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shemarmooresfedora · 3 years

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Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

A/N: hi!! i know i have been pretty consistent about updating this fic every other day but i’m starting a new job in addition to school so the updates may be a little bit slower. my apologies!!

Masterlist

Chapter 18

Emily was the first to clock it. She whispered to Derek who told Penelope and then it was game over. Everyone knew about the mysterious ring that appeared on Spencer’s finger over Christmas break.

Spencer was in the break room, refilling his coffee mug, when they began to discuss theories.

“You think they got engaged and married in the week we didn’t see him?” Rossi asked.

“If they did, I’m going to kill him for not telling us let alone be there,” Penelope huffed, stomping her high heel.

“But the ring isn’t on his ring finger,” JJ pointed out.

“Maybe the kid doesn’t know,” Derek offered.

“You think a genius doesn’t know which finger a wedding ring goes on?” Hotch asked, amused.

It was clear it was big news because even Hotch and Rossi had come out of their offices when Reid got up from his chair.

Spencer walked back into the bullpen, stopping when he noticed everyone’s eyes on him.

“Do we have a case?” Spencer asked.

“What’s with the ring on your finger, Boy Wonder?” Penelope questioned.

“Oh um that,” Spencer looked down at his hand wrapped around his mug, “Y/N and I have matching ones.”

He thought that cleared everything up so he continued to walk over to his desk. Once he was seated, he looked up to see everyone still staring at him.

“Did you elope?” Emily asked.

“No. This is on my index finger, not my ring finger,” he held up his hand, “The wedding ring is traditionally placed on the ring finger because it was believed that the finger had a vein that connected directly to the heart but that’s actually untrue.”

“So why the rings?” Rossi chimed in.

“I don’t know. I just really love her and I wanted to have something connecting us whenever we’re apart,” Spencer shrugged.

He blushed at the sounds of the team ‘awww’ing and ‘ooh’ing.

“Also I guess since everyone needs to know everything about my personal life, Hotch already knows but I’ll be out next week. Jo, Y/N, and I are going to Disneyworld,” Spencer smiled.

“Oh Henry loved it when we went but you’re going to be dead on your feet at the end of each day,” JJ said.

Jo was most excited for Animal Kingdom so that was the park you were starting off with.

You all waited in line for the safari ride. Spencer was adamant about all the germs festering at amusement parks so he had a backpack full of hand sanitizer, disinfecting wipes, and other essentials. He was carrying Jo on his shoulders and holding your hand.

Once you loaded into the safari vehicle, the tour guide introduced himself and the ride began.

Jo looked at the huge elephants grazing in amazement.

“Elephants live in groups called herds made up of only females. The matriarch is the oldest female in the herd and she is usually in charge,” Spencer whispered to you both.

The tour guide was spewing off facts about the animals as well but I think it was safe to say you and Jo preferred your own personal genius.

Zebras were drinking from the watering hole as you passed by.

“A group of zebras is called a dazzle and their stripes act as a way to cool themselves as well as avoid bug bites,” Spencer stated.

Next was the Expedition Everest roller coaster. Jo barely made the height requirement, cheering when the ride operator gave her the all clear after bringing out the measuring stick.

Immediately after finishing the ride, Jo demanded you ride it again. She was definitely a thrill seeker, alright.

After you took a lunch break of chicken tenders and fries, Spencer insisted everyone wash their hands twice and reapply sunscreen. It was nice to have someone even more responsible than you.

Then, you caught the Lion King Festival stage show to take a break from walking for a bit. It seemed fitting since one of your first memories as a family is singing along to that movie.

Jo seemed to be enjoying it but you and Spencer were trying your best to not doze off. The show was interesting enough, there were animatronics of the characters and acrobats and dancers but you and Spencer were both just so tired after running around to keep up with Jo all day.

Jo tapped Spencer awake after the show ended and the audience was clearing out.

“Daddy, dinosaurs!” she reminded him.

Your final ride of the day would be the dinosaur ride where it simulates traveling back in time.

The three of you got buckled up in the front row of the ride. It started out peaceful and Jo was watching the animatronic dinosaurs in awe.

However, things quickly went south. The ride was designed to seem like it was going out of control. The flashing lights, fake smoke, and hissing big dinosaurs soon began to overwhelm Jo. She curled up in a ball in between you both.

You were bent over, whispering reassurances into her ear that it was all just pretend and she would be okay. Spencer was stroking her hair and holding her hand.

Jo exited the ride with her face in Spencer’s shoulder.

“Jo, did you know that stegosauruses were herbivores? That means they only eat plants. In fact, the majority of dinosaurs were herbivores,” he softly spoke.

You really hoped this ride hadn’t squashed her love of dinosaurs. Maybe she just prefers to admire them from afar.

On the last day of your vacation, you were standing in front of the Disney Cinderella Castle at the Magic Kingdom Park. Jo seemed to have recovered from the dinosaur incident and was sporting her dinosaur converse today.

The fireworks you were waiting for soon began. It was the perfect way to end your last night.

“Woah,” you exclaimed after a particularly pretty firework burst into red streams in the air before fizzling out.

Jo was on your hip and Spencer was behind you with his arms wrapped around you both.

“I love you,” you looked to the side where he was leaning his head against your shoulder.

His side profile and perfect jawline were being illuminated by the colorful flashes of light in the sky.

“I love you too,” he turned to meet your eyes with a grin, kissing you.

The whole team was gathered around Penelope’s computer, looking at the email that Spencer had sent out to the entire team.

Subject: Having Fun

We are headed back tonight. JJ was right about being dead on your feet. I have to get my two sleepy girls to the airport somehow. Hope all is well with you guys.

-Spencer Reid

Attachment: 3 Images

The images consisted of a photo of the three of you in front of the Disney Cinderella Castle, Jo high-fiving a person dressed up in a Mickey Mouse costume, and a picture of Jo and you cuddled up on the bed of your hotel room.

“I didn’t even know Reid knew how to attach photos to emails,” Penelope stated out loud.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Reid willingly send an email,” Emily smiled.

In typical Penelope fashion, she printed the photos Spencer had sent and put them into a collage frame and displayed it prominently on his desk for him to find upon his return.

Spencer’s desk had changed drastically over the past few months. A once well-organized desk lacking a personality other than the piles of books now had a random assortment of photos, Jo’s drawings, and sticky notes marking up his calendar for important family events.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid #cm fanfic #criminal minds

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honeypiehotchner · 4 years

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i knew you (Bucky Barnes soulmate AU) -- part two

Y’all are about to make me turn this into a long/full-length fic. I swear. Thank you for the feedback!! It made me all :D Enjoy this angst xx.

For the next few weeks, you would meet Steve at the coffee shop after class just to talk about Bucky. Your best friend joked that you must be dating someone, but left it alone when you told her she wouldn’t believe who you were with if you told her anyway.

Day after day, Steve brings some new story about his best friend. Last week, he brought you the sketches he found that Bucky made him draw. He said he has no idea how they survived, but by the yellow tint of the paper, you knew they were legit.

As was the letter Steve handed you a few days ago.

The paper is yellow. The ink faded. The creases permanent.

And the handwriting. It’s Bucky’s.

You’ve yet to read the letter. You tried. You opened it. You got as far as “Doll, if you’re reading this, that means Steve kept his promise. I’m sorry I can’t be there--” before the tears made it too hard to read anything.

The letter sits on your dresser and every morning you hold it against your chest, pressing it over your heart. As stupid as it sounds, you can almost feel him standing behind you when you do.

How painful it is to love and miss someone that you have never met.

The emptiness is present most days, but today it is especially prevalent, and you can’t pinpoint why.

You dreamt of him last night. Sometimes you feel especially empty after seeing him, mainly because when you wake it’s a painful reminder that he isn’t here. But something about today feels different.

“You okay?”

The voice makes you jump, but it’s only your best friend. Her eyebrows furrow in concern at your reaction.

“Yeah,” you murmur, slowly placing the letter back on your dresser.

“You know,” she pauses, walking further into your room. “You told me I wouldn’t believe it if you told me. But I’d still like to know.”

You smile, looking at her in the mirror. “You sure?”

“You’ve been acting strange for weeks now,” she chuckles. “I’d like to know why. I’m your best friend.”

“Okay,” you exhale. You turn around, gesturing to your bed. The two of you sit next to one another, and you hold a pillow to your chest for comfort. “It’s Steve.”

“Steve? Steve who?”

“Steve Rogers,” you say, watching the realization dawn. “Captain America.”

“You’re serious?”

You nod.

“Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Nothing like that. He’s...We’ve been talking about Bucky.”

“Bucky? Barnes?”

“Yeah,” you nod again. This time, you stand and grab the letter from your dresser, returning to your bed with it in your hands. “Bucky is my soulmate.”

Your best friend’s eyes go wide. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you hand her the letter. “I haven’t read it yet, but Steve gave it to me. Apparently Bucky dreamt about me, too. Tried to find me and couldn’t, but he gave Steve this letter before he was deployed in the war. He made Steve promise he’d find me, and well…”

“Holy hell,” she murmurs, staring down at the handwriting. “To Y/N, from Bucky,” she shakes her head. “I can’t believe it.”

“Me either,” you admit.

“Is this why you were so emotional that day?” She asks, looking up at you. “Gosh, Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?” She pulls you into her arms, the letter resting on the bed between you. “I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was delusional,” you confess, holding her just as tight. “I’ve had to be careful. No one outside of my parents knew before Steve figured it out.”

Your best friend pushes back from the hug. “Wait. How did he figure it out?”

“He saw me standing in front of the video of him and Bucky at the museum,” you explain. “He said I looked familiar, and he was right. Bucky used to have him sketch me so he could have a picture of me to look at.”

You lean back and reach under your pillow, pulling out one of the many sketches Steve gave you. Your best friend takes it in her hands, one coming up to cover her mouth in a shocked gasp.

“Dated 1940,” she says softly. “Wow. It really looks like you.”

You nod. She’s right. Even you were a little shocked upon seeing the first sketch. Aside from the hairstyle being a little traditionally 40s, everything else was really close. Enough that it couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else, that’s for sure.

“So Steve tells you about Bucky?”

You nod some more. “I didn’t think he would. I’m surprised he does, honestly. I can’t imagine how he must feel being thrown 70 years into the future without his best friend -- or anyone. He still visits Peggy in her nursing home, you know.” You smile softly. “They’re soulmates.”

“They are?” Your best friend gasps. “That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “But he’s told me a lot about Bucky. Every time I think he’s told me everything, he comes back with a new story. And every day I swear I fall more in love with Bucky. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not,” your best friend shakes her head. “I’m sorry he’s not here.”

“Me too,” you murmur. “I miss him.”

“I know,” she replies, a sad smile crossing her lips. “Are you gonna be okay at your interview?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I have to go. I need this job.”

“Okay,” she says. “When was the last time you got to talk about Bucky?”

“Oh, it’s been a few days. Steve’s been busy, probably, but it’s alright. We’ve talked about him every day for the past two weeks. I can manage a few more days without him. Now, get out. I need to get dressed,” you tease, shoving her off your best.

“Yes ma’am,” she laughs. “We meeting for lunch after?”

“Yep,” you nod, heading for your closet. “I’ll let you know where after the interview. Not sure if I’ll need comfort food or not.”

“Gotcha,” she shakes her head.

+++

The interview went...okay. You’re not sure which way it’ll swing, but you’re hoping it’ll be in your favor.

“Hey girl,” your best friend’s eager voice greets you. “How’d it go?”

“Good, I think,” you laugh, straightening your purse on your shoulder. “Still wanna do lunch?”

“Duh,” she replies. “Where?”

But instead of answering her question, your eyes are caught on something else. Smoke. The smell hit you when you first walked out of the building, but you just assumed someone had been smoking. Now that you see the large cloud in the sky, you think otherwise.

“Y/N?”

“Uh, where are you?”

“Still at the apartment, why?”

“Stay there,” you say quietly, quickening your pace. “Cancel lunch. Stay inside.”

“What?”

“Just trust me!” You nearly yell, cursing yourself for wearing heels, but you’re breaking into a run nonetheless. “Turn on the news.”

“Okay, okay,” she replies frantically. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” you rush out. You skid to a stop at the intersection. “I don’t know what’s wrong but...I can feel him.”

“What? Bucky’s dead, Y/N.”

“I know that. I know he is. But I can...I can feel him. I don’t know why. Something’s wrong. Really wrong.”

“Then get the hell out of there!” Your best friend screams. “Call the police!”

An explosion booms in the distance. Something in your chest pulls you toward it. Logically, you know you can’t run after it, but your legs have a mind of their own.

“Y/N! What are you doing?!”

“I have to see!” You scream. “I’m sorry! I have to!”

“Y/N, it’s not him! He’s not there!”

“I just have to make sure!”

About that time is when another explosion rattles the ground below you. You now recognize the other noises as rapid gunfire, an automatic weapon. Screams echo in the distance but all you hear is your soul screaming at you. It’s Bucky, it tells you. It has to be Bucky.

“Y/N, listen to me!” Still, your best friend tries to get you to turn back. “What’s on the news isn’t pretty. Cars turned over and people running. The police haven’t even arrived to contain it yet. Think about what you’re doing!”

“I am,” is all you can say. “I won’t get too close. I just have to see.”

“Y/N!”

“I’m sorry!” You scream back, right as the line goes dead. Damn service must be down.

Shaking it off, you keep running. While everyone is running away from the danger, passing you with wild looks in their eyes, you run toward it with tears streaming down your face.

It’s him. It has to be. I don’t know how. But it is. It just is.

Up ahead, you can see a fight going on. And it’s...

It’s Steve?

Your steps slow when you see his shield thrown into a car with such force that it terrifies you and almost makes you turn back. The crunch of metal on metal causes you to flinch, but you don’t turn away.

But you don’t. You watch the scene unfold before you. It’s hard to tell who has the upper hand. Steve or...the guy with the metal arm? That alone confuses you to no end. What kind of person has a metal arm?

You watch for a few more frightening seconds. The one with the metal arm brings out a knife. As you get closer, you notice he has a mask on over his nose and mouth. You’re not close enough to see, but...

Steve finally gains the upper hand, landing a few punches and kicks on his opponent. You gasp when Steve sends him flying, doing a somersault in midair.

You slow to a walk as you get as close as you’ll let yourself. Steve stands, shoulders rising and falling rapidly with his breaths. His opponent turns, his long hair swinging around his face, and all of the air around you seems to disappear.

“Bucky?” You whisper.

Bucky says something you don’t hear before raising his gun at Steve. You shout, “No!” before you can stop yourself, breaking into another sprint before you can think twice about what you’re doing. You don’t know what’s happening but you know that’s Bucky.

Something bird-like -- or someone, rather -- swoops down from the sky, knocking Bucky to the ground before he can shoot. Steve turns, sees you running, and yells something at you that you don’t process. You imagine he’s telling you to stop but that’s the last thing you want to do right now.

“Bucky!” You scream, voice full of hysteria and pain.

Bucky hesitates, eyes locking on yours. You know he’s just tried to kill Steve, you know something is wrong, but you just want to hug him--

Steve catches you in his arms before you can get too far, saving you from being in the crossfire of a grenade that is shot right at Bucky by a redhead. You yell a broken sob that rips you open, fighting against Steve’s grip, but to no avail. You’re no match for his strength, and your emotions have rendered you weak.

The smoke clears and Bucky is gone, vanished into thin air. As if he was never there.

Just like your dreams.

“Shhh,” Steve murmurs, arms not loosening around your body. Your knees buckle and he’s there to hold you up. “It’s okay. I know.”

“Bucky…” You whisper, face contorting in pain and you scream, a blistering heat spreading through your chest. Steve holds you tight, jaw clenching as he listens to you.

Sirens wail down the road, getting closer, but all you can see are Bucky’s eyes. They’re his eyes, but they’re not the same. That was Bucky, but he wasn’t your Bucky. The one who keeps you company during the night-- It wasn’t right. It wasn’t him.

But it was his face.

What happens next you hardly remember. Guns pointed all around. Someone screaming at all of you to get on your knees. Handcuffs circle your wrists and your heart is split in half. Someone asks who the hell you are. No one answers.

You’re ushered to the back of a van, all four of you. You’re shoved in next to Steve and across from the Wingman and the redhead. Steve’s worried eyes look you over, but you can only stare down at your cuffed hands.

The ride is quiet. The guards beside you don’t move.

“Bucky,” you whisper, tears springing back to your eyes.

“I know,” Steve murmurs. “It was him.”

The ringing in your ears takes over, blocking out all other noise. You see everyone’s lips moving, but nothing registers. You’re too heartbroken. He’s alive. But he’s not...him.

+++

When you finally return to reality you’re sitting up against a concrete wall. The cuffs are gone, but you don’t remember when. You don’t even know where the hell you are.

You kick your heels off, too out of it to even care that the floor is probably dirty and full of who knows what kind of germs. But your entire body aches too much for that to bother you.

