The first time Ezra’s phone rang and the unknown phone number flashed across his screen, he didn’t answer.
The second time it rang, he thought about answering, but let it go to voicemail.
When it rang a third time, in rapid succession, he excused himself from the queue at the coffee shop. Reaching out for Nicole’s arm with an apologetic look on his face, he handed her his wallet, then ducked into a quieter space down the hall. It was extremely early in the morning, and though it seemed like the airport terminal should have been deserted, there were plenty of people walking around. The phone was still buzzing in his hand, and as he lifted it to his ear, sliding his thumb across the lock screen, he kept an eye on Nicole through the glass storefront.
“Hello?” he said, his voice rough, detached, and a little bit irritated. He was sure that whoever was calling had to have the wrong number.
From the other side of the glass, Ezra watched Nicole turn in search for him; she was almost to the counter, but it didn’t look like she wanted to continue to stand in line alone. He raised a hand to her and she nodded back, still hesitant.
“Yes,” Ezra said, his attitude changing just slightly. The voice was familiar, but paired with the unknown number, he was having trouble placing it. “Who is this?”
[Image is a nine-panel comic. Two stick-figure girls are talking. The first says, “You’re always talking about how hard life is for you, but come on–it must be really nice to not have to go to work or school.” The other girl, shocked and slightly embarrassed by this, replies, “Um, actually, no–and that’s a really offensive and insensitive comment. And…it kind of makes me feel bad…” The first girl says, “Oh, you’re just being too sensitive! You know what they say–‘Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can’t hurt you!’” The fourth panel zooms out and we see that the girls are at a table with a book in front of the second girl. She says “Hmmmmmmm,” squinting at the first girl. She squints down at her book. “Mmmmmm…” She squints back at the first girl. “Mmmmmmm–” In the seventh panel, she picks up the book and THWAP! Nails the first girl right in the face. In the next panel, the second girl is yelling under the table, “What do you say to THAT, Susan?” From under the table, the first girl (aka Susan) replies with nothing more than a feeble, “Ow.”]
The second chapter of the fic that was part 2/9 ofCloud’s Birthday Week 2k16 this summer. It’s late in coming… but I’m extremely happy with this and I hope you all love it too!! <3
A shapeshifting alien crashes his spaceship in the fields of Cloud’s farm. He calls himself Sephiroth and claims to have crashed while investigating an ‘anomaly’ somewhere on Gaia. A human, even if he’s still recovering from loss and not feeling like a hero, teams up with a Jenovian not only for his sake, but also his planet’s. pairing: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
a/n: smut was supposed to be endgame but it didn’t seem quite right so i removed it ,, don’t kill me and i hope this meets or exceeds the expectations of whoever requested it !
The plush material of Kendall’s comforter kisses your bruising feet, the pain subsiding significantly at the touch. The culprits are sitting haphazardly by the entryway, Louboutin‘s trademark red soles peeking at the bottom. Chantel’s drunken steps, made heavy by the alcohol, can be heard outside the bedroom door, her voice muffled by the phone she keeps pressing to her mouth, thinking the proximity will increase volume to her voice and aid her in the ongoing screaming match with her good-for-nothing ex-boyfriend.
“She’s so loud,” Hailey groans, reaching beneath you to grab two small embroidered pillows. “I can barely hear myself think!” Directing her words toward the door, she presses the pillows to her ears, the depiction of a spoiled child on the verge of a tantrum so spot on, she must have some practice under her belt.
Kendall, the sole one in the group who can somehow hold her liquor, despite her thinner frame, has her phone angled above her, head tilted to the side, lips jutting out. You thank the Gods above she’s far too inebriated to be selfless and include anyone else in her Snapchat stories, because though you haven’t glanced at your reflection since your departure from the club (that was a half hour ago), the thick strands of hair matted to your forehead and the heaviness of your eyelashes hint you’re in need of a touch-up. Pronto.
This is late but I’m out of town unexpectedly so I won’t get the time to work on these submissions that I thought I would. I’m still planning on doing them all (or most) but they’ll all be late lol. Hope you guys enjoy this ❀.(*´◡`*)❀.
I sometimes wonder if the fuckton of psycho/physiological distress has made you the writer that you are today or if you could write so beautiful even despite of it. I wouldn't wish that on anyone but your transparency on the matter and your writing acknowledging so many ill aspects of our lifes and how to maybe deal with them is balm and food for the soul! It certainly has helped me a lot. I wish for the scales to always tip for the better days for you, thank you Pia!
I…think about this all the time, anon. Though your message had me thinking about it a bit more over the weekend (I would’ve responded sooner, but I had no idea what to say). <3
The thing is, I never planned to be a writer or an artist. Not like, as my main professions. I always wanted to be a scientist or to lecture media at university like any good media studies wanker graduate. But because of health, and mental health stuff, I have sort of been concertedly blocked from almost everything I’ve wanted to do on a professional level. Which has been very frustrating and…difficult. Glen says I’m a type A personality not allowed to live a type A life.
Ending up with art and writing - I have loved both, I do love both, but sometimes I have days where I stare out of a window and am aware how much of it is contextual and situational. How much of it is circumstance, and not ‘my childhood dream.’ (Whatever, dreams change, sometimes it’s good that they do). Glen calls me a fiercely independent person and I think most people who know me, know that I’d be happiest being financially independent and mobile, but I’m unable to drive, and I’m unable to be financially independent, and…writing and art both give me a measure of like…self-agency, but I work too hard at both a lot of the time to sort of carve a niche for myself where I feel like I’m working. Ultimately, I have used what I love to harm myself for not being able to do more.
I wish that was uncommon for people with chronic illness or chronic trauma, but apparently a lot of us do that to ourselves. It sucks. I’ve never met a chronically ill person who was like ‘yeah I love being able to do hardly anything it’s such a relaxed lifestyle’ (like the government kind of wants you to believe of people on disability welfare as I am).
So I think about…I think about who I’d be without all that distress, and what I’d write (if I’d even be a writer) and I always think you know, I wouldn’t be this person, I wouldn’t be writing this stuff, I wouldn’t be all of these things. I’d certainly not be writing trauma recovery stories as a central theme. I’d be so unrecognisable to myself. It’s such a weird thing to contemplate? But you can’t help it either.
But then on the other hand, I’m also tremendously grateful that I can reach out to people with this stuff, that I can share it, that there is a space for the things I write and even its heaviness or angst. That I’m not alone with it (which is on the one hand sucky, too many people are suffering basically - but on the other hand, means we’re *not alone with it*), and so on. Do I wish things were different? Sure. But being able to write what I do for people like yourself make things as they are now a whole hell of a lot easier to deal with and live with at times.
I’m so…fortunate, so grateful, that I can turn some of it into stories that resonate with all kinds of people, regardless of their life experiences. Sure, it’s not content for everyone, or even most people, but for those of us in this weird blanket fort that is Fae Tales and SAL and TGA and everything else, it’s like…you know sometimes it’s not a bad place to retreat to when life is hard. :)
I wish the scales to tip to better days for you as well, anon. <3 Thank you!
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Today I’ll be working on adding some more scenarios to the series, so stay tuned!