who are you and what have you done with the real starry

10

Sketchy Behavior | Hellen Jo 

Never afraid to speak and/or draw her mind, Los Angeles based artist and illustrator, Hellen Jo and her characters can be described as rough, vulgar, tough, jaded, powerful, bratty and bad-ass - AKA her own brand of femininity. Known for her comic Jin & Jam, and her work as an illustrator and storyboard artist for shows such as Steven Universe and Regular Show, Hellen’s rebellious, and sometimes grotesque artwork and illustrations are redefining Asian American women and women of color in comics. In fact, that’s why Hellen Jo was a must-interviewee for our latest Sketchy Behavior where we talk to her about her love of comics and zines, her antiheroines, and redefining what Asian American women identity is or can be; and what her ultimate dream project realized would be.  

Keep reading

How to become a good student (again) 3: Yearn for friendship - not worship; not debasement

Hello, fellow ex-good student!

‘tis done! This beast just got longer and longer, so I decided to cut it down a bit for the sake of readability. But let me know if there’s something that was too vague - the nuance might have got lost in the editing process.

Alright, let’s get down to business (to defeat! The Huns!)! So, if you’re an ex-good student, I’m pretty sure that you know this static in your head, right? Whenever you really need to do something but you just can’t get up and do it, so you keep procrastinating even though you hate it and keep scrolling and scrolling or gaming and gaming and feel more and more guilty?

Well, it might not be the most immediate analogy, but for this post I want you to consider that what connects you and your subject of study is essentially a relationship and that this static is (among other things) an indicator of how screwed up your relationship is. Just like with real people, your relationships with subjects can either

  • prosper and bear fruit (me & Creative Writing)
  • become cold and distant (me & French)
  • or, worst of all, turn sour and actively harmful. (me & PE, back in school)

Now, nobody likes to hear that they’re relationship-ing wrong. And it is true that different approaches work for different people. But here are the counter-productive relationships that I’ve personally ended up in and I’m gonna show you how I got into and out of them, so you can try to do the same. Maybe it’ll help you lift that static from your head.

Side-Note: Always remember that, since your subjects are just that (subjects), and not real people, you are the only one who can actually mend these relationships and, conversely, you are the one who screwed them up in the first place (probably with good intentions, though).

So, we’ll take them in this order:

1) Overeager Debasement

2) Undereager Debasement

3) Worship


(Oh, and in case you wanna catch up:

Masterpost 

Part 1

Part 2)


1) Overeager Debasement

What is it?

The desire to do everything, perfectly, at the same time, right now. Not to limit yourself to just one field of study, but to master them all, to reign supreme above knowledge, to keep your mind wide open to new possibilities, similarities and contradictions.
You overvalue your own capacities and undervalue the needs and difficulties of your subject.
(also refer to the first post for this)

How did you get here?

(read picture from right to left)

So. Many. Possible. Reasons.

  • it’s a cage. The idea of doing just one thing for the rest of your life scares you and you feel imprisoned at the thought of it
  • you know that you could be outstanding if you applied yourself
  • you know that you could be even more outstanding if you became accomplished in multiple fields
  • you want to find connections between fields nobody’s ever considered before
  • you feel like you’ve wasted your last few years and need to catch up to others
  • you’re afraid that you’re not good enough
  • you’re afraid of being ignorant
  • you’re arrogant

No matter the reason (I’ve gone through them all), people caught in this state of mind shovel more and more onto their plate.
And then wonder why they can’t swallow it all.

What do you think you’re doing?

A labour of love, most likely. You think you love languages and sciences and athletics and programming and cooking and hanging out with friends and being alone and so you just want to do it all!
You don’t want to limit yourself! You don’t want to lose any time! But there’s just so much and you have so little energy and ugh, if only I wasn’t destined for greatness, then I could relax like other little people, but no, I need to keep pushing! In every! Direction! At the same! Time!

I know your delusion. I’ve been there. You imagine yourself to be that one perfect friend who gets up at 6am, watches the sun rise, does yoga, eats a healthy breakfast, goes for a quick run, comes back home, answers all correspondence, is artistic for a few hours, then scientific for a few hours, then social for a few hours and ends the day with tiny masterpieces in each area, goes out with friends or family to grab a healthy dinner and goes to sleep, happy and balanced :)

Well, you know what, my starry-eyed friend?

What are you actually doing?

You’re the mental equivalent of a social butterfly.
You’re being fucking disrespectful.

You’re always on the run and never able to really commit to anything, because you’ve already scheduled something else afterwards. You’re shallow, deluded, that one friend that always comes in running, screaming “Besties  ~ ♥” and everyone shifts uncomfortably in their seats and smiles a painful smile and humours you, because they know you mean well, but they also know that you know nothing about them. 
You’ve never been there for them ever, but always expect them to be there for you. Whenever they want to talk about themselves, you nod and then proceed to about yourself and your plans and “ohmygosh, this is so nice, we need to meet more often ~ ♥ “. But at least you mean well, so they’ve agreed to keep it simple and on the “The weather is nice today”-level with you. 

But here you are, wondering why you’re not making any progress.
Mysterious.

So what do I do?

Well, you need to go from this:

To this:

How? More on that below.


2) Undereager Debasement

What is it?

This stage is what happens when you notice that your lofty ideals from Overeager Debasement cannot be fulfilled. You turn bitter, hateful, cold. You think you’re a failure, you think you were too soft. Instead of wanting to be friends with everyone, you now want to rule over everyone, fuck what they want.

You’re burnt out. You’re done. You just want to get through these stupid classes and catch a goddamn break, goddamnit.

And you WILL get through. You’re too proud to do anything else. But you don’t really care about any of it.
You just want to make it.

How did you get here?

If you were a good student, you probably heard at some point or another that you were “different” and that your complex and mysterious ways were not understandable and definitely not achievable for your average classmate.

Most people who tell you this mean well. A few want to make fun of you, but most actually do mean it as a compliment. But they don’t know how dangerous it is to hear it again and again, because regardless of whether it’s true or not, you start to believe it.
You start to believe that somehow, you have a higher calling, a higher standard. And you start to long for that day when your high standards will be met - when you will go to that one mysterious class where everyone is just as eager as you are, where the “Oh, captain, my captain!”-teacher will spark a fire in your brain that will never go out and when your ominous “gifts” can finally be put to good use for the prosperous future of mankind.


And you work.

And work.

And the class never comes.

You feel the weight on your shoulders when teachers talk of “high expectations”, you feel it crush you a little bit every time your friends tease you about your genuine fear that you might not get an A, that you might lose it all, that your “gifts” could disappear and you’ll be stranded and useless and you put in the hours, you work your ass off to keep that high standard, all in the hope of having that one miraculous class that never comes.

I realized that that class would never come when I entered university.

University, I’d told myself, would be my Arcadia, my Eden, my academic paradise where all my hard work would be rewarded!
Instead, I only found more drudgery, more incompetent professors, more disinterested students and even more bureacracy. To say that I was “disappointed” would be putting it very lightly.

I became disoriented and disenchanted. I realized that I could get through most classes with half-assed effort, I was hardly ever challenged, I floated along and hated every second of it. I blamed my boring teachers, the imperfect system, the teachers who had given me hope only for me to watch it crash and go up in flames.

What do you think you’re doing?

Being badass, cool and detached, most likely.

You dream of yourself as a master and your subjects as slaves. They bow to your will, they dance to your tune, you command them with the snap of a finger.

“Look, you slave of the system”, you say, lying on a velvet sofa, “Look, at how it hardly takes any effort for me to pass these classes! Look at how I spend my time doing things I actually like and that are actually worth it, unlike these stupidly easy classes taught by stupidly incompetent professors in a stupidly screwed-up system! Look at me, being edgy and drowning in self-hatred because I can physically feel myself gliding off the rails that made me so “special” and becoming one of the average people in the masses, haha. Ha. Ha. Screw academia, but still give me good grades, amirite?”

I know your delusion. I’ve been there. You imagine yourself to be that one perfect friend that never studies for classes, comes for three lectures per semester and still manages to get perfect grades because everything you do in school is, like, so five years ago. That one friend who has read all the classics in their spare time, has conquered and enslaved all the knowledge actually worth knowing, will quote obscure Polish philosophers you’ve never heard of and plays the piano with a perfect pitch. They’re the wisest, most culture-non-conforming people you know - they’ve been up until 5am, wandering the streets and drinking vodka from a bottle while forcefully pentrating the mysteries of the universe all by themselves until they finally fall asleep on a park bench and awake with an epiphany about Klein bottles.
They’re “special”.

What are you actually doing?

Caring more about appearing “special” than actually trying to be “special”, that’s what you’re doing.

But, look, what made you so “special” and “different” in the first place was not a “calling” or “gifts” or the fact that you wrote good grades and were destined for greatness.

Here’s a handy chart I’ll use later - you were lucky enough to fall into the green zone, lucky enough to be born with an innate respect and a love for learning. That’s what made you “special”. That’s what made you succeed. Not pressure, not warped ideals and certainly not the fear of failure.


But somewhere along the way you forgot that and only focussed on the results. You started to believe yourself to be so special that everybody else should cater to you.
The fancy titles, the awe-struck looks, the “You’re so amazing”s and the “The genius of a decade”, the planned Nobel prize speech and the prestige, the dream others had lovingly created for you and you had slowly absorbed and warped as your own? It got to you. Hell, it got to me.
And it became more important than learning itself.
Somewhere along the way, you and I, we became an arrogant and lazy assholes.

You looked down on your easy courses and homework and instead of recognising how lucky you are, doing it in a minute and a half and then putting in the extra work on top to dig deeper and to maybe contribute something of value and fun, you threw it aside with a snide remark as beneath you.
Of course it wasn’t fun. Of course it wasn’t challenging. You never even tried to make it either.

(And don’t get me wrong: I honestly do think that the education system as it is right now needs MAJOR reforms. But right now? It is what it is. And instead of making the best of it and doing what you once loved so much, you succumbed to societal pressures you found yourself unable to fulfill and said “meh”.
You cared so much about the fame and the title that the relationship itself didn’t matter.)

But this isn’t the master-slave relationship you imagine it to be.
It’s a trophy-friendship. Once upon a time, you got on really well with this person and other people loved your friendship. You fell in love with the ideal, with their connections, their money, their prestige, their name on a CV, and you stuck around just for that.
You valiantly ignore the reality of the state of things between you two
and take them out only when absolutely needed, only when things are this close to falling apart and so you keep walking a fine, fine line.
Whenever a deadline approaches, you shower them with attention and love and, gingerly, they open up to you and you see a depth and complexity to them that astounds you and makes you think “Imagine! Imagine how much more I could have seen if only I’d started earlier?”
But the moment the crisis has passed, you toss them aside once again.

Because this is enough to make your name.
You may not remember much about these nights or about the person at all, but the only thing that counts is that it will fulfill your “special” prophecy and make you a legend, right?

Well, always remember this:
(read picture from right to left)

You’re not “special” if you made it to university. You’re not “special” if you’ve made your name. 
It comes down to a simple choice: do you value appearances over integrity or the other way round? Do you dare to look like a fumbling idiot again when you start something new? Is the “appearing like an idiot”-part more important to you than the “learning/creating something new”-part? 
Have a think about it.

3) Worship

“Alright”, you’ll say, “Alright. I get it. So I’ll treat my “friends”/subjects with respect and integrity and I’ll take all the time and concentration I can bestow upon them, just as I would upon real friends. But do you want me to be like, uh - like…

What is it?

“…like one of those anime characters that lives only for their dream and gets up at like 6am, does the thing, talks about the thing, breathes the thing, goes to bed, dreams of the thing and then wakes up at 6am to do the thing?”

(Google: Did you mean Hinata Shouyou?

Yes, yes, I did, google.)

Well, no, I don’t want you to do that. See, that’s the other extreme and unless you’re an anime character, chances are that it won’t work out for you. 