Bucky.

He looked right at you. He hesitated. Who was he?

You hear voices in the room next to you. Footsteps. Then Steve is kneeling in front of you.

You blink slowly, focusing on his face. His smile is sad.

“How you holding up?”

You shake your head.

Steve sighs, moving to sit down in front of you. Your eyes look to your hands instead.

“We’ve got a safe house set up,” he says. “We’ve already sent agents to get your roommate and some of your things. You need to stay there until we finish this. I don’t know how long it’ll be.”

You nod. Steve’s only indication that you’re listening.

“The doc wants to check you out first. You were unresponsive so he wanted you to come out of it before he did.”

Another nod.

“Come on,” Steve holds out his hand.

Tentatively, you grab it. His hand feels foreign, makes your skin crawl, but then again, so does the floor you were just sitting on. Regardless, your hand slips from Steve’s as quickly as you can. You smooth your sweaty palm down your pants leg, grimacing at the way it makes you shiver. Steve watches you like you’re going to collapse again, and honestly, you might.

Steve leads you into the room he just came from, where you find the redhead, the Wingman, an agent, and the doctor. You glance to the left and see a man with an eyepatch lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of shit. Your eyebrows furrow.

“Welcome back to earth,” the man says, full of snark and yet, a hint of caring. “Sorry you’re mixed up in all this.”

You shrug. “It’s okay.” But it’s actually not. You’re in so much pain you can barely breathe. It just...came out of nowhere. “Fuck--”

Steve’s arms jerk out to hold you up. You grip his arm as tight as you can, your eyes squeezing shut. The pain sears, it fucking burns--

“What the hell is going on?” Someone asks, frantic, you don’t know.

“I don’t know,” Steve replies. “Y/N? I’m gonna set you down.”

Slowly, Steve lowers you, but you aren’t met with concrete, you’re met with a soft mattress. Another bed, must be.

Your head rolls back, the pain subsiding for only a moment. It returns as quick as it left, starting in your head, splitting your skull open. Your body seizes, unable to move. The burning is in your fucking bones but how is that even possible?

Faintly, you hear the doctor asking for something. There’s a prick in your arm, and your breathing slows.

“Thank you,” you mutter, eyes slipping closed. “Fuck.” You cough. “What the fuck was that?”

“I gave you a small dosage of a nerve blocker to ease it for now,” the doctor says. “Have you ever had something happen like that before?”

“No,” you croak, opening your eyes. “And I don’t want it to ever happen again.”

“Any ideas, doc?” The man in the bed says.

The doctor shakes his head. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. Not with as sudden of an onset as that.”

“Well, great,” you mutter, covering your eyes with your arm. “I love being a walking mystery.”

“You are a walking mystery,” the man in the bed replies. “Steve never gave us your name. Mind enlightening us?”

“Y/N,” you mutter. “Y/N L/N. I’m just a college student.”

You hear Steve sigh. Don’t do it--

“She’s Bucky’s soulmate,” Steve says, and you want to scream. But you don’t. Instead, you focus on holding back your tears.

“Well, this just got a whole lot more interesting,” someone else says. You move your arm to see it’s the Wingman. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Nice,” you nod.

“That’s Natasha,” Steve continues, pointing at the redhead. She has a bandage over where she was shot, a patch of red beginning to seep through. She nods at you, emotionless. “Director Nick Fury is over there.” Eye patch. Got it. “And that’s Maria Hill.”

You nod, not that you’ll remember all of their names in the next minute. Especially not if another episode of pain comes back on, but you really hope it won’t.

“I’m Dr. Fine,” the doctor says, walking around the cot to shine a flashlight in your eyes. You refrain from smacking him with it. “You’re The Winter Soldier’s soulmate, then?”

“Who’s The Winter Soldier?” You say, eyebrows furrowing. “Is that…”

Steve nods solemnly. “That’s what they call him.”

Your nose scrunches. You don’t like it at all. Yes, he wasn’t himself, but deep down, he’s still Bucky. Your Bucky.

“What are you thinking, doc?” Steve asks, arms crossed over his chest.

You turn your head away, bringing your arm down from your eyes. You have an idea of what it is, but you don’t like it. Because that means you’re going to begin feeling everything, and judging by what you just saw and experienced today, you don’t know that you’ll survive it.

“Some soulmates-- It’s not sound because there haven’t been enough studies done on this, but for some soulmates, it is possible that she feels what he feels. And vice versa.”

Your eyes close out of sheer frustration. “I figured.”

“You figured?” Steve questions, almost incredulously.

You open your eyes and you almost glare at him. “I’ve felt empty all my life, Steve. With no explanation. Went to therapists and doctors and all of them said it wasn’t that bad. So I learned to live with it. But when I woke up this morning, I felt different,” you explain, your voice losing volume the longer you speak. “Now I know why.”

“But that’s it? Just empty?” Sam chimes in, confusion covering his features, too.

“It’s possible that seeing him, face-to-face for the very first time today triggered the nerve endings,” Dr. Fine replies quietly. “Before it was muted feelings, and if they’ve brainwashed him, then that is understandable. But seeing him must have flipped a switch.”

“I’ll say,” you scoff. All you can do is deflect right now. If you think too much about Bucky, you’ll check out again. “Can you do anything at all?”

“I can prescribe some nerve blockers like what I gave you, but I don’t know how effective it’ll be,” the doctor shrugs mournfully. “They appeared to have worked for now, but I don’t know for how long. There isn’t much science behind it. Because you aren’t in pain -- he is.”

“Right,” you mutter. As if you needed the reminder.

“I’ll have them sent to the safe house,” the doctor says, nodding to Maria. “Other than that,” he focuses back on you with a sad smile. “You’re alright. Unless you have any other questions?”

“No,” you shake your head, beginning to sit up. Your calves ache, most likely from running through the streets of D.C. with heels on, but it’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before. “As long as that pain doesn’t come back, I think I’m good.”

“Is the car ready?” Steve asks, wrapping his arm around your waist to help you stand. Unfortunately, the episode zapped a lot of your energy.

“It is,” Maria nods. “I’m tagging along, but I’ll be back once they’re settled.”

“Thank you,” Steve says. Then, he cranes his neck toward you, “Ready?”

You nod, not that you have much of a choice here. A chorus of goodbyes ring out from everyone in the room, which surprises you. Natasha didn’t look like she cared for you too much, but she was also shot in the shoulder, so. Sam seemed nice. Confused about everything, but that made two of you.

After what feels like a mile-long walk to the car, Steve is helping you into the backseat of a blacked out SUV.

“Steve,” you say softly, hoping he’ll hear you.

He does. He turns, raising his eyebrows.

“He’s in a lot of pain,” you whisper. “Emotionally. It feels like a black hole.”

Steve nods firmly. “I’m gonna get him back.”

“What if you can’t?” You ask, tears coming back, but you shove them away. You can cry on the ride to the safe house. “What did they even do to him?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shakes his head. “But I swear, I’ll get him back.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “If you can’t, though,” you shake your head, willing the tears to stop. “It’s okay. Thank you...for everything you gave me.” You shrug half-heartedly. “I never would’ve really known him if it weren’t for you.”

You swear you see tears gathering in Steve’s eyes, too. He pulls you forward again, into his chest, holding your head as you take in a few shaking breaths. You don’t know how he’s been so put together this whole time.

Pulling back from the hug, Steve waits until you’re looking at him before speaking again. “I promise. I’ll bring him back to you.” He smiles, all crooked and sad. “He has to meet his girl. He promised.”

You chuckle, wiping tears from your eyes, sniffling loudly. “Thank you.”

“Get some rest,” Steve says, squeezing your shoulder.

“Okay,” you promise, swinging your legs the rest of the way in the car.

Steve shuts the door, waving to you as Maria drives away.

In the car, you finally have enough sense to check your phone. There’s a lot of panicked voicemails from your best friend, and then things calm down when she tells you she’s headed to the safe house. She’s already there, as of thirty minutes ago. You send a text to let her know you’re headed there and that you’re okay, you’re not injured.

You turn and lay down on the seats, using your arm as a pillow, and you dream.

You dream of Bucky.

#i knew you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #captain america: the winter soldier #bucky barnes soulmate au #angst #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #angst city #i'm so sorry for this #oops

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airiervessel · 4 years

Note

75 has some big logicality vibes!

75. Kisses meant to distract the other from what they were intently doing

you are SO RIGHT and we are VALID

Word Count: 1009 Pairing: Logicality Content: trans Patton, dysphoria mention (just in the first five paragraphs!), Logan generally being bad at taking care of himself during study season, Patton in a skirt!

Patton stands in the doorway of Logan’s bedroom, smoothing out his skirt nervously with his hands. “The outfit looks amazing on you, Patton,” Roman had said, waving his hand to prompt Patton to twirl. “You’re gonna knock his socks off.” Now, Patton stands in the doorway of his boyfriend’s bedroom, watching him bend over his homework like he has been for the last several hours at least.

Patton is oddly nervous -- he’s been wanting to try wearing a skirt for a while, but he hasn’t been able to help having anxiety about wearing such a traditionally female garment. He hasn’t worn skirts since before he came out, but he misses them -- the way they swish around his knees as he turns, the way he can feel them brush against his legs as he walks.

The idea of someone seeing him in a skirt and thinking girl makes him shudder, though, and has stopped him every time he’s reached for one in the last two years.

But Logan has said he’ll love Patton in anything he wears. Logan’s words of encouragement from Patton’s last bad dysphoria day come to the front of his mind -- “you are a boy. You’ll continue to be a boy for as long as you say you are. And even if that changes, even if you explore your gender identity more and realize that you might be non-binary or something else, I will still love you the same. You will always be my Patton, regardless of your gender or of how you choose to present it.”

And now, when Logan is stressing himself out over midterms and hardly even taking breaks from studying to eat or sleep, Patton figures it’s a good time to take him by surprise. Logan’s also admitted to him before that he sometimes misses seeing Patton in skirts -- though he would never ask him to wear anything that makes him uncomfortable in any way. Patton figures this might be a good enough surprise to hopefully bring him away from his work for longer than five minutes.

He takes a deep breath, then walks up behind Logan’s chair, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey, sweetie,” he says, watching as Logan’s pencil stops writing out a long chemical formula, his head leaning to the side to press into Patton’s hand, and Patton smiles at how cute he is. “Why don’t you come out and grab some lunch with me, hm?”

Logan sighs, moving to turn his chair. “I would normally love to, Patton, but--” he cuts off as soon as he sees Patton, his mouth dropping open and his pencil falling out of his grip and clattering to the floor. Patton, his confidence growing at the reaction, preens a little, smoothing out his gray pleated skirt again, turning his body slightly to show off the outfit.

Roman helped him match the skirt with a pink cardigan over a white button-down with short sleeves, which Patton made sure was in a male cut. His hair has been sprayed so that the messiness of the curls looks artful and intentional, rather than random, and he’s done his makeup in the way that always seems to take Logan’s breath away -- with natural colors and accenting his green eyes and freckles.

“Do you like it?” Patton asks, his smile growing as he watches Logan’s cheeks turn red.

“I--um,” Logan stutters for a moment, drawing a giggle from Patton, before clearing his throat. “Yes, of course. You look lovely, starlight.” Patton feels his heart swell at the nickname, and he cheers internally -- he’s definitely succeeding at distracting Logan if he’s already on pet names.

“But I really need to finish this,” Logan continues, glancing back at his chemistry work, though he seems reluctant to pull his eyes away from Patton, who takes his chance to step forward and lay a hand on Logan’s cheek, turning his face back to meet his eyes. Moving forward, Patton sits sideways on Logan’s lap, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s neck as he swings his legs over the arm of Logan’s desk chair. Logan continues to stare at him, starstruck, even as he secures an arm around Patton’s waist, his other hand coming up to cradle Patton’s cheek.

“I’ve missed you, sweetie,” Patton whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss to the tip of Logan’s nose.

He’s rewarded with a soft smile as Logan rests their foreheads together, his thumb brushing against Patton’s cheek. “I’ve missed you too,” he breathes, then sighs heavily. “But the studying--”

Patton cuts him off with a gentle kiss on the lips, one hand tangling in Logan’s dark hair. Breaking the kiss a moment later, Patton rests their foreheads together again. “Bring your flashcards. I’ll quiz you at lunch, but you need a break, honey. You need some fresh air, some real food.” Logan lets out a soft sigh as the kiss ends, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he looks back to his desk, biting his lip as he seems to think. Patton pulls out the big guns. He leans his head on Logan’s shoulder and looks up at him through his lashes, putting on the best puppy-dog eyes he has. “Please, Logan?” he asks quietly, and he can see the moment Logan caves.

He presses a gentle kiss to Patton’s forehead. “Alright, love, lunch sounds good,” he says, and Patton cheers aloud, wiggling excitedly in his boyfriend’s hold.

“Yay! How about the cafe on the corner? I think Virge has the lunch shift today, we can take him some snacks!” Logan releases him as Patton gets up, though he takes Logan’s hand and allows him a moment to grab his neat stack of chemistry flash cards before tugging him along out of the room.

As they walk hand in hand down the street, Patton openly enjoys the sensation of the skirt brushing against his legs, of the sun warming his exposed skin, because really, no one else’s opinion matters except for his and his wonderful boyfriend’s.

taglist:

@stop-it-anxiety @hickory-dickory-doc-k @naughtynutboy @toobah-z @iampengwing @incrediblymanlytears @captainpatton-thewinterdad

also tagging @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors because i know how much you love logicality!

thank you @thatrandomautist for the prompt!

#logicality #sanders sides #patton sanders #logan sanders #ellie writes #fics

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squarecarousel · 3 years

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Interview with Caitlin Alexander

Well folks, we're nearly at the end of our Square Carousel journey, and there are just two interviews left – both with two of our longest-standing members! Today, we reconnect with Caitlin Alexander, who has been with the Square Carousel Collective from its very beginning almost 10 years ago. Although we've featured an interview with her here in the past, it's been so long that we are due for an update! When she's not freelancing or performing her duties as an SC admin extraordinaire, Caitlin works tirelessly on her craft, creating prints, products, hand lettered posters, and artwork that embrace the earthy beauty of nature. With a strong focus on environmentalism and a sense of community, her artwork exudes a warmth and complexity that draws the viewer in and invites them to stay a while. Read on for her gems of wisdom!

Make Earth Cool Again

Q: Comparing your early work from your first few years after college to your most recent pieces, you've kept a lot of the textural, playful essence of your style while refining certain elements. Has your process changed much since those early days, and if so, what do you now do differently?

A: Such a great question straight out of the gate! My process has changed quite a bit since I graduated in 2011 (almost a decade ago... yikes!). In college, part of my crafted identity as a brand-new illustrator was my traditional use of gouache paint. I actually, in all honestly, was kind of a snob about it, because so many people in our department worked solely digitally. I felt that digital painting was a crutch, which I suppose can be true in some cases, and possibly even more-so when you're applying that to college students, but I certainly had no ground to stand on. In reality, my snobbery kept me from learning critical tools, as I never took Photoshop or Illustrator classes, aside from the one that was required for graduation. This hindered my work a great deal outside of college, given that illustration is so often paired with graphic design, and editing work for clients was so much more difficult traditionally. In 2013, I got a job designing t-shirts, and lied to the company, saying I knew how to use Illustrator. Luckily it was remote, so I was able to teach myself without anyone hovering over me, but that was so foolish, looking back, given the expensive education I got at SCAD should have been my opportunity to learn those things. I introduced digital work more and more over the years, and by 2016 or so, I was primarily a digital artist. Gouache will always have a place in my heart, and I will still break out the tubes occasionally, but working digitally has allowed me to grow so much more as an illustrator, with the ability to edit, paint with more detail, and having more control over color and layering.

Q: Of all the projects you've done in your professional career, which would you say is closest to your heart?

A: Probably the picture book I worked on a couple of years ago, titled "Cool For You." I had a lot of creative freedom for that project, and the subject matter of climate change is personally very important to me. Working with the author, Marianna, was really wonderful, as well.

Cool For You book cover

Q: The Southwest influence on your work is pretty significant, and I think it's safe to assume you appreciate the majesty of the landscape in your region of the country. However, if you had to live in another state, which would you choose and why?

A: Funny you ask that, because I've actually considered moving from Texas to Colorado lately! The culture there is still very western, but I appreciate the liberal point of view (Texas has been grating on me lately, even living in Austin), and the landscape is even more stunning out there! I'd be close to so many inspiring National Parks. Plus, summers wouldn't be 8 months of the year and over 100 degrees for half of it!

Travel West postcard (1 of 6)

Q: TV shows or movies?

A: Lately, Jordan and I have been watching New Girl on repeat. I'm not usually one to watch a show or movie over and over again, but I think we really just needed something light and fun, since life has been so very stressful over the last year.

Q: What's your favorite subject to draw?

