internet is all good but overall it is a used laptop

My kid does 13K in damage to studio equip, we handle it like lunatics.

[Part 1]

Some background:

I’m an audio engineer and score arranger full time in my self-owned business. It’s how I provide for myself, my fiancée (also CF), and my mother. I record, mix, and master for bands, voice-overs for local commercials, and write music for people’s weddings, college films, indie games, etc.. It was my passion since I was a child and every day I ask myself why I get paid to do what I do.

You know, until today.

I had a woman schedule to come in because she wanted me to record her monologue for an acting class. I thought it was going to be easy enough. I set up a mic and a music stand in the sound booth and got my workstation prepped for tracking. She was supposed to show up at 3:30, so when 4:00 came around, I called her to ask her if she was still coming. It was my last contract for the day and I was wanting to get home to my fiancée, dogs, and dinner.

“Oh, sorry sweetie, I’m going to be there soon. I just had to get my son from ex-boyfriend.”

Uh oh.

4:12, she showed up with her child.

To preface, I’ve never really wanted kids, and don’t really hate them either. But I’ve been childfree of mind for a decade now in league of several bad child experiences in public.

Anyway, I sat her down at the conference table and tried to talk to her about the contract and billing, etc., and just couldn’t because of the six-years-old pile of ovary droppings next to her.

“Mommy it’s cold in here.” “Mommy, I’m bored.” “Mommy, that guy has girl hair.” “Mommy, I want to play on the phone.”

The incessant whining went on for the entirety of the discussion. She did nothing about it. I had an ache in my stomach that this might be a rough session.

I was right.

I showed her to the sound booth, positioned the mic at face level, told her the basics of mic use, and then she floored me with a question.

“Can my son stay in there with you while I do this?” I insisted that he wait in the conference room (across the hall from the control room) because the control room wasn’t a very kid-friendly place considering the 120K of equipment at arms reach.

“But he’s a little angel.”

I shouldn’t have taken her word for it. I SHOULD NOT have taken her word for it. This kid was ANYTHING but. I let him in, told him to sit in one of the office chairs and don’t touch anything. Needless to say, he touched. I queued the recording arm and signaled her to start. She got three lines into her take before I hear a deafening screech and crash.

That little shit machine had just knocked over a $4,000 Korg into a rack with $9,500 of equipment. Completely shattered the touchscreen on the Korg, busted the dials off of half of the effects, and totaled my distressor that I use for almost all the vocals I track.

All of this, by the way, was the room’s length apart from where I told the crotch goblin to stay.

The kid, because of the loud noise, started full-lung screaming. Not crying. Not yelling. Screaming.

The mother, with no hesitation, ran over to the control room and DEMANDED to know what I did to her child. She cussed at me and accused me of hurting her little snot monster. Threatened to sue and even swung at me. When I told her that her precious angel had just racked up at least twelve grand of damages, she said “good”, spit on me, then stormed out, slamming every door on the way. So I pulled the security camera footage and had filed a police report. Grand total: $13,504.25. I also mailed her the bill for her session for good measure.

Of six years in the studio, this is my only truly terrible experience. Fuck mombies. Fuck having children. Thanks for making my vasectomy decision that much easier on me.

[Part 2]

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How I Overcame Reader’s Block (And So Can You!)

As a kid, I adored reading.  Okay, more specifically, I enjoyed reading about dragons, but that’s not the issue here.  

It frequently coincided with my equally as intense love of climbing trees, and some of my fondest memories involve being perched in a small tree and reading some hopelessly goofy, dragon-related literature while my mom and toddler siblings used the playground equipment.  If no climbable trees were available, I’d settle for reading under one and drinking a thermos of chocolate milk while they ran around in the park. 

As I got older, my tastes got a little more eclectic as I encountered Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Anne Shirley, the residents of Narnia and Middle Earth, respectively, and much to my mother’s horror, Stephen King, but my passion remained more or less the same.    

Bottom line is, I loved reading.  It was my paramount joy, my primary source of entertainment, and I didn’t think that would ever change.

So imagine my shock when, around my sophomore year of college at the age of seventeen, it occurred to me that I hadn’t really read for pleasure since I discovered the Hunger Games a year or two prior.  Moreover, and equally as horrifically, when I tried to read I found I couldn’t focus;  regardless of the quality of the story and how much I wanted to read it, the investment was gone.

Whether this was due to my first stint with organized education (prior to college, I was homeschooled) or the fact that I’d grown accustomed to the bite-sized chunks of candy-flavored, insubstantial information served up by the internet, the sad and simple fact was that I had fallen out of love with reading, and it looked like it was going to stay that way forever.   

Well, flash forward two-point-five years to Present-Day Brooksie, and since school got out in early May, I’ve read Chuck Palahniuk’s Make Something Up: Stories You Can’t Unread, Ruth Ware’s In a Dark, Dark Wood, Emma Straub’s The Vacationers, Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book, and Celeste Ng’s Everything I Never Told You.  Despite the disappointing lack of dragons, I loved all of them.    

I drink books like nectar again, if you’ll pardon the floral language, and everything from the quality of my writing to the quality of my life has improved as a result of it.  

So how did I fall back in love with reading?  Well, I’ve spent a lot of time pontificating on this, and as far as I can tell, it can be narrowed down to three factors:

1.  Reading every day.

It started with lunch.  Every day, when I’d sit down at my university cafe, I used to get out my laptop and watch YouTube or whatnot while I ate my sandwich – a cool idea in theory, but really sort of gross whenever I rubbed my greasy fingers on the mouse and keyboard. 

When I made a conscious decision to read more, I began taking out my book and reading during the lunch period instead.  It didn’t come naturally at first – I was easily distracted and kept zoning out – but I ultimately found it very pleasant, especially when I listened to some classical music in the background as well (nice for atmosphere, and for drowning out noise and distractions.)  

I kept doing it.  

When that summer rolled around, I rediscovered an amazing little outdoor cafe by the harbor.  It had no wifi, which for my purposes, was absolutely perfect.

I went there to read Good Omens and eat home baked lemon squares, pie, and banana bread, listening to international tourists speak in other languages, and watch the boats go by.  It was a beautiful environment, and that (coupled with the fact that Good Omens is just really fucking awesome) made it easier than ever for me to want to stay longer and become more engrossed in what I was reading.

Afterwards, I’d take out my notebook and work on my own stories and journal.  Overall, I’d say that summer was one of the most intellectually productive I’ve had.  

Once school started again, it got a little harder to read every day, but by then my love of reading had pretty much caught:  it had become an intellectual drug for me again, a source of comfort, pleasure, and inspiration.  Also, it was another viable excuse to procrastinate on my academic responsibilities, which was always welcome.  So I kept reading.  It was still a relatively slow process, as I had to work around my already busy schedule, but the more I read the more adept I became at drinking in the information in hungry, satisfying gulps (a bit more suggestive than I’d initially intended that metaphor to be, but I’m going to go with it.)

But this isn’t to say that there were no bumps in the road back to bibliophilia.  There was another factor that I had to grasp before I reached the point where I could unabashedly adore reading once again.

Which is: 

2.  Reading what excites me.

No, I’m not speaking sexually, you pervert.  I’m talking about books I actually want to read.  

When I first started trying to get back into literature, I started trying to read the classics exclusively, like Around the World in Eighty Days and Little Women.  Let me be clear, these books are amazing (excluding the jarring amounts of racism and endorsements of British colonialism in the former) but after semesters of reading similar works for my literature seminars, they just felt a little like…academia.  

In fact, the only reason I was insistent on reading classics exclusively, I now realize, was because I was a pretentious, pseudo intellectual little shit back in those days with a horrible case of impostor syndrome.  What I needed to re-learn was what dragon-loving, Ten-Year-Old Brooksie long since already knew: the best way to enjoy reading is to read what you actually enjoy.

