patterned strip of cloth. If there weren’t deeper crow’s feet around her eyes, he could almost pretend he’d never left at all.

“I’m immortal, didn’t you know?” Hinoe said, grinning. “I thought you were never coming back. It’s been, what, ten years?”

“Fifteen,” Madara grunted.

“Right, right. I remember you saying something about leaving us losers all behind and finding your true greatness or some shit. Or was it that you’d prove that greatness to the world? How’d that go for you?” By her sly smile, she knew exactly how it went. He wouldn’t be here if his plans went the way they were supposed to and they both knew that.

“I went, I saw the world, the world witnessed me,” Madara said haughtily. “It couldn’t take my greatness so I magnanimously decided to return to share my glory with all of you again.”

“Uh huh. What’s the real story?”

“I went out into the world. The world wasn’t ready for my amazing person. So the world kicked my ass and now I’m living out of a suitcase.”

Hinoe blew a smoke ring. “Wow. Sucks to be you like usual.”

Madara sneered at her. She grinned back. She was a sad excuse for an almost friend and he definitely hadn’t missed her at all. “Speaking of living; my family home still there?”

“That piece of crap?” Hinoe raised an eyebrow. “The roof of that place collapsed two years back and the neighborhood health and safety group decided to tear it down. Since no one had lived there in over a decade anyway. Which, by the way, means the city reclaimed the land since no one was paying taxes for it.”

“They can do that?” Well shit, there went the last place he had to go. “Guess I really am living out of a suitcase now.” And he still had a hangover. Maybe he could get a pity drink from Hinoe. Hair of dog and all that. “Don’t suppose you’d lend a man a couch?”

“I don’t invite men over,” Hinoe said in the tone of voice that said she’d rather scrape gum off the bottom of all her tables than let Madara stay in her living room.

Harsh. “Right, you only invite pretty girls over,” Madara said, a cheap shot. Hinoe, being impervious to that sort of thing, flipped another page of her magazine. Madara scowled at the scuffed up bar top for a few conflicted moments. Thinking of Hinoe and pretty girls made him think of one thing. He didn’t want to ask, but he needed to know if he was going to be in this town for a while. (Okay, he did want to know. He’d thought about it a lot over the years.) “And speaking of pretty girls,” he ground out, “how’s Reiko doing?”

Hinoe gave him a long, hard look before stabbing her burnt-out cigarette into the ashtray. “I don’t know, Madara. Haven’t seen her longer than I haven’t seen you. Not since you two got into a fight.”

“Not at all?” he asked. The semi-permanent scowl he’d had on his face since he got off the train turned to an expression of surprise. Reiko had run off on him after their fight, but Madara figured she was just mad at him. And when a month went by without her popping back up, he figured he’d finally run her off like everyone else, and left her in the dust with the whole shitty town. Reiko’d been the only reason to stick around and without her why keep trying in a place that hated you?

“Nope. No one’s seen her since then. Not even the poor souls she used to terrorize. I was pretty damn mad about it back then too. You somehow managed to scare the most perfect beauty out of town, you inconsiderate ass. She was a shining brightness on humanity!” Hinoe glared at him. Apparently she still was infatuated with Reiko even after all the years.

On humanity, Madara thought wryly. If Hinoe only knew. “I didn’t know she left for good. I thought she was just mad at me and ran off.” A mix of old anger and sadness filled him, along with a newer mix of relief and disappointment. Part of him hoped that he’d see her again. Part of him was terrified of if he did. Part of him still missed her terribly, but he would never admit that out loud, let alone to Hinoe.

“Well, she ran off just as much as you, it seems, since no one has seen hide or hair of her since.”

“Huh.” This town had been her place for years. Why would she leave permanently? But then again, who knew what went on in the minds of spirits? She probably left on purpose just to mess with all of them one more time. The thought was a bitter one and his scowl came back even deeper than before. “Probably better that way.”

“For you or everyone else?” Hinoe asked.

Madara ignored the question. “Hey, Hinoe, you wouldn’t happen to have anything I could drink, would you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What could I possibly have to drink at a bar?” Hinoe said with heavy sarcasm. “I don’t give out free booze, Madara, so either cough up some money or you can have a glass of water.”

“Not even for old times? I’m broke and homeless.”

“Then wanting to get drunk is the least of your problems.” She set a glass of tap water in front of him.

Madara gave her sad eyes. She slid the glass a few centimeters forward. He took it and drank some because at least it would help some with the hangover. “You’re heartless, Hinoe.”

“Uh huh. Sure am. So heartless that I’ll even tell you old man Misuzu’s looking for help at the shrine. Since you’ll be needing a job.”

“I’d starve before I work for a priest,” Madara said, knocking back the water. “If you know of anyone else needing a hand, let me know, but you know Misuzu and I don’t get along.”

“That’s all on you.”

“Tell that to Misuzu.” No home, no Reiko, and no booze. There was no reason to keep hanging around here either. “Thanks for the news and water, Hinoe. I’ll be around.”

“Don’t die in a ditch.”

Madara waved and left. He’d have to find a job but Misuzu couldn’t be the only one in town looking for another set of hands. He could look for something tomorrow. Today, he’d swing by his old home and see if there was anything left at all he could salvage or make into a shelter. If not, he’d figure something out. He always got by somehow. He ignored the tiny niggling voice in his head that said his luck had been a lot better back when Reiko was still around. That voice was lies because clearly he’d managed to live almost half his life just fine without her.

o*O*o

It seemed there were more changes than he initially thought because when he went to take his old route home, there were buildings that didn’t used to be there and a construction site pulling up trees that used to stretch for almost a kilometer, right up to the back of his house. The buildings he could deal with, but the construction site meant he had to either go into deep woods—with all the spirits therein—or circle around town.