A: This one is hard! I'm torn between people and landscapes. People are more fun and comfortable for me, and I could knock out a bunch of them quickly. Landscapes are always intimidating, and I'm nervous the whole time, feeling like I can't remember how I did it the time before. It's so strange, because it always ends up fine! But since I feel that way, the payoff is so much greater when I feel satisfied with the final result.

Q: What would a perfect day look like for you? A: I probably would have answered this totally differently pre-COVID, but in this current world we live in, I would absolutely love to have what used to be a normal, uneventful weekend day for me: Jordan and I would sleep in a little, see an early afternoon movie at the Alamo Drafthouse where we'd eat lunch, then spend the rest of the afternoon browsing used book stores and estate sales, and then meet our friends at the neighborhood coffeehouse for dinner and Trivia Night. I will be so happy to have that again.

Cover art for East Side Magazine

Book Lover Ladies series- The Book Clubbers

Q: What have you learned from your years at Square Carousel, whether organizing behind the scenes or as a contributor?

A: Oooof!! So SO many things! Wow... well, I'll go with the most obvious first: as a member, I learned how to continue to make portfolio-worthy work, even without jobs coming in. That was definitely the most valuable thing about Square Carousel, in my opinion, and hopefully what everyone else got out of it, as well. It can be so hard for fresh graduates to keep up that momentum, and the group saved many of us from becoming stagnant. In terms of running the group... it's been rewarding, but honestly very difficult throughout the years. There have been many ups and downs, and finding the right balance between structure and patience can be extremely challenging. I'm super proud of Elizabeth and myself (OG members!) for keeping it running through the messes-- we've been through some shit together! My major takeaway is the importance of diligence. Projects, businesses, organizations-- they all need at least a couple of people who just keep chugging along, always maintaining the structure (schedule and accountability) and balance (rules and lighthearted encouragement).

Moth magnets

Q: As the readers are aware, Square Carousel drawing to a close soon. Do you have any plans for what you'll do with the extra time you'll have after our tri-weekly challenges end?

A: You know, I actually haven't thought about this too much yet. It's probably because I'll just fill it with more self-imposed projects and deadlines, since I was able to bring that skill I learned in Square Carousel into the rest of my career a while ago. (Or more real jobs! That would be ideal!) I'll miss the community though, and hope to find a way to keep that aspect of freelance life alive. Instagram friends, anyone?

Q: What's your quirkiest habit?

A: Jordan told me recently that he found it weird and endearing that I joke-sing to my cats in the kitchen about really stupid stuff... so probably that! Official Cat Lady© status achieved.

Caitlin and Buster Keaton the Kitten

Q: What advice would you give to a newbie illustrator just starting out today?

A: I'd give them the hard advice that our professors didn't really give us in school: there is no way this is going to work out for you if you're not incredibly committed to pursuing it. Now, don't get me wrong-- I'm not telling anyone to have an unhealthy work/life balance because I think that's a toxic sentiment. But you have to keep illustrating and illustrating and illustrating, and arguably more importantly, keep networking and networking and networking. You're going to be rejected or ghosted more often than not, but if you really want it to work out, you're going to keep doing it anyway. And taking critiques if industry folks offer them, to grow and become better. Don't become stagnant in those critical building years.

Caitlin’s studio

Q: Anything else you would like the readers to know?

A: Yes – thank you so much for supporting Square Carousel through our amazing ten years of challenges! We really appreciate everyone who has kept up with us, checking out the illustrations for each prompt and reading our posts and interviews. Y'all are wonderful, and we hope you'll continue to find us, wherever each of us fly from here! And on that sweet note, we say goodbye for now! Check out Caitlin’s website for more, and follow her on Instagram for new art when it drops.

Join us next time for our final interview!

#interview #caitlin alexander #illustrator #interviews #square Carousel #gouache #digital artist #artists on tumblr #artist interview #cba illustration

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charlotine · 4 years

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Have You Ever Heard of ADHD?

The first time I heard the word ADHD, I was in secondary school. I had to see the teachers, my classmate would tell me. I just got diagnosed ADHD. She’d never focus in lesson, always scraped average grades and everyone would gossip about her. What’s ADHD? I’d ask my friends. It’s what all the delinquents and stupid people have, they’d joke with a giggle.

As a child, I was always described as smart. I asked questions about how the world worked and persisted until I’d reached a full understanding of the topic. On top of that, I was the firstborn, a girl in an Asian household, so I grew up very traditionally. My parents worked a lot to provide for me in this foreign country we’d moved to, so I was often left alone. My parents would know to leave the PC or TV on because otherwise, I had a bad habit of wandering. Sometimes it’d just be to the landlord’s apartment, sometimes it’d be to other people’s houses (obviously quite bad seeing as I was 4-8).

In primary school, I was the weird Asian kid. In fact, the only Asian kid. Per year group there was at least one or two Asians and one black person in my school. But I was weird, I struggled to fit in with my peers because nothing they did made sense to me.

My behaviour and how different I was proved to be enough ammunition to bully me. I’d watch TV sometimes, to try and figure out how to interact with people my age. Adults always seemed easier, because I was cute and smart. I remembered watching how a boy had pulled down his friend’s trousers on TV and they’d laughed, so I did the same to a girl in my class with the blue dress, and she screamed. I didn’t know, I’d wail to the teacher, I didn’t know it was wrong, please don’t tell my parents.

Eventually, I reminded myself I was different from other kids. How? I didn’t know, but I just did. So I taught self to be quiet and recluse, no matter how bad my mind would shout, because I wanted to be liked. Needed. I was so quiet some people would forget that we’d been to school together all our lives. I learnt to be quiet, because the few instances where I did have friends, I didn’t know how to control my exuberance. It was either hot or cold for me, and I was already worried enough about being ostracised, so I taught myself to be quiet.

I began to hyper-fixate on books and reading from age 8-11, because I had no friends. Or because I hyper-fixated, I had no friends, but growing up, I bitterly assumed the former. I’d read during break and lunch hours, and during lessons if I could; I could roughly get through two 500 paged books a day. I finished the Harry Potter series in 4 days. Every time I would stop, I would feel like my chest was crashing in, and I’d feel that all-consuming isolation and darkness in my heart again. My reading age was on par to a high schoolers by the time I was 9, partly because my dad began handing me adult crime novels.

The teachers would all describe me as smart, but lacking in effort. I’d astound them during class hours, but they’d have to put me in a lower set because once I’d leave the classroom, I wouldn’t exert energy into the subject. I rarely handed in homework, and I’d attend my detentions and read a book because I didn’t know how to explain that I’d forgotten. Everyone would lie and say the same, and I knew they wouldn’t believe me anyway.

By the time I started secondary school at 11, my issues all but seemingly disappeared. I always held the best grades in English, Science, German, amongst others. I’ve never given this high a grade to a 12 year old, my English teacher would say with teary eyes. I called all my friends to read your work to them, and I wanted to ask permission to photocopy your work because I want to keep this with me. It’s a truly beautiful piece.

It’s because she’s Asian, my classmates would say dismissively. They couldn’t compete against an Asian, being smart was expected of me. Things like schoolwork were easier for me, somehow.

I’d always turn up to class with innovative and original projects, shocking all the teachers pleasantly because no one had ever in their entire time of being a teacher. When everyone would turn up with paper drawings of a hastily drawn house labelling the French verbs, I’d turn up with a large painted box with 3D figurines. Miss, she’s Asian, my classmates would say. We can’t compete with her when it’s in her blood.

After a teacher would issue a project, my mind would be hyper-fixated. Make a project, she’d say. I don’t care what medium you use, but it has to relate to the verbs we learnt in lesson today. I’ll see you after half term break. As soon as I’d get home, I’d need to start the project otherwise my heart might just give up. I‘d neglect tidying my room, my social life, my personal hygiene, my sleep, my other projects and eating because I need to do this project mum, you don’t understand. My mind was in hyperdrive, I couldn’t rest because this project was my world, my reason for air. 4 days later, and I’d have a few days left of half term and I’d only eaten maybe 2 small meals the past few days.

(Why can’t you be normal? My mum would plead.

Eyes downcast, I’d whisper, but mum. This is my normal.)

We’re concerned about her, my mum would say to Jenny the therapist. She can be the loveliest person one minute, and the next she can be a whole different person. And she’s not eating again, I think she thinks she’s fat.

She isn’t eating? Jenny would frown. The rest is just hormones, but I think I need to explain to your daughter the negative side effects of anorexia again.

I did think I was fat. I’d look in the mirror and wish to be somebody else, just not me, but I didn’t starve myself. Not intentionally, anyway. But, I’d frown, how do I explain to everyone that sometimes I just forget how to take care of myself? How, sometimes, some things were more important than taking care of myself?

Your daughter is very, very smart, my teacher would say with a smile. She reminds me just exactly why I’d decided to be a teacher — she excels in French, German, Psychology, all my subjects! You should be very proud.

Ah, my mum would look at me with watery eyes, thank you, thank you.

The lesser pieces of homework, I’d forget about until last minute, but no one would ever believe me. How did you explain that if it didn’t send your mind into hyperdrive, that it’d disappear? I’d go through the week care free, and then my friend would message me at 9PM at night and then I’d remember. During those times, I’d skive off school the next day to get out of it because I didn’t know how to explain that I’d simply forgotten to a teacher when everyone would lie and say the same.

Your daughter hasn’t turned up to lesson this week, my teacher would say with a frown. We’re very worried about her, she said she’s going through a hard time, and even in lesson she never seems to focus.

Really? My mum would look at me with watery eyes, I didn’t know. She, ah, told us she went to the school this week.

First Jenny said anxiety, then depression. Anak, my mum would say. Tell us what’s wrong so we can help you. You’re so smart, but you’re wasting it away. You know me and dad want you to make something of yourself, so you’re not suffering like us. But I’d taught myself how to be quiet, and I didn’t know how to explain. What was I meant to say?

(Mum, I can’t focus on things and it goes right out of my ears and I don’t know why, no matter how hard I try to listen. Mum, I couldn’t sleep last night, because I really needed to finish researching the Cold War and Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I couldn’t stop, and that’s why I didn’t get up for school in the morning. Mum, I can’t go to school today because even though I’ve known about our speaking test for 2 weeks and it’s all I can think about, I couldn’t revise. Mum, I can’t focus on this thing right now, because all my mind can focus on is Henry VIII even though we haven’t done him in history for 6 years. Mum, I know you gave me all of this month to clean my room, but then I’d have to pick everything up, put it into order, change my bedsheets, hoover the floor, and the thought of all that was too overwhelming for me that I just couldn’t start, but I’m not lazy, I swear.)

Instead I’d say, mum, I think I’m just sad. I fell out with my friends last week, I’d say hollowly, and I just feel sad.

With hardened eyes, she’d tell me to prioritise yourself, anak, friends come and go, and the only person you can depend on is yourself.

My mum never remembered my friends names. I loved all my friends and every single person meant the world to me, but I’d cycle through them in the span of 6 months. I’d go through friends and friendship groups, and my mum would smile at all of them and say, what happened to Natalie? What happened to Lily? in our native tongue.

I hate them, mum, I’d say bitterly. They were using me, too.

With disbelieving eyes, she’d laugh. Everyone is always using you. Why can’t you just be happy? Why can’t you just read a book and be happy?

(Mum, I can’t stop counting the lines, I have to make sure that they follow the pretty pattern in my head that make it look inexplicably real to me, otherwise I can’t, and then I realise I haven’t been paying attention to the words at all.)

Instead, I’d shrug. Books are boring now, mum.

My relationships were intense with everyone. No matter the longevity, I’d feel heartbroken for every single person. I’d be inconsolable for days. If you want to die so bad, my sobbing mum would say with my lined wrist in her grasp, just tell me and I’ll do it for you.

Have you heard of hyper-mania? Sarah, the first, would inquire with a tilt of her head.

No, I’d shake my head.

Rivotril, aripiprazole, lithium, and alprazolam for anxiety attacks, Sarah would write. We think it’s bipolar disorder and anxiety disorder. They often have comorbidity.

I feel sorry for you, my aunt would say. You’re only 15 and you have to take so much.

Setraline, alprazolam and lithium, David would write. Due to the last two suicide attempts, we think it’s borderline personality disorder and anxiety disorder. Her mood swings are too frequent.

She’s only 16, my dad would say gruffly. Why does she hate being alive so much? It’s the meds, they’re ruining her.

I made friends with a girl with ADD in college. She was a daydreamer and had to sit extra classes. Oh, I’d laugh. It makes sense, you’re always losing track of conversation. Then I dated a boy with ADHD; that’s why I struggle so badly in school, he’d explain to me. Oh, I’d reply. School has always been easy for me. I can help you go through your notes.

In college, they’d tell me I shouldn’t have been a year behind. Not to show any blatant favouritism, my teacher would say with a conspiratorial smile. But unlike some of your other classmates, you’re one of the few who don’t really need to be here in remedial GCSEs.

I’d take the compliment and thank him with a nod. But why can I not focus? My mind would plead. Why is it that I can never sit still, why is it that I need to be talking or using my phone to function during lectures? Why is it that I can’t learn the same way everyone else does?

But I’d learnt to be quiet, after a while. My parents had told me I was attention seeking and that there wasn’t anything wrong with me. How could there be? I was pretty, I could make friends easily if I so wanted, and I was smart. In the homeland, anak, my mum would tell me with a scathing look. The mentally disabled people are in wheelchairs, you don’t have any mental illness. You just want there to be, and it’s all in your head.

(I wish I hadn’t lived, I’d whisper to my brother in the hospital. This would be the third time, and not the last.

Huh? What did you say? My brother would ask.

I said, I screamed, I wish I hadn’t lived.)

Why did you do it? The third, Jamie, would ask, after the fourth, the fifth. Did you plan it?

Everything was spinning out of control, I’d reply. And I needed to escape. I wanted to disappear. I didn’t plan it, but it made sense at the time.

So you didn’t want to die?

Contemplatively, I’d tell him I don’t know, but maybe.

Hmm, would be all he’d say for a moment. How do you feel?

I feel empty a lot. Like I need something to fulfil me so I won’t feel like dying today. Even when I try to sleep at night, I can’t, because there’s so many things that I need to do. Like go for a long jog, bake a cake or write as long a story as I can write. I used to have a drinking problem, I’d tell him shakily. Back when I was 14. It was the only way I could get to sleep at night. Everything that I do to myself needs to be intense, so it can break through the monotony. I struggle in school, I do, I’d plead with him. Everyone looks at my grades and they don’t see it, but it’s hard going in and doing work, when I can’t sit still and be focused.

Hmm, he’d say.

I have sex a lot, I’d tell him. I don’t like forming attachments to people because they always leave, so it’s always different people. Sometimes... I’d hesitate. It’s not safe.

What do you mean?

They’re strangers I meet on the internet, I’d whisper. I can’t do it at my home because of my parents, they’re catholic and believe in chastity, so we go to their house. Or their cars.

Hmm, he’d say. Why?

Why what?

Why do you do this to yourself? You’ve mentioned before that you dissociate during sex and find no pleasure in doing so, so why?

I... I’d say truthfully. I don’t know.

Jamie would ask about my sex life. My parents would say I’d indiscriminately have sex with men and women too often, and they were scared for me. He’d ask about drugs, and my parents would say they didn’t know, but that I was easily influenced. He’d ask about school and friends; my parents would say I was very smart, but lazy. They’d inform him that I argued and fell out with my friends often, and had a penchant for the short term. He’d ask how I was like at home; my parents would share a look, and tell him how I could be two different people sometimes. Lovely, my mum would say, and other times horrible and a stranger to us, my dad would finish. She can be sweet often, my mum would tell him, and other times she’ll be so angry she trashes her room, my dad would finish.

(What’s it like, I’d ask my boyfriend. Having ADHD?

It’s like being a magpie. You have one thought, but the other is too shiny, and the next is always shinier. Your thoughts are always racing, conversation topics are always changing, you can’t stop talking, and people say you’re annoying. Sometimes, I’ll have that nyan-cat song stuck in my head on repeat. It’s like needing subtitles when you watch a movie and the Wikipedia page up, too, because you can’t focus. It’s like the way I can never find the right tab, because there’s always more than 50 open on my phone. It’s like having a long list of things you really need to do, but no matter how much you know this, you can’t do any of it. It’s like, when I was 5, I’d say swear words in school all the time. It’s like always being late to everything, no matter how hard you try. It’s why I get angry at you a lot, he’d tell me. And why I can never remember what you last said to me. It’s like being a normal person and drinking 10 energy drinks, but you don’t need the energy drinks.

Oh, I’d frown. I understand what you mean. And I did. I really did.)

Finally, my third psychiatrist would say to us, have you ever heard of Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder?