It was a lesson I slowly but surely remastered, and it took me a while to realize that modern literature is teaming with smart, enriching reads, like Life of Pi, American Gods, Where’d You Go Bernadette, The Twelve Tribes of Hattie, The Help, Everything I Never Told You, and countless others.  

Moreover, these were books I didn’t have to force myself to read;  they were books I found myself reading at four AM because I didn’t want to stop.  

I’ve also discovered classics that I can eat up in a matter of days, like A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Which absolutely everyone should read, by the way:  Francie Nolan is a feminist icon, and way, way ahead of her time, not to mention it’s fucking hilarious and will make you cry like a little bitch), Jane Eyre, and basically anything written by Jane Austen.  I love these books for their sharp wit, applicable and timeless life observations, and striking lack of the pretentiousness that I’d come to associate with a lot of classic literature.

This summer, I my reading list includes Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse 5, Douglas Adams’ The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club, Louis Sachar’s Holes, Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See, and Neil Gaiman’s Anansi Boys.  I’m looking forward to reading each and every one of them. 

Ultimately, the point I’m trying to make here is that there’s no joy to be found in pretentiousness:  don’t read to prove yourself as an intellectual.  Read to enrich your soul, read what you legitimately enjoy, and read what inspires you.  

Which brings me to my next and final point…   

3.  Reading what inspires me.

This one might be true specifically for my fellow authors, but since I know a large portion of my followers are fellow authors, I think it’s applicable here.  

Ever since I was an infinitesimally small child, I’ve wanted to write stories.  When I was fourteen I wrote a hopelessly angsty YA novel about a half-dragon girl named Freedom and her misadventures with an ambiguously lesbian vampire and werewolf duo, a seductive and ambiguously bisexual elf (it was a time of self discovery for me), and a talking lion.  When I was eleven, I wrote a middle grade novel about a little boy who befriends a dragon.  When I was four, I wrote *ahem!* drew wordless stories about a winged wolf-creature named Starlight and his (in retrospect, overtly gory) battles with monsters.

It was bizarre, cringey, and I’m not gonna lie, pretty fucking awesome.  

Around the time I started college at around sixteen, I’d just decided I wanted to start writing again.  I had lots of ideas, and I remember in detail getting yelled at by my manager for scribbling in my notebook behind the counter instead of dutifully smiling at customers the way I was supposed to.  

But my writing was…well, to put it bluntly, it was really, really bad.  It only began to improve when I resolved to write every day.  It noticeably and drastically began to improve when I began to read works that I found creatively inspiring. 

While I was revising my manuscript, I read a lot of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, both masters of the kind of urban fantasy I was attempting to write,  and spent a lot of time figuring out what I loved most about their writing and how to best apply it.  This was also around the time I began reading Douglas Adams, which was, let me tell you, a magical experience.  It involved a lot of delighted gasping on my end and thinking you’re allowed to do that?

It really showed me what the barriers were for creative writing, or in this case, total lack thereof.

I think I owe these writers a lot for helping me to create several novel-length manuscripts I’m incredibly proud of, and one that I’m currently preparing to get published.

So in closing, for anyone suffering from reader’s block, feel free to try my approach:  read every day, read what you love and not to stoke your ego, and for my writer peeps, read what inspires you.

Either way, my books and I are enjoying a passionate long-term relationship, and every day I find myself loving them more.

An asshole roommate and "faulty" wifi.

It’s been a little bit since I posted some revenge, but I’ve reached far into my memory bank and remembered this little gem from my junior year of college. Like, A thieving roommate and a “haunted” xbox, this tale of revenge is similar in terms of exacting it with the use of technology.

I lived off-campus my junior year of college with two others. Roommate 1 was a jolly guy who had a good head on his shoulders. He was respectful, went to class, did his fair share of household chores, and was an overall pleasant human being and someone I still call a very good friend to this today. Roommate 2, well…where do I begin?

Roommate 2 was respectful to an extent, until becoming loud and aggressive with individuals he disagreed with. He never went to class, never cleaned (even though he was home 24/7), wasn’t really that pleasant, and is someone I’m glad I’ll never (hopefully) have to deal with again. I’d leave for class around 8am just to come back around 2pm to find him still asleep. Other times I’d come back and hear the blasts of lasers and the trademark swishing of a lightsaber which meant he was playing some online Star Wars game on his laptop all day. That fucking game. I don’t know why, but that piece of shit game made my blood boil. Maybe because it was old and his intensely focused enthusiasm on something so low-tech, insignificant, and underwhelming just pissed me off to no end.

The wretched stenches that permeated off of his body where vile and rank. He would go days without showering and the smells would linger like a bad case of syphilis mixed with space aids. He also had a fetish for interrupting me while I was busy studying just to ask stupid questions. He once asked me if the word “layer” as in “I baked a layer cake” was spelled the same way as “lair” as in “I’m Batman, look at my secret lair”. I could only put up with that for so long.

Lastly, he always stayed up late, since he never went to class, and would play that goddamn Star Wars game on full volume while screaming at the top of his lungs. Thankfully, my girlfriend at the time lived close by so I’d spend a few days a week there just so I wouldn’t have to deal with Roommate 2 and his antics. And yes, Roommate 1 and I had plenty reasonable talks with Roommate 2, but he didn’t care, even being at the ripe age of 26….

The straw the broke the camel’s back was when I had a BIG exam next morning for a class I was struggling in. My girlfriend was away at the time and Roommate 1 was at his girlfriend’s house. I had no choice but to bite the bullet and take the chance staying home and hoping for a good night’s sleep. I told Roommate 2 about my exam and to just be courteous while playing video games or whatever.

I lied down and fell asleep…

“Pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew pew!!!!!” “Swish vrom vrom vrooom vroom vrooom!” “COME ON…..FUCKING KILL HIM…..YES…HAHAHAHAHA!”

I was awoken just a mere hour into my slumber to him playing that fucking game. I texted the asshole and told him to keep it down. He said ok and I went to bed…..nope.

This pattern continued until I finally got up at 4am to talk to him. I said what I had to say, he returned some passive aggressive comments since my other roommate wasn’t home, and I just went back in my room and studied more seeing how I wasn’t going to bed at all.

The time came; I took the test and failed.  I got home to be met with the usual horrid stench, complete squalor, and the sound of that fucking game.

I’d had it.

After doing some snooping around I found the username and passcode for my house’s wifi router (Roommate 1 had them in his room). I grinned ear to ear as I soon realized what I was going to do.

After class the next day , I went right home, walked immediately into my room, logged into the router and waited for Star Wars dick to emerge. I was never more excited for him to play that fucking game. I kept refreshing the page until I saw his computer was connected. I waited 10 minutes….then….boop! Restricted his internet access just like that. No more Star Wars for him.

You should have seen this guy plug and unplug the router. He was frantic. He couldn’t figure out what went wrong. He asked if I had internet and I obviously said no “It must be a faulty router…”. After an hour of euphoric payback , I turned it back on because unlike him, I had some school work to do and didn’t want my revenge to negatively affect me.

But I wasn’t done there.

Guess what went off every night at 11 pm? Yup.

Guess what stayed off everyday until 2pm? Yup.

Guess what was off when I left to be with my girlfriend for a few days? Or home for the weekend? Or when I just felt like it…? Yup.

I let Roommate 1 in on the revenge. We’d take turns controlling the wifi so if one of us wasn’t around, the other could continue without a hitch.

Roommate 2, being the complete moron that he was, never thought to actually call the internet provider. Being the complete narcissistic and delusional bastard he was, he got his Star Wars fix by playing it in the campus library. Who would have thought? He actually went there for something. I’m not sure how the ACTUAL students felt about that though….

For the remainder of that year, Roommate 1 and I continued fucking with wifi and he hadn’t the slightest clue. In fact, that made living there more livable since his time spent off-line was time spent on cleaning up and being a responsible human being.

“Your eyes can deceive you. Don’t trust them.” – Obi-Wan Kenobi

Should have took his advice, dick.