Madara dreaded running into someone that might remember him, so he chose the woods. Ten minutes in and he was regretting it.

There had been a kind of trail, like someone’s grandparent came all the time to collect herbs or firewood or something along this tiny, threading path. That path had gotten overgrown quickly, and then the underbrush kept getting caught on his suitcase and the humidity levels kept spiraling upward with oppressive July heat.

“This is hell,” he grumbled to the trees, definitely not to the tiny woods-spirit ducking away from him tromping through the undergrowth. “Sweaty, dehydrating hell.” The last time he went through woods like this had been years ago and he’d been running for his life at the time because he had slipped up and some power hungry ayakashi noticed his spirit energy and thought they’d use him as a tasty ticket to the top of the dung heap. He was better now at hiding so nothing was looking twice at him. Well, no more than anything with eyes would look at something disturbing their home. “I’ll find whatever’s left of the house, find a stream, and hope the water doesn’t kill me with parasites.”

Up ahead was a bit of a clearing, a path to somewhere worn into the earth. He made toward it. He was almost halfway down a slope when the suitcase caught something and jerked his arm back. Trying to tug it free was enough to unbalance him, and next thing Madara knew he was tumbling and stumbling to an abrupt stop as he hit something with his shin, hard.

“Ow, shit!” He curled around his leg, achey all over, but only that a hot flare of pain. “No house, no money, no job, and now a broken leg!” He prodded it. It wasn’t actually broken but it was going to have one hell of a bruise later. Could the day get any...worse... There was a straw rope with white sealing charms ripped in half on the ground next to him. Either it had been half rotted through already, or he’d ripped through it when he fell. That didn’t really matter though. If that had been sealing something and he broke it...

There was a stirring of energy and Madara turned, realizing that what had stopped him was a small, run-down shrine, just big enough that he could have sat in the bottom of the structure with his knees tucked up against his chest.

“Shit.” He started hobbling away quickly. He didn’t have anything to seal it again on hand, and recently unsealed spirits tended to be angry as hell and not too picky about who or what they took it out on. “Shit shit shit.” Terrible luck was going strong for him today.

Behind him the tiny shrine door burst off its hinges, flying off somewhere into the woods and breaking a lot of underbrush in the process from the sound of it. Madara hobbled faster only to pause as he realized that the growing spirit power felt familiar. Too familiar.

He glanced over his shoulder in time to see a silver-haired body fall out of the cramped space like someone’s discarded rag doll. The color of the hair matched what his spirit senses were already saying. “Rei...ko?” he said into the sudden silence. No birds, no animals moving, just the building presence of spirit energy and a fragile-looking body sprawled on the ground. Who could have had the power to seal Reiko of all ayakashi?

Madara turned back toward her, drawn like metal to a magnet. “Reiko?” he said again. He reached out to touch and only years of ingrained fighting for his life kept him from losing an arm when the figure on the ground lashed out.

Raw spirit energy crackled between them, hot-bright, and his own rose to meet it on instinct, making what could have left a nasty burn fizzle and die in the air between them. “Reiko, it’s me! Madara!” Surely even after who the hell knew how long sealed in there she’d still recognize him. He let a bit more of his energy out into the air around them, hoping she’d recognize how he felt like he recognized her, but that was apparently the exact wrong thing to do as wild, green eyes snapped up in his direction and the unstable energy in the air doubled.

It was like a hand trying to squash him flat.

“Stay away!” she yelled. Only the voice was male. Young, pitched high with tension, but definitely male. If Madara didn’t know Reiko could shape shift her gender...

“Look, I know we parted on bad terms, but I’m kind of concerned here.” Madara ignored the air pressure and moved closer. “How did you get sealed in there?”

Another bolt of energy almost took off his head, aimed just shy of his ear, or maybe not aimed at all. The concern turned to full blown worry. “Shit, Reiko, that could kill someone. I mean, I’m strong, but tone it down, would ya?”

“I’m not Reiko!” the silver haired—boy? Being?—yelled, arm back and ready to let loose another bolt of energy. “Get away or I’ll... or I’ll hurt you!”

“Real funny,” Madara said, gut twisting. “Good act, Reiko, almost fooled me. You can beat the shit out of me later in a proper spar, just...calm down okay?”

Madara stepped forward, reaching out and the ayakashi flinched back, green eyes going wide with fear.

Madara froze.

Reiko had the pride of ten men and would rather die than let someone see her afraid. “What the hell...?”

“I’m not...I’m not Reiko. I don’t know any Reiko. Please go away!”

“I’m not trying to hurt you.” Hands up, look defenseless. “I just unsealed you. I wouldn’t do that if I was going to hurt you right?”

There was a flicker of conflict in those green eyes before some kind of backbone showed through that fear. “I’m not going to make a contract.”

“I...don’t want one? I’m not an exorcist.” The boy relaxed slightly, but not enough, not so much that the air returned to normal. It felt so familiar... “Are you sure you’re not Reiko? Because you feel like her and this is just the sick kind of joke she’d play to get back at me for running off.” It had to be her. The longing ache in him that had never really gone away over the years rose up and Madara couldn’t help but reach out again. “Please tell me it’s a joke...” He touched a wisp of silvery hair and green eyes went impossibly wide, torn between fighting and getting as far away as possible. “Please.”