How did you get here?

Personally, I was caught in this trap for a loooooong time. Anime offered me a new way of relating to my passions that neither my family nor my school had ever shown me: unabashed obsession.
I wanted to be perfect. I wanted to be obsessed. I wanted to give myself up to a higher ideal, something above human consciousness, something that would endure. I wanted to, well, get up at 6am, do the thing, talk about the thing, breathe the thing and so on - “the thing” in question being, of course, studying. I made elaborate plans, complicated lists, study-plans that shift on a daily basis and cover all grounds, I wanted to study for two hours before school, wanted to repeat lessons, wanted to give myself up to knowledge, made cool covers for my notebooks, made mock exams for my friends to use, planned to focus on each continent for a month and study it, planned to listen to one new composer each day, planned to go to the museum every week, planned to analyze Sherlock Holmes and think just like him, planned to - you get the idea.

I wanted to be like this:

What do you think you’re doing?

Being but a humble servant to the eternal workings of truth. Knowing thou art unworthy, yet suffering the perfection of study.

I wanted to go from 0 to 100, I wanted knowledge and wisdom to transform and deliver me, I wanted to feel enlightened, I wanted to feel my brain burning, pushing frontiers and breaking through to new horizons, I wanted to elevate myself to touch even the lowest levels of truth.
I wanted to do something noble, something worthwhile, something that could never be critisized and would always be valued, something with eternal meaning that would echo through the ages and I wanted to be even the tiniest cog in the machinery of mind.

What are you actually doing?

Being, quite simply, an idiot.

This is one of my favourite quotes (David Wong):

“There are two ways to dehumanize someone: by dismissing them, and by idolizing them.” 

The same goes for studying. As shown above, studying won’t work out if you do not treat your subjects with respect. Conversely, studying also won’t work if you continue to idolize it as work beyond all work and reproach, as the only true calling, as the realm of the genii and by self-flagellating yourself and repeating “I’m but a humble servant in your kingdom of reason and will never reach where you are, but will spend all my time trying to reach you.” 

Why? Because by saying “I’ll never reach you or be worthy of you”, you’ve already sealed your fate. Some students (no matter how well they actually perform) are stuck thinking that they are stupid and incapable of doing well. Others think that the trick is in the preparation and they undergo complicated rituals of finding exactly the right study spot, exactly the right study drink, exactly the right study time, etc. in the hope of channeling the connection between their godly subject and themselves, but it never turns out quite as glamorous as they’d hoped (once again, speaking from experience).

This is because you cannot force a true friendship if you think yourself unworthy of it. It will always be worship. 

And why are you worshipping?
Because it takes the pressure right off of you
. This always annoyed me about some of my fellow students. They treated becoming a good student as this miraculous and unlikely event that only happens to the #blessed.
I insisted that “no”, it could be done. “Yes”, it was hard work, but ultimately absolutely doable. But now that I’ve been in their shoes? I understand.
Admitting that you could have done it anytime implies failure on your part for not having done it. By saying “Oh no, it is so very complex and divine and a lowly worm like me could never hope to crawl in its shadows”, you shift the focus away from yourself and onto the thing itself. 

But this is a synthetic, manufactured relationship with a partner that does not even exist. It is, at its heart, a kyaa  ~ I hope senpai notices me! (๑♡⌓♡๑) - kind of relationship. It’s idolizing not a person’s true character, but their appearance, their aesthetic and the values that they represent for you. It’s not really listening to what they’re saying, but warping their words so they fit into your perfect idea of them.
Just, unlike with undereage debasement, you do not play pretend that everything’s fine and secretly hate the other person deep down - you honestly idolize them to heaven and back, so you could never possible reach them.
You’re using them to fill in the holes in your own personality.

And that … just isn’t fun? I dunno about you, but treating studying as something that must be done perfectly with exactly the right pen and the perfect face-mask after the right smoothie and in the right lighting by a window overgrown with ivy and with perfect concentration from the first moment and unwavering, knightly passion and exact planning from 6am to bedtime all because I know deep down that I will not be able to fulfill these ideals and thus don’t have to feel bad about not reaching them just … isn’t for me. I don’t like my relationships to be all overstructured and “perfect” and high maintenance like that.

I want my friendships and my studying to be authentic. And that means that sometimes it’s messy and sometimes it’s hard and sometimes it’s quoting Keats while lying on the floor at 2am in the morning and chugging milk out of a carton, but it’s real.
I truly do understand this longing to make studying look pretty and like a magical realm, because when you’re in the flow that’s really what it feels like. But the beauty comes along with the practice, not the other way round.

No, but honestly - what do I DO then?


Y’remember Hippogriffs from Harry Potter? That’s how I imagine my subjects. Approach them carefully, honestly, maintaining eye contact and as equals and they will respect you. This scene:

This scene is what I’m talking about. 
If you were in a worship-state, you would only admire them from afar, gushing over how beautiful they are, but sad that they would never deign to even look in your general direction. (think of all the subjects you thought would be way too difficult for you)
If you were in a debasement-state, you’d either try to make friends with all the hippogriffs, hopping from one to the other and forming no bond with either or you’d “tsk” disdainfully and try to force them to obey you against their will. (*cough* Malfoy *cough*)

If, however, you’re in the green, there will be mutual respect between you and you will be able to fly.

So what does it mean to be in the green? 
It means not to do any of the above, obviously, so 

  • take your time for and invest brainpower into each and every one of your subjects - be a good friend. Be there. Listen. Even if they have crazy ideas at 4am in the morning. 
  • appreciate your subjects and know that they are more than the teacher who tries to get you to know them. Sometimes, some people just have a really shitty PR department (especially maths)
  • don’t think too much or too little of yourself. You can do amazing things, but that does not give you the license not to do amazing things anymore, rest on your laurels and expect others to applaud you for it. 

  • some relationships take longer than others to build, but getting to understand someone who puzzled you from the first moment and challenged your beliefs will improve your own personality as well
    (side-eye at PE. Yes, I love you now, you crazy athletic bastard)
  • do it for the sake of the relationship itself, because you enjoy their company. Results are presents which, although very much appreciated, should not be the main motivator to keep you going.
    This essentially means that you should think of studying as hanging out with a friend - already makes it seem so much more inviting and way less daunting, does it not?

    (Logic and I, being saltmates. Real friends judge other people together)
  • be aware that all friendships go through rocky patches and some subjects might take a while to warm up to you or you to them. But if you think that it’s worth it, then you gotta power through that. If you don’t think it’s worth it, you gotta be brave enough to say good-bye. 


Look, what I’m actually saying is … be Souma Yukihira from Food Wars.

Food Wars is a crazy and at times pretty pervy manga/anime, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t also one of the best pieces of fiction I’ve ever consumed and if Souma isn’t one of the most admirable main characters I’ve ever encountered.  

The relationship between him and cooking is filled with trust, love and equality. He trusts his cooking skills, because he knows that they have spent a long time together - cooking won’t let him down and he won’t ever let cooking down by stopping to look for ways to improve.

That doesn’t mean, however, that he’s always deadly serious - he loves to play around with cooking and to try ridiculous new things. He never forgets the joy that even the simplest form of cooking brings him. 

There’s one great episode where he puts his life as a chef on the line and someone fearfully asks him what he’d do if he lost. He shrugs and says he could become a lawyer or a teacher or something. So while he loves cooking profoundly, he does not worship it and he knows that there are other relationships he could build up if he had to. He just …doesn’t want to, because cooking is his bff. 

He loves to take on challenges to see how far he and cooking have come -

- and he takes challenges very seriously -


- but takes it even more seriously if he loses -

- and nonetheless knows that they are stronger for the challenges they have faced together. 

So, yes, this is what it means to be in the green. Cherish your friendships, hang out together, be honest, funny, clever, curious and you. 

You’ll be surprised at how much fun the two of you will have, now that all the pretensions and pressures are gone. 

Just …hang out and have fun.

(and maybe watch Food Wars!, because damn, Souma is the MVP of my inspirational heroes)

Have a great day and I’ll see you in the next (and hopefully shorter) part 4 :)

The Green-Eyed Monster (Jughead x Reader)

Imagine: When your fellow Serpent and rising trainee, Jughead, asks you to help him make Betty jealous.

A/N: Just some fun before the final installment of “Speak Now”! Thought it would be interesting to go back to a Dark!Reader.

Listen To: “Strip That Down”, Liam Payne, Quavo


You were counting the day’s earnings in your office when you heard a light knock on your door.

“Come in, Jones,” you called without turning away from your work. The kid had knocked on your door enough times for you to recognize its timbre.

The tall, lanky boy clad in his trademark beanie and Serpent’s jacket entered the room, leaning on a filing cabinet as he was often apt to do.

“What do you need?” You asked, swiveling to face him. He smirked. You hated that smirk. It was the perfect combination of rebellious and charming, and it made working with him difficult.

“It’s kind of weird…” Jughead started, looking up at you through his eyelashes in that way that made you want to wring his throat because he was so cute.

“Try me,” you said, deadpan.

“There’s a party tonight… do you want to go with me?”

Your eyes widened, a blush growing on your face. “Jughead, I didn’t know–”

“–it would be strictly as friends, don’t worry,” Jughead said with a frown, cutting you off.

Your expression fell into your typical resting bitch face. “Oh. What’s this sudden interest in getting to know your superiors?”

Jughead averted his eyes. “That’s where it gets weird. You see, Betty is gonna be there and–”

You held up a hand. “Say no more, Jones. You want me to make your little ex girlfriend jealous because she’s been hooking up with Fred Andrews’s kid, right?”

Jughead looked down. “I’m sorry I asked, I’m being inappropriate–”

“–I’ll do it,” you said.

“What?” Jughead asked.

You crossed your arms. “Free booze, dumb teenagers, and a chance to see what makes Jughead Jones really tick? I’m in.”

Jughead grinned. “Thanks, Chief. 10:30.”

“10:30,” you repeated. Jughead left the room.

Keep reading

Fate is a bitch (2) - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Well, originally this story wasn’t suppose to have a second part but tons of people asked me so, here’s a second part :-). I hope you will like it

PART 1

my masterlist blog : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com

_________________________________________________

Destiny. 

You strongly believed in Destiny. 

No matter what people could say, how many arguments against it they had, and how much they were sceptic about it…it wouldn’t change your mind. You strongly believed in Destiny.

Because it was impossible only coincidences brought you were you were now…At your wedding with the famous Bruce Wayne. 

************

It all happened about four years ago, when your son, Billy, somehow ended up getting caught by the Justice League and you almost used your elemental powers on them and punched Superman and…it was kind of a mess. 

Basically, you ended up being part of the League. 

Which was something, for someone like you, who was from a poor neighborhood, who had so many struggles in life and who found a kid once, a kid who was living in an abandoned station of the subway (you don’t even remember what brought you there…well, Destiny obviously), a kid who changed your life, and that you just had to adopt. 

At barely 25 years old. Oh the struggles were no where near to end. 

Then you met that guy, that dark and broody guy who stood up for your son when everyone else wanted to “fire” him from the League because he was but a ten years old child.

And that always seemed to smile when you were in the vicinity, though according to everyone else, the Batman never smiled. It was weird right ? And you caught yourself more than once wishing he was smiling because you were there, but it was impossible. 

Sure you and him always seemed to be able to talk about anything without any restrain, like you felt you could tell him everything on your heart, and more often than not, he talked to you about his own troubles and fears…The Batman, talking to you about his troubles and fears ! But it was impossible.

Oh you fell for him pretty fast, and hard, so so hard…But you thought it as impossible. He was older, he was clearly a man with tons of issues that couldn’t hold a relationship (according to his Bruce Wayne persona), he was the goddamn Batman…It just couldn’t be ! 