TL;DR: Awful roommate kept me up the night before a huge exam by loudly playing his stupid video game. I failed the exam and exacted my revenge by fucking with the wifi/router for the remainder of the year.

The Start of Something New Chapter 5 (Jughead x Reader)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

In which important questions are asked.

After the Incident had blown over, it was almost like life actually was perfect.

(Y/N) slipped into the group seamlessly. Much to Jughead’s frustration, she had reverted to her quiet, yet polite self, too shy to open up to the others. He missed hearing her laugh, seeing her reactions, and knowing her thoughts. He found himself Feng Shui-ing everyone’s schedules so that there were times when the two had to be alone without them.

(Y/N) began helping out with the Blue and Gold, and made an excellent extra helper in the search for clues. This week, their focus was figuring out who in the town was embezzling money from the Riverdale School District, causing things in the school that the kids cherished dearly to be cut from the budget.

“The numbers just don’t add up,“ (Y/N) remarked after pulling up previous records of the budget that she had swiped from the office. “How can we have extra money for a new gymnasium one year and not enough money for chemistry class the next?“

“Could just be the economy,“ Kevin noted.

“Or it could just be Coach Clayton’s new sports car,“ she replied, pointedly looking at the shining case of football trophies in the hallway. “No one in Riverdale is that rich, not after the Blossoms.“

Archie and Veronica went to interrogate Chuck while (Y/N) went to her AP chemistry class. This left Jughead and Betty continuing research in the Blue and Gold office, alone for the first time since they’ve broken up.

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Top 40 Study Strategies

Time Management

  1. Start using a calendar, planner, or task list at the start of the semester
  2. Write down important dates for exams, assignments and other projects on a calendar
  3. Make a weekly or monthly schedule to get an overall picture of when you’ll be busiest and when you have free time
  4. Make a task list to keep track of things you need to do on a daily basis
  5. Although some people like to use lots of tools to manage their time, it’s not always necessary. Decide on one or two that will help you the most
  6. Use short breaks in your daily schedule (such as an hour between classes) wisely. Schedule appointments on campus, check email or Courselink, or review your class notes
  7. Break large tasks into smaller pieces that can be completed within a few hours (or even a few minutes)
  8. Procrastination happens, but don’t let it take over your life. Pay attention to what makes you procrastinate and try to avoid these triggers, especially during high stress times
  9. No one can - or wants to - study all the time! Plan your time to include doing things that you enjoy
  10. Be patient and flexible. If certain time management strategies don’t work for you, try a different strategy

Listening and Notetaking

  1. Go to class — there’s no substitute for the real thing
  2. Find out how you’ll be evaluated on the material from lectures. For example, are the lectures based on material from the textbook, or is the content entirely different?
  3. Come prepared to class by bringing printed copies of slides or lecture notes
  4. Do assigned readings before the lecture in order to participate in class discussion, better follow the lecture, and ask meaningful questions
  5. Disconnect your internet connection in class or leave your laptop at home
  6. Listen actively by comparing what you hear in the lecture to what you learned in the last lecture, what you read in the textbook, or what you see on the slides
  7. Concentrate to get the most out of the lectures. Sit where you can hear and see everything you need to
  8. Organize your notes after the lecture by identifying main topics and key terms, underlining or using different colours for important points, and making diagrams or concept maps to illustrate relationships
  9. Compare your notes with a study partner’s notes on a regular basis in order to fill in missing information and identify what you know and what’s unclear
  10. Review your notes on a weekly basis to prepare in advance for exams

Textbook Reading

  1. Find out how you’ll be evaluated on your knowledge of the readings. For example, do you need to know the textbook inside out? Or is the text a supplement to the lectures?
  2. Think carefully about reading strategies and techniques that will help you the most in each course. Skimming, scanning, and in-depth methods can all be good reading strategies, depending on the course
  3. Break long readings up into shorter, smaller chunks, depending on how long you can concentrate in that subject area. No one can read for hours at a time and remember details well
  4. Find a quiet, comfortable place to read. Your body associates your bed with sleeping, so it’s probably not the best place!
  5. Preview the reading by noting the subtitles and headings, looking at diagrams, and skimming through the introduction and summary
  6. Reflect on the content as you read and take notes. How is the reading connected to the course lectures? In what way does it connect to the main ideas in the course?
  7. Pay attention to your attention span. Take a quick break if you can’t remember what you just read
  8. Summarize and take notes in you own words to help you understand and retain information. Don’t rely on highlighting as your main method of note-taking
  9. If you tend to read the textbook after a lecture, review your lecture notes before you read, and don’t take additional notes on the material already well explained in your lecture notes
  10. Review the notes from your readings on a regular basis to keep them fresh in your memory

Exam Preparation

  1. Locate one or two good study places with few distractions or interruptions
  2. Review the course outline for information about what your professor expects you to learn in the course
  3. Review previous quizzes, assignments, papers, labs, etc. to pinpoint where you’ve had difficulty in the course. Make sure you understand that material since you may see it again in the next exam
  4. Learn by doing. Do practice questions based on old exams, or create and answer your own test questions
  5. Write practice exams under exam-like conditions (timed and with your books closed)
  6. Study in small chunks of time when possible. Two-hour blocks with a 15-minute break work well for many people
  7. Study with a group if that works for you, but choose study partners who have the same general level of knowledge of course material and commitment to the course
  8. Keep a regular schedule. Be sure to eat right, get enough sleep, and take time to exercise
  9. During the exam, focus on what you do know rather than what you wish you had spent more time studying. Don’t forget to breathe!
  10. After the exam is over, follow up. See the instructor or TA to find out how you can improve for next time

Takahiro is five years old when he meets his first friend.

He has messy black hair, a really chubby face, and caterpillars for eyebrows.

He made sure he told him so, and the boy looked affronted until he looked at Takahiro and saw his eyebrows. Or lack thereof.

“No wonder you want to be friends with me,” the boy told him. “You’re trying to take some of mine, aren’t you?”

“No, why would I want caterpillars on my face?”

“You’re just jealous,” the boy snickers. He grabs Takahiro’s hand and pumps it enthusiastically, telling him, “I’m Issei. What’s your name?”

“Takahiro.” He pulls his arm away and shakes feeling back into it, scowling at his new friend. “Why’d you shake my arm like that for?”

Issei shrugs. “Tou-san does it with some of his work friends sometimes. I thought it looked cool.”

“You’re supposed to bow in greeting to people.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”


They do everything together, school and homework and play, and Takahiro wonders why he never made friends before. Having a friend is fun.

His mother frowns a little every time he says he’s going out to play with Issei, but she doesn’t complain. She does ask him to have Issei over, but the other boy always makes excuses not to go.

Takahiro wonders why, but that’s put out of mind the moment they start playing.

He wishes time would last forever, because Issei is the bestest friend ever, and he doesn’t want to stop playing.


The year he enters middle school, Issei disappears.

Takahiro never found out where he moved to.

(Did he really move though? Why didn’t he tell Takahiro? How could he just disappear?)

He was sad for a long time, and wrote him long letters that he never sends, because where would he send it to?

The letters go in a box under his bed, getting fuller and fuller until one day, he stops writing them.

He misses him, sometimes, but then he dreams, and remembers.


Hanamaki is twelve when he meets Oikawa.

He’s shy and quiet, and keeps playing with his hair nervously. Even after Hanamaki makes him laugh a few times, his hands don’t stop fidgeting, and finally, he is curious enough to ask why.

“I want to play,” he whispers. He lifts his eyes to meet Hanamaki’s, fingers curling and uncurling. “But Iwa-chan moved away and now no one will play with me.”

Hanamaki shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t ask, but Oikawa looks so sad and vulnerable–

“What do you want to play?”

Oikawa takes a small, shaky breath. “Have you heard of volleyball?”

Hanamaki hasn’t, but he’s curious, and when he prods Oikawa for answers, the boy’s eyes light up and the words start pouring out.

Hanamaki half regrets letting him talk now.