A snarl somewhere off in the near distance broke them from staring each other down. The boy flinched back and Madara’s hand was left touching open air. His hand closed on a fist as he realized he’d been projecting his energy for the last half a minute with the futile hope that the person in front of him would respond to it. Between the two of them, they were a beacon for any ayakashi wanting to test its power or grab a spiritually gifted human as a tasty snack. He snapped his control back down so fast that it hurt.

The boy looked dazed.

“We need to get out of here,” Madara said. “Either the local exorcist is going to wonder what the hell is going on or something’s going to come looking for a snack.”

“I’m not going with you. I don’t even know you.”

“Look, I was a friend of Reiko’s and I don’t know why you feel like her, but like hell am I letting some ayakashi or exorcist get you. So just trust me ok?” Madara held out a hand, palm up in offer.

The boy looked at it and looked at him, then gave a neutral smile that was so fake it was pathetic. “I think I’ll be fine.”

It would be less insulting if he’d slapped Madara’s hand away. “Suit yourself then. But you might want to calm down before everything from here to Tokyo knows where you are.”

The boy frowned and the pressure decreased to normal. Madara could still feel the ayakashi, but he wasn’t broadcasting his powers to the world anymore at least. That would have to be good enough. Madara made a show of looking around the area before stepping onto the trail.

“I’m going to take this back toward town; most people would expect a strong Ayakashi to run toward the mountains.” He turned and started walking, his limping gate evening out as he got used to the bruised leg. The suitcase was overturned at the base of the hill, but nothing had fallen out of it. Madara walked and didn’t look to see what the ayakashi did. Didn’t really have to because half a minute along the trail, he felt the boy start to follow.

Halfway down the trail the presence vanished. Either the boy left or he’d figured out how to mask himself properly, which was a good thing since Madara saw more than one ayakashi making its way toward where they’d been. He didn’t hear any fights though. He’d turn back in a heartbeat if it sounded like the boy was being eaten.

At least when he stumbled back out into the outskirts of town he was closer to his old home. Close enough that he just stayed on the side streets to get there. Well. Where home used to be. There wasn’t much left of what had once been the house his grandfather built. It hadn’t ever been a very nice house when Madara lived in it, all a bit falling apart even back then with Gramps either too drunk or too aching to fix things, and Madara either too young or too busy trying not to die from his own powers and unwanted spirit attention back then. But it had been home in its own way, familiar in its peeling paint and rickety steps. Now it was just a foundation left bare, all the rest of the building taken away.

“Shit.” His shoulders slumped. Part of him had really thought that there would be something. Something he could use, or at least something that matched what he remembered. Even the overgrown flower gardens had been torn up and overtaken by weeds. “Bet they sold Granny’s old rose bushes too.” Or maybe that weird guy that used to go by and pointedly say how they used to be so much nicer finally went and dug them up in some weird plant rescue operation. Who knew.

He didn’t really have human friends. Didn’t have many friends in general really, never had, and probably never would. Ordinarily that didn’t bother him, but it was frustrating not to have anyone to turn to. The only thing left were the few ayakashi he knew... Who might not even be in the area anymore either. Reiko had been the main one, and without her...

Well, there was one final avenue to pursue before he gave into despair and found a bush to sleep under until things sorted out. He didn’t really want to, but she did owe him.

“I’m too old for this.”

Any hydrating benefits of that water from the bar were long gone by the time he trudged back deep in the woods again. Here, at least, it didn’t change in any way except the way that nature does, trees growing higher, bushes coming and going, streams shifting minutely as the earth eroded with time. But the big birch tree with its peeling bark still stuck out as an anomaly among the rest of this area of the forest. Here, he felt like he was twelve again and sneaking off in some childish act of rebellion.

There wasn’t anyone immediately visible at the base of the tree but that didn’t mean they weren’t nearby. Madara tossed down his suitcase and sat back on the familiar, moss covered roots. There was an ayakashi nearby. Maybe more than one if they were close together. He sighed. “Hey. Touru. I know you’re there.”

There was a pause. Then Madara had to flinch at the sudden spike in spirit energy right before an ayakashi all but fell into his lap.

“Fluffy-kun!” Touru shrieked, catching him in a crushing hug. His spine protested the action and he wheezed, unable to fend her off with his arms pinned. So, pretty much as usual with her. “You got old! Older!” She leaned back and tugged at Madara’s unkempt hair. “And less fluffy and more shaggy. It feels like it’s been a long time since I saw you. You’re not as cute as you used to be.”

“I would hope not!” Madara pushed her off his lap and she went willingly, smiling like it was a big game. Her cat ears didn’t even twitch at his volume. “I’m not a child anymore.”

“Aww, but you’re still cute,” she said. “Just a grumpy kind of cute. Though I guess you were kind of a grumpy kid too. Ah, yep, you’re scowling again! I’m so glad to see it. You’re still you. How long has it been?”

“Fifteen years.”

“Eh? That long? And you didn’t visit once? No wonder it felt like forever.”

He couldn’t tell, not with Touru and not with many other ayakashi, how sincere the enthusiasm or the sadness were. Ayakashi didn’t work the same way as humans. Time didn’t mean the same thing to them either. “Isn’t that amount of time like blink of an eye to you?”

“It could be,” Touru said. “But I’m not that old yet. I’m barely past a hundred; decades still mean something you know.”

But they would mean less and less. How little did time mean for spirits that were old, spirits like Reiko had been?

“I’ll take your word for it.” Right. He came here for a reason. “Touru, I know I am amazingly self-sufficient, but I am going to have to cash on one of those favors you owe me.”

“Ah, so not a social visit.” She looked a little sad and it made tendrils of guilt ping at him, but living was a bit more important than wondering how much he could or couldn’t hurt her feelings. The cheerful smile shifted to something more serious.