And yet. Yet. Your sons set you up. Damian and Billy. They tricked you into coming to dinner to the Wayne Manor and…Then Bruce fucked everything up. He avoided you. He stopped talking to you..Because he was afraid to drag you into his dark life. 

But when you almost died, and stayed in a coma for three months. When he just had to take care of your son and make sure you were gonna be alright…He realized that, well, destiny. 

And that’s when things started to get crazy. 

Keep reading

Podcasts & Structure

Every time I get around to sitting down and actually writing these articles, I have to seriously consider what I’m going to talk about. It seems the conversation of audio drama is becoming more widespread lately, oozing its way into mainstream media faster than I can keep track of. 

And so many are being made at such a rapid pace, catching up with it all can be its own challenge. A lot of people are starting to see the power and potential of audio plays and it’s a slow burn revolution I am a hundred percent behind. 

When I achieve my dreams of becoming a licensed journalist under that sweet, sweet trademark PodCake©, know that I’ll be somewhere in the front lines, keeping everyone up to the date and in the zone until I’m old and gray and still very, very pink.

So with this exciting idea in mind, I find it appropriate to do a somewhat different type of “Podcasts&”. This is still very much an article dabbling into my specific interests and experiences though also a guide of sorts to those who may be wrapped up in the creative hype. Allow me to pull you starry-eyed artists aside for some well-meaning advice. May you follow in the footsteps of your idols, though know you are above any of their common mistakes.

I had a few options in store to pick from when it came to another topic covering audio drama critique, though I felt that I wanted to address this first. This is another dabbling into the more specific structures of my podcast journalism and the consumption and creation of audio drama in general. 

In a similar vain to my latest article, “Podcasts & Critique”, I’ll be talking about something that perhaps not many are willing to discuss out in the open but is certainly touched upon enough that I feel the merits to bring it up in more depth. What we will be discussing today is the element of effective story structure.

Get comfortable, this is gonna be a long one. 

Keep reading

No one is coming to save you, Comrade.
Nobody.
There is no revolution on the horizon, there is no party, there is no grand idea that will finally awaken humanity to its potential and free us from our chains.
There is no vanguard, no purpose, no secret method we can all use to magically make the powerful resign themselves to the fate of ordinary existence.
There have been pretenders. There are priests and pimps and false gods that call on you to worship them. They will give you immortal “sciences” and identities, they will assure you if just enough people donned the uniform or spoke the right words everything would be okay.
There are those of course who would deny you even that, who refuse any action without every detail planned out. Who will run the schools, who will build the roads, how will tire fires and blockades raise our carbon footprint?
They will call your plans starry-eyed, impractical, an Insurrecionist fantasy.
They say this half-asleep.
They, so wise, snore and say they will “wait for the people to rise.” The people have risen and been crushed. Occupy failed, Standing Rock failed. All that’s left is you and me.
They, so strong, snore and say they wait for their rights to be taken, the right to assembly or the right to vote an invisible line they shan’t abide. Where where they for the Patriot Act, the NDAA? They petitioned, they moaned, they lost.
They say they are waiting for some grand event in a universe with millions of them everyday. Each day the criteria changes, each day they grow more stagnant and old.
Everybody is waiting and nobody wants to start, everybody wants to join and nobody wants to build. Everybody is waiting for a grand and general revolt, yet steal an apple or burn a cop car and they’ll call you an “adventurist.”
Everybody is sure change is right around the corner, that divine powers will steer us the right way. Everybody is sure time is on our side, that the good gals will always win and that things can’t hold out much longer. Everybody says a revolution is very possible with no bloodshed and no heart feelings, that everyone will be heard and cared for.
Everybody is sure that the revolution will come like an amazon package: quick, clean, and ready to be enjoyed right at their doorstep. They have children you see, and must put them first, but will gladly step over your body after you’ve built the road for them to walk on.
Everybody is waiting. Waiting for something. Waiting for somebody, somebody to save them.
They aren’t coming to save you, Comrade.
Nobody is.
Those people are going to die just as they lived. They are going to stay right where they are, on the couch, and play pretend online because it costs them nothing. Like a ball gag slipped on for “special nights,” politics is the kink that makes them feel different.
They always talk alot about feelings, how much “solidarity” they give and need. Every time a black child lies in a pool of his own blood they really feel bad. Truly. But they have jobs you see, and families, and shows to watch and cars to maintain.
They will hurt for you comrade when you lose your job. Why, they’ll call for a General Strike and make posters, badges, and pins! Provided it’s a weekend and not a holiday of course, and with enough advance notice to ask for it off.
They are growing to grow old, these people, happy with the knowledge that if they had the chance they would have done something spectacular. They will have fun little funerals, not sad ones, where mediocre lives will be celebrated by talking about how “brave” they were and how “hard” they fought for freedom.
Who’s is never mentioned, how and where politely not discussed.
There are millions of them, Comrade. Always have been. Always will be. They are going to be born, squirm around for a bit, and go right back into the hole they crawled out of.
They look to be led, watch to see what they can join, and wait patiently for someone to shove food into their mouths and help them chew.
Will you wait for them, Comrade?
Will you wait for the same people who prefer for YOU to suffer and YOU to die so that they can play risk free?
Will you wait for the people who will not lift a finger to aid you until they can’t get in trouble and all the hiccups have been worked out?
Will you wait and draw up plans to convince those who need convincing, who won’t move an inch until we’re sure how many trees will be planted at every school that is suddenly free for the deaf and the blind?
Will you wait for the people who call your actions a sin as they pray in front of police batons?
Will you wait for the entire planet to agree to an idea, a monumental event that would be the first in our history?
Are you prepared, dear comrade, to die just as they will, surrounded by cheap party favors and even cheaper music as your friends sing hymns to a banal existence?
Or will you act?
Don’t mistake me for a fool comrade, I hope you aren’t one either. I don’t want to die and I don’t want to go to jail. I have no use for being a martyr because I want to be free, just like you do.
But if you are prepared to act, to put aside the arguments and to truly build, then perhaps we have a chance. You and I. I’m done talking about them.
What if we focused on getting free? What if we built the structures we needed to do so? What if instead of arguing about hairstyles or flag colors we argued about crops to plant or stores to rob? What if we made a union, a gang, devoted to getting free? What if we stopped arguing online and set about becoming real comrades, the kind that can hide each other from the police and offer a safe place to stay?
What if we could rely on one another so well that I knew I was safe wherever I went because an injury to one really was an injury to all? What if we didn’t wait for an apocalyptic war and instead waged OUR war everyday, a war against everything that enslaved us?
What if we did that? What if we put away the theories and focused on that? Why not? Why wait?
Nobody is coming to save us, Comrade.
Nobody.
So it’s up to you and me.
I Can’t Go On If You’re Not Here

Originally posted by sugutie

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Pairing: Jeongguk x Reader

Length: 2k

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3

masterlist 

You have been in love with Jeongguk since freshmen year of college, but you never had the courage to confront him about your feelings. A new girl pushes you to admit to him finally what you both were waiting for. 

You didn’t choose to be friends with Jeongguk, we just became friends. We met when we were young. He was a new freshmen in college and very active. You were the quiet girl who just wanted her degree in business so you could finally escape from my parents who constantly breathed down your neck. You had friends but none of them compared to Jeongguk. You became friends when the teacher had decided to partner you two up for a project.

“Hey, I’m Jeongguk”.

Those words will forever haunt you to the fact that you can never have him. He will always be the boy that you loved so deeply but could never have. Jeongguk was the light of your life, simple enough. He brought you favorite popcorn when you was feeling down, when you was on your periods,he would become the most patient man on earth.

He never complained when you would talk for hours on hours about the cute guys in your accounting class. He would smile at you and pat you on the head and say,

“You’re too good for them anyways. You’re too smart for them, all they understand is how to crunch numbers. You are both naturally blessed with looks and intelligence”

You would always blush at his compliments. People would call him awkward and silent with no emotion. He would compliment you with the straightest face. People didn’t know how to respond to him because they thought he was making fun of them. It was just that Jeongguk meant every word he said. He wanted you to know that he was honest and truthful.

Jeongguk never realized what you had felt for him. It wasn’t his fault. You never confessed to him because you didn’t think it was worth it. You had some boyfriends here and there, but none of them were serious because you were forever waiting on him. He didn’t know, he just thought you didn’t really love anyone of them. It wasn’t until your senior year of college where you finally gathered up the courage to admit to him what you have been feeling for the past four years.

“Hey, where were you at the party?” Jeongguk slid into the seat besides you in the library, He was decked out in his signature black stussy sweatshirt with some skinny jeans that seemed to make him ten times more attractive. He started to stroke your hair. Jeongguk had a thing with hair. Yours was mid length and dyed a soft light brown, you kept it soft for him. Because he liked it.

“I didn’t go. Jongsuk didn’t want to go so I stayed back with him to help him study” You turned towards him, away from your economics textbooks and placed your head in your hands.

“Ah, always helping the new student. You are just too nice Y/N,” Jeongguk quirked his head and smiled at you. He was just too cute. It was the time in between your classes. You were about to graduate, just one more semester to go and you were finally done with the education system.  

“Nah, I’m not nice. I just felt pity for him because he didn’t know what we did in class”

Jeongguk started to pick at your pens and pencils, “You should have gone to the party. It was so much more exciting but some new incoming freshmen came and crashed it. But the best thing about it is I met someone.”

“You met a girl? Who? It’s been a while.”

You tried to mask the look of surprise on your face. Jeongguk hasn’t dated any girls in a while. He had dated a girl named Wendy a while back ago but he broke up with her because he didn’t think they had fit together. Jeongguk was a true romantic, he loved to hold hands and spend hours reading at a cafe with his girlfriend. That’s what you loved about him, he loved the simple things. He had said Wendy was an amazing girl but he just didn’t think they were good together. When he was dating Wendy, you had to deal with in love Jeongguk, he was gone.

When Jeongguk had a new girlfriend, he would disappear from your life. He would put all his attention and love into the new girl and it would be like you never existed.He wasn’t ignoring you on purpose, he just wanted to spend time with girlfriend. This really hurt you. You felt like you were a throwaway, only needed when he was free of a romantic partner. People knew you guys were best friends, they knew that you guys had perfect chemistry. They didn’t understand why Jeongguk didn’t make a move. Many guys have tried but you wanted to wait for him. You had boyfriends but they never made it to your heart. You dabbled in romance when Jeongguk had a new girlfriend. You felt lonely and wanted some attention, the attention that Jeongguk was not giving you.

Jeongguk had a little smile on his face and he shyly looked down, “She’s a sophomore. She loves to dance and she’s really talented at the violin. I met her at the party and we just hit it off. I think I really like her. I know we just met but I feel like we connect so well.” He had the starry look in his eyes, the kind he gets when he talks about Overwatch and Justin Bieber.

You stopped fiddling with your pen and looked at him, “Wow, I guess it’s time for you to move onto the next girl. What happened to your promise of waiting till you graduated?” You tried to mask the hurt in your voice. Jeongguk had a real chance of falling in love with someone that wasn’t you.

“I was, but man Jennie is a work of art. I never met anyone like her, she brings out sides of me that I never knew existed. We had talked about random things but it was the most interesting conversation I ever had. She’s so beautiful,”Jeongguk swiveled in his chair, his body opposite of what it should have been if he was sitting. He leaned back against the desk, and brushed his hand through his hair. His hair was a startling black color. He never dyed it because he thought that it would make him seem more like a girl.

You knew who Jennie was. She was a transfer student from Gwangju. You guys had some mutual friends, you never formally met her. It was an understatement to say that she was an amazing and one of a kind. Jennie made guy friends after guy friends, she never dated anyone since she had transferred this year. She was an up and coming dancer in our dance team. Hoseok, the dance captain and your closest friend after Jeongguk and Jisoo, had complimented her on her fluidity and techniques.  He had also said that she was pretty but not his type. Hoseok had a specific type, he liked the smart and caring ones. It wasn’t that Jennie wasn’t smart or caring, it was because he thought that Jennie was a little superficial. Apparently Jeongguk didn’t think the same.

