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platonic-prompts · 3 years

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Creatures from Folklore: Slavic Region A-D

You ever need different creatures to base things off of, or just want some legends for a setting? Or heck, you ever just want to chuck a creature at someone and say you’ll figure it out? Well, do I have the posts for you. This one will focus on the Slavic Region but I’ll make more at a later date

Ala are considered to be demons of bad weather in several folklore, including that of Bulgarians, Macedonians, and Serbs. Their main purpose is to lead thunderclouds that produce hail towards fields, vineyards, or orchards to either destroy the crops or to loot and take them. They are very voracious and really like to eat children. Though one shouldn’t assume they limit their tastes to Earth, no. They sometimes try to devour the sun and moon which lead to eclipses and if they succeed it means the end of the world. People who encounter one may find their mental and physical health as well as their lives at risk. It is, however, possibly to gain her favor by approaching with trust and respect. These good relationships can be very beneficial since she (the ala) can make those with her favor wealthy and save their lives if they are in danger. Ala can take on many different forms: black wind, giant creatures with no distinct form, a monster either humanlike or snake like witha huge mouth, a female dragon, a raven, various human and animal shapes. Ala can also possess people’s bodies. They live in the clouds or in lakes, springs, hidden remote places as well as caves, inhospitable mountains, forests, or even a huge tree. Usually hostile towards humans, they have powerful enemies capable of defeating them like the dragons.

Alkanost have an incredible voice, capable of making anyone who hears her song might forget everything in their search for paradise. A creature of good who resides in the garden of the gods or whatever version of heaven required, the alkanost has the head and bust of a woman and the rest of the body is that of a bird. Sometimes this creature lays eggs which assist in the changing of winter to spring. Basically she wouldn’t sit on her eggs just dump them into the Ocean-Sea and when they reached the bottom the weather would turn fair. Though i think that takes her out of the running for parenting awards.

Anchutka is a small malevolent spirit, residing most often in water or a swamp. Even without wings, it is capable of flight. One of its nicknames is the one without heels. This is a common theme to look for, as oftentimes evil forces have a limp. Though in some storied this spirit has lost their heels because they got bitten off by a wolf. This spirit is often a sidekick to a water spirit called Vodyanoy, and as such you should never say its name aloud since it will always show up.

Aspid, a type of dragon with a beak and other birdlike elements, resides primarily in the mountains, preferring solitude. When it invades a region, nearly always it caused universal devastation.

Baba Yaga: I’m pretty sure a lot of people know about Baba Yaga, the witch who lives in a hut with chicken legs and goes around in a mortar and pestle. She does carry a broom though, but she only uses it to sweep away her tracks.

Bannik is a spirit who rarely does any good for anyone. A mischievous spirit that has the appearance of an old man with long claws, he’s a spirit that inhabits the banya (steamhouse). Whenever people bathed in the banya, they would always leave on the third or fourth session to let Bannik have his privacy. They would leave him offerings of soup and regularly thank him. Bannik had the power to tell the future and if asked a question he would softly touch the askers back if it was a good future or flay it if it was a not so good future. Oh and Bannik, when angry, would claw off the skin of those who annoyed him. The banya was also the place of Russian childbirth, so there were measures taken to keep him from interfering. Part of the midwife’s job was to keep him away. And with good reason. Legends say that he ate or flayed children. So therefore the midwife would dip stones in the water and throw them in the corner to distract the steamhouse spirit.

Bauk hide in dark places and holes and abandoned houses. There they wait to grab, take away, and devour their victims. They have a clumsy gait and can be scared away by light and noise.

Babay, possibly the same thing as the bubak, isn’t often described so children will come up with what is most terrible for them. But despite this, Baby has been described as a black and crooked old man. When he is descibed he tends to have some traits such as muteness, lacking arms, or walking with a limp. He carries with him a bag and a cane. Baby lives in a forest or a swamp or a garden only to come out at night to walk the streets and scoop up the children he meets. He will walk close to windows and watched the children sleep. If they aren’t he’ll scare them with noises. Or sometimes he even hides under kids beds to take them away if they get up.

Błędnica is a forest demoness, who leads people astray before leaving her victims alone in the midst of the forest to die of starvation or be eaten by animals. She is usually described as a young and pretty girl. The only way to chase her away is to use strong spells or to sacrifice something at home or during your hunt.