“No. Another time it will be. You still remember the sort of things humans need in a shelter, right?”

“Yes.” She tipped her head to one side. “I do still pay attention to humans, Fluffy-kun.”

“Right.” And she had a collection of human things somewhere, started by her grandfather who had studied them. Right up until his curiosity had been the death of him via an exorcist. Still, that curiosity had stuck with Touru and it had once gotten her into a lot of trouble too. She was an ayakashi that spent time with humans over the years so she should, theoretically, know what sort of thing to look for in finding Madara a place to stay. “Despite taking on the world with all my talents in the years since I left, at the moment everything I own is in that suitcase and I’m down a house. You know of anywhere I can make a home in until I earn enough money to get a proper roof over my head?”

“Hmm...” Touru tapped a finger alongside her chin. Behind her, her split tail tapped the ground in double-time. “Actually I’m pretty sure there’s an empty shrine in the woods right now you could use. It’s a little run down, but it has a roof and walls and enough space to sleep in. The one near the offshoot of the creek where that big willow tree is.”

“Touru, you’re amazing,” Madara said with conviction. “How empty are we talking?”

“The minor god that lived in it died a few months ago when his last follower passed away, and no one has moved in yet. I doubt anyone would object to you living in it.” Touru smiled.

Madara grinned back. Finally a bit of luck! To be expected from a maneki-neko. “I can think of a few humans who’d object but I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Touru mimed locking her lips like a child with a secret, not an action she’d learned from him. She really must still watch humans when she wasn’t here at her tree. She glanced past Madara, into the woods, and on reflex he glanced with her, just catching a glint of silvery hair before its owner managed to hide again. Huh. So the boy had followed him after all. Whatever he was doing to stay hidden still made him impossible to sense.

“Is he with you?” she asked, curious.

“Not exactly. Feels like Reiko but says he’s not.”

“He feels human from here.”

A startling implication; only the strongest ayakashi could convincingly take human form. That was yet another thing the boy shared with Reiko. “Well he’s not human. I accidentally unsealed him earlier today.”

Touru gave him a worried, sideways look. Most ayakashi got sealed because they were a danger to humans, and ayakashi that were dangerous to humans had a funny way of attacking Madara a lot as a child.

“I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me, I just fell down a hill and got bruised up. As if some ayakashi could hurt me,” he said, arrogant smile on his face that he didn’t feel in his heart. “I told you, I’m not some little kid anymore.”

“You’ll always be that angry, fluffy little kid in my head, Madara,” Touru said, ruffing his hair like he was still twelve instead of almost forty. She used his name so rarely that it was surprising enough for him to forget to duck.

“Whatever,” Madara said, swatting her hands away as she giggled. “Thanks for the heads up on where to sleep; I’m going to go pass out there now. It’s been a long day. If you need a drinking buddy anytime in the future, I’m your guy.”

“This from the person who said sake tasted like shoe polish smelled?”

“Hey, a lot changes in fifteen years!”

Touru laughed and waved as he left. This time he was more aware of his light-haired shadow. Madara had been so conscious of ayakashi in the area he hadn’t been paying attention to more mundane sounds. So long as the ayakashi was pretending to be completely human, he was just as noisy as any other human teenager walking through the woods. Madara was still louder, but Madara was hauling a suitcase and felt like his arm was going to get torn off heaving it around, so he at least had an excuse for it.

o*O*o

The shrine was nothing much to look at. Flat paving stones surrounding it were overgrown with weeds, the door was crooked and coming off its track and there were signs that something had started building a nest inside of it. But it had a roof—overgrown with moss, but intact—and four walls, and the inside was dry. Madara couldn’t stand or lay fully stretched out in it, but it was big enough that he could curl into a comfortable position and there was a little well with water meant for purifications. There wasn’t a bit of spirit energy lingering in the shrine. The god that inhabited it must have been all but dead for a long time before it bit the dust.

Madara swept out the mess of leaves and fur and twigs that had accumulated, shooed off centipedes and beetles, and claimed that space for himself. He had a pillow and a couple blankets, and if he gathered up leaves or grass or something he could make it a bit more comfortable to sleep in. Probably. Provided that didn’t bring in fleas or ants or something. Beggars couldn’t be choosers and he didn’t have anywhere else to go. It was only until he had a job and enough cash to afford a few months’ rent for an apartment. It was summer; until then he’d manage and eat what he could scrounge up or beg off Hinoe.

The sun was sinking down and Madara’s stomach grumbled; it was a long time since that glass of water and longer still since he last had anything to eat. He was too tired to get up from the shrine floor and do something about it though. He’d just have to suck it up. There was still fat to burn from when life was still going pretty okay. He’d manage.

The world went dark. Out in the woods, fireflies lit up. Real or ayakashi, he couldn’t say. The pale green lights were pretty. You didn’t get fireflies in the city. Couldn’t see the stars either. Focus on the positives... Somewhere in the dark a fox yowled, eerie and hair-raising. A twig snapped in the woods to the right and for a second he could see the green reflection of eyes. Tapeta lucida, some far off portion of his brain that had looked it up once upon a time informed him. Reflecting moonlight. Madara tensed, senses reaching out for ayakashi, animals, anything. Nothing...no, something that felt human but—ah.

“You can come out,” Madara said to the dark woods. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Five...twelve...twenty, Madara counted firefly blinks, waiting.

Bushes rustled and parted. The boy that looked like Reiko stepped out of them. He looked like he would run at any second. He looked like he was lost. Madara felt very tired. “You can come closer. It’s not like I’m going to do anything. I just want to sleep.”