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its-isabelle · 3 years

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Week evaluation 11-01-21 to 15-01-21

This week I have completed my 1 day project - pangram grid and I drew some new type designs using shapes. I also presented something interesting about my project on the call meeting we had, I went on the talk suggested by the tourtor, I have updated my tumblr writing why my research links to my theme and project and to also wrote about what I wanted to achieve during that part of the project. I also just completed the small task of presentation for contextual studies, annualised and deconstruct some typefaces

I do still have a few things that i want to do which I need to do some research on what companies i like in graphics design for manuals lesson on monday, I need to write up about the call that I took notes of, I need to look at some slack research to see if any I like I need to include my sketchbook or get some ideas from. I want to try get the magazine complete during the weekend so I can try and focus on my type and manuel project.

I think I should be on set for all my deadline might need to do some extra hours just to catch up abit.

I don't think I need to make any changes to my project plan.

I have identified the risks of undertaking work and that for me was not getting exercise or not taking another work. I have started working out with my dad for at least 20 minutes every day I make sure to take an one hour break during my lunch and dinner and to take some small 10 minute breaks in between. I've also had to join some council and the council reps which I have had to stop work to talk to.

I don't think I have any risks in my project plan

The challenges I faced is to digitise my sketchbook which I found really weird but I have overcome this by just carrying on traditionally and then take photos of the sketchbook and then write about that in my tumblr account. It is a bit difficult to keep up with my time management but to overcome this I have made sure to write notes during all the lesson and then by them notes ticked of what I have done and haven't done.

I don't really feel that there are any risks to development work. The issues with it is you could possibly have one idea planned and developed but not work and then you would have to start the whole process again if you did get another idea.

My work justifies my change in direction because the research have all linked to my good vs evil theme and within them small research bubbles i research a little bit further to get more ideas oor to try some different ways of how the type could look or what I should add ect. Some of my research have also allowed me to see the type in a poster layout how it should be used which allows me to see if it should be changed, is it easy to read, does it make sense and does it look nice for the audience.

I have learned how to keep up with my time management a bit more because I now have three project at the same time and need to keep a tight schedule of when I do something and what. This will help me in the future because as a graphic designer I will have to take multiple briefs so by taking them now and trying to juggle now I will have better knowledge of how to deal with constraints of time and deadlines.

How I deal with my challenges and problems is I would probably say head on, I will, ask peers for and suggestion, or if I don't understand something I make sure to ask etc.

To improve for this project I think if I was told a bit earlier the deadline would be pushed back I wouldn't of rushed so much with getting the type finished and now i'm at a weird stage of done but still not done.

I think what aspect of work I am protising is the experimenting part of my project and the development at the moment trying to better the type I have and maybe even find a better one.

I feel like my work shows my achievement of the learning outcomes because I have experimented with all or at least have some drawing of how I want it done the only learning outcome I haven't looked at as so far is the portfolio pages but that's because I need all my work done to even approach that. I could look at some portfolio layout though while I try to finnish my work for the portfolio.

What I will be doing for next week is to finnish up the magazine before friday, I want to mess with the weight of my type and deconstruct the mistakes it has, I will also include picture of my deconstructed type in my tumblr, i'll make sure to include class work also that we get given. I'm also going to make sure my project plan is updated. put some of the slack research I did into my book, write about the call I went into about type.

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tisthenightofthewitch · 5 years

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GHOST – “I would say by early 2021, you can expect the next chapter of the Ghost story.” TOBIAS FORGE

From the underground to a bonafide global take-over, GHOST are fast becoming the most-talked about band in Metal music today, with legions of fans dedicating their total and utter commitment to the bands every move. Overdrive sat down with one Tobias Forge to discuss the bands success and that all important new album…

The spectacular rise of GHOST is a success story that nobody could have predicted. From their captivating live show’s, to a rich discography that continues to win over armies of fans the world over, GHOST are fast becoming one of the biggest bands in today’s current global Metal/Rock scene.

From the projects birth back in 2006 to conquering American arenas, winning a Grammy for ‘Best Metal Performance‘ (2016), headlining their first UK festival at Bloodstock Open Air (2017), selling out the iconic Royal Albert Hall (2018) and now, floating around Europe as very special guests with the biggest metal band the world has ever seen, Metallica.

One could say that that the Cardinal and his Ghouls are in a rather good place right now.

Prior to taking the stage for their Irish debut before 75 thousand fans (no pressure), Ghostmastermind, Tobias Forge is calmly hanging out in the enormous the backstage compound with his band members and crew, happily sipping on a hot coffee and eager to talk about his excitement in playing the impressive Slane Castle venue.

OD – Firstly, let me congratulate you on the continuous success of GHOST. From the outside, it’s been an incredible few years for the band. My question is how has it been for you personally, from the success of the album (s), playing to stadiums in the US, and now this tour with Metallica?

TOBIAS – Absolutely! I have moments where I have to step back and take it all in. You see, I’m not a very ‘in the moment‘ type of person. In fact, I’ve always been very distant and I guess a ‘dreamy‘ sort of person. If I look back on my life so far and I think about how I spent my childhood, I guess this comes with age and it comes from the fact of also being a parent because when you’re a parent, you can’t help to look at your kids from an upbringing point of view where you have to think about our progress.

I found myself asking the question;”Well, how did we do when we were younger?” [Laughing]. I guess there is a certain amount of reflection you have to do as an adult and now, for me, especially being an artist, I tend to have to think about my life and the journey I’ve had growing up and I’ve come to realise that very little has changed. I have spent my whole life drawing, writing and dreaming about doing all of these things that I’m now getting the opportunity to do.

So, at some point, that dreamy, adolescent looser just like, transgressed into this person who could go back into childhood again. The backside of that is sometimes, I have to remind myself that I’ve gone past the point of wishing to get here, and understand the realisation that this is actually happening. Like today for instance, getting to play this infamous venue, (Slane Castle) is huge for me. I’ve known about this place since the ’80’s.

I have a bit of a ‘now‘ moment with this today, but what often happens is that I play a certain venue, or meet a particular person and it’s like that moment just happens and I’m looking in from the outside, but afterwards I’m like; “WOW!” [Laughing]

OD – You recently did your first unmasked television interview, considering the history and the mystic of Papa Emeritus / Cardinal Copia was this a difficult decision for you to make and why did you feel that this was the time to do it?

TOBIAS – I think I thought and pondered for many, many years and at a certain point, in fact on that very day, it was one of those kind of ‘rip the bandaid off‘ kind of moments. Let’s just get it over with, no drumroll, no fanfare, let’s just move on. I try to be super transparent with this, but my choice of trying to be anonymous or should I say “masked” because anonymous is when no-one knows who you are. That choice was purely an aesthetic choice based on how I wanted this project, this band, this concept to become.

It was not my personal choice, because I don’t want to be famous, or a well known rock musician. So, fast forward to right now and when I look back, I have been involved with some very well-known bands and I’ve had my own share of recognition, so really, I don’t have a desire to become more famous. Bearing that in mind, I was noticing over the years that trying to maintain that vague order was causing a few problems and issues with the whole thing.

There was definitely moments when there was discussions and demands and enquiries about what can we do in order to enhance things. So, I figured well, at some point when I feel that the concept, or the band, or the name and it’s visual aspects are big and strong enough to stand on its own, I can do a thing like that unmasked interview, and hopefully whatever we are doing aesthetically and what we choose to present to the world, that will still be more interesting and better than anything I have to do on the side to appease journalists.

OD – What do you think of the critics who don’t look to favourably on what you do?

TOBIAS – Well, traditionally I’ve noticed that the critics that are critical of the band have been so since day one. Often a lot of the times the shit that people click on is criticism that is not really meant to be positive or productive anyway. I’ve been very vocal towards those people and have to remind them that what I set this project/band out to be, happened to get very popular to an extent that I didn’t foresee.

There are people who say: “Ghost was way better back in 2010” and as a rock fan myself, we can start where my collection begins from ‘A’ and I too will have some critical things to say about each album/artists. That’s just the way things go. You can’t please everybody all the time.

OD – There has been reports of entering the studio for 2020, is this still something that is very likely and is the intention to release the album next year or 2021 or is it too early to think about that right now?

TOBIAS – I think about it all the time. But, let me be very transparent here. I am indeed going into the studio where I will be beginning the work in January. We’re doing another American tour in September/October and then we’re gonna come back to Europe and that is gonna take us right up until Christmas basically.

So, after New Year’s we are gonna have maybe one or two small things at the beginning of the year and then it’s gonna be all about the new album.

People need to understand that I spend about 5 to 6 months in the studio. That’s not with red lights going or anything [Laughing]. But it’s just being in that creative environment you know? I also try to work ‘normal’ hours because I have a family also so, I try to work traditional hours, you know. I like to come in on Monday morning at about 9 am/10 am and then I do normal stuff like have lunch and think about what’s going on, and then I wrap up for the day and head home and see my family.

In order to make that record, it’s gonna take me about 6 months and then that’s gonna take me to the Summer, which we’ve already decided we’re gonna take a break a let the dust settle, and then hopefully by the end of the summer the record will be finished.

Unfortunately or fortunately, depends on how you see it, the US elections are happening, so bearing that in mind, it’s not the best time to release new material when peoples minds are focused on other things. I just want to make sure that when we release this new album, we have peoples attention.

OD – So, you’re hoping that the album is going to be ready by late Summer then?

TOBIAS – Well, that’s the plan but in the event that it’s not finished, it’s gonna be okay. I don’t want to stress the situation. Every record I’ve done has been under some type of time restraint, even ‘Opus Eponymous‘ (2010), that album was on a very tight schedule. It was definitely last minute [Laughing]. I just want to make sure that I have enough time to release the album that I’m thoroughly happy with.

When strategising about where Ghost is right now and where we want to go moving forward, we have to be aware of all the possibilities regarding the best time to release the new album.

OD – I’m sure you have big ambitions for the production of the new album also?

TOBIAS – Yes, totally. We now have the pleasure of playing in much bigger venues all over the world and with that comes the fact that there are a lot of tickets to sell. I hate to talk about it in this way, but it’s a huge part of this business. We have to take great care in everything we do now. Like the best time to announce a tour, a new album, as well as the best time of the year to release the new album. There’s loads of things to take into consideration.

OD – Do you think that some of the previous album releases were not timed well?

TOBIAS – Yes, some of our previous releases were not released at a time that was in our favour. In fact, I have memories of things being very stressful at times. At this point in the bands legacy, it’s far too important to just release the next album with no plan or strategy put in place first. Also, it’s very important that we give the production of the album a few weeks of rehearsal. Basically, we have to plan it like a rocket launch [Laughing].

OD – So, when do you see this album finally being released?

TOBIAS – I would say by early 2021, you can expect the next chapter of the Ghost story.

OD – With regards to each character, do you have an overall plan of what will be happening or is it something that are inspired about with the writing of each album. Does the writing of the album determine the character we will see when it’s eventually released?

TOBIAS – Well, at first there was no masterplan, but now there is one. A lot of the things that have been communicated over the last few years will be fined tuned and explained in the coming years.

OD – Can you give me an example?

TOBIAS – Well, there will be a number of non-album things that are going to happen. This will all happen in tandem with the overall story. These things might be happening next year also.

Even in the void of 2020 not really being an active year for us in terms of live performances, there will be other things that we will be doing in the interim where there’s going to be an album made.

OD – So, would you say that things are more conceptional now than ever?

TOBIAS – Yes, totally. In the beginning there is was lucid, but things have changed in a huge way.

OD – Have you ever considered making a documentary or perhaps releasing a book about your life?

TOBIAS – Well this can tie in with a previous answer that we have already spoken about. At some point or another, during the high points of Ghost, I’m sure there are people that would be interested in reading about my thoughts and my background. But I feel like I’m not really there yet, if you know what I mean.

I feel that I have a lot more to do, before I can think about something like that. Right now if feels like thinks are ever progressing and it just doesn’t feel like the moment where I need to document everything to date. I mean, who knows what’s gonna happen but for all I know, all of this could go tits-up in four years from now. If that happens then I can look back and reminisce when it’s all over.

I just don’t feel like I’m anywhere near the end. I’m gonna be 4o years-old in 2 years time and i’ve got a lot more to do even before I hit that age.

OD – Do you worry about getting old?

TOBIAS – Not really. In fact here’s a little life hack about feeling better about your age. I have a lot of friends who are much older than me. Not only is that very interesting socially, but if I have any issues with the concept of ageing, sometimes it’s great to have older friends whom you can use as a sort of barometer.

I have a lot of respect for my older friends. I think to myself; “If I was half as cool as my friends, I would be very happy with that“. The concept of ageing is definitely hated by a lot of people. At the end of the day, regardless of all of this, my plan is to become a really cool 50-year-old [Laughing].

OD – Do you think it’s important to have role models that are older?

TOBIAS – Yes, very much so. You can not stare yourself blind at the idea of youth being the only state worthy of being because that will greatly disappoint you.

OD – So far, what has been your biggest personal achievement?

TOBIAS – Hmmmm, there are many to choose from. [Thinking..] I think the biggest achievement for me and what I really feel blessed about is..there’s not really a word that can encapsulate what I’m thinking here. Let me try to explain.

From a family point of view, knowing where we were and what our options and possibilities were 1o years ago when our kids were born to present day. I am extremely proud and happy and thankful that I managed to steer things around to something very different. I’m not saying that everything would be crap had all of this not worked out as we were still very happy back then.

I’m very happy that it turned out this way because I got to be one of the few that got to live out a childhood dream. Music really is the only thing that I can do intuitively. I’m quite able to do this and I get better at it with age [Laughs]. But, there is a lot of things that I can’t do, and I don’t exactly know if it’s because I didn’t do that certain exam or for another reason.

I have a hard time concentrating when I’m faced with doing things I don’t really like doing.

OD – How did you back in school?

TOBIAS – I actually wasn’t really good in school [Laughing]. I have no scholastic background, so basically the outlook 10 years ago, had this not happened, did not look that good.

OD – There are few (if no other) bands that have managed to achieve the success that GHOST is currently experiencing, although it’s an exciting and wonderful thing, surely that, in its own right, is a huge achievement for you?

TOBIAS – Up until I was 29 years old, I was on the outside looking into the music industry, trying to figure out a way in [Laughing] and during this time, this industry was not interested in having me as part of it.

Since I was a ‘late bloomer‘ in this business and I got this very coveted opportunity, I feel that my biggest achievement is doing the right things at the right time. This is a highly strange situation for me at times. For instance we are a crew of 25 people here today. I’m not setting up the stage, tuning the guitars etc… I’m expected to put my shit on and get up on that stage, do a little dance and sing my songs in the somewhat correct key [Laughing]

If I have to talk about someone else that made all of this happen, it’s my wife, who gave me the freedom and the pass to continue to chase my dreams when things were just starting to happen.

I remember her saying; “Why don’t you quit your job and just go for it?”

OD – At what point in time did this happen?

TOBIAS – Only a couple of months after Opus Eponymous came out. I was in a critical moment in time. I was employed in a position at a company doing a job that I was not really good at, and I didn’t really enjoy nor felt any value in doing.

She then said to me one day; “It seems like some good things are happening with your ‘rock dreams’, so why don’t you just quit your job and try that? It’s not like your job is worth anything to you. So, you can just do that and if it doesn’t work out, then at least you’ve tried it”.

When I look back on that and realise what she helped me do, most people don’t get that break. Most people who are in a relationship and are grown up, with children, just don’t get a pass like that.

Of course, my Mother also was a huge support for me. When I was in school, she was very saddened that I was such a poor performer and we went to many of the school teacher meetings where there were saying things like; “What can we do to aid you?” [Laughing] and my Mom was like [crying sound] “I don’t know what you want to do with your life“.

Meanwhile I’m over there in the corner being obnoxious, telling teachers to “go fuck themselves“. My Mom had to deal with a lot of worrying and hoping that life will fall in place for me. And by 2010 she was finally beginning to think; ‘Maybe this ‘rock’ thing is actually gonna work out!“, because I finally had a job and with two kids etc..

OD – As Mother’s do, she stood by you all the way.

TOBIAS – Yes, she believed in me.

OD – She’s been to the shows I’m assuming. She know’s all about the ‘Cardinal’ then?

TOBIAS – [Laughing] Yes, she’s been there and loves it. She is not an authoritarian. My Mom was born in the ’40’s and is very “arty“. She was very much a part of the ’60’s generation. In fact, a little bit of side information for you. My Mom bought my first and my second guitar.

OD – What kind of guitar was it and do you still have it?

TOBIAS – Unfortunately, I don’t have that guitar. Ironically, since we’re here with Metallica today, the first guitar that I had was a black Fernandes Strat, just like the one that Kirk (Hammet, Metallica) had on the cover of the original “Garage Days‘ ’87 release.

That was my first guitar and I was so proud that I had the same guitar that Kirk Hammet had and here I am today, sitting backstage on tour with Metallica. Talk about full circle in life. It’s mind-blowing for me, it really is.

OD – I guess there was no hesitation when the Metallica offer came in then?

