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pinkhairedlily · 3 years

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Chapter 11 - Student Council President Sakura / Graduation Chapter

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

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They held a run-through of the graduation ceremony on the last day of class and technically the last day of the trio’s high school life. Unlike their first general assembly, Uchiha Sasuke was to deliver the graduation speech but not without great sulking from Haruno Sakura who landed a close second despite ranking first in their final exams.

And obviously, not without Sasuke trying to give up his speech privileges by campaigning instead for Sakura.

In the end, all three of them were granted speech slots – one for Sasuke as valedictorian, Sakura as student representative, and Naruto as the school’s first national MVP. It was this debacle that led the three of them to brainstorm in an empty AVR after the dry run.

“Done!” Sakura yelled like the diligent student she was. “Let me look at yours!”

Sasuke presented her a blank paper while saying, “It’s all prepared in my head”, and Naruto showed her his baseball doodles.

“Oh God, you’re all so hopeless.”

Then the electricity suddenly got cut off in the AVR. Sakura expected the boys to screech in surprise and cling to each other, but she only heard silence in the dark. She jumped in her seat when the doors opened with a loud bang, a confetti splash, and the lights coming back to life.

Sasuke and Naruto were still in front of her, holding two bouquets of irises and yellow roses. Behind them were the old and new student council members with other students holding a large banner saying Thank you, Student Council President Sakura!

She started to leave her seat to come to them, but they gestured for her to stay on her seat. In front of the room, the large monitor beeped and showed a compilation of videos.

Sukehiro Aoi, an alumni and currently an intern in an animation studio. “Hello, Ms. Pres. You once asked the body to submit a publication material for an event of the student council, and I sent mine through a dummy email with no expectations of winning. I wasn’t comfortable with the public seeing my art. I was afraid of the unsolicited remarks so sending it anonymously gave me some relief. You chose it however, and you knew how big a credit was to an artist. I was really scared when you were able to hunt me down just by my watermark, but my name in the info blast caught the attention of a school board member and referred me to this animation studio. It was the littlest thing, but you handed me my dream.”

Watanabe Kota was a year below them. He has a small frame, round thick glasses, and battled with face acne. “Ms. Pres! People never had much confidence in my physical appearance, so I don’t know what you saw in me when you asked me to take over the school radio. But here we are – we’re airing daily and we even produce documentaries and radio programs. Thank you for seeing what I didn’t.”

Ito Amanaya, a typical jock in the football team, muscular and came across as intimidating, but he had the gentlest cadence. “I was bullied by the same group that bullied your dynamic duo. When you ran them off, you also saved my life. Thank you, Haruno.”

Kimura Shinze, a classmate in third year, beautiful, popular, and the captain of the cheering squad. “Hope you’re having a great day, Ms. Pres. Remember that time when the class was guessing who were our crushes and I blurted out that it was a girl, you told me thank you for telling us. That was…a big deal to me. Thank you for that gesture.”

Himurata Aoi, president of the koto club. “Sakura, I know you had many people come up and confessed to you so when I did try, I was glad that you didn’t give me a bullshit reason like you’re not into girls. You turned me down because you have someone you already love. I am thankful for your honesty.”

The biology teacher, Takahashi Kande. “Student council, thank you for your mental health program. As a single father to twins, I don’t have the luxury of time to sit in a couch and sort out my issues. To be able to do that in my workplace during breaks is a heaven-sent gift. You saved me and my family. Thank you.”

Many more messages came on, from a classmate she lent spare change to, from a staff she helped clean, from countless students who she wasn’t aware she gave kindness to.

“Why….” She asked breathlessly.

“You’ve been beating yourself lately. We thought you needed some reminding,” Sasuke muttered, under his breath, the bouquet still in his hands. “You left some pretty big footprints, Ms. Pres.

“You might not have noticed,” Naruto jested. “But this is always innate and natural to you, isn’t it?”

“Why did you bother so much?” She was reduced to tears.

“It was Naruto’s idea.”

“Huh? You did all the compiling though!”

“Shut up, it was me,” yelled the current president.

“Thank you, everyone.”

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It was a weekend, but Sasuke requested Sakura and Naruto to meet him at the school gates. He only gave the time and place, and he knew well enough that they would be there – no questions asked.

They stood there, minutes earlier than planned, a first but nothing more unusual than homebody Sasuke asking them to go out on a weekend. Sakura wore an oversized rust shirt over a pair of muted cotton blue trousers tied with a brown leather belt and tan fisherman sandals, her long hair kept in one single braid at the back. Naruto probably expected a fancy lunch with his outfit – black silky long sleeves over gray pants and black loafers.

Sasuke, high on impulsive decisions, wore bright colors, a complete departure from his usual neutrals; mustard vest over a deep violet polo, baggy pants, off white converse, and a white fanny pack. “Well, we’re mostly dressed for comfort, except for that idiot beside you.”

“What do you mean dressed for comfort? I borrowed these loafers from my vice-captain and my feet aren’t used to them,” Naruto whined. “Besides, aren’t you taking us out to a five-star meal, Mr. Valedictorian?”

“Wow, what a way to show off.” Sakura pursed her lips in annoyance. “Don’t worry Naruto, I got your next café order.”

“Ah no. It was just something we heard from the grape vine.” Naruto scratched his head and carefully glanced at Sasuke. “Grumpy got his trust fund today.”

In bated breaths, they waited for him to respond with a scowl or a retort, but he just nodded. “Come on, we’ll miss the train.”

They traveled for three stations and disembarked on the fourth, Sasuke sandwiched in between the two, his shoulders pillows again to their heads and yet such burdens were light as cotton. The surfacing emotions since last week were taking hold of him, but he needed to pull through somehow because breaking down while commuting was one thing he did not really see doing.

“Word just got in. The house was turned over this morning,” Itachi told him over the phone.

“Impeccable timing when I’m also moving abroad next week.” Sasuke pulled out his Bleachers vinyl and anticipated another lonesome lull for the night.

“Do you miss the cream puffs?”

“Nothing comes close.”

“Hmm. I’ll pay for the rental fee of your car.”

In Itachi’s defense, while he was an afficionado of escapism, he also knew how to read between the lines. “Watch me get a Mercedes-Benz.”

“I have a good driving playlist.” This only meant math rock, and Sasuke wanted something to scream his lungs too.

“Don’t need one.”

“Treat your friends to dinner, okay? Gotta go.”

“We’re walking?!” Naruto almost limped out of the train. Sasuke took one look at his heels and saw that they were bruised red. He took off his converse and socks and gave them to him.

Sakura whipped out a small first-aid kit and covered the rash on Naruto’s heels. “Hey don’t look at me like that. Brought it just in case we’re going on a day survival tour. A camping would be nice too.”

“Did you scrub your feet, idiot?”

“You think so low of me grumpy. Of course – last week!”

With Naruto now comfortable, the three resumed walking on the unfamiliar residential area. Sasuke gestured for them to enter a bamboo forest on the far side of the main road. Hidden in the shadows of the clumped stalks were a small opening, the growth hampered and ground rid of grasses and weeds; many people have also chosen this shortcut, walked through the forest, did a little nature bathing, and emerged behind the bakery, still there, still standing, still operating.

Sasuke tapped on the large glass window cum counter on the front and bought three sets of cream puffs.

“Oh, it’s you,” the old baker greeted. “You brought your friends over? You always buy one set.”

Sasuke offered her a smile, briefly glancing to his periphery where Sakura was fussing with Naruto’s feet, and nodded as he accepted the paper bag. “It’s on the house, kid.”

“You brought us to stalk someone’s house?” Sakura dug in one paper bag, bit the puff in one bite, and with full mouth, she sighed. “This is heaven.”

“It’s our old family house, before the accident that is.” Sasuke also took out one puff and munched on it, ruminating on the sight before him, a two-story house with an imposing façade, his mom’s climbing hydrangea gone and cut by the new owners, beds of roses and daisies already withered, but the wisteria tree on the vacant lot beside continued to grow and shade what he supposed were the children’s rooms. It was in his third bite that he saw the tomato fruits he planted, alive and full with harvest. “Do you think my parents know?”

Naruto slid an arm across his shoulder and grinned sheepishly. “Then they would be happy ghosts or maybe they would voluntarily move away to give the new owners the opportunity to make it a happy a home like yours.

“What part are you gonna miss?” Sakura asked, halfway through her set of puffs.

“The sight of the wisteria before I sleep and after I wake up, and the sunlight in my parents’ room. My dad liked to make these suncatchers for my mom. The play of light was a good morning greeting, she said.”

“What’s your funniest memory?” Naruto sat on the grass, uncaring for the stains that would taint his good pair of pants.

“It was probably Christmas when I was seven, and Itachi had this big idea to bake a cake, but he swapped the sugar for the salt and we were wondering why it wouldn’t make a custard. Our parents still ate it, saying it was a very salty version of dark chocolate cake.”

“It was a good home,” Sakura patted the space between her and Naruto and Sasuke sat down cross-legged too, dipping his hand on the paper bag with the last cream puff.

“It was a good home,” Sasuke agreed as he bit into the last vestige of his family memory. He was suckling the powdered sugar off his fingers when he realized he was already crying, and the two were downright sobbing on his either side.

Such an embarrassing sight to see; he wondered what would the new owners feel if they looked out their windows this instant and saw three teenagers breaking down on the road across. It was honestly stupid and laughable to a point, considering how funny it was for grief to become lighter when someone else cried with him.

Naruto was sniffling so much that he had to offer his handkerchief to him. “I forgot to tell you guys. Hinata confessed to me during the cultural festival.”

“Oh my god. What did you say?” Sakura took a tissue out of her bag and dabbed her eyes. She flashed an apologetic look to Sasuke who already offered his hanky to Naruto’s fluids.

“Ah, what else? I had to reject her.” Naruto sneezed on Sasuke’s handkerchief again. “I told her I was in love with someone else.” He slyly glanced at his raven-haired friend and pursed his lips which Sakura quickly caught.

“Who is it?”

“Sasuke also likes someone.”

“Shut your mouth, blondie. Point is already moot. Besides, we’ve already been rejected.”

“Who are these people and why don’t I know them?” Sakura genuinely looked offended. “I could have vetted them!”

“Exactly why it was fortunate you didn’t meet them,” Sasuke said as an excuse though he pegged Sakura for not being that naïve. She, thankfully, let it go and gathered their trash. She dropped the bomb as she was brushing the grass blades from her trousers. “My parents are divorcing. Such a travesty not to have them show up on graduation day, and I thought I did a great job.”

The two, ever so sure, held onto her hands in case she was trembling again.

“Let’s get that five-star dinner,” Sasuke suggested, “and we need to rent a Mercedes-Benz.”

--------------------------------

Graduation Day

“Let’s welcome to the stage, class valedictorian, Uchiha Sasuke.” Kakashi was the officiating faculty today so she expected difficulty going through the event, but for some reason, he slipped into her mental back burner, no longer taking up room in her active consciousness. That was a good step, she smiled to herself. Her smile became wider as Sasuke got up the stage.

His fans club’s cheers were heard outside the auditorium, and the graduating class chuckled at the quick interruption. He cleared his throat and started his piece.

“Please get it on record that I was coerced to do this speech. Then again, I also had a hand on the turn of events that led me here today, in front of you. And it’s a little too on the nose, but I came to high school with a clear set of goals – have high grades and lead an uninteresting life. I accomplished the first one rather easily, and it’s a good metric for the future that’s upon us right now. Good grades land us good colleges. Good colleges land us good jobs. Good jobs land us good life.