Blud is a fairy in Slavic mythology. An evil deity who causes disorientation and leads a person around and around aimlessly.

Bukavac lives in lakes and pools, coming out at night to make a loud noise. A six-legged monster with gnarled horns, it would jump people and animals and strangle them.

Bubak is often represented as a scarecrow with a skeleton as frame, which is connected with darkness, it is a type of boogeymen used to scare children. The skeleton often is describes as wearing a heavy black coat where it hides the children it steals.

Cikavac, a mythical creature from Serbian mythology and it kinda feels like a basilisk but way weirder. This thing is a bird that has a long beak and a pelican-like sack. You can acquire one at the low low price of your sanity and clear face. For you see, in order to get one, you need to take an egg from a black hen which a woman now needs to carry under her armpit for 40 days ( is now a good time to note that chicken eggs hatch after 21 days or so) and one cannot confess, cut nails, wash their face, or pray. After that the cikavac would suck the honey from other people’s beehives and suck milk from other peoples cows and then bring it back to their owner. It would fulfill its owner’s wishes and it would allow its owner to understand the animal language.

Chort, a demon or a humanlike spirit in Slavic folk tradition. They are not exactly evil characters. Yes they try to trick people into selling them their souls in exchange for useless gifts. Yes those people are carried off into hell. But they are sometimes tricked into doing such things as building castle walls in a day. Sometimes is depicted as trying to bring evil characters to hell. A small, hairy man with a tail, horns, and one or two hooves. But due to shapeshifting abilities, the chort is able to appear in nicer forms and tries to trick people while in them. Though these transformations aren’t and can’t be complete, so there’s a way to know if one is dealing with a chort whether it be by small horns in curly black hair or a hoofed leg hidden within high boots. Though they share similarities, a chort is not the devil.

Čuma, aka kuga, is a personification of the plague in Serbo-Croation myths. Typically appears as an old woman wearing white, though in some cases has been depicted as a young woman. Direct mention of them were avoided and were usually referred to by godmother or aunty. According to belief, they lived in a far away land where they came from to infect people. Due to their hatred of dirtiness, if they found a dirty household they would be eager to infect it. Due to this, if a plague appeared,every house and its occupants must be thoroughly cleansed. In addition one could make offerings to of food, clean water, basil, and a comb.

Domovoi are household protectors, generally seen as kind spirits though they would harass the family they protect if said family was rude or unclean. This usually took the form of pulling small pranks until the family corrected their behavior. While domovoi are shape shifters, most depictions show them as small, bearded masculine creatures which are reminiscent of hobgoblins. In order to complete his chores and to fulfill his duty of protecting the house, the domovoi would assume the shape of the head of the household, sometimes working in the yard while the real head of household was asleep. (Guess spirits don’t have to worry about identity theft charges). They were also capable of turning into animals, rarely taking the form of a dog or a cat. Another facet of the domovoi was their ability to act as an oracle. Predictions are as follows

Dancing and laughing= Good fortune would come

Rubbed the bristles of a comb= a wedding would happen soon

Extinguished candles= Misfortune would fall upon the household.

Dziwożona, a type of female swamp demon from Slavic mythology, sometimes called Mamuna or Bognika, who lived in the thickets near rivers and streams and lakes. Thought to appear with foul weather around trees and swamps, they are known for being malicious and dangerous, and usually were previously living humans. Several types of people would be at risk of turning into one after death, such as: midwives, old maids, unmarried mothers, pregnant women who die before giving birth, and abandoned children who were born out of wedlock. Some depictions include an ugly, old woman who had a hairy body, long straight hair, and I quote “breasts so huge she uses them to wash her clothes”. I don’t know what that actually means and I don’t want to find out. She also wore a red hat with a fern twig attached. In case she wasn’t weird enough, she’d watch women with their little children. Just chilling around making the kid sick and making schemes to get the mother away from the kid when she’d replace the kid with one of her own, a foundling/changeling.

#i spent 5 hours on this #you better appreciate me lookigng through a bunch of stuff only to find exactly what was on wikipedia #info post #not a prompt #Creatures from folklore vol I #that's what im gonna call this part #part 1 of...idk 3 4 or 5

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lu-kiddos · 3 years

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Aaand here's our first kiddo, not chronologically at all!! Twilight's Twili daughter.....