“Oh. Good for you” You didn’t know what to say. Your heart was slowly tearing at itself. Why couldn’t Jeongguk look at you and think of you like he did with Jennie? What made you so unappealing to him. You guys have been friends for four years, and never did he once show a sign that he was attractive to you in the point of more than friends. You would flirt with him but he would just smile at you and go back to what he was doing. It wasn’t like you didn’t try. You didn’t know how to approach him with the topic that you wanted to be more than friends.

Jeongguk turned his head towards you, “It isn’t great? I’m taking her out on a date later. I need advice on what to wear. So get out of the library and let’s get back to the apartment and plan what to wear.” It was also quaint that you guys were roommates because you wanted to get out of the dorms and finally get a place of your own but you were too poor to afford it yourself.

You found yourself being dragged out of the library, his hands linked in between yours, with your things haphazardly shoved into your open tote bag and onto the streets. Jeongguk happily took the lead to the short walk to your apartment complex. He seemed to be bouncing on the soles of his feet. His hands still linked with yours. It was normal for you two to hold hands. He had started this habit because you always got lost in crowds when you guys hit Myeongdong for shopping. You felt like he does it now because he liked to torture you with a little sliver of a romantic relationship with him.

“Hurry up, the date starts in an hour”, Jeongguk basically shoved you up the stairs in barely contained excitement and into his room. You didn’t want to help him with his date. In fact you wanted to give him a reason to cancel the date, you. But he would never do that because he didn’t like you. You had to be his friend and just his friend.

He started to pilfer through his closest that was ironically filled with white t shirts.

“I guess I would go with casual but a little dressed up,” you pushed him aside because he was actually hopeless. Your chest hurt every time you touched the clothes hangers that held his clothes. You chose a white button down with a mandarin collar with some jeans. He would look great. This was going to be a long night of you eating ice cream and watching some movies to pass the empty time. Why does Jennie have to exist?

“You are the Sun to my Earth. Thank you so much. This is why I still need my mother and you, of course.” Jeongguk quickly grabbed his clothes and rushed into the conjoining bathroom.

You plop down on his bed. His room wasn’t especially big but it wasn’t small. You had an identical room, with connected bathrooms. You looked up onto the ceiling and saw stars. Jeongguk always love what stars represented. To him, stars represented hope and ambition. He saw them as the push to his success.

Jeongguk slammed the door open, all dressed in his outfit ready for his date, “Is this alright?” as he fixed his collar. He looked so handsome and so Jennie’s.

You motioned for him to come over to the bed and you sat up. He stood right in front of you, still fixing his clothes. You laughed at him, he had skipped a button,

“Aish you dummy, you missed a button, no one it looks weird,” You went in to fix it, your nimble fingers skipped over the soft material. It would be so nice to just push him onto the bed and snuggle. He stared down at you as you slowly fixed his error. You looked up at him, into his starry eyes. He sent you a smile and continued to stare.

The tension in the room began to heat up. Your eyes seem to drill holes in one others. Your fingers stopped it’s administrations. You opened your mouth to say something.  

“Too Good” Peter Maximoff x Pyrokinetic!Reader (Request)

Request: Hi! “Longish request” anon here! First, I just wanted to say your writing/ characterization is A+ Second, I wanted to request something with peter maximoff and reader. Like angst and fluffy stuff. I have this quote that I really like- “Women are forged of iron. My body it has bled and blazed and broken. But yet it beats on. I am iron. A little rusted perhaps, but still, I endure.” I have this head-cannon that reader is a really powerful mutant and she carries a lot of burdens from her past. And how she’s determined a lot of people’s fate. Anyways, peter and reader are dating And sometimes reader gets really depressed because of her sometimes uncontrollable powers. And peter isn’t the best at helping her during times like this. So one night she just goes off on him about what a big burden she carries and how she tries so hard to do good. But peter doesn’t understand the load on her shoulders. But peter explains that he understands and stuff. they make up, etc. Oh! And thank you for taking my request! ~ @captain-maaarvel

Warnings: Fighting, Self-Depreciation, Anxiety, Fire-Stuff, Kissing, PTSD?

Pronouns: Female (I naturally write with female pronouns, but I try to change it up every once in a while. PLEASE feel free to request a version of this, or any previously written imagine with different pronouns. IT IS NO TROUBLE AT ALL, Also, if you have a request, feel free to make specific pronouns part of it.)

A/N: Hey there! So first off, I’d like to personally apologize for taking, like, five years with this fic. I’m not entirely sure this is what you wanted but I kind of like the way it turned out so I hope you enjoy it!! Sorry it’s a bit short. This was a really cool idea! I chose to give the reader pyrokinesis because this prompt really reminded me of a personal HC I have about a reader who struggles with their past. Fire is interesting because it’s incredibly destructive and I feel like mutants with powerful relationships with fire may have mixed feelings about their role in the X-Men. I also feel like pyrokinesis would be tough to deal with while one is learning to control it. Anyway, thanks for reading! Thanks for requesting! Have a groovy day!

(P.S. Shoutout to @actual–hobbit for requesting the “If I Could Tell Her” fic last week because I really liked the song and I ended up watching the full musical [Dear Evan Hansen] and omg now I’m obsessed and it’s ruining any hope of productivity and Evan is my SON and Connor is my baby whom I will protect with my life. My little sister is going to kill me because I’ve been singing it so much If anyone wants to talk DEH I’m down to party. hmu. Sincerely, me.)

—————————————————————————————————

It finally happened. Her fears were finally realized. She had burnt him.

She didn’t even think. She should have thought. It was just a combat demonstration. Fake or not, fear bubbled in her stomach. She should have known better than to be nervous.

One wrong move was all it took. She grabbed his wrist, blocking an uppercut when he quickly pulled his arm away. She hadn’t even thought about the temperature of her skin.

Peter let out a choked, cry of pain, falling backwards and grabbing his wrist in his other hand. Y/N swore that she felt her heart stop. Peter gave her a panicked look as he frantically tried to hide the large, angry burn that marked his arm. Y/N covered her mouth with her hands, suddenly registering what she had done. The blood drained from her face as horror soaked through her.

She used to have nightmares about hurting him. Peter would find her writhing in her sheets, her skin at 400 degrees. But even then, he’d wake her and hold her, hushing her until she calmed down. He’d blow cool streams of air into her face as her skin returned to its normal warmth and she fell back asleep.

She wished this was a nightmare. She wished she could wake up to see Peter’s concerned face, wearing nothing but his pajamas and his starry hair pulled back with a tie.

This couldn’t be real. She had never woken up. Logan had never held training in the Danger Room and he’d never asked her to do a combat demonstration and she had to be dreaming this whole thing.

”Oh my God…“

“Y/N, no. I’m ok. It’s just-”

Her stomach twisted with panic and self-hatred as she realized what she’d done. She stepped backwards, still trying to catch her breath.

“I’m…I can’t…I’m sorry-”

Tears welled in her eyes. Peter reached out and called after her.

“Y/N!”

Horrified, she turned from the boy and ran. He stood, trying desperately to catch her. But by the time he made it to the door, she was gone.

—————————————————————————————————-

Charles said she would learn to control it. He said that she could do good things. That’s all she ever wanted. To do good. But fire wasn’t meant for good.

Fire was destruction. Fire devoured everything it touched. She was dangerous. No matter how hard she tried, everything she cared about was burnt.

Now, she had somehow managed to hurt the only friend that she had left. The moment replayed in her head like a movie. The sound he made when she touched him.

Something in her had known it was coming. From the moment Logan asked them to fight, she could feel a knot forming in her chest. She’d never forgive herself for ignoring it.

Peter was the only one who made her feel like she could learn to control it. In return, she had scalded him.

There was a small knock on her door. She buried her face in her pillow. The mattress dipped as Peter sat next to her. His hand glided up under her shirt, rubbing over her back slowly and tracing patterns there. She forced herself to move away. She couldn’t bear to hurt him again. Her powers spiked when she was upset. God knows what they could do now.

His eyebrows knit together. She glanced at his wrist. It and been bandaged neatly and he held an ice pack loosely in his fingers. She bit her lip, trying to hold back more tears.

“Y/N look at me…”

She struggled to meet his eyes. He cupped her face in his bandaged hand and craned his neck down to look at her. He felt his heart sink upon seeing her. Her tears had left tracks down her cheeks. She looked heart-broken.

“Hey, I’m gonna be Ok. Everything’s gonna be OK.”

He felt his voice break as ran his thumb over her cheek. She shook her head, burying her face in her hands. He pulled her closer and she let out a choked sob into the crook of his neck. He bit his lip a little. Just hearing the noise made his heart fall deeper into his stomach. He hushed her gently and ran his hand through her hair as he pulled her closer. She tensed a little and moved back, she was trembling.

“Y/N-” he begged.

“Peter, let me see-” She said weakly, pulling herself back to reality.

“Y/N, you’re scaring me. Look at me. You can touch me…”

“Let me see it.”

Peter swallowed and held out his wrist. She unwrapped it tenderly and ran her fingers lightly over the deep red marks. A tear fell from her cheek and onto his palm. She let go of his hands, still shaking. She turned away from him. Peter reached out, grabbing her shoulder. She flinched, pushing him away.

“I can’t hurt you, Peter. I won’t let it happen-“

“You won’t hurt me…”

“Yes I will. I hurt everything. That’s all I ever do. Hurt people-”

“Y/N…” he pressed a kiss to her forehead, desperate to find something that would ground her. Tears stung his eyes as he spoke.

“I want to touch you, Y/N. I just want you to touch me. God, Y/N…Why won’t you let me touch you?”

His voice was weak and shaken. He sounded terrified. Y/N’s stomach flipped. She bit her lip.

"Do you love me?”

“What?”

“Do you love me, Peter?”

"Christ, Y/N. Of course-”

“You shouldn’t.”  

She swallowed, pleading with herself to keep it together. She looked up at him for just long enough to register the fear in his eyes. That’s when she felt herself break. She sobbed into his chest. He pulled her into his arms, letting his hands roam over her the valleys of her shoulders and her back.

“You’d hate me, Peter. If you knew,” she whimpered, “You’d hate what I’ve done. I’ve ruined people, Pete. I can’t ruin you, too. I just can’t.”

He clung to her, drowning in the silence. She leaned back, looking him directly in the eye. She cradled his face, holding him a little too tightly

“You’re too good to ruin.”

Peter surged forward, moving his lips into hers and wrapping her in his arms. He backed her gently against the headboard, kissing the tears from her face. He mirrored her, nuzzling his nose against her neck and pressing soft kisses down her collarbone, lingering there. He was warm and he cared too much and she warned herself not to melt into him anymore than she already had. His lips stopped above her ear. His breath was hot against her neck.

“And you’re too good for me to leave.”

—————————————————————————————————

Eyes That Know

Summary: The reader is a rock star with heavy addiction issues.  Sam is a former rocker who has been to rehab and been sober for a number of years.  When the two meet at a party sparks fly and they fall into a romance.  After losing one girlfriend to addiction, Sam can’t do it again and makes the reader choose between him and her drugs.  

Author: revwinchester

Pairing/Characters: Sam Winchester x Reader, Lucifer, Dean Winchester, Adam Milligan, Jimmy Novak, Ruby, Amelia Richardson

Word Count: 5697, including lyrics (which are italicized throughout)

Warnings: talk and use of soft and hard drugs, implied prostitution, cocaine overdose, major character deaths, mention of minor character death, mental illness - specifically addiction, anxiety, and depression, all the angst.  Also, one of the character deaths could be read as suicide - though it’s not intended to be one - and the song lyrics mention the historical suicide of Vincent Van Gogh.