“–and then there are setters, and they push the ball up, high up for the spikers to hit them! Iwa-chan–” His words falter, and Hanamaki looks at him curiously, but he presses on, voice only a little muffled, “Iwa-chan was a spiker. But now he’s gone, and no one will hit my tosses anymore.”

Hanamaki shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he doesn’t want to see his new friend sad.

“I could hit your uh, tosses?”

Oikawa perks up, eyes bright. “Would you?”

“I– I mean I guess I could, but I don’t really know how to play–”

“I’ll teach you.” Oikawa tells him firmly. “You’ll never be like Iwa-chan, because no one can be like Iwa-chan, but I’ll teach you, and we’ll be the best in Japan!”

Hanamaki is a bit taken aback.

(Just a bit.)

(Okay, a lot.)

“Shouldn’t you aim for something a little easier?”

“That is easy.” Oikawa cocks his head at him. “We’ll practice lots, and we’ll be the best there is.”

He grins suddenly, grabbing his hand and twining their pinkies together. “I promise we’ll make it to the top together.”

Hanamaki should answer to that promise, but his mind is latched on to something else.

“What about Iwa-chan?”

Oikawa’s face falls, and his fingers tighten. “He broke our promise, so he doesn’t matter anymore.”

A deep breath, a hardening of his eyes.

“I’m making a new promise with you, Makki, so just accept me, okay?”

“…alright.” Hanamaki wonders why he accepts his defeat so easily.

“Wait, ‘Makki’?”


They don’t make it to the top.

Not in their first year, or their second, or their third.

By the time they part for high school, they don’t really talk anymore.


Hanamaki is sixteen when he joins the volleyball team, and meets Iwaizumi.

He’s short, but hits a mean spike, quick and powerful.

Hanamaki decides he likes him.

After their first practice, he approaches him, but it is he who speaks first.

“Have you played with someone called Oikawa before?”

Hanamaki startles, because how did he know?

Iwaizumi laughs at his shock. “We used to play together. Your play style reminds me of how I’d hit his tosses. They were so easy to hit.”

“They are.” He shocks himself by speaking up. “He was the one who taught me volleyball.”

Iwaizumi looks amused. “Funny, he did that to me too. Does he still give people weird nicknames?”

“I think they’re cute.”

“You’re nuts.”

Hanamaki thinks he must be, with the next words that fall out of his mouth.

“Well, Iwa-chan, that’s your loss.”

Iwaizumi’s face distorts into one of horror, and promptly throws a volleyball at him. Hanamaki catches it with ease, smiling to himself at the answered question.

It’s not hard to be his friend after that.

Hanamaki wonders if he’ll be able to keep this one friend.

Third time’s the charm, right?


No. Not really.

They’re friends, but not close outside of the court, and by the time they graduate and Hanamaki chooses a university far, far away, they don’t speak anymore.

He wonders what it is about himself that makes him keep losing friends.


College is a bore most days, but his roommate is quiet and nice, and though his words are too harsh sometimes, he knows he doesn’t mean to be malicious.

It hurts, though.

“Ushijima, please. I’m trying to be cordial here.”

“And I do not see the issue. Why do you not talk to your classmates if you want to befriend them?” His face is as impassive as ever, though his brows are slightly furrowed in confusion.

Hanamaki hesitates. “I– I’m not good at making friends.”

“You are on good terms with your classmates.”

“Being on good terms does not mean they are friends!” He takes a deep breath, exhales it slowly. “I haven’t had a single friend stick with me for long. Issei, Oikawa, Iwaizumi – they’re all gone.

Ushijima’s frown deepens a little. “I do not recognise any of those names.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to,” he tells him archly. “Oikawa’s a pretty good setter though, surely you’ve played against him before?”

Ushijima gives him a weird look. “I do not recall facing an Oikawa on court before.”

Now Hanamaki’s getting mad, because fine, even if he had lost contact with Oikawa years before, he’s still an awesome setter and he respects his skill and dedication. “Come on, Ushijima, you’re not that dense–”

“But I have truly never faced Oikawa on court before. I remember strong opponents. I was in Shiratorizawa,” Ushijima reminds, as though Hanamaki could forget that fact.

“I know, geez! Alright, here, why don’t I google him for you, and we’ll see if it rings any bells.”

He grabs his laptop, and Ushijima seats himself on the bed next to him, patiently waiting as Hanamaki throws Oikawa’s name into the search browser.

Hanamaki scans the search results, puzzled when he sees nothing. That’s odd.

He tries again, this time with the added word of volleyball, and the search churns out results with a name now, but with nothing he expects.

He gapes, while Ushijima peers over his shoulder and makes a mild sound of surprise. “Oh. Oikawa.”

Ushijima moves Hanamaki’s limp hand away, and  clicks on the first result.

Hanamaki stares, eyes reading, but not comprehending what he sees.

Promising Teen Severely Injured In Match

Oikawa Tooru (captain, setter) of Kitagawa Daiichi was taken out of the third match of the preliminary matches today, after collapsing on the court. Paramedics were called to the scene, and while it is unconfirmed what injury he has sustained, it is apparent that he will not be continuing the rest of the season.

UPDATE: Oikawa’s right knee appears to have been dislocated, and all supporting ligaments are torn. His overall condition seems to be poor, and it is unknown if he will recover.

Ushijima sighs, breaking him from his stupor. “I remember him now. He was a good setter. If he had taken care of himself better, he would have been a good asset to Shiratorizawa.”

Hanamaki whirls on him and snaps, “It’s not all about Shiratorizawa! Oikawa was injured, and I didn’t know?” His voice breaks towards the end, and he looks at his screen woefully. “How did I not know?”

“You were on the team with him?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Then there should be a picture somewhere.”

Hanamaki wants to scream at him but then his words register. “You’re right.”

They trawl through the internet, finally finding one of Kitagawa Daiichi when Oikawa was still on the team. Hanamaki scans it eagerly, but while Oikawa is there, he doesn’t see himself in the picture.

“You’re not in the picture.”

“I noticed, thanks, Ushijima.”

“Perhaps you were absent on that day?”

“No. I’m never absent, I never miss practice.” The words ring hollowly in the room, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

But where is he in the picture?

He doesn’t realise he’s trembling until Ushijima puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hanamaki, perhaps you were imagining it. There is no evidence of you being on the volleyball team.”

“No, that’s not possible. I have to be. I was. I know I was. I was on the team in high school too.”

“Perhaps we should search for your high school team?”

Hanamaki is already there, Aoba Jousai Volleyball Club typed into the search bar and pictures pulled up. But as he scans each picture, he still doesn’t find himself, still doesn’t spot the pink tinge of his hair in any photo.

“Hanamaki, do you recall any teammates from your time at high school?”

Teammates, teammates.


Ushijima makes a surprised sound. “I know him. He is a strong player.”

“He is. But where am I in this photo?!”

He isn’t.

“You aren’t.” Ushijima says, prying his hands off the laptop and shutting its cover with a click. “Would you come with me for a moment?”

“To where? For what?”

He isn’t panicking, no, he isn’t. So his breathing is a little fast, but he can slow it down – in, one two three, out, one two three, in–

“To the gym. Shall we practice some drills?”

Yes, okay, volleyball sounds like a good idea right now.

He gets up and follows Ushijima.


The gym is curiously empty when they get there, and Hanamaki realises he forgot his volleyball shoes. Ushijima waves it off, setting his phone and water bottle on the bench. “We will not be here for long. If it is alright with you, I asked a friend of mine to come along.”

“What? Who?”

Ushijima regards him for a second, then shakes his head. “You would not know him. But he is a setter and can help us with spiking drills.”

Hanamaki nods, and they begin their drills.

After the tenth ball that he has failed to receive, Hanamaki’s nails dig into his palms in frustration. Surely it hadn’t been that long since he last played?

Ushijima regards him carefully, then tosses him the ball.

(He pretends he didn’t fumble as he caught it.)