TOBIAS – I believe the term used was; “A stone-cold no-brainer‘ [Laughing]. It really felt like it was the right time to do this much more than say, if we were given this tour six or seven years ago.

OD – I remember the first time I ever saw Ghost live was back at the 2011 UK Download Festivaland you were on the Pepsi-Max tent, during Soundgarden’s performance on the main stage. There was only a couple of hundred people in that tent but that show was fantastic.

TOBIAS – I remember that show. Phil Anselmo and the guys from Anthrax were standing on the side of the stage watching. That was a really big show for us as we almost cancelled because we did a show in Sweden the night before and we just about didn’t make the journey. It happened because it was very much based on my will to play Donington Park.

Not only were we seen by a lot of cool people, but also that was when our now manager saw us perform for the very first time. I didn’t know that she would end up managing us at the time but it was because of that performance that things took a huge turn for us.

Ghost is very much a collective effort in many ways, from the people that work with us, our crew, techs, management, band members etc, they are all responsible for making this happen. That show was very much a landmark gig that changed the course of the bands destiny.

So, the message here kids is don’t cancel shows, you just don’t know what might happen. [Laughing] Just be cool to everyone because you just don’t know who you’re dealing with. One day a stage hand, or lighting tech, could very well become the next big label, booking agent etc. Just be cool to everyone all the time.

Catch GHOST on tour with Metallica NOW. US dates have also just been announced. Check out the full listing above. For more information, please click here.

ALL RIGHTS OWNED BY OVERDRIVE.IE

#The Band Ghost #Ghost Band #Cardinal Copia #Ghouls #Tobias Interview #Tobias Forge

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mater-development · 4 years

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Nōtan (濃淡) Tutorial 💕

Here’s a little study I did. The process I use is pretty simple. I try not to focus on making the best drawing in one try. Instead what I do is work my way up to the things I want by starting with the simplest study I can do, which is usually a gestural notan sketch.

A lot of the background I just leave as abstract shapes. Personally, I don’t think there’s much value in trying to draw trees and foliage precisely, unless they’re the focal point or essential for establishing content/narrative.

What is Nōtan (濃淡)?

Traditionally, Notan refers to Japanese artwork that is created using the extremes of black and white. As a method of drawing, the idea is that you don’t focus on rendering. Instead you just focus on defining the main value changes. In my study I’m bending the rules a bit by adding in greys, but I try to not go beyond 3 values:

Black

White

Grey ( 20%, or 50%, or 75%)

Handling Grays Tones:

It looks like i’ve used more than 1 gray because some of the brushes I use have dithered edges. Also, I do generally go back and use a blender brush to soften edges, which results in some mixing. But I my actual brush never uses more than 1 grey tone in a drawing usually.

My opacity is always set to 100%, but if I want to get softer tones I will generally reduce the flow & then pass over the mark with a mixing brush. I try to keep it to 1 swipe, just so it doesn’t look too digital.

Why do Nōtan (濃淡) drawings?

I highly recommend this way of drawing if you want your artwork to feel more structured. It’s really difficult to get used to because it forces you to make decisions about how to resolve values. Its much easier if you choose reference that has extreme lighting. If you’re more advanced, there’s great value in working with reference that has a lot of middle-tones, because it helps you to understand when to push things towards light/dark. Compressing grey tones into black & white makes artwork have more “pop”. Drawing/Painting is about creating various contrast relationships.

Value contrast is the most important form of contrast in an image. If you have good value contrast, color is very forgiving.

I try not to rush myself with these. I just worked on it a little bit everyday during my lunch break. It seems like I do them fast, but I’m very slow and intentional with my mark making.

I’m not sure if it shows in my drawings, but my long term goal as an artist is to be as efficient as possible with my mark making.

BTW, I have time-lapse videos of this and my other drawings on Instagram. (Below)

————————————>

Lets Connect: + YouTube: https://tinyurl.com/mzzvcav + Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/minni.goat/ + Web Store: https://jclarkworks.com/ + Blog: https://mael-strm.com/

#art #drawing #illustration #sketch #sketchbook #vscogirls #vsco #doodle #comics #comic art #pen and ink #ink drawing #ink #concept art #art tutorial #artists on tumblr #artist on tumblr

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ilovemygaydad · 5 years

Text

serpent’s silk

part of the punk!verse, which you can find here

summary: dc has never really been great at handling stressful situations, and that fact really shines when his boyfriend calls him out on a simple bluff

warnings: lots of swearing, kind of a break up, mentions of cheating, lying, deceit (as DC), food mentions, embarrassment, brief mention of broken ceramic, anxiety, worry, an innuendo at the end, maybe something else

pairings: remceit, blink and you’ll miss it moxiety

read on ao3

a/n: so... i know that remy and deceit aren’t together in the main fic yet, but... i don’t give a shit. i wanted to write this because I can’t draw. fuck it, right?

tag list for the punk!verse: @residentanchor @eeveeawesome @xionical @absolutesandersidestrash @stormcrawler75 @musikasworld @ironwoman359 @a-weirdo-with-a-computer @thegaypotatoroyalty707 @darkrainbow333 @ravenclawunicorn1 @noahlovescoffee @whymustibedraggedintofandomhell @romansleftshoulderpad @still-waiting-for-cookies @emounicorn2006 @lana–22 @angels-ofthe-sea @demonickittykat @lonelysoul43 @the-virgil-mary @five-second-cookies @noisywolfbatbakery @band-be-boss-blog @heck-im-lost @lamp-calm-sanders @patton-e @knightofbloodcancer @cloudchaser7 @really-sleep-deprived-nerd @era-eclipsed @khadij-al-kubra @anxiousmorality @are-you-really-sure-about-that @today-only-happens-once @notalwaysthevillian @backatthebein @sunshineandteddybears @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @emo-sanders-sides-loving-unicorn @dodos-in-damnation @some-lost-meme-boi @dead4sevenyears @spookyingarbageisland @the-poison-apple-of-art @radioactivehelena @the-melody-of-eliza @im-a-mess-aaaaaa @whycantihavemorethan32characters @broadwaytheanimatedseries @veryvirginvirgil @llamaavocado @unisaurioamorfo @caterpiller-tea @cornycornfriendo @simon-at-3am @calico-kiri

“Shit,” DC muttered, shoving the last of his sandwich into his mouth. He had been trying to find his rash guard so that he could go to his silks class, but it hadn’t been put back with the rest of his gear, and then the doorbell started to ring. Throwing his duffel onto his shoulder and cutting his losses, DC swung the door open, only to find Remy staring back at him. “Shit.”

Remy scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Hello to you, too.”

If this were any other day, DC would have been fine to have a surprise visit from his boyfriend; however, there was a bit of a problem about Remy showing up right before he had to go to aerial silks. DC hadn’t actually told anyone about taking silks because he was embarrassed by it. So, really, the one person whose opinion he actually cared about had showed up just before he was supposed to leave to do a thing that could ruin his social career. That made it no longer fine.

“Earth to DC? I asked if you wanted to go out to lunch.”

“Sorry, sorry!” DC rushed, trying to get his thoughts together enough to think of a convincing lie. “I actually can’t, babe. I have gymnastics on Sunday afternoons. Didn’t I tell you that?”

“You had practice this morning, though. I saw it on Kyle’s snapchat story.” Remy cocked his head, frowning.

Shitshitshitshitshitshit—

“I’m cheating on you!” The words burst out of DC’s mouth before he could think, and both boys recoiled as though they’d been shocked.

“...What?”

Fix it, you dumbass!

“There’s a boy—” NOT LIKE THAT— “I tutor him. Alex. He kissed me, and I just… I don’t know, Rem, but we’ve been seeing each other in secret for a few weeks.”

In the few seconds of silence, it almost felt like the earth had come to a complete halt. Then, one by one, Remy’s next words tore their way into DC’s heart, and he was completely useless to stop them.

“I’m not going to waste my breath on a dick—”

Just fucking explain yourself!

“Like—”

You’re an idiot!

“You.”

Remy punctuated his sentence by turning on his heel and walking back to his car.

DC stared as the black SUV drove away and idly mumbled, “Shit.”

“Hello?”

“Virgil, I fucked up.”

A sweet laugh rang through the phone. “You’re gonna need to be a bit more specific.”

“I told Remy that I was cheating on him.”

“WHAT—” There was a loud crash, and two voices spouting swears. DC winced.

A muffled voice on Virgil’s side said, “I swear to fucking god, DC owes me twenty dollars for that mug. You used it half of a time! I’ll grab the broom.”

“Okay, love,” Virgil said to the person with him before addressing DC again. “You cheated on my cousin?! What the fu—”

“No! Virgil, no. I would never cheat on him.”

“Then why—”

“I panicked. I… I do aerial silks on Sunday afternoons, but I didn’t tell anyone because it’s embarrassing. And then Remy came over just as I was about to leave for class, and I tried to tell him that I have gymnastics on Sunday afternoons, but he saw that we’d already had practice that morning from one of my teammates, and I panicked and told him that I was cheating on him.” DC took a deep breath in a shitty attempt to calm himself down. “What am I supposed to do?”

Virgil was silent for a few seconds. “Well, Dee… You’ve gotta tell him the truth. I know that you don’t want to, and I get that you’re scared, but you know that he isn’t going to judge you for doing something that you love.”

“I know, but what if…”

“What if what?”

DC’s voice was barely a whisper. “What if he doesn’t forgive me for lying to him? What if I ruined us for good?”

“Then I can’t help you any more. Look, go apologize, okay? Call me when you’re done.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Remy groaned as he put the lid back on his container of ice cream. He’d already put his pajamas on, and he was watching sad movies to really soak in the horrible things that he was feeling. But the door rang, and he had to get it.

On the opposite side of the threshold stood DC, who was fidgeting with his hands.

“Hell no,” Remy said. He swung the door shut, but it was stopped just before closing with a hollow thunk and a few choice words from DC, whose hand had been caught while he tried to catch the door.

“Rem, please. You have to listen to me—”

“I don’t have to listen to anyone,” he snarled, stepping out onto the porch and pressuring DC to take a step back. “Especially not selfish assholes who use me for two months, only to turn around and stab me. Get off of my porch, or I have a hockey stick just inside that has your name written all over it.”

DC squeaked—a noise that wasn’t very common from him. “I’m not cheating on you; I swear! Look, this is where I was going when you stopped by!” He held his phone out and played a short clip of himself doing aerial silk tricks. “I didn’t want you to find out because it’s embarrassing. Gymnastics can be written off as socially acceptable, but guys doing aerial silks… I didn’t want you to think poorly of me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Remy said plainly. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“I swear that I’m not.”

“Okay, so you’re telling me that you panicked and made up that you were cheating on me because you didn’t want me to find out you did aerial silks? You decided that fake-cheating on me was better than that?”

“Look, it was a spur of the moment decision, and it was a bad one. I’m not going to pretend that what I did was the right thing, but I needed to apologize to you.” It was silent for a few seconds, and DC’s face fell. “Cool. Yep. I’m going to go home. Bye.”

Before DC could turn and walk away, Remy pulled him in for a crushing hug. “You’re so stupid!” Remy sniffled, not caring that he was going to start crying. “Don’t fucking do that again, you dumb bitch. I’m never going to think less of you because you want to do something traditionally ‘feminine.’ God, you’re so dumb.”

“I—What is happening?”

“I’m loving you, asshole. I’m never going to let you go.”

“That’s cool, but I need to breathe.”

Remy laughed, loosening his grip on his smaller boyfriend a little bit. “I don’t think you’re in any place to be judging situations, hon.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, gladly.”

#remceit #punk!patton au #sanders sides fic #m writes things #ts deceit #sympathetic deceit

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dustedmagazine · 5 years

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Dust Volume 5, Number 9

Tropical Fuck Storm

Just like that, summer’s over and we face a growing pile of late 2019 records. But before that, before we drag ourselves like kids to school into the second half, a moment to appreciate what’s accumulated. This month’s Dust touches on groovy jazz tuba, punishing hardcore, a bracing industrial reissue, altered percussion and an OG Tuareg guitarist. Contributors this time around include Isaac Olson, Ian Mathers, Jennifer Kelly, Jonathan Shaw, Bill Meyer and Andrew Forell.

Joseph Allred — O Meadowlark (Feeding Tube)

O, Meadowlark by Joseph Allred

Plenty of people get the tag American Primitive Guitarist stuck on their rump these days. It’s not always appropriate and it’s not always welcome, but it adheres to Joseph Allred with the fastness of the truth. Allred, a Tennessean who currently pursues higher learning at Boston College, understands that whether you use mountain music or raga-derived form as your framework (and he uses a bit of both, alternating between skeletal banjo figures and rushing guitar fantasias), the music has to project something beyond the notes. O Meadowlark not only evokes a cascade of emotions, some explicit and others allowed and bent until they’re beyond name, but he exerts an opposite pull. Like Robbie Basho or Steffen Basho Junghans, he draws the listener through the sound hole and into the tones and overtones that carom about the insides of his guitar. Climb inside; like a Tardis, it has room for all.

Bill Meyer

Caterina Barbieri — Ecstatic Computation (Editions Mego)

Ecstatic Computation by Caterina Barbieri

The title of Caterina Barbieri’s third LP suggests a congress of emotional states and cognitive processes; total neural action, you might say. The sound of the thing suggests another, maybe more personal integration. She favors massive, echo-haloed electronic sounds, the sort that would set off all manner of madness in the disco if only she’d subordinate them to a sufficiently clubby beat. But instead she juxtaposes them with wordless female vocals (not her own) and switched-on harpsichord sounds which lock together with a structural logic that probably comes natural to a person who grew up studying classical guitar. And while the sounds promise abandon, the way they lock together requires submission to a Bach-like allegiance to order. Promise delivered.

Bill Meyer

Theon Cross — Fyah (Gearbox Records)

Fyah by Theon Cross

Tuba player Theon Cross was the secret weapon of last year’s excellent Your Queen is a Reptile, by The Sons of Kemet. Fyah is Cross’s debut as a band leader, and if the melodies occasionally sag, Cross and company generate more than enough energy to keep you, if not intently listening, grooving. Like many in the London jazz scene, Cross has no qualms about pulling in sounds from everywhere, and while not every experiment works (the synths and trap beats on “Panda Village” don’t add much), it keeps Fyah feeling fleet and admirably populist. Cross’s commitment to bring the tuba back to our attention and good graces is admirable, and he’s certainly the right guy for the job, but for better or for worse, he suffers the fate of all lower register players: disappearing when played back at anything less than high volume. As such, the real MVP on Fyah is tenor saxophonist and fellow London hotshot, Nubya Garcia. Fyah is a good record. It gets better the louder you play it.

Isaac Olson

Drugs of Faith — Decay (Selfmadegod Records)

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Drugs of Faith have been making records like Decay, their new EP, for quite a while now. The record is full of crossover hardcore that pushes on the pressure points of crust and sludge. It’s grimy, gritty, sweaty stuff and it’s really good. The focused truculence of a song like “Anonymity” sharpens rather than overwhelms the tune’s tendencies toward melody, and what a frigging breakdown. The whole 7” — all ten minutes of it — is terrifically punishing. Or maybe it’s punishingly terrific. Whatever it is, it goes by quick. But that’s cool, you’ll just flip it and play it again. And like a live hardcore set, music this intense is best enjoyed in small, gut-thumping doses. Toward the end of the excellent track “Nihilists,” singer Richard Johnson (who also plays guitar) growls, “If I go down, I’m taking you all with me.” Sure sounds like he means it.

Jonathan Shaw

Help — Help (Self Released)

Help by Help

One advantage to keeping songs short and lyrics anthemic is that you can throw a whole lot of sludge into the works and still end up with tunes that folks will remember the next day. Portland noise-punk band does this six times on their quite good debut EP, Help. No surprises here, just grimy, coruscating punk that sounds amazing when you’re reading the latest update on our slide into oligarchy/kleptocracy/kakistocracy/planet death/what have you. Best of all is their theme song, which softens up a traditionally macho genre with some very welcome, very 2019 vulnerability (Complete lyrics: “Help!/I fucking need it!/You know I’ve battled but it’s all I can take!”) and the closer, “Class War Now” which is about… well, you know.

Isaac Olson

HTRK – Nostalgia (Fire Records)

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Nostalgia is the self-released 2004 debut EP by Australian experimental trio HTRK (Hate Rock Trio). Nigel Yang (guitar, programming, electronics), Jonnine Standish (voice, percussion, samples) and Sean Stewart (bass, programming, samples) produce seven tracks of heavy, noise intensive electronica with echoes of Throbbing Gristle, Pan Sonic and Suicide. Physically and psychically crushing, the tracks move at a funereal pace with waves of static and feedback crashing against bottom end bass, percussion and drum machines as Standish’s voice intones from a cave, a cross between Lydia Lunch and Alan Vega. Instrumental opener “Hate Rock Trio” begins quietly with the ticking of a clock, a time bomb with crashes of distorted percussion. Thereafter the song titles tell the story of the EP. Run together they form both a record of, and a demand to acknowledge, damage inflicted: “Look What’s Been Done/Look Down the Line/Look At That Girl/Look At Her/You Injured Me/I’m All Broke Up.” The intensity builds with each track as feedback and samples scratch atop thickening layers of black sludge. Re-released by Fire Records, Nostalgia is a bracing experience with a palpable sense of menace.