Delia!!

(I promise she has hands her gloves are just really dark brown and I was an idiot for using an actual black colored pencil for her cloak--Also she has the teal markings too my camera's just shit)

Now, I know what you're thinking, and I'm sorry but I'm gonna have to shoot that idea down--no, Twi did not get with Midna and have a kid with her. Delia was found in the home of an elderly woman, and it is believed that the woman passed away from old age while caring for her. Eventually word about this weird gray-skinned toddler who screamed in the sunlight reached Twilight and he had an "Oh, shit!!" moment. A couple short trips and a longer trip to go see Dusk, and he'd acquired his second child(Conri being his first).

Believe it or not, Delia's childhood was actually pretty normal. She grew up in Ordon Village and I'd like to think that she wasn't treated too differently, if at all. It pretty much went like:

Twi: hey hi this is my daughter now she gets sunburned real easily Everyone else: cool cool, do you need like baby clothes or something

So yeah! Delia does have crow tendencies sometimes though, and may or may not... accidentally take shiny/interesting-looking things that don't belong to her. She has a little hideout in a cave she found nearby where she stashes her more valuable treasures so Twi and Conri don't make her give them back and also practices her magic. It tends to burst out if she doesn't "exercise" it, since she never had anyone that could teach her Twili magic. She gets some lessons on general magic from Dusk, but it's not really the same thing.

And some random little fun facts that I didn't know how to squeeze in: she has a yet-unnamed horse(suggestions welcome!!), her pendant was a gift from Dusk--Delia calls her "Auntie Zelda" sometimes though--and it does more than just look pretty--it's enchanted to help her survive in the light. Being in direct sunlight is still sort of uncomfy for her though, so she tends to wear long clothes. And she does not like Twilight's shadow crystal, it gives off bad vibes and she wouldn't want to touch it with a ten-foot pole. What would happen if she touched it? Idk yet but it might end up being a relevant thing when I do decide. OH and her nickname is "Deli" and it's pronounced like "daily" but if anyone except her family calls her that she'll hit them

#linked universe #lu #lu au #au #lu kiddos #linked universe twilight #lu twilight #delia #oh my god you go to tag 'delia' and you get so much #anyways it may be 11 my time but i got this posted before the day was over so HA #not doing deadlines like that again tho fuck that it was very stressful #but yeah delia!! my twili gremlin daughter #i'm care her okay #conri and twi are like 80% of her self-control and now she's separated from one of them what crimes will she commit

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1-800-seo · 4 years

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1-800-𝗦𝗘𝖮'𝘀 𖣘 "𝗬𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝘆 (𝗨𝗻𝗶)𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲"

- 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝖩𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗑 𝖸/𝖭

- 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿/𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄/𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗍𝖾𝖽/𝖾2𝗅/𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗀𝖾 𝖠𝖴

- 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 (𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗄𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌), 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗋𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝗆!𝗃𝗄 𝗂𝖿 𝗎 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗍, 𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌

- 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀: 2984

- 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗋𝗒 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗑𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾'𝗌 𝗀𝗈 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗎𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗋𝗄.

doing laundry is absolutely one of your least favourite things in the world beside soggy socks

so you’re in a bad mood as soon as you walk into the campus launderette to say the least

the launderette is empty bar one dude you’d seen around the global technics centre

if you remember rightly he’s a European studies major

odd choice but you do you and all that

now you’re not weird or anything but you have a preference on what type of washing machine you use

I know I know kind of unorthodox

but the old washing machines take 30 mins longer so you’d prefer a newer one

unfortunately the only one left is directly next to this familiar-faced stranger and his laundry

your better judgement is telling you no but your impatience is telling you yes

and so you dump your laundry onto the floor next to the stranger and his and start sorting through for all your whites

your piles mingle a tad as they overlap beside each other like Venn diagrams of assorted underwear and other garments

his consisting of only whites

yours a jumbled mess since you had to wash all of your stuff

in sync you both pick up your washing and put it into the machine

you catch his dark wide eyes as you both straighten up and he lets out an awkward low-voiced giggle

your cheeks immediately flush pink and a bashful smile creeps up to your lips

“you’re from the global centre, right?”

you ask testing the waters

“I am, I’m a European studies major, my name’s Jungkook. I recognise you, you’re in linguistics class right?”