“Sorry for the intrusion.”

He turns to see a light-haired guy (with dyed tips?) finish putting on his shoes and walk over to them. He greets Ushijima softly, then raises his hand in a half-wave. “Nice to meet you. I’m Semi.”

Hanamaki vaguely remembers him. “Shiratorizawa’s pinch server?”

Semi nods. “I’ll set for you guys in a minute, let me get warmed up.”

He leaves to run laps, and Ushijima gestures for Hanamaki to throw the ball.

He receives it perfectly, and Hanamaki can almost return the ball this time.

By the time Semi returns, he can receive the balls decently if they fall near him, but anything too far off and he scrambles to get it. Hanamaki takes a short break, cursing to himself as he drinks. He still can’t fathom why his skills are suddenly so bad.

Ushijima gets to spike first, the ball set in a perfectly high arc that gives him ample time to jump. Their lone ball rolls to a stop by Hanamaki’s feet when Ushijima passes it back to him, and Semi eyes him expectantly as he tosses the ball towards him.

He runs and jumps, but the ball flies over his head.

“You jumped too early.”

“I know,” he grits out, retrieving the ball and moving back to the court. “One more.”

He jumps too close to the net the second time. His fingers scrape past the ball on the third. He touches the ball on the fourth, but it hits the net.

Hanamaki’s fingernails would be drawing blood by now, if only they weren’t so short.

He sees Ushijima and Semi speaking in low tones as he retrieves the ball, and sincerely hopes they aren’t judging him too badly for suddenly being a complete amateur.

By the time he returns, Semi looks grim, and even stoic Ushijima looks a little discomfited. Hanamaki stops and frowns at them. “What?”

Semi sighs. “Hanamaki-san. You say you started playing volleyball in middle school, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, as it stands, your skills are on par with someone who just started playing volleyball.” The setter’s eyes are confused, his mouth set in a deep frown. “Neither Wakatoshi nor I remember seeing you on any court at all. We have also played Aoba Jousai multiple times for us to know if you were on the team. Are you certain you have been playing volleyball for so long?”

“Of course!” Hanamaki insists. Of course.

He remembers everything – the hectic practices, the feel of receiving a ball, the satisfying heft of the ball in his hand right before he smashes it. He remembers the sweat dripping down, the squeak of shoes on the wood floor, the faces of his teammates after they lost.

But the longer he looks at Ushijima’s mildly worried face and Semi’s frustrated one, the further the memories go from him, fading and slipping through his fingers like water.

But… Weren’t they real?

Oikawa and Iwaizumi were real. They are real. It happened. All of it had to have happened.

An idea begins to form, little tendrils weaving themselves together.

They’ll remember me. They should remember me.

He turns away and picks up his phone, scrolling through his contacts. He hears a frustrated conversation behind him, but ignores it, fingers growing panicked as he doesn’t find the names he’s looking for.

Iwaizumi? Oikawa? No, no, no. Not it, not it, not it.

Where are their names?


A phone is held out to him, a call already in progress. He looks up, connecting the phone to the face.

Ushijima sighs and presses the phone to his ear. “Speak to him.”

Hanamaki hesitantly places his hand over Ushijima’s to steady the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello? Who am I speaking to?”

“Iwaizumi?” That’s his voice, right? It is? It’s Iwaizumi?

“I think that’s my name, not yours. Who are you?”

“I’m Hanamaki.” Don’t you remember me?

“Sorry, Hanamaki-san, why are you looking for me? I don’t recall ever meeting you before?”

Hanamaki feels Ushijima’s fingers tighten, and realise his hand has grown limp. He adjusts his grip, fingers squeezing the other’s desperately. “We were on the volleyball team together?”

“I don’t think so? I’m very sorry, Hanamaki-san. I wish I could help, but I have really never met you before.”

“I’m– Um, sorry. For. Um. Wasting your time.” Hanamaki feels lightheaded.

“That’s all right. I’m sorry I couldn’t help. I hope you’ll have a good day.”

The line clicks off, and Hanamaki peels his hand and face away, panic tearing through his chest.

He doesn’t remember me? But we spoke, I know we have, I have talked to him before…

Haven’t I?

Haven’t I?

“Hanamaki, breathe.”

“Maybe we should ask his parents about this?”

About what?

There’s nothing wrong with me.

He realises he’s in a ball on the floor, curled up and panting into his hands. There’s light murmuring above him, but he pays it no mind, not until there’s a hand on his back and his phone in front of him.

“It’s your mother.”

“Kaa-san?” His voice is a croak – but why? He hasn’t been screaming, he hasn’t been crying – oh, is he crying?

“Takahiro,” she sighs. “What have you gotten into now?”

“I didn’t do anything!” He protests, but then bites on his lip, because what if that had been it? That he hadn’t done anything?

“Hanamaki-san,” Semi begins – Hanamaki wonders why he’s still here, it’s not his problem, after all – “Does, um, Hanamaki-kun have any medical conditions?”

“No?” She sounds confused, and Hanamaki breathes a sigh of relief. “Is he panicking or anything?”

“He seems to recall untrue memories,” Ushijima puts in. “It is very confusing for us.”

There’s a long silence, before Hanamaki’s mother sighs deeply. “Oh. Yes. I recall that.”

“Would it be too much to pry? Hanamaki-kun isn’t exactly, uh, responsive, and we want to help him.”

I’m right here, is what he wants to say, but he doesn’t, his mouth is glued shut and his memories are vivid leaves falling away in an autumn breeze.

(Help him? He doesn’t need help. He’s fine. Just fine.)

“No, no. It’s fine. Takahiro just isn’t good at making friends, so he makes up his own friendships. I’m surprised to have real people talking to me over the phone. It’s definitely a first.”

Makes up…friendships?

No. No no no no no.

His friendship with Issei and Oikawa and Iwaizumi had been real – they’d talked and laughed and played together–  

Hadn’t they?

I’m sorry, Hanamaki-san.

Um, who are you?

You’re weird, go away!

Turning backs, noses scrunched up in disgust, figures getting smaller as they walk away.


Eep, it’s the weirdo again!

Run, run!

Hands slapping and punching, bodies slamming into him before running away.

No one will ever be your friend!

Go away and leave us alone!

Takahiro, did you make any friends today?

His head hung, a deep blush on his cheeks. A shake for no.

A sigh, a hand tousling his hair.

You’ll make friends tomorrow.

A nod, his fists clenched as he follows her.

The next day, the same.

Did you make any friends today?

A shake, a hand running through his hair, a barely concealed look of disappointment.

Day after day after day.

She looks so tired of asking.

Takahiro, did you make any friends today?

A lie, a falsehood, a bitter curl of his tongue.


His name is Issei.

Bright shining memories, glistening and dripping like snow. Too bright, too vivid, almost unreal.

Running around the neighbourhood with Issei.

Spiking with Oikawa.

Taking on InterHigh with Iwaizumi.

They melt away as soon as he touches them – fragile, brittle, but strangely caustic for something that shouldn’t exist.

He thinks he feels someone shaking him, thinks he hears a voice – but the world is dark now.

Everything is so dark in comparison to those bright, shining, stardrops.

Aro and Gianna were sitting side by side at one of the antique tables in the library of Volterra. Deep underground and filled with books, scrolls, and any number of other items, it was rarely used by any of the guard, who overall did not have much interest in intellectual pursuits. In fact, electricity had only been added a few short decades ago, and many of the volumes had not been touched since Carlisle’s time in Volterra. Dear Carlisle had loved the library.

A laptop sat on the desk along with a wireless mouse. The touch pad had proved all but useless to vampires, given that it was sensitive to temperature, so the mouse was a more suitable alternative. The computer had been delivered a few hours ago, and Gianna had spent the last hour or so setting it up and explaining start-up procedures to Aro. 

“Dear Gianna I believe I have mastered turning the contraption on. Let us move on to something more interesting.”