But it’s not the sole benchmark as I have learned lately. You see, my second goal really missed the mark. Good life can also mean good friends, fun experiences, a caring environment, a complete family. If you ticked off each one, then that’s very notable. You have the four-leaf clover, and it’s a rare blessing. I only ticked off three, but that goes without any regret. If you only have one silver lining in your high school memory, then that makes us all the more human. And if there’s none, there is still is still a whole stretch of possibilities we can discover to find one. Thank you for your kind attention.”

Sakura was pretty sure she heard several sniffles across the student body. “The bastard delivered a good speech,” she muttered to herself.

“We would like to welcome our first national MVP, Uzumaki Naruto.”

Outside, the school band played the cheering anthem for his last national games. The cheerleaders also did a routine in tribute to him. That made him well up when he got to the podium.

“Wait oh my god, I’m tearing up so much.”

Sasuke grunted loudly and went back the stage to hand him a handkerchief which Naruto quickly used to wipe his snot.

“Thanks Sasuke. How can Kakashi-sensei let me follow after that rousing speech, and before Sakura too. It’s kinda evil.”

Laughter broke out.

“Well, this one’s a bare minimum. I didn’t have any goals or expectations, unlike genius grumpy over there. I just wanted to live my life like an ordinary boy. Someone said that how you spend your day is how you live your life so I did just that – ate ramen, slept in class because I am a growing kid, and played each arcade game until I won them. I also believe in serendipitous – thanks Sakura for this word, for the spelling and meaning – serendipitous coincidences. I just pitched and batted for former captain Haru one afternoon and now we landed in the national finals. I had loneliness for a friend, but now I’ve got all of you. And you know what else, the magic of working together. We wouldn’t have stepped foot in the nationals if it weren’t for your collective help. When we work towards a common goal, that also gives us common happiness, right? It’s infectious, a bouncing energy that gets thrown around and still makes it one piece. So wherever you will be after this, believe it!”

When Kakashi called her name next, she thought she was deaf, the noise around her collapsed in muted decibels. It took a minute before her fellow classmates shook her and motioned for her to quickly come up the stairs. Her silver-haired teacher looked so concerned in the shadows, but for what it was worth, she was civil and calm enough (at least in the matters concerning him) to nod at him in quiet exchange of assurance.

It was because she saw both of her parents at the side with a bouquet of roses. She struggled with the paper she brought with her although she had it memorized in her head; she even went through it flawlessly for three times last night. Tears blurred the words and the mere shock of the sight of their togetherness disabled her mental function to string coherent thoughts. She also started hyperventilating, her breaths coming faster than what her lungs could pump.

Then she felt Kakashi’s hand on her shoulder, a steady presence, and it reeled her back to reality. He tapped the mic and the feedback echoed. “Ah, Ms. Haruno had some technical issues. Again, let’s welcome former student council president, Sakura.”

Sasuke and Naruto in the front were almost standing, but she flashed them a smile as if to say she was okay now. “Hello, good day to our honorable guests and graduates. I think it’s safe to say that Sasuke and Naruto provided really good words of advice. So I have nothing more to offer, but to share my gratitude. Everyone was saying the student council did a good job in its programs, but it was actually the lot of you who made this possible – from your activity suggestions to participation and feedback. After all, you were the makers of your memories.

Earlier last week, my councilmates and friends reminded me how small actions go a long way – a smile, a wave across the hallway, a short exchange of good morning and see you soon, and I thought, aren’t we all just an accumulation of these small, little things? As such, it was what you think your insignificant moments were that pushed us to deliver you the best. It was the passing comment, the top-of-your-head tips, the interlude stories we hear during lunch breaks that allowed us to give you grand gestures and memories we hoped were worth keeping. And if we could start to use that perspective as well in our lives then maybe the uncertainties of a future wouldn’t be so heavy on us. We will face tomorrow with a lightness in being.

In behalf of the student council, thank you for allowing us to serve you.”

She bowed at a level where her torso was almost aligned at her hips, and she was confused with the lack of reaction. Sakura sighed, mulling over the deficiencies in her speech, but she straightened her back to a sight of a standing ovation and a thundering applause.

Then, she let her tears fall.

--------------------------------

“Why would you let Kakashi-sensei take the pic?” Sakura hissed at them.

“Just this one time, Sakura!” Naruto grinned.

“Sakura, you’re out of the frame,” Kakashi remarked. “Okay good. Say cheese.”

In spite of her recent heartbreak with him, she permitted herself to bask in fleeting cordiality. “Cheese.”

“Grumpyyyyyy.”

“Idiot blondie.”

Kakashi took three more shots and handed the camera to the trio. He almost turned away when Sakura caught his sleeve.

“Just one more,” she said. “With you.”

Sakura shifted to the front, almost kneeling with the camera angled for a selfie, her two friends beside her looking equally annoyed as the other, and Kakashi behind them, his hands on either head, smiling with his deceptively charming beauty mark.

It was the last picture of their high school life.

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The three were rushing through the airport crowd fifteen minutes before the immigration closes gates.

“Here!” Sakura slid a folder on the large pocket on Sasuke’s bag. “It includes your passport, your flight details, your valid IDs, your itinerary, and letters from us! Don’t forget our Friday video calls!”

“I can’t see. These tears are bullies,” Naruto said through tears. He was continuously wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“And If I don’t get on my flight because you made us eat ramen for one last time and the orders took too long, I’m gonna have you cursed by a witch and a shaman!” Sasuke growled. The guards were starting to close the gates when a sobbing Naruto sprinted and basically tackled the guards on the floor.

“Sasuke come on, hurry up!”

“Drink your vitamins! And if you miss cream puffs, I’ll teach you how to make them.” Sakura was trying hard to keep pace with Sasuke’s brisk walking, but she ended up breathless anyway.

The three of them finally reached the immigration entrance, and Naruto was profusely apologizing to the guards for the interruption. Sasuke showed his documents, wheezing as they looked at it. They gave him a thumbs up and opened the gates.

The two were already slumped at the floor, waving without words, and exhausted from the clock race. Sasuke was almost through when he remembered something he forgot. He muttered a quick sorry, ran through the opening, and hugged his two friends.

“I’ll miss you.”

#SCPS #student council president sakura #haruno sakura #uchiha sasuke #uzumaki naruto #hatake kakashi #team 7 #sasusaku #kakasaku #narusaku #fic!pseudolily #fic!pinkhairedlily

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 19) (With visuals included 😉)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8) (Posted earlier today, thank you very much for my thirst! Heehee!)

CHAPTER 18

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Evil is evil. People and abomination may be the reason why the world can't be a better place especially in the continent.

Warnings: Blood. The 'Kikker' mentioned here ain't a real monster in the witcher. I just made it up. A bloody, thrashed reader. A maddened, feral, tired witcher. Degrading names. People being assholes. With Geralt’s visuals included but I don’t know how this is a warning?

Words: 5.6k

A/N: A story cannot consist of only glitters and rainbows. Sometimes, it's better to add darkness in it and a ton shit of angst. Heh. I’m cackling with the Geralt GIF’s I’ve included. It’s like he’s so bored and done af while talking to anyone. 😭😂😂😂 GERALT, OH GERALT. I DESERVE A KISS GERALT FROM HOW DEDICATED I AM TO YOU! Please appreciate my effort, people! LMAO 😭😂💗 ENJOY AND HAVE A NICE WEEKEND!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB! This is kinda a rough draft. I apologize for many errors.

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and this fanfic is definitely from moi. Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be.(Credits to those who made the GIF’s. Some don’t have their watermarks included. I don’t remember where I’ve saved the others from)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

It was at around nightfall when Geralt of Rivia has arrived at the foot of the castle's barbican, his swords lunched on his back with bags in his hand and a sour expression written on his picturesque face that screams he wasn't there for a peaceful negotiation.

He'd calmly walked along the aqueduct, his footsteps heavy and impatient as he dropped his bags on the ground, familiarizing over the enormous castle that stood before him and he couldn't help but sigh, atopic of the whole vibe that every castle has given the white wolf. He really didn't want to cross paths with the royals ever again after that show he had by helping Jaskier and he hoped that his help for you didn't include another child of surprise that can happen.

Group of cavaliers shielded the gates with their swords on their hands. Geralt kept silent with a stern purse of his lips and a tightened jaw, he heavily sighed another one and continued to be uncommunicative when one equestrian audibly nagged for what the butcher of Blaviken needed.

Geralt deliberately rolled his eyes as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, giving them a scowl in which they've didn't took it very nicely as they began to draw their swords.

The witcher has heard footfalls echoing from the castle, hasty and restive and it didn't take a second for Geralt to see the king's close friend and an advisor for the royal family emerge from the gates.

Eanraig came forth out of the port; one of Caed Myrkvid's druids and someone whom Geralt has been talking to since decades ago where he has visited Caed Dhu and having their first meeting in the black forest.

The scholar wore a brown long, surcoat as he step foot out of the gates, his white long beard and wild, unwashed gray wavy hair stopping on the tips of his shoulders. Thin lines of wrinkles crafted his face which has given him the look that he was nearly old. His grey colored eyes wholly jiggered to see the white wolf in the foot of their fortress and with an expression that simply tells him that he was pissed.

He always does look like it but the druid knew that Geralt was truly feeling that way and it wasn't just his normal face that you see everyday.

"Yield your swords this instance!"

Geralt gave him a nonchalant flicker of his eyes, opening his mouth to gruffly speak, "Eanraig." his face remained stoic, his timbre sounding utterly lackadaisical when he addressed the scholar.

Eanraig trudged his way to where he was. The soldiers immediately surrendering their weapons down as they firmly stood from side to side, watching the two acquaintances converse in a quiet and calm talk. The druid was cordial as he gave a smile, "Geralt of Rivia. They have been expecting you,"

"Hmm." the latter hummed out of nowhere, narrowing his golden amber eyes at the Elder Druid in acrimony, "---they've taken what's mine. I've been told to never step foot within the berm of eminent citadels,"

Sardonically speaking, Earnraig tilted his head to the side. The flicker in his eyes humorous and mocking, "Yet, here you are, witcher." he throatily chuckled and croaked, his voice sounding drier than usual due to being long in the tooth, "---I shall guess, you are here to save a lover?"

Geralt kept his mouth in a tight thin line, shifting his eyes away from the druid with his question unanswered by the witcher.

"What unlucky fate you have, Geralt. Your lovers always bring out the worst in you---because you don't appear to be in the greatest and friendliest condition,"

"When did I ever?" the white wolf hoarsely mumbled beneath his breath, sighing in the process of it all as he frowned, taking heed of the feeble man before him. His tone was derisive and saturnine for what caustic comment he curtly claimed, "---How are you keeping up with their scoundrel works of art?"

Eanraig smiled; though, Geralt read that it wasn't meant to say he was jovial over the regime and changes he has noticed when the world began to change. His smile was brittle and unconvincing, "I never did. Since Tybalt arrived and has been taken as the crown for our army of gallants, destitution has taken its place. Heedless for the Kaedwenians because of how the vampire is capturing women for safe keeping, greasing his own palms by selling them to anyone who will want them,"

The witcher expected that answer before even asking. He nodded back at the druid, completely austere and phlegmatic as he kept silent; not letting the scholar know what he was thinking. Eanraig lifted a hand to give Geralt a pat on his burly, armored shoulder.