Andrew Forell

Max Jaffe — Giant Beat (Ramp Local)

Giant Beat by Max Jaffe

If a curious listener was told Max Jaffe only used one instrument to make Giant Beat, they’d be forgiven for guessing something like a modular synth. Instead, it’s drums, but in a way that makes the question maybe a little bit of a cheat; Jaffe, drummer for JOBS, Elder Ones and others, was also a beta tester for something called Sensory Percussion that allows percussionists to use their instruments to trigger sounds and samples in a way that feels analogous to the chromatic, sometimes abrasive playing Ian Crause and Disco Inferno did with sampling. Of course, with a drum kit and that kind of setup, Jaffe can generate a whole album just by himself in a different way than you might get with, say, a singer and an acoustic guitar. Giant Beat dips its toes into various experimental waters, jazz here, electronics there, noise and musique concrete there, but always with the steady pulse of Jaffe’s one-take percussive playing behind it. The result feels like anything but a product demo; if anything, it feels like a new type of voice articulating itself.

Ian Mathers

Ocean Fanfare — First Nature (Barefoot)

First Nature by Ocean Fanfare

Whether you take the words First Nature as a prescription of priorities or a stern reminder of who is best equipped to play the long game in the battle between humankind and its environment, this is a record with a message. But since that message is being relayed via horns, bass, and drums, which play melodies that wind and ascend, one must exercise one’s emotional antennae to decode the vibe. Both trumpeter Tomsz Dabrowski and alto saxophonist Sven Dam Meinild are equally facile with post-bop tunes and extended technique explorations, and the shuttles between these poles gives the music a questing quality. They’re methodically seeking, not giving up hope, and the inventive ways they maintain balance on the fly suggests that they’re conscious of what tools will come in handy if people are going to survive.

Bill Meyer

Abdallah Ag Oumbadougou — Anou Malane (Sahel Sounds)

Anou Malane by Abdallah Ag Oumbadougou

One of the original Tuareg guitar heroes, Abdallah Oumbadougou recorded these dreaming, droning, melancholic-with-a-swagger tunes in Benin in 1995 with the West African producer Nel Oliver. It was a step up for Oumbadougou, who had previously recorded mostly on boom boxes in encampments during breaks in the Tuareg rebellion, but the songs, even embellished with electronics and studio effects, have a raw, lonely power to them. “Thingalene” drifts towards funky pop in its syncopated drum machines and squealing synths, but Oumbadougou’s voice carries over time and distance with a bracing authenticity. Other tracks, like “Tenere” splice the echoing snap of gate-reverbed drums to a beat that sways like camel caravans; the guitar work here is particularly fine. On its original release, Anou Malane introduced the world to the Tuareg’s keening, ambling desert blues; now it reminds us that artists like Tinariwen and Terekaft and Mdou Moctar are interpreting and extending — not inventing — a vibrant art form.

Jennifer Kelly

Savage Republic —Gods & Guns (Mobilization)

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Savage Republic doesn’t pack the band schedule very tightly nowadays. The band, currently a quartet (Thom Fuhrmann, Ethan Port, Alan Waddington, Kerry Dowling), took the whole of the 1990s off and has made just two albums in this century. But when they do make a record, it hits hard. In days gone by they sounded like Rhys Chatham fronting the Ventures on an album of Aegean surfer themes, but now they sound just a bit like Michael Gira fronting Echo & the Bunnymen in some Bladerunner-like hell of a dark hole. “God & Guns,” sung in dire and reverb-swaddled tones by Fuhrmann, articulates understandable dismay at the twin lumps of stinky meat that are being held in front of the vast heard of fascism-embracing Americans. The instrumental on the flip is named “Tranquilo,” but you won’t rest while they’re charging you, driven by chain-gang shouts, oil drum lashes, and epically massive bass. Heavy shit for heavy times.

Bill Meyer

Sleeping Ancient — There Is No Truth But Death (Viridian Flame)

There Is No Truth But Death by Sleeping Ancient

In any number of ways, black metal and the horror fiction of H.P. Lovecraft are a good match. The overweening interest in darkness and unnamably horrific, indecipherably complex forms; the highly abstruse mysticism; the tinge of troubling racism and anti-Semitism — it’s sort of uncanny. Sleeping Ancient aren’t the first black metal band to express a deep appreciation for Lovecraft’s weird fictions. Heck, they probably aren’t even the tenth or the fiftieth. But if they’re not breaking any new ground, thematically or musically, at least they’re making good songs. Check out the grand dirge of “Akeru,” or the slow but assured drift, from frigidly delicate melody to batshit intensity, that forms “Taphephobic Hallucinations” (taphephobia, by the way, is crippling fear of the grave—not death so much as the gravesite itself). The songs are typical of Sleeping Ancient’s mannered but powerful playing, which the band sustains across the whole of There Is No Truth But Death. It’s a good record to play as we wait for Cthulu. Judging by current conditions, we won’t have long to wait.

Jonathan Shaw

Sore Points — Not Alright (Slovenly)

SORE POINTS "Not Alright" EP by Sore Points

If you miss the Marked Men, how ‘bout some hard, fast punk rock from Vancouver? This four-song 7 inch, following a 2018 self-titled on Deranged, snarls and stomps with feverish fury, making the most of its double drummed, guitar stabbed, bass whomped basics. You’d infer a few battered Ramones records in the rec room, but also punks both harder core and more melodic—Black Flag on one end and the Buzzcocks on the other. “Not Alright” rampages at blur speed. The drummer, whoever he is (Sore Points are not big on self-promotion), gets a monster workout here, but really everybody is pushing about as hard as it goes. “Not Coming Back,” is likewise accelerated, but in an anthemic, memorable way. As a non-professional, you’d kill yourself trying to keep up playing these songs, but you can sing along, no problem, after just one or two spins.

Jennifer Kelly

Tropical Fuck Storm — Braindrops (Joyful Noise)

Braindrops by Tropical Fuck Storm

“Braindrops,” the title track from this second Tropical Fuck Storm album, slinks and rattles and backpedals, its rhythm complicated and syncopated, its stream-of-consciousness lyrics about dreams and waking (“But you gotta get up because time is nagging like a dog humping your leg”) as tangled as the polyrhythmic beat. There’s a slant of ska in the bass, a dissolute hint of post-punk in the cracked vocals and a baroque inclination to stuff things to the gills in the overload of just about everything. Tropical Fuck Storm tilts recognizable forms so far over that they always seem to be careening into chaos. A hip friendly bump of bass and drums is just a landing pad for guitar noises that crash, still burning, to the ground. Even the ballads (“Paradise” both “Marias”) teem with noise and dissonance. Braindrops is never an easy listen. It verges, fairly often, on the unpleasant. But in a world where everything spins down to a grey Spotified entropy, it’s a prickly, fascinating, mess of bright colored wires; go ahead cut one and see if it explodes.

Jennifer Kelly

Various Artists — Greys (Anachronisme)

Greys by Field Guides

In this day and age, if one even wanted to put together a new “We Are the World,” where would one start? Leverage Models’ return to music last year with the phenomenal Whites was partly so that previously-shelved record could raise money for the Southern Poverty Law Center, and here the band and Anachronisme Records are at it again. Raising money for the Mohawk Valley Resource Center for Refugees this time, instead of trying to rope everyone they know into one big aesthetically-dubious singalong, they’ve put together with any number of friends a smorgasbord of 21 tracks all somehow ‘in conversation’ with the music on Whites. There are plenty of intriguing covers, remixes, and other deconstructions, from Field Guides’ glowing, pastoral version of “If I Let You Stay” to the menacing buzz of DOV’s remix of “Dark Pools,” to Concierge Records and The Working Elite’s “transatlantic meditation” on the feeling of the first song on Whites with “Day Two,” as well as two unreleased tracks from Leverage Models. Then there are the contributions that just engage with the emotions and stories of the original album, like Courtship Ritual’s haunting “Uncle Incision” and William Tyler’s gorgeous “She Swims in Hidden Water.” There’s a lot here to absorb, but even if you’re not familiar with the source material it all stands on its own, even as it’s still one of the most intriguing expansions of an album in recent memory. Not to mention hopefully a more effective way to help a good cause.

Ian Mathers

avery r. young—Tubman (FPE)

tubman. by avery r. young

avery r. young brings the sizzle in this paean to African-American musical traditions from skanky funk to body-moving R&B to soul-on-fire gospel, complete with a full choir. The multi-talented Chicagoan took inspiration from his own book—Neckbone: Visual Verses—from Nina Simone and from the singer Jamila Woods, whose superlative pipes provide the uplift of many of these cuts. “Maasai” slouches so far into a smouldery blacksploitation groove as to be nearly horizontal, all evil wah-wah’d twitch and rumbling bass and slashing lightning bolts of disco strings, while “go'head mary & weep” takes things to the church with a massive harmonized swell. young himself has a fine, fluttery, emotionally nimble tenor, shades of the Reverend Al Green in his supple phrasing, but his songs take flight when they’re sung by a crowd, as on the spiritually stirring “lead in da wattah” and especially, the monster highlight “get to know a nina simone song” which rolls on like a doo-wopping, gospel-quarteting freight train right on to Mississippi. God damn, indeed.

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birthclod · 5 years

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feel like drawing traditionally but A) im at work, B) i may not be alone in the break room when i have my lunch and C) the break room isn't the Cleanest anyways

#when the cookie crumbles #i can probably just like. use my receipt for paper #it's the mortifying ideal of being seen and my art being known that concerns me #but i wanna draw. Sploon...

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shinsoukokuvalentine · 5 years

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20.,things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear?also i love your blog💘

(Thank you for your patience, nonnie-chan! This one took a while, but I’m really happy with the results. As I said before, I had wanted to do a fic like this for a while, so I wanted to be very careful to give it the time and effort it deserved. Thank you for waiting and for your compliments ^^ I’m so happy you love my blog.

This fic can also be found on Ao3, but as tumblr tends to eat posts with links, I’ll make a separate post for it. Also, this is based on the movie, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It’s really good!)

185/365: Never-Ending Moonlight

I don’t want to forget.

Ryuunosuke’s eyes open blearily. On his bedside table, his alarm beeps, inviting him to wake to an overcast day and piles of snow.

He sits up, shutting off his alarm, rubbing his eyes. He feels more tired than usual, but he doesn’t remember doing anything strenuous yesterday. Or was that what he didn’t want to forget?

With a groan, he throws his covers off and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He doesn’t remember what he didn’t want to forget, of course, making the morning confusing enough without what appear to be tear stains down his cheeks, which he sees once he looks in the mirror.

Ryuu frowns at his reflection. He never cries. He hasn’t cried since he was a child, abandoned on the city sidewalk like a discarded toy, his confused younger sister gripping his hand.

He had grown up quickly.

He sighs. He turns the sink on, washes the tears off his face, combs his hair. He can’t spend the entire morning trying to remember what he didn’t want to forget, and soon the thought’s gone as if it had been washed down the drain.

As he puts his shoes on, he sees that the shelf near the door looks empty, sparse. There’s an open space in the middle that looks like it would be a good place for a couples’ photo.

Ryuu frowns a bit. He moves things around briefly, eliminating the empty space. He doesn’t need any reminders that he’s single.

Standing at the train station, his scarf pulled over the lower half of his face, Ryuu waits in the middle of the bustling crowd. Snow drifts down from the sky again, and the people around Ryuu grumble at it. He closes his eyes and listens, listens to their words, listens to the crunch of snow beneath dozens of feet, listens to the train arriving on the platform below, bound for the coast.

His eyes open. He doesn’t know what prompts him to movie. Maybe he needs a change, a break from his work. But emotion he can’t explain get the better of him, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s moving, running, sprinting, nearly slipping down stairs. The coast. He has to go to the coast today.

Ryuu isn’t sure why. He isn’t sure why he rushes onto that train car before the doors close. He isn’t sure why he’s going in the complete opposite direction of where he should be going, to work, to his job.

Maybe it has something to do with that thing he can’t remember that he didn’t want to forget.

Even this early in the morning, the ports of Yokohama are already noisy, with people shouting back and forth, crates being unloaded, and cargo ships blaring their horns. Ryuu finds a small diner near the train station, away from the noise, but with a view of the ocean outside the window.

He orders an omelette. Something simple, but a breakfast that he rarely gets the chance to have. Not many patrons sit in the diner’s booths, as many people have undoubtedly already begun their jobs, excluding a few elders and a young man sitting a few seats down from Ryuu.

By chance, their eyes meet, and Ryuu quickly looks down at his breakfast. He thinks he hears the other man give a small huff of a laugh. His cheeks red, Ryuu bites into his omelette like he could blame it for the unwelcome feelings stirring in his chest like trapped birds, fluttering around his ribcage and crashing into his heart.

Why do I fall in love with every cute guy I see?

He’s out of there sooner than he’d like, and yet, not soon enough, leaving behind a silver-haired man with bright eyes.

His feet carry him aimlessly, down the coastline and through busy streets. He pauses at the ocean a few times, watches the ships move, listens to the ocean lap at the rocks below. Winds blow in and cause him to tighten his scarf around his face.

Around lunch, he sees him again. That silver-haired man with wide eyes. He stands at the same bus stop as Ryuu, who’s only there because he wanted to get out of the wind. The other man’s on his phone, typing away with fingerless gloves, not looking up until the bus arrives. As if being led by the pull of a magnet, Ryuu follows him on board.

Outside, Yokohama’s gray sky does little to dull the colors of the city’s many shops and people. Ryuu barely notices them. His attention in focused on the man in front of him, the one with silver hair, the one nodding to the beat of whatever song’s playing through his headphones.

The man suddenly looks behind him, and Ryuu looks away just as quickly. But he’s been noticed.

“Hey.”

Ryuu looks up. The man smiles at him in a polite, friendly way. Ryuu doesn’t respond, so the other man speaks up again. “You were the guy in the diner, right?”

Ryuu nods.

The man with silver hair turns more, resting his arms on the back of his seat, facing Ryuu. “I’m Nakajima Atsushi.” He introduces himself so quickly, so fearlessly.

Ryuu’s sunk further into his seat without realizing it. Normally, he wouldn’t have a problem with not saying anything and coming off as rude, but Nakajima draws an answer out of him with one look from those sparkling eyes of his. Oh…They’re two colors. Purple and gold, like miniature sunsets.

“Akutagawa Ryuunosuke,” he says, bowing his head a little once.

Nakajima’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’d never seen you at the diner before. Are you new around here?” Ryuu nods again.

“I’m from a different district,” he says quietly. Nakajima tilts his head.

“So you’ve never been to Tanizaki’s?” he asks. When Ryuu shakes his head, Nakajima’s wonderful eyes widen. “You have to go there for lunch. They have the best ochazuke.”

Ryuu shrugs a bit. Ochazuke sounds good; he hasn’t had a bowl in a while. “Where is it?” He asks.

Nakajima gives a small chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you,” he says quickly, but he suddenly ducks behind the seat a little bit at his own words, like he realized how straightforward he had been. “That is… If you don’t mind going with me. I would completely understand if you didn’t want to.”

Ryuu’s cheeks have become red again, so he pulls his scarf over his nose and looks to his side, out the window, away from Nakajima’s bicolor eyes. “... I don’t mind,” he says. From the corner of his eye, he sees Nakajima’s smile return.

They spend lunch together. The cafe’s styled traditionally, and its ochazuke really is as good as Nakajima said. He eats two bowls in the time it takes Ryuu to eat one.

They spend the afternoon together. Nakajima shows Ryuu his favorite park, and Ryuu buys him a balloon, partly as a joke, but Nakajima ties it around his wrist and keeps it there for the rest of the day.

They spend the evening together. They walk along the docks, in areas where they’re probably not allowed to be, behind old warehouses and around rusty fences. While exploring like children, they talk. Ryuu talks about his position as an executive in a stuffy company. Nakajima talks about his job as an assistant to a private eye.

“That sounds more interesting than my job,” Ryuu says, climbing over crates in a crumbling storage building. From the top of the pile, swinging his legs over the side, Nakajima huffs.

“You’d think so,” he sighs, “But my boss hardly ever does his paperwork, so while he’s off on cases, I’m left to sort through his files.”

Ryuu hums in understanding as he finally reaches the top, sitting next to Nakajima on the large crate. From up there, they can see the moon through the worn, broken panels of the warehouse’s roof.

“I guess you were off today,” Ryuu says. Nakajima chuckles sheepishly.

“About that… I ditched.”

Ryuu turns to him, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like the type,” he points out. Nakajima shoves him a bit, playfully, but hard enough to make Ryuu wonder if his companion doesn’t know his own strength.