“Yeah, I’m a linguistics major so you’ll mostly see me there, it’s nice to meet you Jungkook”

you say with a smile as your hands fidget with the door handle of the washing machine

“It’s nice to meet you too, I thought I recognised you from somewhere, but it’s because I see you sometimes when I have to do extra credit European language projects. What’s your name?”

he says tilting his head like a curious puppy

“its ______”

you say as you bow to him politely

“Can I ask you something? I have to do a project on European languages and their similarities to others. The professor wants us to speak to outsiders for references so would I be able to collab on a project with you sometime in the future, if it’s not too much to ask?”

he averts his eyes from yours and blushes lightly

“Oh yeah sure, that’s no issue! It’ll be beneficial to me too because the linguistics portion of the course is coming up soon, so it’s a great idea.”

you beam at him

“Could I get your number?”

their is a pause that feels like an eternity between your next words and his last

the cause of this is your mind being far too focused on his wavy dark hair and his clear doe eyes

you snap out of your daze

“yeah totally, one sec”

you pull out your phone from your backpack on top of the washing machine and input his contact name and number as he reads it out

“Thanks for that, it’ll be a big help, let me know when you want to link up” he replies

and with that you had his number and continued on with your washing

21/10 18:32

Jungkook ༄ : not to be accusatory but do you happen to own a pair of RED socks?

You: yes, why do you ask??

Jungkook ༄ : well ALL of my washing seems to be PINK!!

You: just because I own a pair of red socks doesn’t mean it was me 😠

Jungkook ༄ : yes but you were the only one in the launderette when I was there,,

Jungkook ༄ : smh gonna be turning up to class in pink tshirts and and socks, everyone be thinking ive made a new fashion choices when it’s really just because SOMEONE can’t keep their clothes separate from others B/

You: 1) it’s not my fault that my socks decided to migrate to new lands

You: 2) why, are you scared of pink or something? your ego too fragile to wear a ‘woman’s colour’?

You: 3) did you really use a sunglasses sad face emoticon lol

Jungkook ༄ : girl u owe me big time for all these clothes you ruined 😩

Jungkook ༄ : also im not scared of pink I just dont want to be wearing pink shirts to all of my formal events for the next ten years

Jungkook ༄ : and yes im sWaG so my emoticons are sWaG duh

You : ruined? ruINED? RUINED? I did not ruin anything, I simply spiced up your wardrobe boo x

You : oh no he’s a 2012 hype beast 🤦🏻‍♀️

Jungkook ༄ : how dare you call me something so sacreligious as a hypebeast!!

Jungkook ༄ : I am gucci not channel thank you very much

Jungkook ༄ : anyways I gtg write a report, speak soon red socks

Seen ✓

Jungkook was in fact not writing a report

he was planning revenge dun dun dun~~~

his plan was to do the exact same thing you had done to him

but he had to be cunning about it

and so the week went on

he was scrolling through twt when he received a new follower

it was the one and only @_______

and lo and behold their last tweet was “tysm Seokjin oppa for buying me a personal washing machine,, now I can do my most hated thing but at home!!”

hehehe

an idea sprung into kookie’s head

he didn’t have to try and spike your washing at the launderette

he could do it in a place you’d never suspect,, your home

now he only had to find out where you lived

just stalkerish tingz

he had to be lowkey about this

so he decided to ask his best mate and social butterfly of a friend Taehyung whether he knew you

and of course he did lol

“Hell yeah I know where she lives, she had the best party of the whole term, Jimin was so drunk he started chatting himself up in the mirror”

“Damn that sounds like a good time, probs should start going to these parties you invite me to”

“defo should, anyways I’ll tell u as long as you promise not to spread the information or use it for pervy or questionable reasons”