"King Veduka and Queen Makeda will speak to you once we get there," pause. "---And I doubt they'll be happy to see a witcher who has rejected their favor after two years. Come,"

As that has been said, the gatekeepers unbolted the entryway; given the approval from the king's advisor as Geralt grabbed his belongings, stringing along with him as they walked the route towards where the gatehouse is. The earth toned portcullis at its full defense as he sees it from far north.

"I wouldn't be helping their beloved cursed prince when they haven't coerced me into complying, Eanraig."

The druid strolled objectively alongside Geralt, continuously discoursing in the subject about who made him adhere to the king's favors---taking one person for abduction and he was already showing himself to them with no begging included unlike staying thoroughly surreptitious in the deepest parts of Kaedwen's forest. Only one woman was needed for him to accept such.

"If only you would've seen how they saw this as an opportunity to benefit them. I know your woman doesn't belong to this world. They knew your weakness, Witcher."

Eanraig has heard him hum, lower than his usual habit of susurration and it sounded like a sound of disapproval, "The sorceress has plans for her. Tybalt has hunted down a woman who exactly looks and sounds like her. But, exactly the opposite from her characteristics. She was one of Kaedwenians sly thieves."

Savia. He suddenly remembered out of the blue as he kept tacit. She was the woman who looked exactly like you despite of having the contrary of her traits over yours. Geralt pondered over the thought, finding it difficult to decipher how there was another person like you in his universe, a doppleganger of some sort that was entirety a clone of your genetics. Maybe Savia was a doppler or his midget? No. You were teleported to their dimension with no magic nor strength to do so.

What was seriously happening in the continent?

Eanraig saw how Geralt was in deep thought for what was shared; never one to beat around the bush; he enunciated straight to the point, "The king has been convinced that she's her twin. Howbeit, I never believed it nor did Ingrith or Tybalt. It was the queen's manipulation because her double has taken one of her favorite Cobalt necklaces that was given by the king,"

"---and now, they are starving her to death. Even walloped with a stick on her back till she was bleeding and wounded,"

The sentence has given Geralt a whiplash. He ceased from walking alongside Eanraig, his stature turning rigid and immobile with his jaw clenching for what was heard. Did he heard him right?

You are being aggressed in the hands of another when he does not lay a single hand on you; being battered by humans who didn't know exactly who you are nor do they have proof that you are the person who has stolen items from the queen.

"What?"

Eanraig's fair share of talk explains why his chest felt suffocating and utterly uneasy. They were hurting you till the heart of the sorceress was content enough.

The druid continued his blabbers, heedful of Geralt's stiff stance and his sudden reclusive mood, "---Ingrith told the queen that she was somehow cursed with a fate just like you,"

It wasn't a second of waiting till Geralt hoarsely mumbled his feelings out in the open and only for the scholar to hear, "Fuck." he raved, the witcher's thick eyebrows in a tight twist. His forehead creasing with deep wrinkles for his blood to boil even faster. He turned his head to the side, his teeth tightly gritted together as he went livid.

"That doesn't sound quite nice," Eanraig shifted his attention towards the raging white wolf who was glaring at the tall castlewalls in front of them, shooting daggers after daggers with his fists tightly clenched on his sides. A predatory glaze in his glowing eyes that stood under the pale moonlight, the ferocity bouncing back as he tried to calm him down. He reached out a hand to palm Geralt's tense shoulder, giving him a pat.

"Now, now, now, Weccan. Do not let your anger control you."

"How can I?!" Geralt spat in his utmost feral tone; fierce and aggressive for thinking how you were drowning in your own blood right at this moment.

The witcher was growling beneath Eanraig's touch; his anger felt through his body as Geralt was breathing in deep slow breaths, trying to control how his mind instantly went straight into knowing who has given orders to hurt you. There was an ample amount of the fact that you could be cut off a limb over stealing something you surely have been accused of. The Druid stepped in front of him, clasping both his fingers on his shoulders to break whatever thoughts he was thinking as he stared straight into his wrath-filled eyes.

"I've already treated her wounds---But, I think it isn't enough for how she's raining on their blows. You should have just accepted the first time they've asked a favor before it even ended up this way,"

Geralt's upper lip twitched from how he was silently basking in his displeasure and rue; never wanting to open his mouth at the moment for fire might escape his mouth with how maddened he was feeling. The tight stones topping off his chest and making him more uneasy than he can ever get.

"Vesemir has taught you to never uphold the law," Eanraig added as a matter of fact, pursing his lip as he continued, the look in his eyes utterly amused for how Geralt's destiny was falling in the wrong places, but emotionally feeling as if it was right because you came along, "---but, you are here to save such love that will never overcome the law that people have been following,"

The Druid has heard him huff from the choices of his words, looking away to stare at the castlewalls, digging up holes that he had been gathering since the moment he arrived, "You are saving the love of your life,---" he paused, a smile forming on Eanraig's decrepit face; his deep wrinkles forming as his face contorted in sheer entertainment.

"---and the woman who shall make miracles come true,"

Geralt was immediately taken to the abandoned round tower; where Prince Althalos has been staying since he has been cursed---bullish that they could keep him there and away from people. The prince has not been damned as a beast just like Nivellen. The prince has been cursed as a Kikker. A harmless monster in their world that only kills his own kind as well. They were found in the caves, masking in their solidarity until the full moon comes out and their hunger will be very much triggered to find something to munch on.

When they could not find their own kind to devour, they somehow manage to eat others instead.

Geralt couldn't help but snicker to his own at that, maybe the prince was kind of harmful instead of harmless that Sorceress Ingrith might have described him, peppering her words with pleasant lines that the witcher was highly disappointed of because she sounded as if she was in favor for what was happening.

He walked along the doors in an unfettered march of his feet, humming in displeasure with a scowl twisting his features that turned into tiny smirk; noting the buffet of abundant food that was left unfinished due to reasons he didn't know about as it happened before he arrived.

The tight grimace written on his face was enough for the king to know that he has not seen you yet since the moment you've arrived. Ingrith has probably prohibited him to as she has lead him to the prince.

King Viduka sat on his chair; proud and virtuous in the middle of a long table where he was left alone. The witcher has never seen the king up until today and one thing's for sure as he noticed the pale, horrid color of his skin. Just as much as how his have been, tinted in the lightest color that can be considered as if the king has no blood to function properly like how a king should have been.

His eyes were almond shaped, but with a nebulous glow swimming in the hazel color---appearing to be like he was being cast in a deathless spell or such poison that had a long term effect.

But, Geralt mindlessly shook his worries away from the people who have given you pain. The queen has probably been giving King Viduka such concoctions that could make him submit to her on whatever she wanted---with the help of the sorceress of course.

"He needs help," he bluntly started before he was even asked to speak, raising both brows for wanting to tell the king that he also needed help for whatever Queen Makeda has been giving him. Howbeit, Geralt has shut his mouth tight and hardly tried to become forth with respect amongst the king.

The king audibly sipped on his wine, casting him a glance under the antique glass he has chugged on. His expressions incomprehensible for the white wolf because of how horrid and disheveled his beard and mustache is. Though, his response made Geralt know he was giving him a lour, "This is why you've been dragged here to serve your purpose,---" pause. "---The only thing that can get your mutations quite useful for our world besides butchering my people. I've heard you've slaughtered my men,"

Geralt's mouth formed a tight thin line from the king's bald comment, his jaw set to create a grouch that the king has expected from his kind---the lack of emotion thereof and also the bluntness that the witcher may cannot control no matter if the person in front of was highly or not.

"Because your beloved army leader has been forcing women held captive," the white wolf stated as a matter of fact, cocking his head to the side as if it was a cocky comment.

King Viduka scoffed from his sheer honesty; skipping the dillydally that most men have been giving him due to being royal, "---and what has saving people benefit to you, witcher? must I say, you have not receive coins from it, correct? or was it because of the little woman? you are killing off my kind to save yours,"

Between them both was an understanding of protection from Geralt. He stood before him with a will that he had back in the marketplace. The white haired witcher was standing inside his castle with a purpose that he surely deciphered from using you as a bait to comply.

You were too important for him that the king could feel that Geralt will be begging for more than just your safeguard.

"Your way of asking favors can be quite disappointing for a king,"

Out of the blue, he's heard metal slice through its own accord; both knights who stood beside King Viduka unraveled their weapons, pointing them at Geralt who stood with a nonchalant expression on his face, thoroughly not moved nor impressed by their reactions---perhaps, also in a shitty mood for ruining his week by kidnapping you in the comfort of his home.

"Sheathe your swords," the king commanded to the hostile cavaliers; not taking a second to drop their weapons as they were told.

Geralt continued to educate the king in his perspective and comprehension over his cursed son; remembering how his school has taught him countless of monsters he could never forget.

"Call your son 'the frog prince' or some hideous sort," his eyebrows jutted closer as he sternly explained, "---but, this work is not made by a monster for me to hunt,"

King Viduka couldn't help but lean away from the back of his throne, his eyes adamant that he was not serious over telling him that his son may not be assisted by the Witcher

"---He is cursed by a witch. I do not butcher people for the sake of someone else's life,"

The words that left Geralt's mouth felt like a rejection or an offense that King Viduka has never experienced from anyone else. He couldn't believe what he was hearing---he couldn't accept such abnegation over a mutant who was crude and utterly unaccepted by humanity. His highness has quickly stood from his seat, throwing his glass on the floor which has shattered but has not surprised Geralt nor have receive a jerk of his body from his sudden anger---the antagonism coming was a result of a witcher that they have tried contacting or following around for two years; begging help for the future of Kaedwen.

Yet, he came to the palace with his foot up his mouth. Straightaway, sounding like he was declining the proposal.

The king was entirely disappointed by how useless he was being.

"---you are good-for-nothing! A hypocrite who says he does not kill another to save someone else's!" King Viduka has spat completely enraged, "---Yet, you have saved your tiny whore by killing mine!"

The white wolf couldn't help but clench his fists on his sides, clenching his teeth behind his closed mouth; his golden peepers glaring before the dependable king who kisses whatever Queen Makeda has been walking upon---a king who does not care for the people as long as he saves his.

Irritation was written all over Geralt's face, hearing what King Viduka has described you for what purpose you have in his life. Being nothing but a woman who could cater to his lechery when you had not been at all.

His midget was more than that. Definitely not his whore that people has been accusing you of.

Geralt's selfishness for rejecting the king's offers right on his face was like asking to be beheaded. He does not want to be involved by such ever again when he has no idea who this witch may have been. If being frank over the king was like asking to be beheaded, then a search for a witch that does not want to be found was waiting for a monster to put him into demise.

"I do not regret what the queen has done for punishing. Your tiny harlot has taken something valuable from her and corporal punishment was the answer that we all see fit---seeing that she might have sold the necklace for the sake of you wanting more coins,"

He subtly shook his head from the king's indefinite accusation, verbally fighting for your safety and for the truth that may set you free, "She is not the thief you have been accusing her about."

Yet, the king was determined of his opinions---the queen's opinions over you; seeming to be brainwashed by both women who was a shadow of his reign. One greedy sorceress and the other was his cunning beloved that no matter what other people say, he shall not believe because only his trusted people were right.

Geralt heavily sighed, seeing King Viduka shooting daggers towards him. His eyes wild and disappointed, utterly vexed for what he has heard.