“You’ve only known me a day,” he says, apparently not noticing as Ryuu grips the side of the crate a bit harder than before and rubs his shoulder. “Besides, Dazai-san ditches me all the time. It’s about time he got a taste of his own medicine.”

Ryuu watches as Nakajima leans back, laying his back flat against the crate, possibly getting splinters in his hair and jacket. In the small amount of time he’s known Nakajima, Ryuu knows him well enough to assume that he doesn’t care if he gets dirty.

“What about you?” Nakajima asks, peering over at Ryuu. “You weren’t off either, were you?”

Ryuu purses his lips, turning away from Nakajima, pulling his scarf over his nose again, and Nakajima laughs a little. “Knew it.”

“I didn’t plan to skip today,” Ryuu says in his defense. “It mostly just happened.”

Nakajima sighs, watching clouds drift across the night sky. “Same here,” he says. He turns to Ryuu again, smiling, and his eyes are soft as he says to him, “Maybe it’s fate then? Destiny?”

Nakajima’s expression sends Ryuu’s heart into overdrive, but he takes slow breaths, laying down beside him and turning his gaze to the sky.

“I’m not sure it matters how we met,” he says quietly, trying not to jump in the air when he feels Nakajima’s fingers brush his own. “We’re here now. That’s what matters.”

He looks beside him, and Nakajima’s still smiling. A breeze rustles his hair, his eyes shimmer in the moonlight, and if Ryuu hadn’t fallen in love when he first saw Nakajima, this sight alone would have ensnared him. But since he’s already in love, all he can do is hide his blush.

“Did you have a good time today?”

Atsushi takes his eyes off his phone, looking at the man sitting beside him on the train. Akutagawa looks forward, watching city lights pass by the windows across from them, his hands in his coat pockets. He spoke without turning to Atsushi.

Turning his phone off, Atsushi watches their reflections in the window, looking in the same direction as Akutagawa, but not seeing the same thing.

“I did,” he says quietly, peering at his companion’s dark eyes as reflected in the glass. His heart beats a little faster when he admits it, and he smiles again, hoping to hide his nervousness with it. It’s worked all day.

“Did you?” he asks Akutagawa. The other man shifts a little, and crossing one leg over the other, he nods once. Inwardly, Atsushi lets out a small sigh of relief. Spending the day with Akutagawa has been a joy for him, and he wanted to know that his companion felt the same way, even though he probably hadn’t developed an immediate crush like Atsushi did.

The train’s automated voice cuts through Atsushi’s thoughts, announcing that the next station, Atsushi’s stop, is five minutes away. Atsushi’s knees bunch together as his face falls. Five minutes. He has five minutes left with Akutagawa.

He turns to the side again, looking over his companion’s face. Akutagawa’s the most handsome man he’s ever seen, with hair that looks as soft as doves’ feathers, eyes that constantly reflect the sea at night, and a pale, round face that somehow manages to be both adorable and mature. His expression never wavers, giving him an air of mystery that lures Atsushi in.

And, Atsushi thinks with a sad smile, he’s almost as impulsive as he is.

“Hey,” Atsushi says quietly. Akutagawa turns only his eyes to look at him, leaning back against the seat while Atsushi’s bent over on his knees.

“Yes?” Akutagawa asks in that deep voice of his. Atsushi takes a deep breath, even while his brain reminds him of the many ways that this could go wrong.

“Since, you know, we had fun today,” Atsushi says slowly, inwardly cursing himself for using the word “fun” like a kid, “Would you like to… Do it again?”

Akutagawa doesn’t take his eyes off of him, only blinking once, but staying silent as if he’s mulling it over. Atsushi watches him, almost shrinking back under his intense gaze.

“Yes.”

Atsushi can feel his heart skip a beat. “You mean it?” he asks incredulously, picking himself up, leaning forward towards Akutagawa. His excitement picks up as if pure adrenaline is being pumped into his veins. “You really want to see me again?”

Akutagawa nods, and if he scoots away a little, Atsushi barely notices. His heart’s too busy doing backflips.

“T-then, uh,” Atsushi all but pats himself down, searching through his pockets for something to write on, “w-would you like my number? I mean, it would be hard to meet again if one of us didn’t get the other’s number…” he trails off, stopping when Akutagawa merely holds out his hand to him.

“Your phone,” he says. Wordlessly, Atsushi nods, pulling his phone from his pocket and unlocking it before passing it to Akutagawa. Despite only knowing him for a day, he trusts him with it.

Akutagawa says nothing as he types on the screen, Atsushi leaning over his shoulder, watching as Akutagawa puts himself in Atsushi’s contact list.

“No need to waste paper when you have a phone,” Akutagawa says, handing it back to Atsushi, who stares at the name AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE and the number attached to it as if trying to commit it to memory. “I doubt you have a pen, anyway.”

Atsushi flushes red, and he could swear that the small huff Akutagawa gives is the faintest hint of a laugh.

“Call me tomorrow,” adds Akutagawa, turning away, leaning back again. “I’ll actually be off then.”

If Atsushi can get any redder, he does. Not only does Akutagawa want to see him again, he wants to see him tomorrow . He feels like he might pass out.

Instead, he beams, standing as the train pulls to a stop and the doors open. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Akutagawa-san,” he says. Akutagawa nods again, watching him as he walks to the doors.

“I’ll see you,” he echoes, waving a little, not taking his eyes off of Atsushi until the doors close again and the train pulls away. Atsushi watches it round a corner, making sure it’s completely gone before he leaves the platform, humming to himself, kicking up snow like a child and watching it fall around him.

He’s never felt in love like this before.

Gone, but not forgotten is that feeling when he reaches his apartment. He stops in his tracks, keys in hand, starting at the thing on his doorstep. It’s a package, a large cardboard box with Atsushi’s name and address on it. It sits in front of the door to his apartment, illuminated with yellow light, wet patches on its cardboard from melted snow.

Atsushi frowns. He doesn’t remember ordering anything. He doesn’t recognize the return label, either; it seems to be someone’s personal address, coming from someone named Higuchi Ichiyo. Atsushi’s never heard of them.

Atsushi stares at the box, watching it as if something might jump from it. But the box is completely still. He shoves it a bit to get to his door, never taking his eyes off of it, surprised at how heavy it is.

Either he’s gullible or his curiosity gets the better of him, but Atsushi takes it inside.

There’s a letter attached to the top of the box, Atsushi realizes once the door’s closed behind it. He opens it first, peeling away the tape that binds it to the package, tearing it open gingerly, almost not wanting to admit to himself how scared he is of its contents.

The only thing in the letter is a harmless piece of paper. Atsushi checks the envelope twice to make sure of this; no powder, no razors, no glitter. Nothing dangerous. Atsushi sighs like he’s just defused a bomb.

But after he’s read the letter, he feels as if someone’s relit it.

Frantically, Atsushi tears open the box. It’s filled to the brim with material, inconsequential things, like plush toys and picture frames and a few crumpled pieces of origami. According to the letter, less than a few weeks ago, these were all Atsushi’s.

And he doesn’t remember any of them.

Atsushi’s heart feels ready to burst from his chest, and not in the giddy way that he felt when he was with Akutagawa. It’s the way that makes Atsushi’s stomach turn, his throat go dry, and his eyes widen in horror. He’s throwing things out of the box now, shaking, realization creeping up his spine like a cold hand. It’s all fake. It has to be.

But it can’t be.

Band tickets. Calendars with dates circled in red. Poems signed by their author, a name Atsushi can’t stand to read. A small blue box, a diamond ring still inside it, never presented.

Breath escapes Atsushi’s lips in ragged pants when he reaches the bottom. Under love letters and fridge magnets, a small flash drive hides, just as Higuchi wrote in her letter.

Atsushi freezes. The words of the letter pierce through his skin like knives, tearing into him, shaking him to his core.

To Nakajima Atsushi.

He takes the flash drive, holding it as if it could kill him if it got too close, but also careful not to let any harm come to it.

I am Higuchi Ichiyo. This may come as a shock to you, but you opted to receive treatment to have your memories of a certain person erased.

Atsushi plugs the flash drive into his computer. His breath catches in his throat when he sees all of them; photos, possibly hundreds of them, all of him and someone he thought he had never met.

Of course, you do not remember receiving this treatment. The memory of that was erased as well.

Atsushi’s never been to these places. He’s never been with that man before. He definitely has never kissed him before, but dozens of photos say otherwise.

I am a former employee of the doctor that carried out treatment for you and many others, Doctor Mori Ougai. It has recently come to my attention that this process is unethical. This is my attempt at making amends.

Atsushi covers his mouth with his hands. Sobs lurk behind his lips, tears slip from his eyes whenever he blinks. He can’t do this. He can’t keep going, can’t look at them anymore, can’t see himself smiling at a man he’d never met before today.

We took everything from you. Every memory, every photo, every object that may carry some trace of that person you wanted to forget. I’m giving them all back to you.

He takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He’s curled up in his desk chair now, knees to his chest, eyes squeezed shut. He has to keep going, he tells himself, even while a whimper escapes his lips. He has to find that final file.

In this package, there’s a flash drive. It includes anything digital that we took, such as photos or videos. You’ll also find a recording of your verbal consent to this treatment there.

Atsushi scrolls past all the photos, not wanting to look at any more of them, but still catching glimpses every now and then, glimpses of a life he can never get back.

I hope you’re able to forgive me and come to peace with this. All the best,

Higuchi Ichiyo

The audio file’s at the very bottom. Atsushi doesn’t hesitate. He clicks on it, letting whatever’s on that file play through his computer’s speakers, echoing through the apartment. This can’t be real, he thinks to himself, still shaking. This can’t be real, and this will prove it.

“What’s your name, sir? ” a faceless male voice says, sounding like it was recorded through a low-quality microphone. Atsushi can feel his shoulders relax a bit; there’s no way a doctor’s office would be using such cheap equipment.

“Nakajima Atsushi. ”

Atsushi freezes. Yes, it sounds horrible through the recording. Yes, it’s nothing like how he sounds in his head. But that’s definitely his voice.

“And why are you choosing to have this procedure, Nakajima-san? ”

The room seems to spin. Atsushi’s vision goes blurry. Every photo he saw in that flash drive feels as if it’s being burned into his memory, leaving scars as a warning to never forget again.

The Atsushi in the recording can he heard taking a deep breath, coming out as static through the poor quality of the audio.

“Because I hate Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.”

"I want to forget Nakajima Atsushi. ”

“He’s irrational. He’s got a naive, childish outlook on life and needs to grow up .”

“Everywhere we go, he wants me to buy him a plush toy. A plush toy! He’s a grown man! ”

“He took a picture from his phone and got it printed and framed. What kind of sentimental idiot does that? ”

“He’s impulsive. I’ve spent so much on his stupid impulses and he never learns. I’ve almost been arrested because of him, all because he wanted to ‘explore.’ This has happened more than once. ”

“He doesn’t know how strong he is. He accidentally broke my arm once. How do you accidentally break someone’s arm?! ”

“He gets jealous if I so much as look at another guy .”

“I hate the way he eats .”

“I hate the way he talks .”

“I hate the way he drags me around .”

“He’s the only person that’s ever made me cry .”

“And… I loved him .”

There’s a pause. The Ryuunosuke in the recording stops for a moment, and he can be heard letting out a breath through clenched teeth as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

“I want to forget about him. I want to forget about loving him! ”

The doorway creaks. Ryuu looks up from his spot on the floor, surrounded by souvenirs and pieces of paper and framed photographs. He’s there, in the standing in the open door, appearing like a phantom but clutching the doorframe like a scared child.

“… Just like he forgot about me .”

“How much of that did you hear?” Ryuu asks quietly, closing his laptop and shoving it away like it offended him. Still standing there, Nakajima doesn’t meet his eyes.

“... Enough,” he says just as quietly, one arm wrapped around himself, the other supporting him against the wall as if he’d fall over if he didn’t have something to hold on to. He clears his throat a bit. “I had your address on a piece of paper. It was in the box,” he admits softly. Ryuu merely grunts in response.

There’s silence for a minute, in which Ryuu looks down at the pile around him. There’s even a shirt in there, decorated in colors he can’t imagine wearing, featuring a arrow with goofy letters beneath it saying “ I’m HIS boyfriend! ”

“Did you really think that?”

Ryuu looks up at Nakajima, a frown on his lips. Nakajima, with his eyes on the floor, doesn’t notice.

“Did you really think all those things?”

Ryuu huffs, causing Nakajima to pick his head up.

“Even if I did, I can’t remember it, can I?” he snaps. Nakajima shrinks back a little, his eyes wide as if he’s been frightened.

Ryuu stares at him, the anger falling from his face as he watches him, scared and confused, like a kicked dog. Ryuu’s shoulders sag and he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Nakajima walks inside, leaving his shoes at the door, his socks stepping gingerly around everything on the floor until he’s next to Ryuu, where he slowly sits.

“... We could try again,” he says softly.

The very idea causes Ryuu to turn away, covering his mouth with his hand, folding his knees beside him. He hears Nakajima sigh.

“I mean, not picking up where we left off,” he says. From the corner of his eye, Ryuu can see him wrap his arms around his knees. “But… Starting over. Going on our date tomorrow, like we talked about. Easy things.”

Ryuu closes his eyes, as if not looking at everything on the floor would cause it to disappear. “It might end up like before,” he whispers.

Slowly, gently, he feels lithe fingers brush against the back of his free hand. He turns, looking down, seeing Nakajima’s hand on his.

“It might not,” Nakajima says just as quietly, his eyes on their hands as well.

Ryuu feels himself begin to tremble. Subconsciously, or perhaps not, he leans against Nakajima, who breathes deep and slow.

“I think that… If I could remember who I was before,” Nakajima murmurs, a bittersweet tang to his words, like strawberries picked too soon, “That version of me… Would be overjoyed that he gets to discover you all over again.”

Ryuu squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t cry. He won’t cry, not in front of someone he’s just met.

But they haven’t just met. They met moons ago, danced moons ago, kissed moons ago. That same moon is still out, and it’s ready to watch them learn to dance once more.

#shin soukoku #sskk #atsuaku #akuatsu #man this took a while #sorry guys #i meant to have it posted yesterday but i don't trust my proofreading skills after 11pm #Anonymous

37 notes · View notes

sunnybugz · 5 years

Text

only fools

chapter: ii

word count: 2310

authors note: hi kids here’s chapter two!!! idk if it’s that good, but please leave constructive criticism as always! love y’all xo

7:00 AM, Rosa Diaz’s bedroom

Rosa awoke with a start when her phone alarm started going off. She was always grumbly and tired, but especially in the mornings.

Until she remembers.

Brooklyn Academy High runs on a day one, day two system, instead of a semester system. On day one, they have four classes, and on day two, they have their other four classes. And today is day one, which means she has dance first period. With Gina as her partner. If seeing Gina is dancewear wasn’t enough to make Rosa want to get out of bed, the fact that they’re currently working on ballroom dancing, and Gina is Rosa’s partner, makes her ready to run all the way to school. Rosa stands up, stretches, and goes to pick out her clothes.

Once she’s fully dressed for the day, in a red t-shirt, black jeans, and a leather jacket, along with her basic makeup and hair (nude eyeshadow, black eyeliner, a nude lipstick, and leaving her naturally curly hair as it is), she’s ready to go. She packs her dance clothes, which is a pair of black capri leggings and a black tank top, and heads out the door.

She lives in a second floor apartment on Sixth street, across the street from Comet Mini Mart, which is owned by the family of her older sister, Lillian’s, boyfriend, Lucas. They were super nice and always gave discounts to the Diaz family. Rosa decided to pop in before school.

“Oh look, it’s Rosa! Why are you in so early?”, says Amira, Lucas’s mother.

“No reason, just wanted to stop by before school,” Rosa responded. She wasn’t a fan of small talk, so she tried to make it as quick as possible. She wasn’t sure what drew her in to going to the store before school, but she realized she couldn’t leave without buying anything. That’s when she saw a box of Zebra Cakes, which she knew were Gina’s favourite. Rosa smiled a little at the thought of Gina, and at the memory that she had attached to this little fact. The two of them had been shopping for a cast party that they were throwing after their grade 10 play, and Gina had somehow convinced Rosa to drive her around in the cart - ‘I’m just so tired, Rosa. Be a good friend and push me around!’ is what she had said. Rosa didn’t even try to fight back. While they were shopping for snacks, Gina’s face had lit up when she saw the last box of Zebra Cakes. ‘Rosie, we just have to buy them! They’re the best snack in the history of like, ever!’. They ended up eating half of the box together on the drive back to Gina’s place, but that was okay. Rosa picked up the box and placed it on the counter.

“How much for these?”, she asked Amira.

“$3.00, but for you, $1.50. You are family,” Amira says to Rosa. Rosa smiles and hands her the money. Amira was genuinely so kind, but Rosa was too antisocial at these hours to talk to her.