“Right. Well, I guess we should start with e-mail. Whatever you’re going to do on the internet, you’re probably going to need an e-mail address for it.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hi! I really like your comic and your style and I was wondering: do you have any tips for people like me who would like to make their own comics? I've tried before but I never seemed to reach the 5th page without giving up.

Hiya! I have a few tips. I’m not trained or anything these are just some of my personal methods. it might not even work for you since everyone is different but it might help? They’re not really in a particular order either haha. 

1.) Like what you’re making. This one is kind of obvious but really if you’re not completely invested in the story you’re making it’ll fall flat due to a lack of interest. Make your comic about things you like! Not like fleeting things like actual things you’ve enjoyed for awhile generally. Like spooky things, or cute things for example.

2.) Make alot of rough drafts. All at once. Flesh out an entire chapter really roughly. I mean real rough. like gesture drawing rough that takes like fifteen minutes or less a page. I’ll make about seventeen rough draft pages at once, simmer about it for a few days, and then go back to add more if im satisfied OR i’ll redo the chapter entirely. If you have a whole chapter roughed out it’ll be easier to work on it later because its already there for you. 

3.)double back to check the pacing. Sometimes its weird in the rough drafts so you gotta throw some panels around or add an extra page. if it feels a bit off leave it and the come back a few hours or days later. youll find it out pretty quick after a break. 

4.)dont be afraid to fix mistakes. If something looks weird or clashes with the page when you’re still doing lineart, go back to the roughdraft layer and fix it. zoom in and out of the page and check to make sure the drawing isnt tilted oddly or disproportional. i myself have issues with proportion so im constantly fixing bits and pieces using cntrl+T haha. It’ll save you trouble if you do it early instead of later when all the layers are in the way. 

This next one is a little bit counterproductive to #4 but its for after the page is done.

5.) accept mistakes. You’re making alot of art for one page. you’ll notice looking back on finished pages that theres gonna be a lower quality over it bc of sheer quantity, but you’ll fall into a rhythm and realize you’re making a steady incline in quality overall if you keep moving forward. once you declare that a page is done, leave it.

6.) just do it. Youre gonna be afraid to start, wondering how its going to be received, wondering if its good enough. You have to shove the anxiety down as violently you can and draw it as if you’re your only audience. Do it for yourself, because you know that you’ll improve your skill and even yourself by making it. 

7.) keep your files organized. I label every page for recovery as RECOVERY and then a number–for example, RECOVERY2.17 is for recovery chapter two page seventeen. your files, if placed alphabetically, will all be in a row for an easy browse. keep it all in their own place for easy finding. 

8.) make a palette and references. Consistency is IMPORTANT. I drew Will a few times to get a feel for him before i started the comic, and used the eyedropper tool repeatedly so the colors were consistent in the comic. (I didn’t do the same for the pine twins and it shows if you go through the comic a bit fast lol) The palette doesnt have to be fancy, just make sure you know what everything is for. Also make sure you know your kerning and leading settings so the panels are consistent as well.  (mine is below!) make a checklist if you need to for the math stuff, i use the stickies app on my laptop for a checklist of things to make sure to add before i say im done–like shading, for example, that for some reason i always forget. Also the font type, gen font size, details like tattoos and quirks. 

9.) HAVE FUN. Inject some humor into your drawing to keep yourself entertained when you work–for example, i label my layers in puns and quips. the skin layer is usually called “skiiiiiiiiin” and copies are usually called “___ 2: electric boogaloo”. when i made homestuck drawings id label them with a character quirk instead haha. Also its good to listen to podcasts or music when you work. I listen to music, The Adventure Zone, Welcome to Night Vale, Game Grumps or The Yogscast when i’m working. Audiobooks are also a good idea! Have it in a playlist so you dont have to stop drawing to change it.

10.) Don’t let yourself get distracted, but take breaks when you need them. Food and hydration as well as bathroom breaks are v important. You cant survive to draw if you dont eat, and keep in mind that being dehydrated gives you headaches and messes with workflow. eat that food. dont die. not eating messes with your psyche–youre more likely to be depressed/make it worse/stope working if you dont eat so do that shit. keep some snacks and a waterbottle handy. also lower the caffeine shakes are good for some styles but not others lmfao. 

also: avoid tumblr when working. give yourself a set time/timelimit to work. you’ll realize that once you start its easier to keep rolling but you cant be interrupted or itll be harder to get back to in the middle when scrolling the many delightful distractions of the internet. be brisk in your breaks. 

11.) i have depression so this is especially important–REMEMBER TO TAKE YOUR MEDS IF YOU HAVE ANY.  p self explanatory. i go through withdrawals if i dont and get the worst migraines so i mean keep on top of that shit. 

12.)Uh hhhh thats all i got OH WAIT reward yourself for finishing pages. Be it a treat or a nice bubble bath or some videogame time. Whatever you want. just reward yourself for working. even if its work you weren’t entirely satisfied with, have something to look forward to when you finish, and tell yourself you did well because you just did a fuckton of work. BE PROUD <3

(also some people say to tell other people about what youre doing so theyll check up on you to make sure youre working but?? i kind of feel like im being nagged if thats the case so that just depends on you lol. )

anonymous asked:

I'm going to college in a few months and I was wondering if you have any tips?

mostly under the cut because I tend to ramble

1. Plan. Plan. Plan.
It doesn’t matter if you’re taking electrical engineering or you’re taking underwater basket weaving. The college deadlines are eventually going to catch up with you, so as soon as you read the syllabus and you have time, input the syllabus into a deadline or calendar system so you can plan accordingly. I highly recommend using Google Keep for multiple reasons: it syncs with Google calendars, it’s pretty organized and gives your notifications, and has the ability to do part two.

2. Make a checklist
Make a checklist for what you have to do each day, week, month, and semester. It’ll keep track of your goals and what you have planned, and you get the satisfaction of checking off whatever you accomplish. The other reason I highly recommend using Google Keep is because you can make checklists with deadlines. I find that this and number three saved my last semester.

3. Physically writing deadlines
As an engineering and pre-med student, I find that both putting my deadlines with a notification system in my phone and planning out the day by physically writing them reduces my anxiety of how and when am I going to finish assignments. I recently started using the studyblr technique, which I think really works for me because it gets me looking forward to planning out my week and gives me a break with doodling/drawing and just generally giving me a much needed breather. I stumbled across studyblr through @studytildawn which is honestly an inspiration for so many of my spreads. You can track a lot of things through here, such as budget and water/food intake, so it’s an amazing support and organizational tool that you custom-make for yourself. Here’s one of mine from earlier this week:

4. Budget
Keep in mind how much you have to spend per month. If anything, overestimate your food and grocery budget so you have room for error. Budgeting is important in college, especially if you’re strapped for cash. Consider your income or scholarship and loan money, and then understand the main things you have to buy each month to survive. If you have money left over, save most of it and spend on wants. For example, my current budget per month is $100, and I live in the dorms, so my meal plan cost is included in my overall cost of living. There is a market on campus that takes my dining money for stuff like laundry detergent and the like. However, there are some restaurants and stuff right off campus that I would have to pay for, and I like to buy fruit off-campus because it’s better and lasts longer. I usually spend about $60 for food groceries and other necessary expenditures per month, $30 for off-campus food in restaurants, and I keep $10 as a buffer and to spend for something I like, such as gel pens. 

(more under the cut)

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Jikook where jimin is a lead singer in punk band and jungkook is a big fan ;---)

If all else fails, wear something embarrassing enough to catch his attention, scream his name, and hope for the best.

Jeon Jungkook’s Holy Rule Trio to get Your Favorite Band Member To Notice You

  1. Stalk the shit out of your favorite celebrity on the internet until you know all their schedules on their down days and you casually ‘bump into them’ and proceed on how to contain all your feels afterwards.
  2. Use all the money you have saved for college to get a backstage pass to one of their concerts, completely disregarding the fact that you will be an awkward fish when you meet the object of your affection in person.
  3. Be the first to yell on all their social media till they have no option but to notice.