"The world may say that you own two swords. One for killing humans and the other for slaughtering beasts," he deadpanned, bane spitting out of his mouth as he sharply stared at Geralt who sighed for his resoluted perception.

"---but, I doubt you do not know the differences of each as of now,"

After minutes of his silence, Geralt may have not realized that from the moment he opened his mouth, his teeth was barred, fangs overlooked by the king because of his unspoken thoughts; by not being heard by a person who had his mind closed for whatever he has to say and so, the butcher of Blaviken breathed a few heavy sighs, promptly shutting his eyes closed before he spoke through gritted teeth.

"Let me see her. I need...to see her, your highness."

He was stunned to hear himself plead before a disagreeable human. A selfish entitled man who knew nothing how to raise a kingdom. The rebellious son of the previous king has been forced into this madness and manipulation from everyone that he does not see.

The latter waited for any oracular answer. They've shared stares and huffs of breath before Geralt shook his head, turning on his heel to leave immediately because he knew that his request for seeing you will never be given. Might search for you instead, he silently thought to himself with a tight scowl on his face.

"Bring her in,"

He stopped short from hearing the king's words. Ceasing himself in the midst of marching off, his back towards the king when it has not taken the horsemen a minute to drag you to where he was.

Dragging was the correct term for your feeble, shaky demurrals out of the door. Your voice echoing from a far distance and Geralt couldn't help but shot a glance over the locked wooden doors, his amber eyes turning wider as your voice became clearer when each second passed by, hinting your status that you were not feeling well by the breathless, hoarse begging you've managed to beseech.

The doors opened to release two vulnerable knights wearing their commoner clothing and a small, fragile woman who was mistreated from her limbs; dragging you by your battered arms. Patches of blue and mauve painted your skin as if they were trying to beat you to death, a law back in the historical era where it was used for criminals or sinners to speak the truth or punished for their faults.

Your other cheek was swollen, vermillion owning a cut as if somebody has slapped you---also dehydrated from starving you for a day and a half, receiving no liquid to drink or anything besides their endless wallops.

The witcher was beyond shocked to even comprehend what he was seeing, his breath stopping from the moment he has seen you enter the room; utterly downtrodden, helpless and wounded.

"S-Stop...I-I don't...I don't need any more beating. I told you, I don't have your necklace. This amulet I have is mine. I didn't steal anything. Please---please tell me Geralt's here," King Viduka has gestured towards the horsemen; bringing up a finger to tell that they should show the witcher what you looked like to be hit in endless battering and how they've treated you before he even came around.

The knights tightened their hold against a mahogany, wooden stick. Hard enough to fracture your bones if it was given more power; but, Geralt knew what they were ordered to do before they can even move and he was quick enough to march towards where they were; graving and in distraught for what he felt. His chest suffocating and tight---anguished to see and desperate to keep you close in his arms.

He rushed to where you were hunched down and bleeding to death, shielding you from their assaults as the witcher draw out his metal sword from his back, angling the newly sharpened blade on one of the knight's jugular; golden eyes burning with betrayal and desolation for what they have done, for what power do people with royal blood have to hurt his person this way. They've treated you like a rag doll or a monster for making you bleed and even plan to starve you to death.

Their actions has made Geralt's blood boil in extremity.

"Do not dare---," he breathed fire, fuming as he warned. His words said with a fiery emphasis, "---touch or lay your hands on her,"

The smaller knight whom Geralt has pointed his sword upon growled in the back of his throat, a signal which has made him aim the tip of his sword against the vulnerable part---unbending and purposive for what he wanted them to apprehend that he was not flippant for unsheathing his steel sword.

"---people who knew better of my kind are heedful that I will not bat an eye to slit down your throats with my weapon,"

Geralt has heard you call out for him in a sapless shake of your voice and the simple acknowledgement has taken his attention away from the royal guards as he slightly turned his head behind---seeing you lay on the cold hard ground that made his mouth twitch, teeth barred and gritted and he couldn't help but emit a rough huff of his breath; sounding like a growl of his frustrations for letting this happen to his family.

King Viduka spoke in command, hiding the smile beneath his unkempt beard.

"Lay down your sword, Witcher. I do not plan to create bloodshed over the mutant who will help my son,"

Geralt avoided looking into their eyes and set his focus on the battered woman behind him who was coughing out her pain. You've used all your strength to pull yourself from the floors, your vision blurry and unclear for the tears you've shed all night, finding it hard to register that your witcher was finally within your reach. You thought it was all in the sense of hallucination until he'd hastily whispered the endearment that he had for you---the nickname you've hated prior of meeting him the first time, yet ending up missing the word when he doesn't use it for you.

His appearance was making your heart cry and eventually, you did after realizing a bunch of sobs escaping your lips when he has hauled you up in his arms; crouching before you and pulling your beaten body to his, aware from the pained whimper that followed suit and he was suddenly aware of using such strength with you---immediately turning gentle from your response.

"Midget?"

"G...Geralt? you're here..." you hiccuped from the cries, feeling the sting from the salt of your tears. Lately discovering the numb, sore feeling on your left eye and Geralt has eyed it with such animosity because it was a swollen wound.

Your vision turned clear after a languid blink of your eyes, welcoming his warmth that you've missed after being hurt by people who surrounded you who'd done it by physically doing so. The information you have gathered from the four corners of the cell you were in repeatedly replaying inside your mind; not bothering to forget to tell it to him besides your other secret that you ought not to tell yet.

"Don't...Don't find the witch..I-I've heard from the person with me---he's an elf. He said that this witch can never be found---it may be just a trap or an endless hunt for you,"

The latter was stone-deaf from your wounded image; his golden eyes large as if he couldn't believe what he was witnessing. Geralt didn't acknowledged your message and continued to state his own instead.

"They've hurt you."

He uttered in disbelief, intently examining your face near his. Your fingers were shaky as you reached up to touch his face. But, Geralt has beat you to it and grabbed yours instead, subtly shaking his head to silently tell you not to move for the pain it can cost. His rough hand was warm and comforting, giving solace in the midst of how being cold you were treated by their world. The only thing that was warm is Geralt and his family.

They were the only thing benevolent compared to their outskirts.

"They don't believe me. I--I never stole the queen's necklace. I--I have never left your home,"

"I know you didn't." Geralt gruffly muttered with a cordial, soft tone that made you sob more than ever---how nice it felt to have someone who actually believed you was like hopping in the shower after a summery day; refreshing to be hearing another person to fight for your truth rather than being forced to tell lies.

"You'll never get to find the witch, Geralt. Y-You'll never get to lift the curse because...because---"

The stammers you've emitted, how crucial it was to feel you in pain---finding ache in his chest from the moment he'd seen you in that status; painted like a rainbow shown after a heavy rain but drafted to show the suffering you've experienced in the castles of Kaedwen. His glowing golden eyes turned a shade darker, filling with sudden torment and affliction as you laid in his arms.

You've slightly turned your head, nuzzling to be shielded by Geralt's armored, hirsute chest that made you sigh after hours of trying to sleep on stones, finding home just by staying close to the white wolf.

"Your highness," Geralt abruptly spoke, making you shut your eyes open to hear what he needed to say. Based on how he set his mouth in a tight, straight line. Your witcher was setting down his bargains and favors that he certainly does not do for people of royal.

"I will seek for your witch," he stated with determination, his back towards the king; not taking the risk to let him see the ire pooling in his eyes as he continued.

"---in exchange for your people not to touch mine and if your sorceress, precious vampire or horsemen lay a single hand on her again, I will never hesitate to kill the witch and let your son die with his curse forever,"

Perturbed by his sudden declaration; stubborn to even listen for what he was about to expect by searching apparitions of a witch out in the woods. You've desperately called out his name in endless croaks, hopelessly pulling at his armor yet Geralt was having rigid opinions especially having you wounded in his arms.

"Cease her punishment. I will not save yours if I know that you are punishing my..."

Golden eyes keenly landed on yours, thoroughly protecting you in his sinewy limbs before he seriously and firmly declared another that has made your breath hitch for what he has said.

"---my betrothed,"

King Viduka briskly nodded for his request; badly in need of his aid for his son to live. There was an understanding that he will still keep you within the castle unless Geralt brings him the witch and reverse the curse. He'd kept his eyes on the witcher's back, sitting back on his throne with a smile on his face.

"You have my word, Geralt of Rivia."

FEEDBACKS WILL BE NICE TO RECEIVE! Heehee! Please don’t forget to leave this post without a reblog or comment!

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means you couldn’t be tagged, Bb. Please check your settings) @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @turkish276 @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-fanfictions @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @deadlydemon @cheesecakeisapie @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a–1–1–3, @gutfucks, @britty443, @suhke3, @shadowclawstudio88 @ruthoakenshield

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza, @crazybutconfidentaf

General taglist for Henry Cavill: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh, @silverkitten547 @henrythickcavill @kaatelyyynn @madelinelina, @summersong69, @raynosaurus-rex

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rainbowoftamaran · 3 years

Text

Check out my rainbow of friends!

"So, yes, I made all these awesome friends, and I realized that I have a full rainbow! Obviously, that's really amazing and perfect and I just have to show it to anyone who cares!

Nisha - @chainxdancer - is just really cool! She's strong and can fight and she's... I forgot what exactly she is but she's not human and has a tail and horns and she doesn't mind sharing her money or food with me, and if things go as planned I might be able to join her on her adventures soon to earn my own money!

Moonshot - @warriorfortamaran - uh... look. I needed to fill the orange slot, and I do know him. He's a meanie though, typical tamaranean with a side of extra-grumpy. Best you avoid him.

Yuko - @rosecoloredmuses - was so very nice to me! Despite having quite clearly caught me attempting to steal from her, she offered me some of her candies, and oh are those great! Definitely worth our encounter! We didn't have that much time together, since she had to go soon enough, but, it was really cool to meet her and I do consider us friends after this - I mean, you don't give non-friends just free food, right? - and just, I love her sweets and am absolutely convinced that she's a great person to meet!

Sirise - @siriseen - and I met on some other planet. It was really nice to have company during that exploration, and she knows so much! She's also really good at medicine and these things, so like, definitely someone that I'm glad to know! Still not quite sure what that Starfleet is that she belongs to, but, yeah, it's been really fun with her and I do hope that we'll meet again!

Minato - @dxfiedfxte - actually is not dyeing his hair, as he told me! I never thought humans had such a variety in hair-color! It does seem to be a unique thing for him, too, so I probably thought right. It's very awesome to know someone else who has a rather unique hair-color of their species! He's also been really nice to me so far and it's fun to hang out with him!

Perrine - @flusenimkopf - has helped me before with giving that karrn'k Moonshot a bit of what he deserves, even before we got to know one another! She's also not human either, and I think she doesn't know all about where she's from just like how I don't! It's just really cool to hang out with her, and I'm glad we're having some things in common! I'm also very happy to have someone that I can complain about Moonshot to and do stuff to him together with, that's really something I needed.

So yeah, they are all really amazing and awesome to know, so I absolutely suggest that you consider enriching your life by knowing them, too!"

[[This all has been presented to you by Starlight, found on this blog, @rainbowoftamaran . Below the cut you can find some OOC-stuff like credits and the likes.]]