A/N: This ended up being for two challenges and it is the angstiest thing I have ever written.  I cried while I wrote it.  First, @nichelle-my-belle is hosting Nichelle’s 4K Angst Challenge and my prompt was “if you kill all my demons, my angels might die too.”  I was looking for a song to frame the fic when @thing-you-do-with-that-thing announced the SPN Anti-Valentine’s Challenge and I saw one of the prompts was “Josh Groban - Starry Night,” which is a cover of Don McLean’s “Vincent,” a song I absolutely love.  You can bet I snapped that one up real quick! Click on each of the links to head to youtube for two different versions of the song.  They are so different but each are beautiful in their own right (though, if you’ve never heard it before, I recommend you start with the original).

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Idk if you've done this one before, but could I request headcannons of RFA + V in a typical coffee shop au situation where MC is the super cute barista and they're the customers that just keep coming back because they're crushing hard? Its fine if you already have, I just wasn't sure~

i live for this holyyy…also i added saeran bc the emo boi is my love 


jumin


-omg tho, like he’d just show up in his fancy ass suit, and sit down with a computer to work, and like everyone would be like???? wtf???

-will 100% sue every god dang rude customer

-also takes his coffee black

-honestly is very blunt??

-i mean it takes a while for him to build up the courage to ask you out but when he does he’ll just walk up to the counter and be like

-“i’d like to go out with you, please consider my request, before you answer, i’ll be waiting”

-ya and then one day you come to work and half the fckn shop is filled with gifts like?? pls chill omfg??

-zen will do anything to sabotage him tho like

-on his way to the counter

-nyooom there comes zen ordering yet another god damn pumpkin spice latte


zen

-at this point his instagram is just filled with selfies of him at the cafe

-when he became a regular so did 30 others girls

-flirting at all times. like he’ll hang out at the counter and try and talk flirt with you in between customers

-your co-workers are obv starry eyed, and so will take on your work to allow him to flirt with you

-brings huuuge bouquets in all the time, chocolate, so many gifts

-invites you out every single day, man

-pays sooo close attention to every little thing you say like

-will probably fckn serenade you.


jaehee

-half of why she keeps coming back is bc she not only has a crush on you, but also on the cafe

-will ask questions about everything while complimenting your great service

-like what gives her away is her cute blushy cheeks

-it would take her such a long time to cinfess her true feelings

-she’ll start out by ask8ng you to be her friend, and maybe to go to the theathre together?

-after a couple of weeks of that, it’ll just k8nda slip out???

-also comes there bc zen comes there a lot, probs feel guilty for ‘stealing his crushes affections’

-ofc zen is a total babe and super supportive


yoosung

-bby probs stopped by with that coffee club he was apart of for a couple of weeks

-and boom, you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and that smile was what knocked him out.

-it takes him forever to order due to him being a lil anxious blushy stuttering mess

-which doesent escape sevens nose, he’ll tease him about ut relentlessy, poor boi

-quiet cute crushy boi, he’ll just dreamily stare at you like wow that person is real

-super happy puppy when you engage in conversation with him


707

-Boi

-straight up sits in a corner and destroys peoples lifes from there

-which also makes it easier for him, bc if someone traces him, they still wont knpw who tf he is

-prankster, will make up the absolute weirdest orders, to strectch out his time with you

-it’s all jokes and laughs, but if ya look a little closer you just might catch the fondness in his eyes

-teases everyone and has nicknames for everyone as well

-zen is ‘pretti boi’

-yoosung is 'eagle 2’ 😂

-jumin is obv if i had to pick a dude cat mom

-jaehee is 'boss ass bitch’

-v is 'dat boi`

-and his bro is obv 'emo’


v

-takes a photo of you before even introducing himself

-profusely apologizes right after, while slipping in a comment about how you’re art and the most beautiful piece he has ever seen

-and then proceeds to ask you out for dinner to make it up to you

-will invite you on natury dates at all times, and will take lots of pictures of you


saeran

-was dragged along by seven obv.

-stopped complaining as soon as he saw you tho

-which does not go unnoticed by seven

-seven teasing him and pushing him in your direction as well as making terrible cringey emo love jokes

-saeran regrets all of his life choices

-when he does get your number he has no idea how to text you

-prefers talking face to face, because he can see your reactions

anonymous asked:

Can you PLEASEEEE write an "All I Ask" by Adele Zimbits fic? EVERY TIME I HEAR THE SONG I CRYYYY

A great song! This fic is suitably melodramatic and emotional. It’s a canon-divergence from Kiss The Ice.

             ~~~            ~~~            ~~~            ~~~            ~~~            ~~~

Bitty watches Jack. He’s normally not so obvious with it, but tonight, knowing it’s the last night that Jack will be here, and with only the stars and a flickering fire to light the group, Bitty lets himself watch.

The orange light does something to Jack’s features, making them almost glow as he smiles and laughs at something Holster says. Jack looks over to Bitty and Bitty laughs along with him, not really sure what he’s laughing about. He keeps drifting in and out of the conversation, his own thoughts too loud.

Jack’s graduating tomorrow. And Shitty, of course, but in Bitty’s heart, Jack’s the one he’s going to miss more. He feels a little bad for thinking it, but he doesn’t have to admit it to anyone but himself.

Bitty pulls his hands further into the sleeves of the jacket Jack lent him, bringing his hands up to rest his head in them. This way, he can smell the traces of Jack on the sleeves. Soap and shampoo.

Ransom and Holster are the first to leave. Bitty nods off slightly against the wall after the volume of conversation drops with their departure. He blinks, and when he opens his eyes again, Jack’s moved himself closer and Bitty’s head rests on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he whispers to Jack beneath the conversation Lardo and Shitty are having.

Jack looks down at him. “I don’t mind.”

Keep reading

i walk the line

pairing park jimin x reader
genre angst | theme soulmate au
words 2.3k
a/n  ⟡ happy birthday, jimjams ⟡

sehnsucht  ▸  'the inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what’; a high degree of intense, recurring, and often painful desire for something, particularly if there’s no hope to attain the desired or when its attainment is uncertain, still far away. 

Keep reading

Fearsome Trash Panda

In A Galaxy Not Quite Far Away: Part One | Part Two

Paring: Rocket Racoon & Reader

Tags: gender neutral reader, neutral pronouns, angst, fluff.

Summary:  Three times you and Rocket Racoon get on each other’s nerves.

Word Count: 1,867

Posting Date:  2017-05-09

Current Date: 2017-06-18


Originally posted by tinylamp


Keep reading

Starry Nights Part 1/4

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Soulmate Au

Warning: Language, Suggestive Mentions

Soulmate Au: At first eye contact with the soulmate, will be able to draw soulmate, and have 15 days to fall in love or will never be able to meet again.

!Do not repost!

Status: Finished Next

*****

Keep reading

acehealer  asked:

Cute Voltron ask because you deserve all the happiness in the world. What do Shiro and Keith do for Valentine's Day?

aww thank you ;; and you deserve happiness too! 

hmmm,, I headcannon vld Keith as Japanese like in the original, so imagine him and Shiro celebrating both Valentines Day and White Day. They alternate every year who gives chocolates on Valentines Day and who gives on White Day. This year it’s Shiro’s turn though, and he keeps trying to make the closest thing to homemade space chocolate that he can get. 

After nearly burning down the castle for the fourth time, Hunk steps in to lend a hand, patiently coaching him through it, encouraging him when he feels completely clueless. They’re working all day until they finally make something approximating edible chocolate. Shiro is just about ready to collapse in relief and Hunk is so proud. 

Meanwhile Keith is out scouting this planet with Pidge and they find some really pretty flowers with the most vibrant violet petals. They have this curious bioluminescence and glow bright amethyst under moonlight. They’re really pretty–and remind Keith of the black lion’s interior–so he picks a whole bunch and brings them back to the castle. Pidge scans the plants while they walk, trying to work out how to best preserve them when they get back. 

When Pidge and Keith arrive it’s nearly dinner time, and Lance is trying his best to convince Allura to be his valentine. Allura isn’t entirely sure she gets the concept, but she knows she’s not interested. Pidge explains how they all used to give valentines to everyone in class when they were younger though, as friends, and Allura likes the sound of that–so she does agree to be “friend valentines” with all the paladins, and Lance is actually happy enough with that. 

Later in the evening Shiro and Keith wander a bit outside the castle, going on a nice walk, just the two of them. Shiro gives Keith his chocolates, and he’s so nervous but somehow Keith actually likes it, and he just digs in and wolfs them down. When he eats it’s messy and crumbs get everywhere–because let’s be real,, this is how he eats, right 

Romantic

So ya he’s a total pig about it, but Shiro is just so, so happy Keith actually likes it and finds his reaction kinda endearing. And when he’s done Keith gives Shiro his flowers–and listens for the sharp hitch of breath and the start of a laugh bubbling up, Shiro’s eyes twinkling and wide in wonder at how the petals glow with a light all their own. 

Shiro feels like he’s back at the garrison again; a curious student with a thousand questions. He launches into an explanation about bioluminescent organisms back on Earth, on how such a thing doesn’t occur in their plants naturally, so perhaps the “flowers” are actually some kind of fungi–and he goes on and on excitedly, and Keith thinks it’s adorable he’s so intrigued by it. 

Shiro eventually asks why he picked them. And the simple, unabashed answer–“They reminded me of you”–earns him a kiss on the forehead and a warm hug. They walk back to the castle hand in hand, Keith happily munching on his chocolates and Shiro holding the flowers as delicately as if they’re made of glass. The I love you hangs between them. Implied. But they still speak the words aloud, together under the clear night’s starry sky 

i’ll always make it back to you; (m)

⇢ summary: you and jackson promised to be best friends through anything, be it high school, significant others, or growing up. of course, neither of you had ever anticipated that a little more than two years later, a widespread virus would infest the entire world, and would rip you away from the one person you held close. you were lost, dying, and ready to give up on ever finding him again, but jackson had other plans.

⇢ relationship: jackson wang/reader.

genre: apocalypse!au, zombie hunter!au, angst, romance.

⇢ words: 7.6k (damn)

⇢ warnings: smut, slight-ish gore, language.

Originally posted by jypnior

september 6th, 2015

“Hey, hey, Wang… are you even listening to me?” You fling a popcorn kernel at Jackson, narrowly missing his nose as it clatters to the floor a few feet away from your target. Jackson raises an eyebrow, not tearing his eyes from the tv screen, “Ya?”

You roll over onto your back glare up at the ceiling, covered in posters of sci-fi movies, supermodels, and video games that Jackson had obsessed over from middle school to senior year. He was your best friend, had been since you were little, and you recalled a time when you could look up at this very ceiling and see white paint, “I don’t get why you invite me over these days if all you’re gonna do is play video games.” You huff, folding your arms over your chest as you give a picture of Han Solo a stern glare. 

Keep reading

High Hues and Fumes (4/20)
  • a/n: happy 4/20, I wholeheartedly believe Pete smokes pot. Summary: Sonny comes clean about his deal with Pete, but it might be too late
    Warning: whoops made it angsty, cannabis mentioned, cursing, inclinations of police brutality annnnnd it’s a rough draft so you know, raw-uneditted shit. 

  • w/c: 2544


The gaseous smells of paint trickled out between small alleyways where apartment building met apartment building. No one could smell it, the sickly chemical scent was buried under the smog of cars, big buildings, pollution but that was New York for those who lived there. New York was a shithole, it spots where people made an effort to look nice. The city rich sprinkled potpourri over the places where the shitstains didn’t stink to much. They glorified the idea of a big city with diverse joys.

Joys only tourists and the rich can benefit from.

It was here where the smog hung low, where the police sat on corners waiting for a slipped up teen, where the chemical spray cans made their mark on walls, where Pete lived his life. Pete’s life had been one bad move after another. He dropped out of school after hanging with the wrong crowd. He was constantly being chased out of stores and chased down by cops. The only place Pete was safe was among his people. No one in this little strip of pavement ratted Pete out. He was one of those ‘harmless’ thugs. Just a little nobody kid that wasn’t going to do much trouble, it would have been too much effort to throw him to the dogs.