But when it came to Park Jimin, things were not that simple.

“What is it now, Kookie? I’m in the middle of a movie marathon with Yoongi hyung.”

Jungkook sighs from the other end of the phone. “Tae, we need to figure out how to get Jimin to notice my existence as a human being and potential husband he will have four children with in the next four years.”

“I thought you said you have the Holy Rule Trio thing to help you out,” Taehyung says. He can’t for the life of him understand Jungkook’s obsession with that random underground performer Park Jimin.

Jungkook groaned into the speaker. “How can I stalk them if they don’t have any damn fan sites? They don’t even have ‘concerts’ I can get passes to. They perform whenever the local stages are free. Plus, they have no personal social media for me to stalk, so I’m basically a goner,” Jungkook grunts, flopping on his seat in front on the laptop. 

The many struggles of being in love with a guy who was yet to acknowledge you was new territory in Jungkook’s eyes.

“He’s in an underground band, Tae. They’re virtually internet unknown.”

Taehyung shrugs. “What do you want me to do about it? You called me to whine? Yoongi hyung is going to -”

“They’re performing underground tonight in-,” Jungkook glances at his watch. “Forty eight minutes. And I need you to help me get noticed.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, well aware Jungkook can’t see.

“Bye, Jungkook.”

There is a silence on the other end of the phone, and Taehyung knows Jungkook is probably pouting and likely to give Taehyung the silent treatment for a week if he actually did hang up now.

Alright fine, but you owe me like, a billion friendship points, Kookie,” is all he says but he grins because Jeon Jungkook in love was a first and Taehyung wouldn’t miss it for the world.


Everything about Park Jimin sets Jungkook on fire.

The underground scene was easily not popular, about fifty faces in the crowd, half of whom Jungkook had learnt to recognize, thanks to the fact that he came here so often for the sake of working up the courage to talk to a certain Park Jimin.

Jimin was on the shorter side, easily shorter than Jungkook at the very least. His dark bangs cover half his face, about eighty wrist bands on each arm, singing passionately to a small crowd of people that actually dug the underground scene like Jungkook did, extremely dark, thick eyeliner on his face that added to his overall punk rock aura.

Jungkook is head over heels for the boy that sang like an angel and looked like death and Jungkook is mesmerized.

It’s always too soon when the performance ends and Jimin says a polite ‘thank you for coming out’ into the mike with that shy smile that hurts all of Jungkook’s insides. He’s still in a daze when the people start dispersing around him and he’s so transfixed at where Park Jimin was standing on stage, it takes him a second to realize the figure of the actual Park Jimin advancing towards him.

“Shit, oh my god, it can’t be -”

“I remember you,” are the first words Jimin says and Jungkook yelps, frantically looking over his shoulder to give way to the person Jimin was actually addressing. Because Park Jimin couldn’t possibly remember Jungkook. No bloody way.

“M-me?” Jungkook squeaks pathetically after the realization dawns on him that yes, Park freaking Jimin was talking to Jungkook by choice. Jimin grins and Jungkook nearly has a seizure.

“Yeah. You’re one of the only people who comes out to every one of our shows,” he says and Jungkook blushes and looks at his shoes because of course, this was the moment he chose to forget what words were.

Jimin leans into Jungkook’s ear and Jungkook’s breath hitches.

“But do you really have to wear that? The guys won’t stop making fun of me,” Jimin whispers, jerking a thumb at the band and Jungkook glances down at what Taehyung had got him to wear after much convincing.

PARK JIMIN’S NUMBER ONE FAN’ was spelt over Jungkook’s once plain white tee in red marker along with flaming red pants and a flashy snap back to match. Jungkook would be the first to admit that he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something like this, let alone in public, but Taehyung had assured him there was ‘no way Jimin could miss you if he were drunk and blinded in one eye’.

Jungkook couldn’t complain. It had worked, after all.

“I, uh,” Jungkook mumbles out over the wolf whistles of Jimin’s band members from the background as Jimin hushes them by flipping them off.

“Look, I’ll make you a deal. Lose the sappy shirt and we’ve got ourselves a date. Think of it as an exchange,” Jimin says, ticking his finger between the two of them. Jungkook almost falls backwards. It takes every ounce of his dignity not to, and to reply with any semblance of a straight face.

“A date?” Jimin gives him one clear nod, wiggling his eyebrows. Jungkook struggles to maintain composure over the growing euphoria in his chest.

“But you seriously remember me?” Jungkook asks at last, trying not to sound to hopeful. The band members at the back toss cheers every once in a while as they pack of their equipment. Jimin snorts.

“You’re way too hot for your own good, you know,” Jimin says, huffing. “It’s kind of hard to forget a face like yours.”

Jungkook considers getting that tattooed on his forehead.

Jungkook probably should trash this shirt now anyway, he thinks, walking on air with Jimin’s number in his back pocket. ‘Number 1 Fan’ might change to ‘Boyfriend’ and he’ll be damned if Jungkook isn’t willing to make that change personally.


Jeon Jungkook’s (New & Improved) Rules to get Your Favorite Band Member To Notice You

  1. Stalk the shit out of your favorite celebrity on the internet until you know all their schedules on their down days and you casually ‘bump into them’ and proceed on how to contain all your feels afterwards.
  2. Use all the money you have saved for college to get a backstage pass to one of their concerts, completely disregarding the fact that you will be an awkward fish when you meet the object of your affection in person.
  3. Be the first to yell on all their social media till they have no option but to notice.
  4. If all else fails, wear something embarrassing enough to catch his attention, yell like crazy in the crowd, and hope for the best.

PS. Try not to faint when Jimin kisses you on your first date. Or become Taehyung’s slave for helping you go out with the guy you worship. Optional clauses, of course.

redlance  asked:

*waves hand* ooh, oooooh!!! Pick me, pick meeee!!! Prompt: in which one of them asks the other "Netflix and chill?", having entirely misunderstood the meaning behind the phrase. The other agrees anyway.

Beca considered herself relatively “in the know” about most things. 

For Christ’s sake, she practically lived in the E! News headquarters, considering the only light reading available in the house was either some new edition of a hundred year old Russian lit book or a tabloid magazine, and Beca felt like the equivalent of Orwell’s Big Brother was the constant stream of the Kardashians playing over the television. 

So, all in all, she considered herself, at the very least, aware of trends, slang, and lingo. 

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anonymous asked:

AU Bellarke where Bellamy cooks breakfast for Clarke please!!

Ohai, anon! Thank you for your prompt and sorry that it took me a while <3 I hope you like it ^^


Clarke stretched her limbs as the last remains of her sleep left her. Her hand searched for the warm body that belonged to her lover but she encountered only cold sheets.

She frowned. It was Saturday morning and they usually spend it in bed, lazing around, cuddling and talking nonsense until well past noon. It was unlike Bellamy to be up before her.

Clarke opened her eyes and surveyed the room – no sign of Bellamy but the door was slightly ajar and she could hear sounds coming from the kitchen. She wrinkled her nose as she forced her unresponsive body in a sitting position, the white sheets pooling in her lap in the process.

Her feet touched the cold floor as she reached to grab something to wear. And if that ended to be one of Bellamy’s shirts, well, it wasn’t like he would mind. Quite the opposite in fact.

She only stopped by the bathroom to brush her teeth and put some order in her tangled blond hair.

The smell of coffee in the hallway was unmistakable. That and pancakes. Her stomach grumbled in approval.

When she reached the kitchen she couldn’t help but smile – the whole place was a mess.