Hello! If you do reach the cut, thank you for checking the OOC blabber behind the post, too! I've been working on this thing for a little bit now. I'm not entirely happy with it, but content enough to post it, as some sort of promo I guess. Please feel no obligation to reblog this, whether you are in this or not, I just had to do something "for Starlight" upon realizing she had the full rainbow together. (Obviously, not saying that friends are something to collect, or anything ridiculous like that, but I'm hopeful that no one of you will understand this wrongly!)

Moonshot is my own blog, as is Starlight, you can find a link to my mainblog and to my other blogs on each of these blogs' pages.

I sorta-copied the rainbow-waterfall-thingie from a copyrighted picture on some of these websites. I didn't use and just erase the watermark, I only took it as example and created my own thing based on it. I do hope that I don't need to credit for that, then - though during my search I found on these pages also pics with watermarks of others so they probably are in no place to call me out for using their pic as base.

In the next paragraph you find info of the pictures, and a little message to each mun in smaller in brackets behind the stuff.

Nisha's pic is taken from here, which was a commission as you can read in the post I linked. (-- I would've liked to not cut her body off quite as early, but these pics were the first I found on your blog outside of that one in your about and liked for this thing, and since they weren't going any further than this I had to cut it there! I do hope you like my choice of picture here and aren't disappointed or something that I didn't show more of Nisha!) Moonshot's pic is an edit, like the 2 other pictures I have of him, of a picture from Touda from Shounen Onmyouji. Yuko's pic is taken from an official picture, as far as I know, simply made transparent. (-- I do hope the picture is one that you like to see of her!) Sirise's pic is an edit of a screenshot showing Poison Ivy from that recent Harley Quinn show. (-- I gotta add that I was like so lucky that you actually mentioned a FC for Sirise of all your muses when I asked you that "random" question! I really wanted to include her but kinda didn't really want to add one actor among anime/cartoon/drawn characters, and when you then mentioned Ivy and I found a fitting appearance, I was so happy to have found a way to include her without mixing RL and animated characters! This thing here is also the reason I made this edit in the first place, but it was cool that I could kinda ask for your opinion on it beforehand through our talks xD) Minato's pic is, as far as I know, from an official source, and again just made transparent so it worked for my thing. (-- I really really tried to find the pic you're having as background in your theme, it looks pretty cool and I was intending to use that, but I couldn't locate it anywhere! So I kept searching, I first had a different pic chosen where he's like, very light blue all over - not in skin or the likes but I mean hair and suit - but that was a little too one-color for me in the end so I chose this one even though I prefer a bit more color! I do hope it's a 'normal' outfit of his and that you like my choice!) Perrine's pic is from here, which is art of the mun of the blog. I wish I could draw so well! (-- Your art is amazing and I'm glad you were alright with someone using it for a thing as long as you still are mentioned!)

Starlight's pic too is an edit, of an official art thingie of Rika Jougasaki from iDOLM@STER (I hope I wrote that right). And yes, she's supposed to be sitting on that cloud.

So, yes, I think this is all I have to say to it! I'm very glad that y'all are interacting with my little rainbow here (and perhaps my other blogs too), you're very awesome and it's an honor and delight to be your mutual and interaction-partner! Thank you!

#🌈 Look at all the colors! 🌈 | Self Promo #🌈 They're so cool! 🌈 | Promo #I don't know what else tag to put onto this; I don't usually tag promos with that; but I guess I should #anime tw #not sure if this really is a promo or something; maybe moreof a 'thank you' post; idk #just take it as whatever you want to take it as!#I am; like; /so/ worried over posting this or not #I mean once you see it I obviously did post this so nvm I guess; but still #if you end up not liking it or something feel free to just ignore it #and I very much do hope that I didn't; uh... cross any boundaries through making something like this #with including a group of different people and all; I sure hope that it's not like someone of you now goes 'ugh how could she include me an #d xyz in the same thing; that's so rude/wrong/whatever #please please please lemme know if something isn't alright with this for you; I can't promise I'll take down the thing but I can... idk; tr #y to change something about it; or something?#I love all our interactions so thank you for being here!#I waited with this until blorthog because what better day to post a friends-thing on than the festivity of friendship?

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acrispyapple · 5 years

Text

should i just delete my blog

i was supposed to post requests tonight but that can wait another day.

for now i just want to say something.

a lot of people can vouch for me when i say i’m always patient and polite, no matter what the situation. but sometimes i guess that’s just not enough.

let me make it clear to everyone. i don’t care if you copy a post of mine once or twice. copy my event stuff (how i announce reqs and news)? that's fine. crop your posts the specific way i do? i'll let it go. that’s all okay. but seriously, if you copy most of the posts i make, how i do it, and try to browse my blog for artists and fanart so you can post THE EXACT SAME THING I ALREADY DID, i just find it so disrespectful. it’s piggybacking on my hard work. what for? easy notes?

there have been other users who felt inspired to post fanart because of my posts, but they went and looked for the artists and art on their own. they didn’t use my blog to post exactly the ones i have and to not have to break a sweat finding them. i literally had to go over 100+ pages of pixiv, and comb through a lot of related stuff on twitter to get some of the artists i post from. i know which artists are at the end of those pages because they’re inactive. i already noticed she was looking through my posts because she’d like something of mine then get permission from that same artist and post whatever i’ve already posted. she liked certain art posts on my page and suddenly, she’s posting the exact thing. all the stuff she liked on my page. even for artists that i know are inactive and are in no way in the recent tags and would be in the 70+ pages on pixiv. even for artists i found through artist friends. even for my first art posts for a title that’s really old. like everything. my blog = easy access to find content to copy.

it’s not just the fanart. even my twitter and game compilations i spent time on, were lifted. artists she couldn’t get permission from that she saw on my tumblr were reposted on facebook with just a pixiv link. of course she also completely copied how i did it. if you see it you’d just wonder if it’s my post. no wonder someone also told me about it.

like exact copies of my captions for fanart. the exact fanart posts i have that they mass-liked days before. minor edits here and there. even for the official art ones and the way i do my links. if you’re gonna save the image from my blog and copy the source link and caption i made. WHY NOT JUST REBLOG?? they didn’t even hide the fact that they copied it exactly. every source link i have these days i just put in bitly and post in small text + i make sure to put a space in the link so it’s a non-working link.

i don’t get it. why do they have to repost EXACTLY what i already have on here that you’ve seen. why not reblog? they completely copy my captions and posts anyway. is it just so THEY’D get the notes? it’s easy to just copy the way i put info on my blog. so easy to just copy and maybe it’d give an audience quickly? i’ve been nice enough to keep trying to explain things. i even made them their own caption for fanart. taught them how to link. how to treat artists.

honestly. do not do this to me. i work really hard putting together everything on my blog. i don’t ask anything from people except basic courtesy. i don’t care about the money i spend on content because that’s for my own consumption, but the time i spend on this blog that’s helped people is something i won’t ever get back.

background:

i got an ask around mid july telling me about someone [user A] who completely reposted one of my fanart posts. seeing as how i don’t browse and i would’ve normally missed it, i was really thankful to @razzmatash who alerted me to the post copy. i answered the ask privately because i want to give chances to people. anyway, it was a 100% a copy of my post, so you’d have to wonder why she didn’t just reblog it. i sent a message to [User A] and instructed them on how to post fanart properly and not to copy posts. another friend of mine saw a complete copy of my tcb post. same caption and the way i do my source links. i let all those go.

stuff done:

copies my posts and how i do them

copies my captions and links for the twitter stuff i compile

reposts my tumblr posts on facebook (with watermarks as proof it’s mine)

browses fanart on my tumblr to repost on facebook (which i recently caught and got taken down)

browses artists and fanart on my tumblr then posting the same thing on tumblr instead of finding it all on her own

minimal understanding of how to treat other people’s works. been caught reposting and using another artist’s work as her header when the artist expicitly says on her bio that she doesn’t allow her work to be used as headers and icons

posts primarily to get notes since minimal care is shown for the artists’ welfare.

why is there a need to repost @chuye-a‘s work on tumblr when chuyea has her own tumblr and it would do them more favors if you just reblogged their work that’s already on here to promote their page.

i’m getting sick of stuff like this. i may not be a writer, or an artist-- BUT I DO SPEND A LOT OF TIME PUTTING TOGETHER EVERYTHING ON HERE. if people won’t respect it, i might as well just delete everything.

#personal #for people making incorrect assumptions #i'm not referring to screencaps #i'm talking about my other posts

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for-a-flower · 4 years

Text

Part Four: Hopes and Dreams

(Any website reposting this other than at the watermark’s url DOES NOT have permission to repost this art or text and DID NOT do the work involved. Please follow the original creators at https://for-a-flower.tumblr.com/)

Frisk stirred and slowly opened his eyes. He was laying on his back among yellow flowers, peering into a stream of sunlight that shone down from above. He sat up with an excited grin. "It worked!" He ran both hands through dark fluffy hair. Frisk stood, picked up a nearby stick, then started down a dark tunnel ahead. He had a long journey if he was going to make it all the way to Asgore again, but if all went well, this one would be better than the last. As the child approached a patch of sunlight, he slowed his pace expecting Flowey to show up. Sure enough, a yellow flower pushed up from the ground. Frisk gave him a little smile.

Flowey didn't smile back. "Hey . . . remember not to kill anything this time," he said. "I can't believe this is a real thing I have to remind you." That wasn’t what had happened last time.

"You remember?" said Frisk.

Flowey glanced away and grumbled. "I could save too. That's how I kept bringing you back. I just . . . really failed at it during the whole killing you and all," he said. Flowey turned his gaze back at Frisk and laughed halfheartedly. "Of course I remember."

"Don't worry. I won't kill anything this time," said Frisk.

Flowey smiled. "Good luck." He burrowed to get out of sight.

Frisk glanced toward the gate into the Ruins ahead of him. A female monster with white fur and a purple robe rushed through the open gate. Frisk stared. She approached with a concerned look on her face. "Hello. Are you alright?" she asked. "Do not be afraid, my child. I will not hurt you. I am Toriel, caretaker of the Ruins."

Frisk's face lit up with a smile. He ran to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’m so glad to see you!”

Toriel was surprised at first but smiled and gave him a comforting pat on the back. "There, there. It is okay, my child. You are safe now," she said. "I promise I will do my best to protect you during your time here."

Frisk reluctantly let go then looked up with a smile and happy tears. “I thought you were gone.”

Toriel gave him a confused stare. “What ever are you talking about?” She glanced further into the dark cave. “I hope you have not been hurt. A fall like that can be very dangerous. You must be so lost and confused.”

Frisk scratched his head. Toriel didn’t remember. That was probably a good thing. “Yeah, kind of,” he told her. “But I’m not hurt.”

She smiled and motioned him to follow her. "Then come! I shall guide you through the Ruins," she said. She walked through the gate and continued into the area beyond.

Frisk stayed behind and grinned. "Yes," he said. "Yes!" He peeked through the gate to make sure Toriel was still on the other side. He tried to hide his squeal of excitement, but due to the confused look that came to the Queen's face, it was clear she managed to hear it anyway. He rushed to follow her, skipping on the way.

She giggled. "Welcome to your new home, my child. You seem very happy to be here.”

"I am! I'm glad I ran into you," said Frisk.

"I am glad I found you too. Come. We have quite a ways ahead of us." Toriel led the way and Frisk followed close by.