All of the bad moves Pete made in life mirror all the right strokes he made with his paint can. He ran his hand over his paint splattered sweats that hung dangerously low on his waist. The top of his boxers exposed, as the elastic squeezed his bony hips. He stared down his next canvas, a dead end alley between two buildings. A huge, unmarked brick wall in a dark, dank dump spot. Perfect.

“Yo.” He spoke without looking back. “Wass’ good, Sunshine.”

“Maaan” Sonny groaned, he had tried to be extra sneaky this time. Sonny swore Pete had ears like a hunting dog but Pete knew he was no hunter. Not on these streets, Pete had ears of a prey animal. He had senses of survival. Sonny felt a blush grace the tops of his freckled face, flustered he turned his hat forward and pulled the brim down. “How did you even know it was me?”

Pete looked over his shoulder, paint can in his hand. He shook the can as he deliberately made Sonny wait for his answer. “I felt you” he smirked, Sonny’s face took on a confused look. He turned back to his wall finding the urge to paint something. Sonny did that to him. Pete meant it, he felt him coming. Sonny filled the room like sunlight. In this dark, damp ghetto Sonny was like…a lotus flower. A budding beautiful thing growing out of muck and mud of shit and poverty. Would it be too cliche for Pete to say Sonny was the best thing that happened to him? Because it was true. Sonny was Pete’s muse. He couldn’t paint a thing without thinking ‘would Sonny like this?’

“You felt me, well did you feel this!” Sonny lunged towards him and roughly pounced on Pete. He forced the guy to stumble a bit, while Sonny took the chance to wrap his arms around him. He hugged him from behind and poked his head over Pete’s shoulder eyeing the wall with only a few streaks of blues over it. “Whatcha paintin’ picasso?”

“Hm dunno yet.” Pete looked over the blues and wonder what they’d be. He didn’t start a thing knowing what he would make. He waited for the wall to call him to, for the paints to speak to him. “What do you see?” He peeked over at Sonny who looked at even random streaks like a Monet painting. Sonny had enough belief to make every tag a piece of work.

“I see a rainbow.”

“…Sonny you’re fucking gay.” Pete chuckled, “you’re welcome~”

“As a matter of factly I’m bisexual. Cuz’ Nina is still hot” Sonny smirked a bit feeling Pete angrily rip Sonny’s arms off him. He started spraying the wall angrily. If his face got any hotter it would have caught fire from the mix of heat and chemical spray. “But I’m in love with this cutie right here.” Sonny slapped Pete’s butt, only getting a grunt in response. “But seriously, man, I see a rainbow…like you got that dark blue–”

“Violet.”

“With that other blue–”

“Indigo”

“Ok, Pete, I ain’t the artist here, das you boo.” Sonny backed up a bit and watched his boyfriend get to work. Sonny climbed on top of a closed dumpster and watched magic happen. Sonny was in love with his boyfriend’s mind. The way he could look at a wall and a couple of colors then boom, art. He was a creator, like a god. He made something that spoke out of nothing. That mind saw things that weren’t there like a …a magician. Pete was one of those things in the ghetto Sonny called a gem.One of the kids that Sonny knew if he was given half of the shit they deserved, alittle more attention, a little more help, Pete would have been in art school. Pete would have been famous.

At least to Sonny, Pete was somebody. Sonny leaned back against the dumpster and listened to the hissing of the paint cans, the clattering as Pete shuffled between colors. He closed his eyes for a few minutes and slowly he felt a pair of lips against his. “Yo, it’s done.” He moved off the top of Sonny.

“Jesus Pete…” Sonny sat up and looked over the art. It was basically like the starry night painting Sonny had seen once. Except the stars were more like suns, and the colors weren’t muted blues and night colors. They were vivid, hot shades of the rainbow. “…it’s amazing.”

Pete rolled his eyes and began rummaging through his pockets. “You say that about everything I make.”

“Thats cuz’ you’re talented…you’re like…the Banksy of our generation.” Sonny watched as with a small arched eyebrow as Pete placed a small, brown cigarette looking piece between his lips.

“Who?” Pete chuckled, he pulled a lighter right after and lit up his blunt. He could feel Sonny’s wry gaze on him. He puffed a few times, watching his good boy of a boyfriend eye the street watching for the police. “Hey…” He pulled the blunt out of his mouth and wiggled his eyebrow. “Gimme a beso, baby”

“Pete, you’re gonna get caught and you’ll be kissin’ bars soon.” Sonny grunted, though the half lidded gaze Pete gave him undid his conscience. He hopped off the dumpster and stood in front of Pete, his fingers reaching for the blunt. His fingers grabbed nothing, Pete pulled away and took another drag holding the smoke in his mouth. “That’s how it is?” He frowned as Pete smiled with his cheeks puffed up with cannabis fumes. Sonny leaned in and kissed him, his tongue forcing the vault of his mouth to open.

The first thing he tasted was the weed. The taste of the plant smoke hit the back of his taste buds and sent a small cringe to his face. It was bitter, but that was quickly masked by Pete’s taste. His mouth hot from taking hits right from the blunt, it made Sonny only want to kiss him more. Their weed boated tongues lazily battled it out. They exchanged breathy kisses, Pete periodically pulling away to take another drag from the blunt and share more smoke with Sonny.

Weed was only fun if Pete was sharing otherwise Sonny never smoked.

Soon the drug kicked in, and Sonny felt that wave of chill come over him. His senses diluted in some places and heightened in other. He felt a calm and sleep like happiness wash over him. “You’re such a pothead…” Sonny giggled, wrapping his arms around Pete’s neck. He hung there for a moment letting Pete’s body hold him up as he laughed. “Petey~ the pot~ head~”

“I ain’t a pothead, I can stop any time.” Pete smirked, “I’ve got a better drug right here.” He kissed all along Sonny’s neck. “I got a handful of sunshine.”

Sonny felt like Pete’s sun. As if he really was the center of this man’s world. “I love–”

Woop Woop, that was the sound of the police.

“SHIT.” Pete quickly peeled himself off Sonny and started tossing paint cans back into his bag. He should have been faster, he jumped on top of the dumpster and pulled the fire escape ladder down. “Sonny, lets go.”

Sonny was not meant for the streets. Usnavi did a good job keeping Sonny on the straight and narrow most of the time, so running from the police was still one of those ‘frozen in fear’ moments for him. He snapped out of it and started towards the dumpster when he noticed the blunt was on the ground. Pete must have dropped it. In a moment of hurried anxiousness he grabbed the blunt, so there would be no evidence for the cops. He couldn’t risk them trying to run DNA and catching Pete. Not that they would but the cops these days looked less and less like they were on the side of reason and logic. Sonny kept the joint tight in his hand as he scaled the fire escape with Pete. The took it to the rooftop and walked across to the other side ofthe building and shimmied down the other firescape. They did this several times, weaving between buildings, climbing up and down.

No wonder Pete was fit. It wasn’t an easy life. Sonny felt his arms and legs burn like he had ran a marathon. They reached the De La Vega corner store and Pete stopped there. “I better go before your cousin chases me down.”

“Hey…don’t say that, Usnavi he likes you…” Sonny was a terrible liar. Pete didn’t bother fight him, he kissed his boyfriend softly, then playfully flicked the hat off his head. “Bye.”

“See ya, sunshine.”

Pete kept moving like a real life Aladdin. Sonny watched him disappear across the street and up another fire escape. He giggled to himself, slowly backing into the store door.

“Sonny, you’re late.” Usnavi sounded like a broken record. “Pick up a broom and sweep up.”

“K’” Sonny shrugged off his jacket and in a moment he opened his hand the joint fell out of it. Usnavi’s keen eyes didn’t miss a thing that landed on his floor. He walked over and nearly shoved Sonny into the shelves. Slowly be picked up the blunt and could smell it, it was lit not too long ago.

“Sonny what the fuck is this?” Usnavi held out the paper wrapped cannabis to his teenage cousin. “Sonny, what the FUCK IS THIS?” His voice got louder, angrier. Sonny slowly felt fear claw up his throat, nervous fear, he didn’t like being yelled at. No kid did, but Sonny especially. He struggled to find the words so Usnavi’s anger bulldozed him. “Sonny are you fucking nuts? Have you lost your fucking mind? Este maldito muchacho de diablo (This damn fucking kid). Where are you getting this from, hm?”

Sonny froze. Usnavi took a moment for his anger to calm for a second. He had a moment of clarity. He knew Sonny. He knew the boy he helped raise and kept on raising. Sonny didn’t deal, Sonny didn’t buy. Sonny didn’t smoke. Sonny didn’t, who…

“Fuckin’ Pete isn’t it? You’ve been messing around with that low life-”
“Navi’!”
“Thug ass kid, Sonny he’s a criminal! He tags public buildings and fucking does pot!”
Sonny felt hot angry tears prick at the edges of his eyes, waves of emotion rolled over him but he stood his ground. The tsunami of emotions wouldn’t wash him away. “Pete is an artist! And Pot isn’t that bad…”

“Have you been smoking too?” Usnavi charged, he tried to find signs of being high in Sonny. Red eyes, flushed face…but it was hard to tell. “Sonny, you’re going to school, you’re gonna get yourself fucked up out there. DO YOU KNOW WHAT COPS DO TO KIDS LIKE YOU?” He tossed the blunt in the trash and grabbed Sonny by the shoulders.

Sonny met Usnavi’s glare, but there wasn’t anger anymore. It was pure, unnerving fear.

“Do you know what happens to kids like you? One joint and cops are gonna pick you up, you’ve seen the news. Cops pick up kids like you and next thing you know you’re dead. You try to talk back, you’re dead. Do you understand that? Do you want to DIE on me Sonny?” Usnavi couldn’t, his heart couldn’t take another loss of the family. He couldn’t lose his Sonny. “You stay away from Pete. I swear…Sonny, he’s going to get you killed.”

“Navi’…” Sonny sniffled, his face was hot, the tears rolling down felt like magma against his flushed skin. Of course he knew…and he knew better than to play around with Pete like that. Pete did some stuff but that didn’t define him. This hood didn’t define him! “I can’t…”

Usnavi gave him a hard look, as if he was two seconds away from slapping Sonny. “What?”

“I…” He licked his lips trying to find the right words.

“You what? You think your lame ass friend is more important than your life?”

“No.” He sobbed a bit. Why couldn’t he think straight? Why couldn’t Usnavi back up for a second and not yell. His brain ached and throbbed as he searched every lobe in his brain for an answer.

“No what Sonny? No you think he’s more important, no he’s not a lame ass?” He hissed.

“No..just…no…he…” He hiccuped, his breathing was fast and irregular, his mind was melting he couldn’t find it. All he could say was no. No to all of it, no to this. He wanted to eject right out of his body right now and be somewhere else.

Usnavi pulled away from Sonny, finally giving him a moment of space. He took off his hand and roughly ran his hand through his hair. “…If I see him anywhere near I’m callin him in.” Usnavi wasn’t a snitch. He didn’t believe anyone in the hood was bad, but if some little punk was hell bent on bringing his cousin down…well blood was always thicker than water. He was going to keep Sonny safe even if it came at the expense of another youth.

The tear soaked tea felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed hard as the reality hit him. Pete wouldn’t stay away. He knew Pete enough, he knew Pete loved him as much as Sonny did him. So he could see it, Usnavi calling him in. Pete would be…No.

The streets would be bare again. Brick canvases would never light up with the life Pete gave them. Empty spray cans wouldn’t dot the corners were Pete had been. Random masterpieces hidden in corners that no one would ever see them wouldn’t be little surprises to the lost passerby or the hiding alley way drunk. No more, ‘hey sunshines’.