When she reached the school, she headed straight to the auditorium change room. A couple of girls were in there, none of whom Rosa had bothered to learn the names of, but no Gina. Not a big deal though, Gina was almost always late. Rosa just grabbed her dance clothes and tried to change as quickly as possible. She just stood in her corner, minding her own business, until she heard the whispers.

Rosa had learned to deal with these since coming out as bisexual in the eleventh grade. She knew they would always be there, but they did catch her off guard this time since it had been about a month since she had heard anything.

“God, I can’t believe we have to change in here with her”, a tall, brunette girl who Rosa quickly identified as Jenny Gildenhorn whispered.

“I know, it’s like the teachers are trying to creep us out”, the skinny blonde beside her said. Rosa just bit her lip and got changed quicker. Luckily, the girls stopped when someone walked in to the change room. It was Gina, thank God. Gina walked over to Rosa and smiled at her.

“Hey loser, what’s up?” Gina asked. Rosa said nothing, just shook her head. It wasn’t like her to get so upset over little things like what those girls said, but she was. She was upset and angry and just wanted to punch something.

But she didn’t. Rosa's been suspended enough times to know that it’s so much better to get revenge where nobody knows it was you. “Nothing,” she responded to Gina, but gave her that look that meant it was definitely something. Gina cocked her head at Rosa, her perfect eyebrows downturned in confusion, but Rosa just shook her head. Gina still looked worried, but didn’t want to pressure Rosa into talking, as she knew she was a very private person. Rosa waited for Gina to finish changing, and then the two of them headed into the auditorium, where there dance class took place, and sat on the stage, where half their class already sat. Their teacher, Ms Richardson, was sitting in one of the auditorium chairs, waiting for the rest of the class to show up. When the bell rang at 8:20, the entire class had trickled into the auditorium and were sitting on the stage. Ms Richardson walked up the stage steps and began to talk.

“As you all know, we have been working on our ballroom dance routines for the past three weeks. Finally, everybody is in class, so we can begin to present today. I will be pulling groups from a bowl to see which order we’re gonna go in, but do we have any volunteers to go first?”. Nobody raised their hand. “Alright, exactly what I expected, so I guess we’ll draw our first group!” Ms Richardson reached her long, slender hand into the purple mixing bowl. The room was silent as nobody wanted to go first.

“And the first group is… Jenny and Eddie! Everyone clear the stage, and find a chair as close to the front of the auditorium as possible,” Ms Richardson said. When everyone was sat down, Jenny smiled at Rosa in such a mean girl, ‘I’m better than you’, way. Rosa clenched her fists and breathed heavily through her nose.

“Alright Rosa, what did that bitch do to you?”, Gina whispered. Rosa looked over at her.

“I’ll tell you later,” she whispered back. She didn’t want to think about that now. She had Gina with her, and she was safe.

Jenny and Eddie performed a graceful waltz. They were doing wonderfully, and it made Rosa so mad. She desperately wanted Jenny to trip, or mess up a move, or have Eddie step on her toes. But of course, Jenny Gildenhorn was being the perfect, graceful girl she always was.

When the two of them finished their dance, they got a round of applause. Rosa rolled her eyes, and Gina sat there, splayed out in her seat, not giving Jenny or Eddie anything.

Ms Richardson finishes writing something in her notes and then speaks up. “Okay, it’s time for our next group. The second pair to go will be Gina and Rosa!”. Gina immediately stands up, confident as always, but Rosa is frozen for a second. She takes a deep breath before standing up and walking to the stage.

Her and Gina had practiced for weeks. They were going to be doing a fun tango, Gina playing the traditionally masculine role, and Rosa playing the feminine. They were basically guaranteed some of the highest marks in the class, since Rosa did ballet from the ages of four to sixteen, and Gina was an amazing dancer, even without any training. The two of them took their positions across from each other, and waited for the nod from Ms Richardson saying they could go.

When the music started, something washed over Rosa and it was like she was back in Gina’s basement, practicing these moves over and over again until late at night. She had melted into the auburn haired girls gaze night after night, trying to focus on staying on her feet, even if all she wanted to think about was the fact that Gina was touching her waist, and the fact that Gina was looking at Rosa with that damn smile that Rosa fell in love with the first day she saw it.

She performed the moves perfectly, Gina’s touch hypnotizing her nerves away. When Gina twirled her, her heart fluttered and Rosa smiled. When Gina dipped her, their gazes met, and Rosa never wanted this to end. The music finally faded away, and Gina gave Rosa that damn smile again. Rosa couldn’t help but smile back. Gina was the one person who could consistently break Rosa’s badass exterior and cause a smile to crack open her stone cold face. Everyone else thought Rosa’s etched in scowl was unbeatable, but in Gina’s case, it just took a few words or a smile to break through to her.

As the two of them bowed, the class applauded. They walked off the stage back into the seats. They sat beside each other, and just as Rosa put her hand on the armrest, Gina also went to do the same. Gina’s warm hand landed on top of Rosa’s, but instead of pulling it away in shock or disgust, Gina kept her hand there. The Latina felt her cheeks burn a deep red, but thankfully the auditorium lights were dimmed. Gina looked over at Rosa, but Rosa quickly averted her gaze to whatever pair was dancing now. She couldn’t let Gina know how she felt.

By the end of class, almost every pair had performed, but Rosa couldn’t tell you a thing about any of their dances. The only thing she could think of was the warm hand that was sitting on top of hers, and the fact that Gina Linetti kept looking at Rosa throughout the class.

5:02 PM, leaving play read through

Rosa spent basically the entire day with Gina, as usual. On day one, they had dance with Ms Richardson together first period, calculus with Mrs Melton second period, then lunch, and then a shared spare after lunch. The only part of the day they had apart was last period, when Rosa had chemistry with Ms Weber, and Gina had biology with Mrs House. And then after school, they had a play read through. Of course, Rosa wasn’t complaining.

“Hey Rosie, whaddaya think about that kissing scene?” Gina asked her as she half-jogged up to her.

Rosa smiled and looked at the ground. “I mean, it’s no big deal. We’re actors, right?” she says. If only Gina knew how big of a deal this was to her.

“Yeah, I mean, totally. I’m excited to practice it.” Gina said. Rosa whipped her head around.

“What?” Rosa asked, but Gina had already started turning around.

“Gotta go, live the other way, bye!!!” Gina shouted while running away. Had she really said she was excited to kiss Rosa? There was no way in hell Gina was into her. Rosa wasn’t the kind of girl Gina was into. She was pretty sure Gina had never even dated a girl. Sure, she’d made out with girls at parties and such, (not for show, just because she liked it) but she had never been in a fully committed relationship with a girl. Hell, Gina hadn’t been in a real relationship since tenth grade, and she dumped the boy because she found out he was a Gemini (Pisces and Gemini aren’t compatible, we have to listen to the universe). Not to say Rosa was any better at relationships, she dumped her ex girlfriend Becky because she ate too much soup.

The entire way home, Rosa thought about Gina’s comment. What did she mean by that? It made Rosa both insanely happy and totally confused. Why would Gina want to kiss her? Sure, Rosa could admit she was attractive, but she never thought of herself as Gina level pretty. Could Gina really be into her?

Like the disaster bisexual she was, Rosa thought about this for hours. Finally, after dinner, she decided to confront Gina about what she said, because she wasn’t going to get anything done otherwise.

Rosa: what did u mean earlier???

Gina: ??? bitch u gotta be more specific, we spent 80% of the school day together

Rosa: on the way home from read through

Rosa: when u said u were ‘excited to practice’ when we talked about kissing

It was the longest minute and a half of Rosa’s life when she was waiting for Gina to respond. Gina was never away from her phone for more than thirty-five seconds max. What if she hated Rosa now? Had she said something wrong? Was she being weird?

Gina: idk, ur hella hot, and u look like u would be a good kisser. honestly, we’d be a hot ass couple, we’re both stunners.

Rosa screamed inside her head at this. She would have screamed for real, but her mom would kill her if she interrupted her little sister, Juliet, from doing her homework again.

Rosa: we so would haha

Gina: i gtg, see u tmw ! 💕❤️💗

Rosa set down her phone and sighed. Had that conversation actually just happened? This had to be a dream. There was no way Gina could actually think that. She was probably just being friendly anyways.

Rosa smiled until she fell asleep. She didn’t even know that people could hold a smile for that long. How did people do this with their face all the time?

Rosa knew, deep down, how people did this. Love.

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tigerrobot · 6 years

Text

Best days of our lives?

We were born only a day apart. Our mothers were at the same hospital at the same time. She was, apparently, a difficult labour while I was out in just over 6 hours. We first met at a playground when we were 2 and have been nearly inseparable since.

Amelia. My best friend. My sister. My backup, my bodyguard, my therapist, my confidant. Without her, I couldn't do what I do.

When I started down this path I tried to go it alone believing, like so many others, that letting someone in put them at risk. And, like those solitary heroes, I learned the hard way that we all need help.

The funny part was, I didn't need her to protect me from the monsters of the night. Those I could deal with on my own, magic did most of the work for me. Nah, sometimes the real monsters were other people.

"Hey, freak!" The boys laughed and ran down the hall, jostling with each other and acting like they just came up with the greatest insult to ever be heard. As a 17 year old decked out in tattoos, you became hardened quickly.

"Real mature, jerk-offs." Amelia scoffed at them and shook her head before turning back to me. "Seriously, they think they are clever or something? They could at least make fun of your silly hair." She playfully nudged me and smiled. She was the one who shaved my head for my side-cut.

"Right? Oh, you know, I haven't been asked what biker gang I'm part of recently. They could have used that one even." I rolled my eyes and smirked sideways at Amelia and continued to class.

3rd period came right after lunch. Amelia had chemistry and I was off to art. It was one of my favourite subjects because Mrs. Avery was one of the only teachers in the school who made me feel like I was normal. Of course, she thought my tattoos were just a form of self-expression rather than a weapon and a shield for the sake of humanity, but, hey, it was better than most people gave me. And it helped that I was good at art.

As we got to the intersection that would separate us for the next hour and a half, Amelia grabbed my hand and gave a slight squeeze. "Have fun! See you in P.E.!"

"Yep. Hey, don't go blowing anything up without me. I don't think the school could afford -another- chemistry lab." We both laughed and parted ways.

Last year, I caught a vampire squatting in the school. I'm typically non-violent unless I have to be and this vamp didn't give me that option. A story for another time but a scuffle ensued and the school suddenly had to make an insurance claim for a gas leak that led to the old chem. lab exploding. Oops.

I had been seriously drawing since I was 12. Every tattoo I had, I had drawn for the artists to ink. So I was used to making clean lines, transitioning into less functional art had been easy. In grade 9 we had learned the fundamentals and Mrs. Avery was so impressed with how quickly I picked it up, she insisted I keep taking her class. Apparently it had paid off because she had got in touch with a colleague of hers from a university in New York that wanted to meet me. While university was still another 7 months away, I guess it was important to think about this stuff ahead of time. And New York did sound exciting.

Art class was pretty uneventful. Perspective, use of colour, shading. During the ample down time a defender of the night who was also a teenager had, I would draw as my escape from everything else. And I was a notorious researcher, so most of what we learned in class, I had already been playing with on my own. A couple of the other kids, who considered themselves artfully gifted, always gave me sidelong glances, like they were trying to measure themselves against me. That was something I was never interested in. How well someone else did something had no baring on how well I did it, nor would it make what I was doing any less important to me. It wouldn't have been so bad had any of them taken the time to talk to me. I would have been more than happy to chat about technique with someone else who wasn't Mrs. Avery.

Phys. Ed. was another story though. Since I didn't look like the other girls, the change room was frightening place and I spent as little time there as possible. Amelia did her best to casually shield me and, so long as she was there, most of the other girls left me alone. Amelia was popular, traditionally pretty, and a complete bad-ass if you got on her 'bad' side. Hell, she made me look like a bunny rabbit when she got mad. High school would have been a literal Hell if it wasn't for her.

Unfortunately, she couldn't protect me all the time. Today she had to stay late in chem. class to talk to Mr. Forscyth about her paper. He was a good guy, a good teacher, but Amelia was nearly above his ability to teach. She absorbed S.T.E.M. information the way I absorbed the occult. She had been working on recreating a simple paper-based test to find your blood type and was showing him the research papers she had been following so that he could get a better understanding of what she was doing. THAT was thinking about university.

The other girls saw me walk in and waited a few moments to see if Amelia followed behind. When they didn't a sinister gleam came to their eyes and they descended.

"Hey Penelope! We never get a chance to chat without Amelia around. It's really a shame, you seem like you'd be really fun to hang out with." One of them said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

"Oh, yeah, all those tattoos. It's really cool how you don't care what you look like. Those torn jeans and that old, beat-up leather jacket create such an air of mystique about you." Another remarked, barely containing her sarcasm.

"You should TOTALLY come to my party this weekend!" A third exclaimed, excitedly turning to her friends.

The fourth member of the group snickered, the first of them to break the act, as she said "Sure, but aren't we all a little old to be getting a clown for the party?" And they all started laughing. But, unlike on TV, they didn't disperse. And I knew they wouldn't. Without Amelia around, they could finally get out all of the hatred that they'd had to hold inside.

They had formed a semi-circle around me, my back basically against a wall. I'd have to physically push past them to get away. I shook my head at their attempts to anger me. It wasn't that I was zen or anything like that. People like this group had always been around, always looking to tear me down for whatever reason. And it wasn't that it didn't effect me. I could act like the stoic hero, act like nothing ever phased me and just roll with the punches, but nobody is that dead inside, not even some of the zombies I've squared off against.

"Oh, look, she's trying to be stoic! It's adorable! Come on, freakshow, just admit you don't belong here, run along home, and stop infecting our change room with your presence." Ah, the leader, standing up and being strong with her posse at her back. My hands balled into fists and I could feel the desire to channel a spell into them. How easy it would be to stop this forever, release a blast of energy into her chest and launch her across the room. Or whisper a word and turn them against each other. But magic wasn't to be used against non-magic folks. Even if some of them were worse than half the monsters I had to deal with.

"Good one. I really loved that bit about me not belonging here. I guess to belong at this school I need to have my parents pay off the teachers?" A rumor had been spread about the lead girl falling a class or two last year but her parents really wanted to take her on a trip to Sweden in the summer, and so taking classes just wouldn't do. A donation was made to the school and that little problem went away. By the way she reacted, either it wasn't just a rumor or she had gotten really sick of hearing it. She reached out and shoved me, causing me to fall back, my shoulder striking the wall behind me.

"You know what? We were wrong, you aren't a clown, you aren't even funny. You are just a waste of skin, but looking at it, it wasn't skin anyone else would have wanted anyway. You should feel blessed that I even bother to acknowledge your existence, goblin." And one of her lackey's grabbed my gym bag. I reached out to contest it but was again pushed against the wall.

"We'll do you a favour. You may be filth, but at least your clothes can be clean." The one who grabbed my bag walked into the showers and turned one on, leaving my bag sitting right under it. They all started cackling but stopped abruptly as Amelia walked in.

She saw them, cornering me, and I saw her eyes going through a quick assessment. My bag missing. I watched as her eyes hardened and he stalked forward.

"April, how convenient I got to run into you. Mrs. Ricter says that if you expect to graduate next semester, it's going to cost a lot more than last summer did at this rate. Teresa, I heard from Tommy that you have until tomorrow to return that dress you stole from the mall or they will be calling the cops, the agreement your parents worked out be damned." She looked at the 3rd girl with a look of pure digust but said nothing. Then her eyes fell on the fourth, the one who had just come out of the showers where she could now see my gym bag sitting on the floor.

I swear, she didn't even breath as she walk toward her. The girl started backing away, ending up in the showers herself. Amelia continued to stalk toward her and, while I couldn't see her face now, I imagined smoke billowing from her nostrils like a big momma dragon. The girl backed into a stall and Amelia reached out. The girl made herself smaller, shirking away from Amelia's hand. Amelia simply turned on the water and walked away.

On her way out she grabbed my bag and came back to me. While she was cornering their friend in the showers, the other 3 had left, barely able to maintain their composure and stop themselves from running from her.

"Come on. I'll tell Mrs. Frank that we have some work for yearbook that you are helping me with and we'll get out of here. You okay?" Amelia looked at me, worry in her eyes. I didn't want her to see it but a pair of tears rolled down my cheeks. More out of happiness that I had a friend like her than at anything those harpies had spat at me but I couldn't deny what they said had hurt.

She did as she said and Mrs. Frank didn't even question it. We walked out to her car, she tossed my wet bag into the trunk, not caring that it might get the carpeting back there soaked, and we headed to her place. Her parents wouldn't be home for another hour or so, and we could just veg out, watch some Steven Universe, eat way too much junk food, and completely ruin our appetites for dinner.

I love my best friend.

#original fiction #female protagonist #pen's tales

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