As Frisk and Toriel continued down a hall overgrown with vines and weeds, Flowey emerged from the dirt behind. He frowned. "Look at them . . . happy as ever." Flowey grinned and snickered to himself. "The human has no idea . . . no idea at all." He watched Frisk and Toriel exit the hall. His smile faded. "Still . . . Chara has to be around here somewhere. And since I haven't had any luck finding her, I guess I just gotta show her. But . . . I still need seven human souls to do it." Flowey sighed. "Oh well, I've still got a plan . . . and it's bound to work this time."

About half way through the Ruins, Toriel left Frisk behind for a head start to her home. This time Frisk didn’t wait around. He started his way through the Ruins and encountered a few Froggits. They prepared to attack but the child smiled and complimented them. They hopped away and let him pass without harm. Toriel called the cell phone she had just left with the child minutes earlier.

Frisk answered. "Hello?"

"This is Toriel," she said. "For no reason in particular, which do you prefer, cinnamon or butterscotch?" Frisk opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted. "Wait. Don't tell me. Is it butterscotch?"

Frisk’s pace slowed. "Uh . . . yeah. How did you know?"

Toriel laughed. "I had a feeling. Every time a human falls down here, I almost feel like I already know them. And truthfully, when I first saw you, I felt . . . like I was seeing an old friend for the first time. Strange, is it not?"

Frisk nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, thank you for your selection," said Toriel. "Bye." She hung up. Frisk lowered the phone. Did she remember something from before or not? Was it just a feeling she had? Like deja-vu? Frisk shrugged and kept moving. He had no trouble remembering how to solve the puzzles. Toriel called a few minutes later.

Frisk answered the cell phone. "Hello?"

"This is Toriel. You do not have any allergies, do you?" she said.

“Uh, no. Why do you ask?"

"No reason . . ." she replied. "No reason at all. Sorry for bothering you."

"It's no bother. Call any time you want."

"Aw, you're so sweet. Good bye for now." Toriel hung up. Frisk continued down a hall where he found Napstablook. He did his best to cheer up the ghost like last time. During his journey Frisk picked up the red ribbon from a pile of leaves. Several minutes later, he reached the balcony on which he had found a toy knife before. Even though he didn't want to fight anything, having to protect himself with just a stick was a bad idea. Frisk sighed, picked up the toy knife, then rushed toward Toriel's house. He rounded a corner and skidded to a stop by the large, dark tree in the front yard.

Toriel stepped out the front door, mumbling to herself. "Oh dear, that took longer than I thought it would.” She lifted her phone to call Frisk but stopped when she noticed him standing by the tree a few yards away. She slipped the phone in a pocket and rushed to him. "How did you get here, my child?"

"I went through the Ruins," said Frisk.

Toriel looked over him. "I told you to wait for me. Are you hurt?" Frisk shook his head. She let out a sigh of relief. "Oh thank goodness. I am sorry. I should not have left you alone for so long. It was irresponsible to try to surprise you like this." Frisk smirked. Toriel gasped. "Or . . ." She smirked at the child. "Well, I suppose I cannot hide it any longer. Come, small one!" She turned and led him to her home. On the way to the door Frisk took a moment to glance over the front of Toriel’s cozy home. He had finally saved her . . . brought her back. It gave him determination. He could do this. A yellow light flickered behind him, marking a save in this new timeline so that it would never be lost. Frisk stepped through red leaves and into the open door of a cozy, little house. Frisk stopped beside Toriel to take a deep breath as the smell of butterscotch pie drifted by.

"Do you smell that?" said Toriel. Frisk nodded. She gave him a kind smile. "Surprise! It is a butterscotch cinnamon pie. I thought we might celebrate your arrival. I want you to have a nice time living here, so I will hold off on snail pie for tonight."

"Thanks! It smells good."

"Oh, and here, I have another surprise for you." She took Frisk’s hand and led him into the hall on the right. She stopped in front of an open door on the left. "A room of your own. I hope you like it!"

As Frisk glanced over the familiar room with red painted walls, he held back tears but smiled. "It's perfect.”

Toriel rubbed his head with a hand, messing up his brown hair. She paused to sniff the air. "Is something burning?" She glanced toward the kitchen. "Um, make yourself at home!" She hurried out of the hall.

Frisk entered the room to look around. The king's son, Asriel, had lived here. He owned all of these stuffed toys while he was growing up. Frisk emptied his pockets of things he had collected so far. He had bought a couple doughnuts from the spider bake sale and found some monster candy Toriel had set out in the Ruins. Frisk set the food on a dresser in the room then took out the toy knife, red ribbon, and stick, which he set on the bed's blanket. Frisk smirked then turned to leave the room and rushed to the living room. He found Toriel sitting on a large recliner with a book in her hands.

She looked up as the human joined her. "Hello there, little one!" she said. "The pie has not cooled down yet. But if you want to rest, it should be done when you wake up."

Frisk nodded. "I will, but I want to ask you something."

"You'd rather stay up and chat with me?"

"Yeah. You're really nice like my mom."

Toriel glanced away. "Um . . .” She set down the book. “I want you to know how glad I am to have someone here." Her gaze shifted back to Frisk and she continued with a smile. "I have so many old books I want to share and . . . I even prepared a curriculum for your education. I mean, this may come as a surprise to you but . . . I've always wanted to be a teacher.”

“You would be a cool teacher. I know it,” said Frisk.

Toriel cleared her throat. “I'm sorry. You wanted to ask me something, did you not?"

Frisk sighed, his focus drifting down the wood floor. "Well . . . my mom is a lot like you. She’s kind and makes pies . . . and does a lot of things with me." Frisk glanced up at Toriel, who seemed surprised. "You're a lot like her. The room you gave me has a lot of kid’s things in it. You had a family once . . . but now you're all alone. What . . . happened to them?"

"Uhm . . ." Toriel blinked a few times and took a deep breath. "That was such a long time ago, my child. I do not remember everything so well anymore."

Frisk could tell that the question had opened an old wound, so he smiled and shook his head. "Never mind." He inched closer to her. "I wanna see some of the books. Can you read some to me?"

Toriel smiled. "Oh, of course." She motioned the human child to come sit on her lap. Once he had, she lifted the book again. "This one is called 72 Uses for Snails," she said. "There are a lot of interesting facts in here. Like this one.” She pointed to a statement on the page. “Did you know that snails sometimes flip their digestive systems as they mature?"

Frisk giggled. "That’s weird. How do they do that?"

Toriel rubbed her chin. "Hm . . . I am not sure."

Frisk wiggled impatiently on her lap. "Read another."

Toriel turned the page. "Alright, let me find another good one." Toriel continued reading to the human child for a good ten to fifteen minutes by a warm fireplace. Eventually Frisk told a joke and the two started making puns with each other. They laughed together and enjoyed each other’s company until Frisk grew tired. He yawned. "You must be exhausted," said Toriel.

"Yeah."

"Go and rest. I will still be here when you wake up. And so will the pie."

Frisk slid off her lap. "Good night!"

Toriel smiled. "Good night, my child." The child yawned again as he walked down the hall into his new room. He closed the door and switched off the light. He moved the items off the bed then let himself collapse on the soft mattress. He pulled the blanket over him and closed his eyes. He sighed. This was how it should have been. This is how it was meant to be. He felt like he belonged now instead of like he was out of place down here.

Frisk planned to spend the next day with Toriel to get to know her. But in the back of his mind, he knew he'd still have to leave. He didn't want to. He wanted to stay but . . . he still had to find a way to make it all different. Frisk tried not to think about it. As he started to drift off, another thought slowly came to him. Chara. She hadn't said anything to him since she ordered him to kill Flowey in the last timeline. He wondered if she was still around and if she was okay. In a way he was glad he hadn’t heard from her yet but he was also concerned. As far as he could tell, it seemed that both Flowey and Chara had been misunderstood. There had to be more going on with them and he wanted to know what. It wasn't possible to go back and prevent Chara from dying, but maybe he could make things better in the present somehow.

Full Chapter List

#undertale #fan fiction #flowey #the ruins #toriel #frisk #part four #hopes and dreams #foraflower au

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yuri-n-love · 5 years

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So, about real hopeless love...

Story time, everyone. Because I’m tormenting myself :’)

Many moons ago when I was a wee lass in middle school, there was this girl. I can remember clearly the first time we started to talk, too. I always saw her on the bus and wanted to get to know her, for curiosity sake. I wanted friends and I saw her draw on the bus. I wanted to see more of her art too! She was so good! At the time, I had no clue what was in store for me, see... I had no clue I could even hold any special feelings for females. I just assumed I was a heterosexual female because I never felt anything much for females. One fateful day, she sat next to me on the bus. My anxiety was freeeeaaaking out because I really wanted to talk to her!! She was drawing and I finally worked up the courage to compliment her art. I don’t remember what she was drawing, but I still remember a little bit of what she was wearing, haha. I complimented her drawing and said she was really good... and from on then, we became friends!! I was so happy. I had made a friend that lived near me and we had a lot in common. We both liked Creepypasta and anime and spooky stuff... We really just clicked. It was great. We had made a little fort in the woods and I’d always walk to her house to hang out and we hung out a looooooot. One day at my house, we were sitting outside and she confessed to me. She confessed she had a crush on me... And I was so foolish. I regret how I responded to it now. It haunts me. I was dumbfounded and a little confused on how I should react. I loved spending time with her but I was straight! I don’t remember my exact words, but I just told her that I wasn’t interest in females. Time went on and we stayed really good friends... Some time later, we started doing some intimate things... I guess I was curious enough to figure out for myself what I could be interested in. I started feeling different things around her and we kissed, saw each other naked, and stared into each other’s eyes. I never once told her how I could feel about her. I didn’t even think I had any feelings for her at the time probably. Then some more time later and we got in trouble. We had planned to run away and do criminal like things along the way. We were found out. Our parents were furious and it split us apart. I hated it. I was so upset. I wanted to be with her so badly. I would do anything for her. We didn’t talk for a while, obviously. But maybe a couple years later or more, we started talking again in high school. I found her in high school and I couldn’t believe it!! I was so so so excited!! I wanted to talk to her again... I really wanted to hear her voice and laugh again. I knew someone in my art class who was her friend. I gradually started to talk to that person to figure out more about my old friend and figure out how I could meet her again. Then it happened... I met her again. I was so happy... absolutely happy. But things felt so different. I had become jealous. She and the other girl were really good friends, and it drove me craaaaazy! I remember feeling so miserable all by myself just because she was laughing and talking so casually with this other girl. I was frustrated and kept thinking to myself, “Don’t you like me???” Foolish. I was so foolish. We drifted apart again after some time... And I kept thinking about her. She opened my eyes to the fact that I was romantically and sexually drawn to girls as well. She showed me a part of myself that I never knew was there. I never did get into a relationship with another girl, though. I could only ever get guys. Every guy seemed to just be so into me and I wanted to find comfort in my life and yes it’s messed up to use a relationship for that but... I was scarred by a lot of things. Mentally not okay. So I kept getting into relationships with guys and they all ended horribly. But the worst thing on my end... is that I never stopped thinking about her. I realized I was in love with her. /Absolutely in love with her./ I’d tell these guys I loved them but it wasn’t love. I wasn’t in love with them. I just wanted the intimacy to make me feel better about life. But /oh my gosh/ was she on my mind!!! I would search her on Facebook again and again to look through her pictures... I missed her so so much. I felt miserable that I couldn’t talk to her. I wanted to so badly but... how could I? I was ruled by anxiety then. 100%. She had moved far away, I learned... I was so upset. I lost her. I lost her really bad. I cried about it. I really did. If only I had realized my feelings for her earlier. If only when she confessed to me, I had my head out of my ass and told her I liked her too and we could’ve started something. If only... If only... If only I wasn’t so stupid to who I was. Who I /truly/ was. I’ve always lived my life worried about what others think of me and what society thinks. What’s “normal.” Fuck that. I’m over that. I’m true to myself now. I know what I like and who I am. And if people say otherwise or put me down, fuck them. I’ll stand my ground because the only way to find happiness is to be true to yourself.