The boy crept closer. “She said you helped her,” he said, standing all hunched over and wary right outside the shrine steps. “From exorcists.”

Touru. Madara closed his eyes against the intent gaze picking him apart. “Yeah, I did. I was a child and idealistic and angry enough to do things for spite back then.”

“She called you caring but blunt.” The boy shuffled closer.

Madara’s eyes slit open, met his bright green stare.

“She said you don’t hurt ayakashi unless they hurt you first.”

Madara gave him a humorless smile. “Yeah. Most of the time. Touru thinks too well of me considering how I almost ended up being an exorcist.” The boy flinched back a little. Bad memories of exorcists, or a healthy fear of their threat. “I’m not nice. I’ve sealed ayakashi for hurting people before and I’d do it again, but mostly I just want to be left the hell alone, eat good food, and drink nice sake.” The boy didn’t look away. He didn’t run. “You look a hell of a lot like Reiko.”

“I’m not her,” the boy snapped. “Everyone is always Reiko, Reiko, but I’m not Reiko!”

“No,” Madara said heavily, “no, you’re not.” He wished it was just some mean joke Reiko was playing, but he didn’t think that was the case; she’d have swapped out her disguise and started bragging by now. “You got a name?”

Just like that the boy was tense again and Madara had to roll his eyes.

“I’m not going to steal your name. Or...force a contract. You don’t even have to give me a true one, just something to call you.”

There was a long pause, then, “Takashi.”

“Cool. Call me Madara.” Madara rolled over so his back was to the door. “Now either stop stalking me and go away or just get in here and let me sleep. Today’s been a hell of a day.”

“You won’t seal me?” Takashi said. “Or try to make me your shiki?”

“What the hell would I do with a shiki? I’m a bum camping out in an abandoned shrine. And so long as you don’t try to kill me I don’t give two shits about what you do. Try to off me in my sleep and sealing becomes a lot more likely.”

Farther off, the fox yowled again. There was a soft scuff of cloth on wood and the rattle of the door closing most of the way. The boy, Takashi, settled into a corner of the shrine, as far from Madara as the small space allowed. He was paranoid as hell for how strong he had to be.

There was a part of Madara that didn’t like having his back to an unknown ayakashi. At least that discomfort wasn’t one-sided. He closed his eyes and despite his misgivings, eventually he fell asleep. For the first time in years he dreamed of Reiko, her presence all around him, confident grin on her face and him looking up at her, beautiful, powerful, and untouchable.

#natsume yuujinchou #fanfiction #My writing #role reveral #species swap

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tafadhali · 1 year

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End of Year Vidding Meme 2022

We’ve still got a couple weeks left in the year, but all my projects are for FV so I think it’s safe to post this. I’ve starred co-vids with @periru3!

Short Skirt Long Jacket (What’s Up, Doc?) [Festivids]

Sound the Bells (IT miniseries) [Festivids]

Man on a Wire (Hannibal)

Red Right Hand (Our Flag Means Death)

New Shore (Our Flag Means Death)

California (Mad Men) [FanWorks Minicon]

The One With More Feeling (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) * [FanWorks Minicon]

Cabin Boye Fever (Our Flag Means Death)

My Strongest Suit (MASH) *

Achilles, Come Down (Les Misérables) [plus the Red & Black edition]

it’s brutal out here (Yellowjackets) [FanWorks]

Hail Satan (Stranger Thing) [FanWorks]

We Kiss in a Shadow (I Have Dreamed) (multifandom)

Scary Monsters (Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark)

Girl Crush (multifandom) *

Favourite Vid of the Year: Ohhhhhh this is a toughie. “Hail Satan” is me absolutely in my feelings and it’s probably the one closest to my heart, but I think “Sound the Bells” might be my best one.

Least Favourite: "Cabin Boye Fever” is a real bit of silliness and I did it all while delirious with Covid. It’s fine.

Vid Most Unappreciated By The Universe: I’m really, really happy with how “Man on a Wire” turned out — with the song selection, the imagery, the bridge — and it feels underappreciated, particularly compared to how much love my first Hannibal vid got. (I know that one is a lot more fun and campier!)

Most Fun Vid: I’d say “My Strongest Suit” or “Girl Crush.” Both songs are absolute bangers that I can never help singing along to.

Vid With The Single Sexiest Moment: I wouldn’t call my vid output all that sexy this year.... maybe Babs and Ryan O’Neal rolling around on the floor in “Short Skirt Long Jacket”? Or, depending on what floats your boat, any of Ed menacing Izzy in “Red Right Hand.”

Most Successful: Probably “New Shore” or “Red Right Hand.” It turns out making vids to current fandoms that people are actually in increases engagement, haha. I was SO pleased with “New Shore” — both with how it turned out and with the fact that I found a use for that song.

Biggest Vid Fail: Hm...no major fails, but I would have liked to pull something together for VidUKon.

Hardest Vid To Make: The hardest technically was the red & black version of “Achilles, Come Down” — lots of frame-by-frame masking. The hardest conceptually was probably “Scary Monsters,” just because the source is very episodic and a lot of the story themes come through in text and audio.

Most Unintentionally Telling Vid: I don’t feel like I make vids like “My Strongest Suit” to be unintentional in my telling.

Last Year’s Goals:

- Continue to experiment and take risks! I think I managed this. I played a lot with black-and-white, most obviously in my remaster of “Achilles, Come Down,” and with aspect ratio.