“I promise not to spread it or use it for pervy or questionable reasons”

he replies in monotone voice and his hand on his chest like an oath

and so that was how he acquired your address

simple enough really

and so that’s the events that lead him to be crawling through your dorm window however paused like a deer in headlights at the questionable sounds coming from the room across

he was squatted on the window ledge like spider man, red sock in hand and hood up

it was 9:00pm and your university apartment was supposed to be empty at this time

you had your class on now but he hadn’t accounted for your roommate

hence why he had frozen at the unsavoury sounds echoing round the apartment

low moans and grunts emanated from the room across

dEsGöStEn

he had to get to the kitchen without alerting the dusk time love makers

he could do it if the floor plan was the same as his apartment block and he bet his reputation on that

if he got caught he’d never hear the end of it from his mates and your roommate might even call the campus police if they were spooked enough

and so he clambered through your bedroom window and onto your bed underneath

unmade bed might he add but what did he expect from a uni student

with wide eyes he listened for any noise of suspecting roommates and examined your room

the desk was littered with papers and an oversized lava lamp stood stout in the corner of the room

a lacy bra was hung over your wardrobe handle

he shoved away the idea of you wearing it and continued with his night time plot

slowly and stealthily he crept through the halls of the apartment and out to the kitchen

on the maiden was already a neatly hung load of whites

he’d have to assume it was yours otherwise he’d have to go back to your room to get laundry

he bundled up the clothes and shoved them in the washing machine with the incriminating red sock he’d brought and set it to economy spin

round and round it spun, getting progressively louder as it went

he had to get out of there asap

tip-toeing as he went past the questionable lewd noises, he finally made it to your bedroom

he made one last check to see if he’d left any damage in your room

his eyes fell upon that same bra

damn his manhood making him think predictably

he shoved the thought away and departed

25/10 22:08

You: what in the hell did you do to my washing!!!?!!!

You: unless it was a ghost it HAD TO BE YOU JEON 🤬

Jungkook ༄ : wym I don’t even know where you live 😑

Jungkook ༄ : what’ve you done now?

You: IT HAS TO BE YOU!! SOMEONE FRIGGIN TURNED MY WASHING PINK AND I PROMISE YOU IT WASNT ME

Jungkook ༄ : how would i do that?? I don’t have like magic clothes dyeing skills boo

You: I SWEAR it was you!!

You: what do you want to bet it was u

Jungkook ༄ : I won’t bet anything I’m poor

You: that means you did it!

Jungkook ༄ : if you come with me to Taehyung’s party tomorrow I’ll tell u everything

Jungkook ༄ : but only if you go, that’s the terms of agreement

You: that’s all the incriminating evidence I need!! you basically just admitted to it you know?

You: however for reasons sake I will attend 👀

Jungkook ༄ : see you then red socks x

You: I suppose u will x

time passed quickly and soon it was Taehyung’s party

You’d known Taehyung since middle school however since starting college you hadn’t seen much of him

schedules clashed often so the only time you got to see him was at a good party

nothing wrong with that, you just probably haven’t had a completely sober conversation with him in 2 years

he’s good fun, Taehyung, so you hoped Jungkook wasn’t as much as a killjoy as he’d been this week

his little antics (that you’d yet to figure out) had caused your work uniform to turn bright pink

and thus the ‘pink princess’ nickname at work began

you felt like sharpay, everyone in white, but you pink

you’d quite like to knock Jungkook down a peg after that

and so you made your way to the infamous Taehyung’s party

he welcomed you as you entered the large door of his fraternity house

behind his head of black curls you could see the mess that is a raging college party

young people, at assumably different levels of intoxication, were everywhere

some were stood all the way up the expanse of the stairs even

you looked around and spotted a familiar brunette in the kitchen sat on the large marble counter tops

he’s chatting to some pink haired girl beside him

you stalk up to him like a woman on a mission and jokingly (a little too hard for jokingly) push his shoulders with both hands

he immediately snaps his head round to face you and his eyes widen with shock

“I have a bone to pick with you.” you say as stern as you can

you grab hold a fistful of his black T-shirt and drag him into a side room

once you enter only then do you realise it’s a laundry room

how fitting 👀

you say “Come on, tell me how you did it.” as you cross your arms and glare at him

“Did what?”

“you know what I mean, don’t play dumb with me, how did you turn all of my washing pink, and might I add, my work uniform too!”