So I came over my anxiety... I messaged her a few or more days ago. At first I tried her Facebook... but the messages didn’t deliver. I was afraid I had lost her completely... I really felt I screwed up so bad. I really wanted to reach her. I looked at her art that she had on her Facebook and looked at the watermark on them. I was able to find her on DeviantART. I was so excited!! I saw she had previously posted art, she was active on the site! So I shot her a message on DA... at 4 am. I went to sleep grinning like an idiot haha. And that morning I woke up and got on DA, I saw I had a note. My heart stopped. I just... Holy shit. I was so excited. I clicked on it so fast and opened it and sure enough, it was a reply from her. I was so thrilled to see she messaged me back... I was able to get her new Facebook from her and I stated messaging her on that. I feel nervous about it though... So nervous. I type so much to her because I’m genuinely excited! And compared to her messages, I feel like mine are too much. I feel like I’m annoying and a nuisance. To type so much to her... And I tell her how much I /love/ her art and I really do... but what I also really /love/... I want to tell her so bad. But I can’t. That’s selfish. I learned I need to be selfish to be happy and be true to myself, but this time... I’m reverting back to my anxiety and I feel I have no right to love her. I feel I have no right to confess to her now. It’s be like... 4 years or so since we last talked. And I don’t know anything about her new life. What right do I have to suddenly just drop in and let her know I love her? I feel so awful about it. Even now... She literally just now messaged me back and all I want to do is tell her how much I feel. I don’t know what I’m going to do. But I do know I’m happy to talk to her again... Thank all of you who spent time to read this. Maybe I’ll be able to follow it up with something happy some day... maybe not. Only time will tell.

#story #story time #long #so long #gay thoughts #love #life

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gaslampsglow · 6 years

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(Pictured: 1/30th of a rough weekend.)

So saturday afternoon, my boss (supervisor? team lead? superior officer? that weird nebulous stage between “coworker charged with keeping the group in line” and “Manager with capital M”) wheeled a massive skid of boxes over to my workspace and asked if I could take on a special project. We had a massive batch of lots from the same sake to shoot and document, and it needed to be done by someone with neurotic attention to detail. Obviously I said yes.

Each of the boxes on that skid were, like the one pictured above, stuffed to the brim with hundreds of photos. And I mean hundreds. There were photos from every decade since the 1890s, there were black and whites, postcards, color prints, slides. Kodachrome, Ektachrome, Polaroids, negatives pulled from positives, newspaper clippings copied and imaged with an enlarger. Contact sheets, proof pages, negative images of halftone screens, all the hallmarks of an absolute darkroom wizard.

All trains.

Thousands of photographs of trains.

And behind that first skid he wheeled another skid, loaded with even more.

Marketing felt that these were dump lots, that no one would spend any money on them, based on a few test lots that had been up for sale for a few days. Several other people, my boss included, felt that the product was great but the documentation was poor. Whoever shot the test sales had clearly not known what they were holding, nor did they seem to care, as they took four or five photos of piles of photos and called the whole thing done. For most items we sell, thats not a bad way of doing it. After all, to hit our daily numbers, most lots need to be shot in less than ten minutes, preferably six. You take a master shot illustrating the item, you take three to four angles or closeups showing details, then you document any damage or irregularity. Minimum four photos, usually about eight or nine, try not to shoot more than twelve. And if you’re shooting something that feels too niche or junky or tacky to make money, you spend less time with it so you have more of a buffer when trying to capture the tiny fucking watermarks on stupid crystal glasses. And a good general rule is that the more items are in a lot, the less they’re worth.

But all of these rules fly out the window when you are selling to Train People. You may have known a few. The ones with the model railroads in their basements, exactingly crafted to perfectly represent a particular rail line, or period, or place. The history buffs that out-obsess all other history buffs. No special interest is more granular, or more specific, or more seemingly mercurial to the untrained eye. They’ll fork over good money for a piece of rail history, but no one wants to buy blind boxes of photos sight unseen, hoping that they represent whatever line or time or place they’re looking for. And this treasure trove not only was astoundingly well organized, but almost every single photo was labelled with information, frequently detailing the make and model of the train as well as the time and place the photo was taken.

So my boss told me to sift through, document anything that seemed important, spend as much time as I needed and take as many photos as I want. I shot nothing but photos of trains from 1:30 to 7:30pm, taking about 40 minutes per box (each box being sold as a separate lot.)

Get in the next morning at 7:00am, keep going. At around 10, while I’m grabbing the next pile, a woman stops me and introduces herself as one of the Editors. We normally don’t see editors, as they’re four or five rungs up the ladder from photography, and most of their work is digital. They curate the overall estates and sales, revise and correct the research cataloguing does, order photo reshoots when necessary, and generally have the final say on many pieces of what hits the site.

This particular Editor is the one overseeing this sale, and was friends with the man who owned all of this stuff. So I get a little more background: all of these photos were from a Rail-spotting magazine run for 25 years by a local Cincinnati man. Train Fans would send in photos from all over the world to be featured, and this collection was essentially the man’s life’s work. The proceeds from selling all of this (and the piles and piles and piles and piles of other items) go to supporting the hospitalized mother he left behind after his death. So The Editor is deeply invested in making sure that not only is the work well represented, but that it makes top dollar, so that her friend’s work is sold to collectors rather than junk dealers, and that his mom gets a big check to pay for medical care.

Which means that she is profoundly unhappy with the performance of those earlier-mentioned test lots, and livid that attribution fobbed the whole thing off without doing much documentation, and that marketing thinks this all is worthless, and came hunting my boss to make sure that these photos are being shot properly. To say that she seemed skeptical of my care and attention to detail is an understatement.

“Well, I do want you to know that I’m putting a lot of time into these. I’m looking at every photo, pulling all that are in color, pulling any that are photographically impressive with high contrast, and paying particular attention to local lines.”

“You mean the ones marked as being shot here?”

“Well, sure, but also the rail lines that I know pass through Cincinnati. The next box I’m shooting I know is a bunch of B&O so I’m excited for that, since I drive under an old B&O bridge as I leave my neighborhood.”

“B&O?”

“You know, Baltimore and Ohio. Its the oldest full service rail line in the country.”

“...I guess you are the right one to do these.”

Which is about when the other player enters the scene, one of the two company Founders. She and the Editor had both been on this sale for months, starting at the house packing and organizing this estate, which was so cluttered and filthy and untamed that the Founder called in a personal favor and flew her pal Matt Paxton (one of the Professional Cleaners from the show Hoarders) out to help cut through the muck. So now, months later, in the final hours of a giant project, the presentation of the whole thing is on me. And the decision makers for the whole company are standing around my workspace while my boss shows the work I’d been doing so far.

I was a little stressed.

But as they flipped through, I could see everyone become visibly less tense. My boss explained, “If I had given this to any other photographer in the building, they would have grabbed the first ten photos out of the box, shot just those, then moved on to the next one. I picked Corey because he loves history, and he’s willing to do the work. He’s shooting sixty and seventy photos for each of these lots.”

Which, uh, was a pretty great feeling, not gonna lie. I’m not used to receiving kudos, even just verbally, from bosses, let alone people that high up the food chain.

Of course this was tempered by finding out that this whole sale was going live that night.

This meant that I had about 20 more lots to shoot by 3 in order to give cataloguing enough time to write descriptions and hit complete. It was, at this point, 11:15. The race to finish was not fun, with my boss jumping on the sweep next to mine for the last two hours, as we steamed across the finish line around 4:30. At that point, I was kaput. Completely finished. I spent the last three hours at work sleepwalking, came home, and melted into my chair. I told Jo it was an incredibly stressful day.

And it was.

(Hey look, its Cincinnati! Back when the Inclines were running.)

But I keep thinking about that feeling. Because this isn’t the same stress I’m used to. And I know this seems so obvious or blase, but every job I’ve had has been stressful. I mean, every job is stressful in its own way. But I’m not used to that stress being...rewarding? In the same way that art or film or woodworking, creation for my own purposes, is stressful.

I know I’m saying “the sky is blue” as if it were a new discovery I’d made, but I’m so unused to feeling job pressure that resolves not as misery but as accomplishment. Three years at Lowe’s and every day was “oh no, I have to do this again tomorrow? How!?” and finding victory in the tiny little footholds of humanity that I got from one customer out of a hundred. I emotionally have no idea how to process “my boss and my boss’s boss and their boss are all impressed with my random assortment of knowledge and ability to organize information.”

This is not a complaint, mind you. Not even a little bit. Just a very gratified confusion.

Anyway, if you’ve read this far, thanks. As reward, have a photo taken sometime in the 70′s about a block away from my house.

#Wyrd Mysteries #cincinnati #ohio #railroad #my job is weird

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comicteaparty · 4 years

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July 18th-July 24th, 2020 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from July 18th, 2020 to July 24th, 2020. The chat focused on the following question:

What makes you the happiest about being a creator?

carcarchu

getting fanart from people fills me with a certain kind of joy that can't be compared. this has never happened before but if someone told me that my comic inspired them or spoke to them i'd be over the moon

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

Oh gosh, yes, fanart is such a beautiful thing.

For me personally, I just get so incredibly happy when readers just get it. Like, they pick up on a specific nuance or they know exactly what I intended with certain dialogue, or they notice a small detail. Or when they react exactly as I hoped they would.

That's what I live for.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

definitely friendart

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

hahaha

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

also just imagining future scenes to myself makes me smile and laugh

must look crazy to passerbys but i don't care

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

I relate

#when you laugh aloud at something one of your characters said or did in your head

or #when you cry because of something that happened to your characters in your head

I don't need help, I swear

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

all i want out of this server is solidarity with others who burst out laughing in public because of something the people in our heads did

our imaginations are strong enough to entertain ourselves this much, how beautiful

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

Who needs movies when you have I M A G I N A T I O N ?

Deo101 [Millennium]

Hm... A lot of things about being a creator make me really happy. For me though, I think that the biggest thing is that I'm finally doing something I've wanted to my whole life. It kind of feels very right that I'm telling stories this way, and that feeling of "I'm meant to be doing this and young me would explode out of pure joy to see where we are now" is incredible.

shadowhood {SunnyxRain}

The best thing for me being a creator is that I’m creating something that can resonate with people. There’s a happiness in me being able to make my own world, a world where people can look at my characters and go “yeah, I know how that feels” or “that’s a mood.”