- Finish at least one more Hollywood history vid. Yes, I was so happy to finish “We Kiss in a Shadow!” I had the idea a long time ago and it took me awhile to compile the source and make it into something I was happy with, but I really like the feeling of yearning I captured in the vid. The moment where Jim holds out his jacket to Plato is probably my favorite bit of any vid I made this year and one of the few times I make myself really emotional.

- Make a feelingsy serious vid because basically all I’ve been able to finish lately is fun pop song stuff. See above, but also I think this was a pretty big year for feelingsy vids from me. "Achilles, Come Down,” “Hail Satan,” and “Sound the Bells” are all kind of tearjerkers.

- Possibly make a treat for this year’s Festivids. I did but it was for @periru3 so it doesn’t count 🤦🏻

These weren’t goals I wrote down, but I also was happy to do another CXGF vid with Tess after an almost 2-year hiatus and to make several vids for current sources.

Goals For Next Year:

- Finish the big Buffy wip I’ve had on the backburner for awhile

- Make something for the None English Fest in February and the Vid Big Bang in March

- Make a character study vid for a side character

- This is really up to the vagaries of fate, but I’d like to attend FanWorks in person

#vidding #vids #end of year vidding meme

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tryst-art-archive · 1 year

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Nov. 2012: "ThirdEssayD1_ScrapForParts.doc"

An unfinished start of an essay for my nonfiction class.

--------Essay------>

I have a poor memory where my own life is concerned. My mind tends to be overactive, busily poring over every moment, every word, of my present and past, constantly revising and editing them down to their barest parts, turning them into legendary events instead of actual moments of time. The end result is that, when asked about my life and its formative events, I provide not so much an accurate account but a ritualized and carefully formulated myth that, while wholly based in fact and actual happenings, cannot be definitively confirmed, much less by me. This same process watches everything I do and say, commenting upon my actions and then commenting again upon the thought about the actions and so forth and so on down the line; the space in my head is a babble of thoughts, and I am at my most functional when they are a rumbling background noise from which only an occasional impression emerges. Conversely, when my mental rumble solidifies into a single, articulate stream of thought, into actual words, I become utterly dysfunctional, suddenly clumsily failing to accurate complete tasks that were second nature a moment ago, whether that means printing a flyer to fit an letter-sized sheet of paper or simply breathing in a normal fashion. (I forget how to breathe three to five times a day, usually when I’m on the train, and often because I can’t hear my breathing over my headphones and some other passenger looked at me askance like I’ve committed a social faux pas at which point my mind erupts into tangible thought to ask, “Oh god am I breathing loudly?!” causing me to think about how breathing works.) About two to three times per week, walking eludes me, usually when I remember previous compliments from past sexual partners on either my rump or my consistent and daily ability to walk in high heels, and I spend the rest of the day chanting “Heel toe! Heel toe!” in my mind, occasionally skipping a couple of feet because my rhythm might be off, visually. I sometimes forget how my facial muscles work as well, smiling longer than I’m used to—which admittedly isn’t very long; years of cultivating invisibility have provided me with a default facial expression that is at best morose and at worst downright unfriendly—and then, suddenly strained by the fatigue of holding my cheeks and mouth and eyebrows in an upright position, I have to roll my features around in an effort to relocate normal.

Verbal thinking decimates me, emotionally as well, ultimately destroying my ability to feign normalcy until, through chance, I sink back into my comfortable state of floating buzz. I often don’t remember the things I write, especially if I or others wind up liking the results, and back in the days when I was visually artistically inclined, the same was true of my sketches and digital drawings. In the summer before my senior year of college I took on a graphic design internship at a magazine company which began with a panicked me constantly thinking verbally about every little design decision and whether or not my new, temporary coworkers would approve. The results were atrocious, worse than work I’d made for classes the semester before that had landed me this internship in the first place, worse than poorly Photoshopped posters I’d made for my high school’s literary magazine or indeed the pathetic attempts at InDesign use I’d managed for that very magazine. It wasn’t until despair at every being able to feel even remotely comfortable or accepted at the internship in question set in that I relaxed at all and my verbal monologue moved away from my design choices and to how ridiculous it was that my current coworkers were handcrafting Caesar salads for lunch while I hid behind my uncomfortable Mac eating Lunchables that I began to turn out any designs that were worthwhile at all. Of course, by then I’d managed to quietly break and then repair the computer I’d been loaned by first unintentionally loading over thirty thousand fonts onto its hard drive and then hand-deleting them until I could open InDesign without the computer crashing; the quality of my free advertisements and newsletters were the least of my worries. In fact, as the internship went on and I became less and less interested and invested in it and more and more certain that I was utterly useless and had damned myself forever in the eyes of my coworkers simply by existing, the better my work became, eventually becoming portfolio-worthy. I’d seen the same effect in my photography as well; a shot carefully constructed and planned out inevitably had a car passing by at the worst moment or an obvious light stand at the edge of the frame or my thumb in the corner, but if I sketched a quick thumbnail of an idea for a shot, gathered up a model or a prop and vaguely threw myself at taking that photograph and simply seeing what rolled off of it otherwise, I wound up with solid images that I could feel a little proud of. And why? Because my mind was barely involved, or at least I wasn’t consciously aware of what I was doing; I was merely doing it.

When I write well, if I write well, I typically start out consciously aware of my words, selecting them and putting them down, for any number of pages, until eventually I stop knowing. I enter what I can only call a trance state in which words fall onto the page via my fingers and keyboard, and I do not know that they are happening. I effectively black out, and when I come up out of writing I breathe like a surfacing swimmer—to abuse a simile—and do not remember what I have written. I generally know the gist of it, have some sense for what occurred, but I absolutely never remember the actual words. Most of them are familiar, but when I have done well, I find a gem or two, a sentence here or a word choice there that strikes home and that I simply cannot remember having ever put down, as if someone else put it there. Yet I am the only one here, and so I must have done it.