“Usnavi…”

“What.” He grumbled half ready to fight Sonny if he tried to test him now. “What is it?”

“Pete…he…I…” He licked his lips a little, “I love him.”

The Great Unknown

Summary: As if it wasn’t bad enough to fall in a random hole in a road and find yourself in Middle Earth, travelling with Thorin Oakenshield and his company, but also get turned into a dog by Gandalf. And when the wizard doesn’t even know how it happened or how to turn you back, you could only hope that this was just a bad dream. But is it?

Pairing: Thorin’s company x Reader

Words: 2711

Author’s note: This will be a multi-chaptered story and it WILL take some time from me to write this. So please be patient, thank you. :)
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

You were so done. So. Fucking. Done.

First you had had a fight with your mother about something what seemed so meaningless now. But the fact that you fell to a hole in middle of the road after you had decided to go on a walk, to cool your head… And you haven’t even seen the bloody hole! Like it had just popped there from nowhere just in time and you fell in. You could almost see it grinning like a Troll face afterwards. 

Then you fell. And fell. And fell. And finally you hit something. Or rather, you dropped on someone. You saw the dark starry sky, trees, all around you, a little of gray gown and confused and alarmed very hairy face. Then everything had gone dark.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

This is your humble follower boku-no-family admin ☺️ I feel tempted now, so I'm going to sneak 98 with Kacchako in your inbox 😘 you are just awesome, lovely ✨ keep it up!

You are not humble at all and feel all tempted you wanna, this prompt was a bitch to deal with because, like, I had so many angst options to go with this? But I decided against it and when I was already too deep in, I had regrets. I just hope it lives up to your expectatives, hon ♥ and thanks for dropping by!

The human heart feels things the eyes cannot see, and knows what the mind cannot understand. It started with Deku being a bit too touchy for his own good-hearted kindness.

When he invited Uraraka for dinner at a local restaurant, it being conviniently located near a train station, she couldn’t find it in her heart to say no. Their most recent exam wave had hit all student pretty hard, leaving some of them to limp for the remaining week and others sulking over what they did wrong, right, or other emotional shenanigans.

Of course Uraraka was just plain tired and hadn’t really had the time to have as much of a decent meal in a while. She wasn’t the best at making schedules, and her habit of skipping meals during her time living alone had rubbed off badly on her. So one day, Midoriya approached her at the common room while she was talking animatedly with Tsuyu.

“Hey, Uraraka.” spoke he from under the sofa, interrupting their animated chatter. His cheeks were dusted in light pink, a tight smile on as he felt the ghost of a glare on his neck. He ignored it. “I noticed that you are eating fairly bad, lately…”

Wow Deku, way to start a conversation – thought Kirishima from a corner of the room, ignoring the mass of anger by him – so smooth.

Uraraka frowned a bit, slightly taken aback by this observation. “Well, I haven’t been able to come down as much to eat due to, you know… exams and all of that.”

Also hiding some unnecessary-inflicted injuries that Bakugou had given her during some of their spars, but that information wasn’t askes, thus remained hidden. Deku still looked at her, eyes wide in concern. Tsuyu spoke up before Midoriya could even say a word. “I tried too many times to take her out of her dorm to have lunch, but she’s…”

Uraraka flushed pink. “There was no need to expose me like that!”

The green haired boy decided to speak before a row on alimentation started. “Well, there is this little restaurant downtown where they serve cheap, good meals, so I had thought you would be interested?”

The prospect of having an unexpensive, good dinner sounded so great to her that her eyes glittered more than the sun, smile widening and already tasting the sweetness of roasted meat invading her weak tastes– so she nodded adamantly. However, two seconds later. she felt a burning stare digging in her neck, so she turned around ever so slowly to meet a fuming figure by Kirishima.

The endlessly complaining mass of rage called Bakugou, also known to her as her secret, casual date.

And when she said casual, she meant it in its most literal aspects. Their outings were mostly unplanned, some ended rather badly and they would usually do them for the sake of fun. They were also secret, done when everyone was gathered for some social commitments or when everyone was fast asleep during night. Bakugou had some tricks up his sleeve when it came to sneaking out of the building, and their dates then would be about lying under the starry sky while talking about nothing and everything.

PDA was also something Bakugou was incredibly uncomfortable with. The furthest thing they had done regarding physical contact was hold hands, and he did it only to assure her that the street they were crossing was safe to pass by. There were no kisses, no hugs, just company and a feeling they couldn’t quite name, yet their current status was fine for them.

However, it seems like having her in the arms of another man for a night didn’t convince him at all, even if they were friends and her and Bakugou were just really close friends under a weird social relationship title.

One night, he had taken her arm and whispered that she was his, and she had said that she would be his as long as he was hers. That was it. There was no further commitment other than possesivity that had more than once made her rethink her choices.

Of course Bakugou knew she wouldn’t be completely fine with their arrangement, so the thought of her slipping away to the hands of no other than Deku kind of scared. Alas, since he couldn’t do anything about it because he was goddamn scared of messing up, he ended up growling in a frustrated rage.

Before Bakugou could order the poor boy to stay away from his girl – who really wasn’t his it seems and the thought made him blush uncomfortably – Kirishima seized his arms. “Don’t go and screw up, man.”

“Let me fucking go, Kirishima.” snarled Bakugou, his hair disarrayed in distress.

“Are you sure that murdering your unofficial girlfriend’s best friend is the way to go about this?” asked the redhead, chuckling when Bakugou went completely still. “I don’t think she’ll be too happy about it.”

After giving it some thought, little explosions rippled from his hands and he calmed down… slightly. “Then fucking hold me back before I blow that damn bastard up.”

Kirishima started dragging him to the elevators so his poor jealous friend would see the scene with Uraraka unfold. “Sure thing, buddy.”

Bakugou sulked about it the whole afternoon, thinking about how stupid Uraraka was and how blind Deku must have been not to see the little lovesick glances he dedicated to her, or how Bakugou stopped and stared before talking to her. It was so obvious that Bakugou had a little bit of a crush on her! How dare he invade what was his, all confirmed by their passionate, verbal contract?

How dare he!

“Dude, stop blowing my books up or my mom will have your head.”

He stopped his rampage then, sinking to the floor and pouting the image of them together, holding hands, laughing, and her falling in love with the quirkless bastard. In the spur of the moment, hestarted scheming a little plan to keep an eye on her, which was… keeping an eye on her by mostly stalking. 

“You and I are gonna keep track of them.”

Kirishima blinked at his friend, thinking that he had completely lost his mind if he thought he was going to comply to such stupid plan. Then, he started sketching again on his notebook. “She’s gonna get real mad if she finds out, you know.”

“We are not gonna interrupt their shitty outing.” he carefully dodged the d word, grimacing. A sadistic spark illuminated his fire eyes. “I’m just gonna be her bodyguard.”

“By being her bodyguard you are not only judging her strength, but also being Midoriya’s guard at the same time since, you know, they will be together.”

Bakugou blatantly ignored him and slammed the closest and thickest book available on his friend, who fell to the ground almost knocked out. 

Later that evening, they accordingly waited in the shadows for the fated pairing to exit the building and trailed behind them with hoodies on and the most suspicious of clothes on. Once they were behind a tree, Kirishima sighed and tugged at his hoodie.

“I still don’t know what I’m doing here, dude.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes at him and, right before giving him a discourse on relationship shenanigans, the pair moved again and the other pair had to play the tag game again, black and red hoodies blending with the shadows in the night.

Worst of it all was that she was wearing his favourite dress and he was hellbent on thinking that she had done it on purpose. Right before they entered the restaurant, the inner light of the place shed purity and beauty on her, making not only Bakugou be mesmerized with her red beauty, but also Midoriya, who leaned in and pecked her cheek.

This abuptly popped his bubble and Bakugou had his hands ready for a beating. “Hold me back before that fucker pays for what he’s doing.”

And Kirishima seized his arms again, a grim smile pending his face. “I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.”

Deku and Uraraka made their way into the restaurant, the boy leading her in by pushing her lower back and Bakugou was seriously losing it at how content she was with this physical contact when he himself hadn’t done shit with her and he was regretting it so hard now. He sighed deeply and gripped the crust of the tree with fervor.

Kirishima nudged him forward. “Yo, they are in. Wanna check if they hold hands or something?”

Bakugou scrambled to the window pane and watched them sit in front of the other, content smiles in their faces. Now that he thought about it, he had never seen that expression in her face when she was with him, and if he did ever notice something akin, it was by far less noticeable than now. Her eyes twinkled against the flame of a candle, chocolate melting in front of the blushing teen, who was everything but still.

“Dude, Midoriya is gonna have a seizure if he keeps fidgeting like that.” murmured Kirishima to Bakugou, who was slammed against the pane under him. “Perhaps you’ll get rid of her date without intervening.”

The other remained silent, observing her and only her from outside. Her skin was also milky, he noticed, and soft to the touch– Midoriya wouldn’t stop reaching for her hand and he swore that thank goodness that Kirishima was gripping his arm hard, because if he wasn’t being held than he would barge into the restaurant and give him an earful.

There was also something funny about the way she ate. When she was taking bites, she would never speak or give worded responses, just nods or hums of approval or denial. Uraraka also ate with enthusiasm, and that was when Bakugou noticed that her issue with skipping meals was more serious than he had considered it to be. Bathed in sunlight, her skin seemed as smooth and muscular as normal, but now, in such dim light, she seemed weak, frail.

Bakugou frowned deeply, prompting an arched brow from his friend. Why hadn’t he seen this before? Had she been so reckless as to spar with him when she was clearly not eating well enough? That was bullshit. He had not only not noticed, but also Deku had been the one to and seriously, Bakugou couldn’t imagine how let down Uraraka must have felt seeing that he didn’t notice, ergo didn’t care.

But he did care. Now he was worried to death.

“I can’t believe Midoriya is being a better boyfriend than you, and he isn’t even her boyfriend.” commented Kirishima when the green haired boy cleaned her sauce-stained cheek. “He’s collecting some good points.”

Bakugou forced himself to look away. “He is being a damn attention whore.”

Kirishima, once again, held him back– a second later they saw Midoriya get up, and they realized that the pair had already finished their dinner. “That was lighting fast– hold on.”

Bakugou looked pointedly at his frriend, who shook his shoulder. “He has seen us.”

What.”

Kirishima was right. Indeed, Midoriya was looking at them with a frown as he exited the restaurant, making Bakugou remember that he was supposed to keep his cool in front of Uraraka– but hey, the aforementioned was picking up her stuff from their table, and he could pay his frustrations on the boy now.

“Kacchan, to what do I owe the pleasure?” sighed Midoriya as he exited the restaurant and closed the door behind him.

The other circled around him until the restaurant was behind him, Kirishima on his tail, and towered over poor Midoriya.They still stood in front of the building though, and people were staring to whisper about him. “No, to what do I owe the fucking pleasure of seeing you here with her.”

Deku looked at his childhood friend, who had his arms crossed in that menacing manner that used to scare him, but now it only made him wonder… Then, he jumped a bit, tudging with the collar of his shirt. “Oh, I didn’t know you and Uraraka were together, I’m so sorry!”

This direct attack to his pride made Bakugou jump, Kirishima trying to hold him back to no avail. “Oi, what the fuck, she ain’t my girlfriend!”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Bakugou landed down on Earth, and Kirishima crossed his arms with a smirk, letting him go to see how he would escape this. “That’s a good question.”

The ashen blonde blushed madly and glowered at his friend, plunging all kinds of daggers on his back. Then, he clenched his teeth at the other boy. “That’s none of your fucking business!”

“I am afraid it is.”

A hand touched his shoulder and, suddenly, he was weightless. In mid air, hoodie flipping from the sudden gravitational pull, he looked down to see Uraraka shaking her head at him. Her hands were on her waist, squinting in such a bitchy manner that Bakugou wanted to laugh. However, the dread of being found out muted him, and something big coated his vocal chords.