There’s something empowering about writing an emotional scene that touches you and finding out it touched others too. I think if I wrote a scene that made me cry and found out that it also made others cry....I would be very happy. Just the fact that they understood the sort of emotions I had in making it and also the message I want to send is enough for me.

eliushi [Keyspace]

That I can make anything happen! It’s a fun sandbox to explore narratives I’ve enjoyed or want to discover, a challenge to make something that connects with other people and something I do that’s part of my own personal healing journey It’s amazing what we can do, bringing something completely our own and different into the world

Jib {WIP haha}

For me, the best thing about it is the feeling of having something in front of you. What was once just ideas floating around your head is finally something that you can fully experience yourself and share with others! It can tell you so much about yourself and, if you’re really challenging yourself in the narrative, you can grow as a person. And the fact that other people might choose to also experience what you made is magical too! Just hearing what they think about it is amazing, I haven’t heard anything about something really moving somebody. But when that day comes, I know I’ll be just swimming in joy. I guess the short answer for me would be: seeing things come to fruition and the unique connection only found in shared stories

maxwestart

I have a story to tell and want to share it with others. But even if nobody else cared, I'd still draw comics

Feather J. Fern

That it's something that I can make. I struggle with the idea that I am not good enough to do something, but with my comic, when I finish a page, I always have a feeling of "I made something, I can do it". Also fanart makes me so warm on the inside.

AntiBunny

For me as a creator it's when I finally hear from someone who picked up my comic and isn't someone I know IRL. It's like "you actually read my work of your own free will, and I didn't have to guilt you into reading it just because we're friends?" It's validation for me that my work can reach someone I've never met before. Whether they love or hate it, I just enjoy hearing that someone's read my work and given it enough thought to form an opinion.

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I like setting small goals for myself, page-wise, and I enjoy reaching or exceeding them. The story itself is mostly complete in my mind, so the real joy comes from physically inching my way through it. Every page I complete is a step closer to a smaller goal, and a larger goal as well. I love seeing people interact with it, but I get a particular joy looking back down at the mountain I’ve been climbing. I hope to reach the top someday.

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I love connecting with others through creative stories. Of course, fanart is wonderful, I love the act of giving art and recieving art gifts. I agree with AntiBunny, is when people tell me they read my comic and give detailed thoughts on it. It hasn't reach this point yet but I like to read reader's theories on object symbolisms, events that they suspect will happen, whether it's intended or not.(edited)

Holmeaa - working on WAYFINDERS

What I really love about being a creator, is the joy of telling my own stories, to be able to be touched and laugh and get to do fun things around. I love the creative process of figuring things out, set out rules for yourself! And of course getting comments! Wayfinders have not gotten any fan creations yet, but when it does, I will be SO EXCITED! like someone loved it enough to spent time, doing anything?!!?! be it, playlists, moodboards, fanart, fanfics etc etc I love to be told that we do fun things with comic layout. Like the tought about in the future to be used as an example of cool ways to do things is a big goal that would make me so happy

maxwestart

Another reason I like making my comics? It is like what Lynn Johnston (For Better Or For Worse) said - you are in charge. You make the characters, create the world, decide what happens, etc.

YOU are in control!

rajmews

happiest thing about being a creator? For me it's just the act of making stuff. I can't guarantee if anyone will actually...see or like my stuff...but I really enjoy making it. And, when I do art as a job, and I get to help someone with absolutely no art ability make their dream a visual thing they can look at--that's a great feeling.

Miranda (Into the Swell)

I think it's seeing my ideas come to life. It's so frustrating when you can visualize something in your head but can't convey it to others, and when that works out it's just wonderful

AntiBunny

Indeed when you can bring a world to life that once lived in your own head is an amazing feeling.

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

The act of creating... I think that brings me major contentment in my work. of course there's times i feel like "dang why this isn't coming together" it's the culmination of those experiences along having folks looking in my work and interacting with it matters to me

also I get stupid happy when i get nice comments so ye lmao

TaliePlume

What makes me the happiest about being a creator is sharing my culture and changing how people perceive it in a positive and creative way while still staying true to myself.

Desnik

What makes me happiest about being a creator is having something to talk about with other creatives

I don't have to sit on the sidelines being fannish, sometimes my peers like MY things too!

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

yes

persephinnie

I have a question - are any of you afraid of posting your OCs in the risk of it getting stolen? or is this more of a thing in the past?

I feel like it used to be a big deal back then, but I'm not sure how much one would need to worry about this still.

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Who would even want to steal my very unremarkable-looking characters? And this isn't a self-neg; my characters shine through their story, not through the easily stolen designs. (May want to take this to #general BTW)

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

hm. not really since past to present time I also made sure I had like watermarked and it's pretty much the only versions I had online tbh lmao

oh and yes

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

like the designs stolen?

i don't think my characters are remarkable looking enough to be stolen

even for the one or two interesting character designs i did, i don't really care if someone steals it?

oh oops this is creator babble. Should move to shop_talk

persephinnie

keii'ii - ack my apologies!

Deo101 [Millennium]

Where's the convo gonna go?

persephinnie

(#general!)

#ctparchive #comics #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #comic tea party #ctp #creator interview #comic creator interview #creator babble

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thesamesandwicheveryday · 5 years

Text

10.

All of yesterday felt like something of a fever dream. After waking up in that flush of memory I was able to eventually get back to sleep but I was restless, maybe even frightened, and by 8am I was back up again unable to discern the date, time, place, unable to really marry the idea of myself to the reflection of me caught in the grubby bathroom mirror amidst the watermarks, toothpaste splashes. When you don’t feel known, knowable, or knowing, what do you even do with that? Who knows you? I threw my clothes on, maybe I wore my jeans or maybe my blue trousers, a white t-shirt or maybe something more formal, I don’t remember, I just know what the fuzzy outline of me looked like from the obscured windows and shop-fronts on my way into the market, at some point in the morning, in some manner of dress. It was mist-raining, that much I’m sure of, because every step I took I felt murky, like the water was sneaking into the fibres of my clothes and it felt unclean and uncomfortable. By the time I made it to the covered market’s great old wooden doors I slinked right through them and looked to the floor and kept moving, and when I lifted my head up again I saw her, behind the glass, running a joint of gammon ham through a meat-slicer, looking despondent. I asked her what her name was, that was the first thing I did. I said to her I’d seen her a few times and thought it polite to introduce myself. She said, “Ham salad, right?”, and I pretended to smile because you’ve got to, always, be seen to be social. I told her, “that’s right!” and I even laughed a little, and said to her this time my name, so she’d say her own back to me. Guess what her name is? Her name is Julie. Julie and I, I realised, were suddenly in conversation, and it occurred to me quite quickly that this was the last thing I wanted and I only realised that when I was deep into that everyday laughter exchange of friendliness and politeness. I’d say at that point Julie and I were on a level of intimacy where she’d feel comfortable discussing casual town gossip with me, but perhaps not comfortable asking me to perform a favour for her, such as watch the stall, or pass a message onto someone. I wonder if Julie and I will ever get there.

“Ham salad please?” I said, though I wonder if I said it awkwardly and that request landed badly or stuck out of the natural flow too much, and I thought that even though that’s what I’m there for, that’s the exact nature of my visit, it was a subject that suddenly needed to be danced around, because now I knew Julie, and I was getting her to do a job for me so I could give her some money, and that was bad, and good, and hard for me to wrap my head around. But Julie, she didn’t mind at all, with a smile she started to throw my sandwich together — no, not throw, I’m doing her a real disservice by saying that — but watching her I began to cheer up. Because she just did it, and she made it look like art, and I’m not kidding. That sandwich suddenly started to take the form of one of those beautiful cartoon snacks, and the lettuce was green and leafy and the tomato was juicy and plump and the onions were sliced into perfect rings and the ham was thick, and though it was cold, I imagined it freshly carved from a piping hot roast dinner, tossed onto my plate at a Christmas table of cartoon men and women, a seasonal special, me there, nobody else I know but we’re all family. I realised, standing there, that this wave of emotion that had suddenly come over me was unsustainable, I was beside myself. I didn’t cry, but I felt incredibly moved. What tipped it for me was Julie pressing the bread down because listen to me now, that bread roll just sprung right back into its own form. She pressed it down and it immediately just pinged back again and formed a golden, soft dome of dough, the crumb never broke, but I think that’s when I did. It was beautiful. I said to Julie, “actually, could you do me two of those?” and then realised — who asks for two sandwiches and why? Two identical sandwiches? I could lie and say the other is for someone else, but then how do I say that? Because I always ask for her to leave off the cucumber, so — what, suddenly someone else I know wants the same sandwich and also doesn’t want cucumber? But it was either that, or admit they were both for me — no sir — so I told her, “I’ve got a friend coming for lunch” and then realised my mistake — nobody comes for a sandwich! If someone comes for lunch then it’s because you’ve personally prepared something, some platter of cheeses and crackers, a charcuterie board, a fucking quiche, I don’t know, but not two shop-bought sandwiches, and I wondered whatever must Julie think of me? Because however I present myself, however smart I dress or how well I speak, I just told Julie that I’m someone who just pretends — and she’s seen me, over and over again to get this sandwich, and now I’ve revealed that I am a person who buys deli sandwiches and serves them for lunch and that's not even the truth about me, that’s just something I said, so I had to fix it: “not coming for lunch, as such, out of town… he lives in the south”, and I’ll tell you why I said that. I said that because they don’t have good, honest sandwiches in the south of England, and I thought that if I said that, not only would I be getting myself off the hook but also offering some camaraderie as Julie and I could unite together on a playful disdain for the long vowels and their estuaries. So as I said it, I did what I hoped was a knowing face, one of shared humour, a look that said, “if you can believe such a thing” because the south, to the north, to the hard north, is unbelievable. Julie tutted playfully and said: “no proper butties!” and I said back: “no proper butties!” and I laughed because of this warmth, but because I’d got away with it. Something new this time — as there were two, she popped them in a small carrier bag and I carried them home papoose’d in this way, and they felt heavy but were protected one further, and I felt comforted by that. Before leaving and after exchanging jolly halloos and toodle-pips with good ol’ Jules I took a sharp left before leaving, to find the Sicilian man, because I believed, after this excellent interchange, that perhaps I could cheer myself up by talking about the old country with what’s his face, what were they called again, those Sicilian treats — sfincione — but was it sfin-chee-oh-nee, or was it sfin-chone? I didn’t know, and I didn’t know this more and more until I got to his stall which was closed and though I’d headed there with some purpose I was incredibly relieved, because I wasn’t ready. I was barely ready for a dress rehearsal. It wasn’t good enough. I’d lied enough. I nipped next door to the cheese stall where I asked the unimpressive young man for a fiver’s worth of Morbier and water biscuits and I kept that interaction to a bland minimum because I was beginning to feel exhausted. He wrapped this one in greaseproof brown paper and I didn’t look him in the eye. When I snaffled that parcel from the counter I felt this time like a thief in a Victorian novel, and at this point it was time to run — not walk — home. That was yesterday, and I ate that sandwich half-asleep, over the sink. The Morbier I had for supper with a bottle of St. Emilion and I didn’t call anyone or speak to anyone and my phone did not ring and no texts came. Today I ate the second sandwich for breakfast and wondered if I could get into some kind of sandwich system whereby by the time I want to eat my early day sandwich, it’s already there, I’ve already made preparations for that, and I wondered to what kind of schedule I should stick in order to achieve that, and as that plump, fat tomato I’d fallen in love with burst into freshness and sweetness and joy in my mouth and the salty ham wrapped itself around my tastebuds to lock the flavour in, I felt grateful. Who else gets to eat such food, drink such wine, to live in a place like this? I have been thinking on this all day, and especially about working out this sandwich regime that might improve my life. But I thought about Julie and the door of conversation I’ve now opened with her, and I wondered perhaps that maybe I'd like to never see her again. The Morbier, I still have some of it left. It is rich, indulgent and tasteful, leaves bitterness behind, has a line of dark ash running through it, just like we all should.

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