It is the same phenomenon that allows me to breathe properly one moment but not the next; my mind’s involvement, or rather my mind’s lack of involvement, is directly tied to my level of success in any matter. Writing is merely the most extreme form of that phenomenon. I suppose I could be experiencing a sampling bias in this matter—I am one of those infuriating people who has never had to try to succeed, and while that’s mighty convenient in most academic settings, it turns out it’s a violently debilitating factor in the real world in much the same way that growing up without any hardship whatsoever tends to generate entitled brats instead of well-adjusted, useful citizens, to put what is probably going to be an unpopular opinion out there—but it is at least what I perceive to be true.

For most of my life I’ve had a hard time distinguishing between reality and fantasy. This isn’t to say that I have spent many years in a state of delusion or that I ran around believing dragons were real long past their expiration date; it’s much more subtle than that. I typically have very bizarre dreams that, usually, either mimic video game logic or actually feature a stereotypical video game user interface with health bars and ammo trackers and mini-maps and scores overlaid onto the dream proper. On the occasions when I have realistic or, at least, believable dreams, I spend anywhere from three days to three months believing that they have happened. The illusion is only ever broken—if it’s ever broken—by something missing. For example, I once dreamt that my high school drama club director gave me an important role in an upcoming play and that she had given me a certificate to prove it. Perhaps the certificate and the inclusion of a tub of goo in the dream should have tipped me off to the unreal nature of the dream, but the school’s auditorium looked exactly like the school’s auditorium and the drama director was entirely herself, physically and mentally, and so I missed the obvious. It wasn’t until we were a month into rehearsals for the play that it dawned on me that I had a bit part—one that I had been rehearsing and practicing for a month—and that the dream-memory had never, in fact, happened. Within my memories and on an emotional level, the dream’s truth trumped a month’s worth of factual actuality.

That was probably the last time, that I can recall anyway, that I had such an extreme reality break. My disassociation from reality was worse back then; I’ve become more and more fixated in the actual moment as I’ve aged and begun to manage my own affairs and therefore my own survival. The disassociation has hardly disappeared entirely, however. Typically, I simply don’t feel myself, the things around me whether people, places, or things, or events occurring in my life to be real. It’s all just a hazy, unending fog. I can distinctly recall one occasion on which the fog lifted.

The moment occurred in high school as well, on a weekday afternoon like any other. I was home alone, my parents being at work, and I was at the familial computer, my home and my refuge since the tender age of thirteen, when all at once I felt the facts of my existence. It manifested as a crushing weight which I visualized as a series of tombstones stacking up on my back, ascending past the ceiling as a morbid skyscraper. I felt the absolute certainty of my impending and, relative to the universe, quickly approaching death; I had the complete knowledge that in a blink of an eye I would be wholly responsible for myself and that, really, I already was, that everything I existed as and everything I had ever done and everything I had ever felt was, one way or another, directly my fault, and that my unending and overwhelming unhappiness was entirely my own construction and mine to dismantle. I knew that life as it existed at that moment would disappear, that my cats and family and friends would all die and that all of those things were impermanent even without the threat of death, and I froze, stymied by the sudden knowledge that everything that was happening was real. That thought echoed in my mind, leaving my paralyzed and horrified, completely at a loss.

All of this occurred within a second, and the moment passed as immediately and inexplicably as it had come, and my dreamlike fog settled on me again, though thinner than before, and it was some days before the afterimage of the grave on my spine fully dissipated.

When I was five or seven—pardon my fallible memory—I spent most of my nights trying to imagine death. I was raised a Roman Catholic and attended CCD and church, but the idea of heaven was, even then, completely implausible to me. They told me there was a benevolent and loving God, but if that was true then everyone should be happy, but they weren’t. They told me that God always listened but on the one or two occasions I prayed to him to ask for something—on both occasions it was for No School Tomorrow—the prayers went unanswered which seemed unfair because it wasn’t like I asked for things all that often, and all things considered I was a pretty good kid. These things contributed to my skepticism, but the clincher on my early aethieism was the day they told me that animals didn’t go to heaven. I never voiced my doubts, but they went something like this: Heaven is paradise, i.e., the place where everything is happy all the time forever. In order for me to be happy, my cats must be with me. Animals don’t go to heaven which means cats don’t go to heaven which means that when I go to heaven, I will be unhappy. Which means it isn’t heaven because I’d be stuck there without my cats forever. From there I got to wondering about what happened to the families of “bad people”? When the Bad People got sent to hell, didn’t that mean their families were miserable in heaven, like I would inevitably be? Or was it that the Bad People went up to heaven so that their Good People families would be happy? But then wouldn’t that mean that everybody was in heaven? So then hell was pointless? I couldn’t reconcile the ideas and, in the end, was forced to conclude that the whole Catholicism thing was a sham. (Over the years I went from aethiest to agnostic to aethiest to agnostic and now finally I just don’t give any kind of damn at all, though I still abhor organized religion as a concept.)

Well, if heaven and hell didn’t exist, then that meant there was no afterlife, and that, of course, meant simply not existing after death. It made the most sense, and I still hold to that opinion: Just Dead. So, as a child, recently convinced within her own mind of the fallacy of the after life, I spent most of my bed time, before I fell asleep, trying to imagine being dead.