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Peter/Stiles snippet [Free to Good Home]

Shortly after Stiles turns eighteen, he moves in with Peter. He does this for a lot of reasons, most of which he does not think about, ever. Of those he does think about, the two most important are as follows:

Firstly, Stiles doesn’t trust Peter as far as his ridiculously fragile human body could throw him. There is just something about the older man that practically screams ‘I’m plotting something!’ Peter plays his altruistic creepy uncle act a little too well, though, and nobody else really believes the man is a danger anymore. Stiles knows better. Even if he did not, he is suspicious and paranoid enough to want a guard on Peter at all times. Since everyone else falls into one of two categories – wanting Peter dead, and believing he is firmly on their side – Stiles volunteers himself to play guard-dog, even if he is the only one who knows about it.

Secondly, Peter is a walking encyclopedia of supernatural knowledge and – unlike Deaton – is actually willing to share said knowledge. Stiles has lost count of the number of nights he has passed out on Peter’s couch after a research session only to wake up the next morning in Peter’s guest room to the divine smell of pancakes and bacon. It just seems simpler to just move in.

He spends all of a week puttering around his childhood home on his own, surrounded by memories and silence before he makes his decision. He sells it to Scott and Derek both as a matter of safety: since both Melissa and his dad had moved in with Chris (and Stiles so does not want to know what those three get up to, even if he is happy that his dad finally has someone else in his life), living on his own is not exactly a smart thing, regardless of the barriers, wards, and circle of mountain ash he has surrounding the house. After all, it is not only the supernatural nasties that he has to worry about attacking him – hunters seem to think he makes a pretty decent punching bag as well. And Stiles knows that Peter may not be exactly the best company, but the older man is always there - even when he’s not supposed to be - and he has displayed a willingness to protect Stiles when needed.

Regardless, Stiles moving in with Peter starts a veritable shit-storm of protests all across the board. Everyone who has ever met Peter – an old middle-school teacher even crawls out of the woodwork for Christ’s sake – gives their pointed opinions and general advice, all of which adds up to the simple message of: don’t. And Stiles gets their unease with the situation, he really, truly does. Even if one does not consider the age difference between Peter and Stiles or the fact that there really is nothing going on between them (although, yes, he is self-aware enough to know that the UST is pretty bad between them), there is still the fact that Peter is not exactly all there, mentally, and Stiles….well. Stiles just gets a little more practical and ruthless with each new ‘big bad’ that roles into town.

Some people, such as his father, worry that Peter will drag him down. Stiles doesn’t have the heart to tell them that his temper has been hair-trigger ever since he’d seen Heather lying cold and still and irretrievably dead, and so far it has only been a matter of luck and quick thinking that’s kept him from completely loosing it. He’s drowning, has been drowning for far longer than anyone could really guess, floundering beneath the dark waters of his hatred, rage, and general sense of helplessness. And Stiles knows that his growing viciousness is born of the ugly desire to drag someone else down with him.

It is one of the reasons he really, truly wants to move in with Peter. Peter can’t be dragged down into those dark depths - he lives there already, at peace with who he is and what he is capable of, and the older man guards those depths ferociously, pushing Stiles up and back from the edge of too far time and time again. Peter helps keep Stiles sane, as odd as that may sound, but Stiles doesn’t say anything about it.

So, despite what everyone says, he moves in. He quickly discovers that living with Peter is a lot like what Stiles imagines living with a spectacularly neurotic house-cat might be like. He wouldn’t know for sure, of course, because he has never owned a cat, or any other pet for that matter. But he has read the internet memes, and he has heard the horror stories. He has an idea of what it might be like.

In the first week of their cohabitation, Peter makes a point of scent-marking him so thoroughly Stiles is on his cell pleading with Deucalion to explain to the obviously demented former-alpha the difference between ‘scent-marking’ and ‘Bad-Touch’ while Peter rumbles and growls and generally feels Stiles up. (And smiles afterwards, the ass-hat, all smug satisfaction and eerie delight, like Stiles wouldn’t dare do or say anything. He does, because he clearly has no survival instincts. Peter retaliates by scent-marking him again. Stiles threatens to put wolfsbane in his tea. Peter uses teeth. Stiles …well, Stiles gets a new kink – not that he intends to let Peter know about it any time soon.)

It takes promptly two weeks of entirely inappropriate sexual innuendo, gradually deepening v-necks, and enough Bad Touch to send his father into conniptions before Stiles finally snaps and jumps the man.

The sex is amazing.

The clinginess? Not so much. If Stiles had thought Peter touchy-feely before they started fucking, that previous example holds nothing to how Peter disregards any and all attempts Stiles makes to get some personal space. Peter is constantly all over him, possessive as only psychotic former-alphas back from the dead can be. Stiles constantly wakes up sweating and completely smothered by Peter, because at some point during the course of the night, Peter will abruptly decide that Stiles makes a much better bed than the mattress with the sheets that cost more than Stiles’ laptop, conveniently ignoring weight and overall strength differences.

Stiles’ attempts to dislodge Peter?

The first few times he got claws, irritable growls, and death-threats. Which, actually, is par for the course. But ever since Stiles finally broke down and (internally) admitted that he and Peter were a little more involved than just ‘fuck buddies’ and consequently re-introduces Peter Hale to the unholy trifecta that is Chris/Melissa/John – which, for the record, had been awkward as hell – Peter’s become a bit of a cuddle-freak. (And how sad is it that this is his life when he thinks death-threats are more welcoming then snuggles?)

Now, Stiles has nothing against cuddles in general, especially after a mind-blowing round of really, really good sex. But Peter is not satisfied with post-coital cuddles. Oh, no. Peter, like most horrid cats, demands attention. Constantly. God forbid Stiles focus on anything else. It is almost a game to Stiles now, to see how long he can do something before he has a possessive werewolf all over him, draped over the back of his chair nuzzling the back of his neck as he insists that Stiles “keep working on … whatever that is. I’ll just…be right here.” Which is, admittedly, much better than when Peter decides Stiles’ lap looks inviting and just plops down like he is not a 235 pound mass of solid muscle.

(Stiles had once tried to take his personal cat metaphor to the next level – the next time Peter dropped into his lap, he started to pet the older man’s hair. He had nearly lost his hand on the attempt. Apparently, unless Peter is fucking him through whatever flat surface they make it to, the hair is to remain untouched. That lesson is only variably reinforced, because the thing is: sometimes Peter does want to be petted. Also: Stiles is kind of an asshole, and does what he wants regardless of Peter’s whims. Which means he is constantly flirting with the option of being eviscerated. Or at least glared at. Thankfully, Peter has nothing on Derek in the glaring department. Stiles thinks it is the eyebrows. Derek has an entire communication system going on with his.)

But the absolute worst aspect is when Peter is in a good mood.

See, Peter in general is this giant sasstastical asshole who honestly does not have any fucks to give about who does or does not like him. Peter in general tends to sass everyone within hearing distance, and has made an art form out of giving off expert rapey-creeper vibes as he does it. He also is very much that creepy guy who will lurk in random dark corners and stare unrepentantly with this really, really weird smile on his face, just because he can. And one might think that after experiencing the giant creeper that is Derek Hale on a daily basis for just over two years, he would be used to werewolves lingering in dark corners just to pop out of fucking nowhere to give poor, defenseless humans premature heart attacks. One would think so, but one would be wrong.

But Peter in a good mood? Sweet baby Jesus, hold onto your manger. The last time Peter was in a good mood his usual bullshit led to a prank war that lasted about a year and only ended when Team!Parental staged an intervention. Apparently no one appreciated Stiles stealing Allison’s and Deaton’s stashes of wolfsbane shortly before the next big bad came dropping by. Stiles maintains it went to a good cause. (By ‘cause’ he means Peter’s closet. Really, he was doing everyone a favor because no one needs to worry about either Stiles or Peter causing trouble when Stiles is too busy jumping Peter all the time because Peter has no clothes and has no shame about walking around their apartment stark naked.)

So. This was supposed to be a full story, but…well to be honest, I kinda lost interest in it. It’s been sitting on my flashdrive for about 3 months now, and it’s not going to get anymore done.

If anyone wants to add to this or finish it or snipe a couple of paragraphs for one of their own fics, feel free. Just link me if you do, k?