In other words, he was fucked.

While floating in front of her, Uraraka rolled up her dress’ sleeves, and frowned– she was livid beyond recognition, an aura only Bakugou was allowed to let out permeating her in tenfold, and her eyes glowed intensely at the perplexed blonde, who was cursing at his annoying situation.

“I’m going to– I’m going to…” she attempted to step to closer to the unnerving blonde, but halted halfway. “Deku, hold me back before I shred him to pieces!”

In the midst of her agitation, the trembling boy held onto her with the help of Kirishima, who was finding this angry species to be festier than Bakugou ever was, as she struggled and wiggled under their hold. 

The boy was dropped down mistakengly, and he was on his feet again. “Oi, what the fuck was that about, Uraraka!?”

Before none of them could even act, Uraraka made her way out of their restraining grip and wordlessly stomped her way to Bakugou, took his arm and led him to a dark alleyway, away from the prying eyes of Deku and Kirishima, blinking at the gruesome pair. 

A second later, a loud groan was heard nearby. Uraraka was much probably making Bakugou her bitch.

Unbeknownst to them, all she had done was slam him to the nearest wall. Bakugou, still thinking about some of the stuff he had came to realize back at the restaurant. When he looked at her, his heart started racing again, all confusing feelings coming back to him in a sudden wave of guilt and shame. Her eyes twinkled in fury, but there was something else to them that he couldn’t quite figure out.

Her finger jabbed his chest, accusating him of too many atrocities that maybe even she herself couldn’t name. “What are you doing here?”

“You are on a date.”

Hardly called a date, but whatever.”

“You are on a date.” them both froze, a bit awkward with how things were coming through for both of them. “With him.”

Ah, so that was it. She looked to her feet, slightly ashamed whilst knowing that she had no reason to be like that, because damn him, Bakugou wasn’t anything more than a little distraction, something she had found along the way, something that well, she wanted, desired, but seeing his preference for personal space, something that was a bit out of reach.

How could he still playing possesive when he blushed and screamed at the mention of their relationship? Was he ashamed of her?

“You have no right to tell me who I can or can’t be with.” retorted Uraraka. He glared at her as if she was yelling blasphemies, when deep inside he knew this was true. “After all, all we have that bond us is our friendship and you constantly lurking for anybody who tries to be with me. Why can you demand things from me when I can’t even demand as much of a hug from you?”

And Bakugou sighed, because that was true, too. If this silly trip had helped with anything, it was realize how much of a jerk he had been to her. He had been demanding her to be hers— his heart had beaten so hard when he looked at her so hard and passionately, void words falling on deaf ears that were a bit too closed to the truth and, at the same time, desperate to know the truth of what he felt for her.

And somehow, it was so hard to tell her because he didn’t even know himself. Did he only feel desire for her company? Was it maybe her body, only? Or were al those sleepless nights related to something that had more to do with her heart and shining eyes than just superficial matters?

His eyes travelled from her braided hair to that loose red dress he loved on her. Bakugou had only seen her in it twice, but it was already his favorite piece of clothing and sometimes, all he could think was about it would look much better lost between a mountain of his own clothes.

A bright blush made its way to his cheeks, and he gripped her forearm tightly, fearing she would leave with any blunt statement he did– which happened too often and he seriously feared he’d scare away in such a critical moment like this.

“I’m not the best at these things, you fucking know.” he started messing with his hair, an habit he had unconsciously gotten from her. Her brown pools shone with curiosity and wonder. “So I have no damn clue as to what you want from me.”

“I want some kind of compromise, Bakugou.” retorted she. “I wanna know where I can dig to get stuff out of you. I want to know if it’s alright for me to hug you, to hold your hand, to kiss you, if you are alright with us being in that phase because–”

“When the fuck did I say that you couldn’t do all of that?”

Her head shot up to meet his vexed glare, fixated on comprehending what that little bitch was even thinking. She couldn’t remember a time when his hellfire crosses had burnt so brightly, making her feel both aroused and afraid of his next words. “I hate people touching me– but you touching me is another subject.”

“But you never–”

“I am not in for being all kissey and lovely in public. I am not such a loser. And well… I am afraid that I may move too fast for you in private.” and she giggled, because it was true that he was too cool to do something as cheesy as kisses or hand holding. She sighed, smiling at him in slight relief. “But I don’t mind you touching me. And I still don’t know if that counts as fucking compromise and I’m such a bastard for not noticing–”

Her hands came clasping his cheeks, and he had the urge to jump back. However, a part of him made him stay, and that little corner of his heart that was always jumping around when anyone touched his skin– it remained silent the whole time he glanced into her beautiful eyes and understood that she understood his struggle. After all, who else would? Shit, maybe they wouldn’t be sorting out all their problems, but they had gotten rid of one big ass boulder.

The thought was somewhat hilariating and enlightening. He could dive deep into her eyes and see it all: the recognition, the fact that she was fine with taking things slow, and at the same time telling him to stop fetting over shit– stop fretting over her, and just hold her hand and enjoy the ride.

His hands held her wrists and pulled her hands away from his face, the message loud and clear. She stepped a bit closer. “I’m not completely over the fact that you almost murdered my best friend, and I’m not going to forgive you soon for following us here–” he growled, a hand sneaking around her waist, and the little rope that tied him to reality snapped cut when her rose perfume trailed up his nose and hazed his brain. “–but I can understand that you were just… afraid?”

“A little.” mumbled he to her shoulder, arms wrapped stronger than ever. he little judgement he had was tiptoeing its way out of there in the darkness, their bodies encased by the throwing shades of the building. He stroked the fabric of her dress to land on Earth, but it didn’t work. He would always be quick to pull away if things got too close, or if she behaved extra cocky, but now…

Holy fuck. There was no turning back now.

“Uraraka,” she pushed his shoulders back to look at him, and found his breathing dangerously labored. “I can’t– I know I usually stand proud and stale but you– goddammit, that fucking dress.” she blinked innocently, making him struggle even more against the sight of her glossy lips. “Please, tell me to stop if I go too far, fucking tell me to hold back because I know you are prone to being a damn–”

After that, there was silence around the area, but after a while, when Kirishima picked the sound of a little moan– he prayed it was Uraraka’s, because living thinking that Bakugou could moan so sensually would affect his sexuality real hard– he blushed and took his leave, flinging his arm around Midoriya’s shoulder.

“He stole my date!”

The redhead disheveled Midoriya’s already tousled locks. “Tough luck, buddy. He snapped back into reality too soon for you.”

“Snap? Too soon?” Kirishima nodded by him, walking away steadily. “I don’t understand. Aren’t they going out?”

He gave Deku a little squeeze on the shoulders. “It’s a long story. But remember lil’ buddy:  the heart feels things the eyes cannot see, and knows what the mind cannot understand.” and yeah, considering how much of a dumbass Bakugou was, the quote fit him pretty well.

As they walked quickly as far from the pair as possible, Deku shivered.

“Where are you taking me?”

To a bar.” answered Kirishima matter-o’-factly, looking at his buddy with a bright smile. “Can’t let that fancy clothing go to waste!”

The day after, a neatly packed bento was left at Uraraka’s doorstep, no questions asked– but a part of her knew who it was from.

Talent is an ability that someone is born with. Everyone is talented and everyone’s talent is unique. It depends on how and where you express it. Some people become famous for their talent, some people never care about the natural abilities that they have and just ignore them, others keep their talent only for themselves. Sadly, most people waste their talents others are being forced to waste it due to different reasons. It is out of the question that when you are able to create something you want to share it with the rest of the world. But it is always hard to predict the reaction of the world to your new creation, so you hesitate about whether to show it or let your creation dust in the attic. How many talented people wasted themselves and their work because of that factor? The answer would be quite sad so many.  

The most vulnerable people tend to be artist. They have great talent. They can draw anything, they can draw their dreams, their deepest thoughts, their desires, they can draw real life, they can express the world with their own eyes, the way they see it. It’s a gift. Gift of the God. But here’s something that kills that talent in artists and it’s is opinion of the others. Artists are easily to hurt and people don’t consider about that when they start judging and calling their artwork THE RUBBISH. Here comes sad finale the farewell to talented person who just wanted to share his view of this universe.  

History is full of great and lamentable examples. One of the most talented people in whole world whose talent was fully recognized only after his death is Vincent van Gogh. He experienced short life but left huge legacy after him. They key to become one of the greatest artist in the world was not given easily.

He experienced really short life. He died at the age of 37. He enriched this world with many famous art pieces like: Wheatfield with Crows, Sunflowers, The Starry Night and many others. Even if you are not a person who is madly in love with art you should have seen those pictures.  Everything sounds great except one thing. His artworks got famous only after death. He could not experience the feeling of happiness that people love his work, he didn’t have a chance to feel that joy. And when you think about it deeply it becomes so sad, so sad in your heart and mind.

He reflected his life is his letters to his brother Theo who supported him mentally and financially at his hard times. I think Theo wasn’t just his little brother he was everything to him: his mentor, his best friend. ‘If I didn’t have Theo it wouldn’t be possible for me to do justice to my work, but because I have him as a friend I believe that I’ll make more progress and that things will run their course’.  He wrote him nearly 600 letters and Theo wrote him nearly 40. Theo respected him and at most of the times he gave him his hand when he needed it. Van Gogh drew as a child and was serious, quiet and thoughtful. He worked as an art-dealer, he often travelled, he turned to religion and spent time as a Protestant missionary in southern Belgium. No matter what he tried himself in, his heart was always full of desire to paint. In just over a decade he created about 2,100 artworks, including around 860 oil paintings. But he barely sold them for money, people didn’t appreciate his work at that time as we do now, he exchanged some of his paintings with other artists. He was not that sociable person, and it’s written that people used to find his artwork ugly and reckless. He wasn’t the man of their time so he couldn’t be understood correctly.

He visited different places and captured them in the most beautiful way - he draw them in beautiful, astounding colors, he expressed all of his feelings, inner scrambles and worries in his paintings. I think that vision of the world was caused by his mental state, he was suffering from many kind of mental diseases including epilepsy and bipolar disorder. Van Gogh’s illness revealed itself: he began to hallucinate and suffered attacks in which he lost consciousness. And he cut his ear off. During one of these attacks, he used the knife. He could later recall nothing about the event.

I don’t think that his mental health state was  understood by people, people rather say that he is crazy then helping him and understanding that the disease isn’t something that we choose by our own will.  I do think that people may develop stigma around him over that fact. Unfortunately, mental state became one of the reasons why he committed suicide.

All of his life he spent not knowing that he will be one of the most favorite world’s painter. I wish he could have been recognized for his talent at his life time, who knows, maybe the things would have turned the other way and we would have hundreds of paintings. Nothing quite as wonderful as the things he saw, that colors and just the way he saw the universe.

His talent was the reason he lived and I think at some point it was the reason he died.  Talent is a luxurious ability when you know how to use it and when to use it and with whom to share it.

His lifetime story touches my heart so deep and I just could not find the right words to express those feelings correctly. So many events that happened in his life and that he didn’t deserve. Life of a talented person is hard and mostly his life is being affected by people who is around him. But God made give to us and to him he let the memory of Vincent van Gogh to live forever and never die. His legacy will be passed through decades.

I want to finish my speech with the words from British TV series Doctor who, which episode was dedicated to him and I think those words describe his and his talent’s influences fully: Well, big question, but to me, Van Gogh is the finest painter of them all. Certainly, the most popular great painter of all time. The most beloved. His command of colour, the most magnificent. He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty. Pain is easy to portray, but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world. No one had ever done it before. Perhaps no one ever will again. To my mind, that strange, wild man who roamed the fields of Provence was not only the world’s greatest artist, but also one of the greatest men who ever lived.