I would lie very still, like a plank, and close my eyes, and try to breathe as little as possible, holding stillness within myself. I would then will my entire personality away and try to embody someone who does not exist. This is very hard to do, and I’d frequently get caught up in thinking of how dark or cold it was, being dead and not existing, and then I’d realize that dead, nonexistent people don’t think or feel so I wouldn’t notice the dark or the cold and I wouldn’t be thinking about it so stop doing that. And I’d try to still everything within me again, and eventually thoughts would bubble up again, and I’d quell them again, and so on until I fell asleep.

Later, when puberty set in and brought with it a pile of depression, I repeated this same exercise as an effort to will myself to death. Willing oneself to death, it turns out, is also very tricky.

My first memory is of a dream. In the dream, there is a baby that I instinctively know is me. I am not in her perspective; I am floating outside of her, looking at her glare at her surroundings and wave her piggy arms and legs that I loathe, quietly. She’s in a car seat—it’s white with primary colored polka dots gathered together like the Wonderbread logo—that is set on a long, folding table of plastic and fake wood paneling. I have confirmed with my parents that they owned this car seat, and I did, in fact, sit in it as a child. I know the table existed because I saw it many times throughout my childhood and adolescence; the table both in dream and in reality were in a dim marbled function hall of linoleum tiling, ugly striped wallpaper with white wood paneling, and fake, electric candle sconces. This was the function hall at the Knights of Columbus in [...] (which recently declared bankruptcy, a relic of my childhood gone), a place my dad bartended at for many years and which I spent many post-elementary school afternoons roaming about.

In the dream, I remain focused on baby me, somewhat elevated above her, aware of the table and the car seat and the speckled linoleum floor and the dim wall sconces. There are shadows all around her, falling onto her curled fists, and there is the hubbub of laughing and talking relatives—my relatives. The shadows belong to my maternal grandmother and my great-aunts. They are laughing and chatting and drinking wine, and this is some kind of party for me, about me, to do with this baby on the table who is me but who I am outside of, staring down, disliking. I do not know if this party happened in actuality, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it did.

I wake up from the dream at age five, in a room painted Strawberry Fields pink with an ugly salmon carpet and fake wooden door. I do not know who I am. My mind is utterly blank. There is nothing but absence within it, a feeling that I should know this place, should know myself, should remember something, but I do not and I stare at the far wall, bolt upright in my tiny twin bed with its glow-in-the-dark dinosaur sheets and Barbie princess pillowcase, clutching those fossils in two upraised fists.

It seems a long time that I sit like this, but it must have been only a few seconds. Facts begin to pour back into me. My name: R[...] R[...] M[...], just like that, as you’d write it at the top of a test on handwriting; then my phone number and my address, just as you’d recite them to a police officer if you were lost. My spreadsheet filtered back into me, and as it did so I got out of bed and walked slowly, stunned, to the door. It opened out into the kitchen, and that felt familiar and new at the same time, and at the wooden kitchen table there was a woman with dark brown hair like mine and a sad mouth like mine and deeper, blacker eyes than mine, and she was reading a small novel, and she looked up at me as I walked out, and almost smiled, but seemed to see something wrong so that the smile became concern and she asked something or said something with a question mark—something like “Good morning, honey...?”—and still dazed I did not answer but sat in the chair next to her and curled up and I thought to myself in the clear, slow language of one in a haze who tries to define what is inexplicable before them, “This Is MOM.”

I don’t remember anything after that, but I know she was younger then.

I want desperately to live the world through someone else’s mind. I crave knowledge of experience besides my own. I want to know what it’s like to be a man and have a penis—my friends and I have joked for a long time that I have worse penis envy than my transgendered roommate who is currently preparing for surgery to remove his breasts—and I want to know what it’s like to be a social person who goes out and has fun and parties and knows so many people and does drugs and all of the rest of that lifestyle. (Logically I know I could do these things, but it isn’t in me; that isn’t who I am and the prospect of half of them is a terror. It took me until I was twenty to even accept the idea of alcohol and people drinking it; before that, I conceived of non-adults who drank as Bad People.) I want to understand the world through the eyes of the certifiably mentally diseased and through the certifiably healthy so that I can determine both where I fall on that spectrum and whether or not there’s as much difference as there appears to be. I want to live life as a cat and a fox and then a deer or a bird and a jellyfish and a shark or maybe an amoebae or a virus and thus understand the world and whether animals and humans are all that different because logically, biologically, we shouldn’t be. I want to be a plant and learn if they feel. I want to be a rock and then I want to be a cloud and then I want to go back to humans, complex as they are, and be a baby but remember this time and be an old geezer and not lose all the rest of these memories and I’d like to be President for a little while and a garbage man for a little while and a heroin addict for a little while and every single person I know or have ever met and I want to understand everything. I have always felt trapped inside here—not in my body, in my mind. It’s like a cage; there’s so much world out there, and I can only perceive a tiny sliver, and I am physically or, in some cases, emotionally incapable of exploring it fully, and I so want to know it, and I’m endlessly frustrated by my inability to step out of my head and simply be someone or something else.

But, you know, more often than that, I fantasize about not existing. Not dying, per se, just disappearing out of the world like a ghost fading with the dawn, and when I indulge in these fantasies I lie rigid in my bed with my eyes closed, trying to be still, right down to the breathing I don’t always remember how to do, and I find some way to disappear, like a character exiting a novel, and the perspective shifts and suddenly I am my friends, and I watch them live out their lives, and I know it all, and that is contentment.

#old writing #writing archive #prose #nonfiction #personal essay #ADHD #depression #mortality #suicide #early memory #suicidal ideation #mental health #introspection #10s #2012 #Age 21 #assignments #disassociation

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