“Ohhh that, it was far too easy. You really should keep your windows locked when you’re out.” he says as he laughs, like the whole thing is amusing

“So you’re telling me you broke into my apartment?! How did u know where I live??”

at this point you’re pacing around the room, arms flailing wide at the sudden discovery

“Well, I may or may not have asked Taehyung, and he told me, and then I entered, I did not break into your apartment. Anyway, I didn’t touch anything but the washing machine and I had the lovely experience of being serenaded by your roommate’s sex symphony.”

he made a step forward towards you, almost in a challenging way

“Oh I’ll be having harsh words with him later...” you say as you uncross your arms and put them on your hips.

you stand thinking for a second before it sinks in

“Wait.. what did you hear? You said sex symphony, right?”

“Uh yeah, your roommate was proper going at it with someone. At least he had the decency to do it whilst you were out, I guess.” He chuckled

“Oh my days, that means Hobi must’ve had Hyerim round! Go him I guess, but also ewww”

“Anyways we’ve bounced around the issue enough here, you ruined my clothes and broke into my apartment!” you exclaim backing up against the wall

Jungkook starts to close the gap between you two

“So? What’re you going to do about?”

your back pressed flush with the wall, you start to realise how close he really is

you can see the small freckles that dot the bridge of his nose, the thick eyelashes that frame his eyelids, the totally sinful look in his eyes

like this you start to realise how shockingly handsome he is

no wonder he has a slight reputation in class

you had no idea why he was looking at you this way

“I-I’ll call campus security..” You begin

“Will you really now?” he retorts as he slams his hand into the wall behind you, caging you in

“I w-will” a whisper that falls on deaf ears

before you even register, his lips have attached themselves to yours and you feel his thumb under your jaw

he works his lips against yours and you feel your legs start to tremble

he tastes sweet and robust, like syrup on your tastebuds

you mould into his kiss and then break away, panting for air, wanting more

everything felt so wrong, yet so right at the same time

it was as if your current issue had melted away and the only thing you could focus on was the way he looked at you and how his soft lips felt against yours

“J-Jungkook? What’re we doing?” you asked, a giggle leaving you

you rest your head against chest, clasping at his tshirt

“I couldn’t resist, you’re so hot when you’re angry”

he places a firm kiss against your cheek, takes your hand in his, and leads you back to the party

you couldn’t believe you’d just done that, let him kiss you so easily

but once you let him, it felt so right, like it was supposed to be that way, him lapping you up like a parched man to water

it felt so natural to have his arm round your waist like it was now

the pair of you approached Taehyung, still clutched together

“What happened to you two? I heard _____ went off on one and then you both were missing for ages. And now you both show up all over each other... what went down 👀”

“Well you know, hate and love are both forms of passion.” Jungkook says with a smirk

“excuse me? Assuming I love you? I let you kiss me once and you say it’s love? I’ll show you love” you retort

“Oooh she’s feisty; so you kissed? Damn, things’re moving quickly for you two, one minute Jungkook’s asking me for your address, the next you’re sucking each other’s faces off. I’m one of hell of a wing man, if I do say so myself.”

Taehyung flips an imaginary lock of hair out of his way like a sassy high school cheerleader

You both just laugh, at Taehyung, and because of how crazy it is,

It’s almost like you didn’t know you liked him like that until it smacked you in the face

“Do you want a drink? A beer?” Jungkook asks pouring himself a glass of punch

“That’d be great, thank you” you reply as you realise how much more time you want to spend with this annoying but totally handsome dork of a boy

༄ 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀! ༄

This was just a little fic I wrote a while ago which had formatting errors so I fixed it for y’alI, Hope you enjoyed it ☺️ Let me know what you thought of it and feel free to like and reblog <3

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nautiscarader · 4 years

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Wendip Week day 4 - same age

(Ao3)

- This is going to be the most boring holidays ever.

Dipper Pines put down the bags he's been carrying on the wooden floor of their new room, wondering if the creaking he was hearing would be the herald of their doom. But even if, the effect was nullified at once when Mabel began jumping up and down on her new bed, doing somersaults in the air, laughing and cheering.

- Oh come on, dipdop. This place ain't so bad! Come on, let's see what things are in the gift shop. - Mabel, we *live* in a gift shop now. - Dipper grumbled - And I have a feeling our grunkle would be willing to sell us...

The twins walked down the stairs (Mabel two at the time), getting used to the bizarre décor of the Mystery Shack. The modern merchandise clashed with old pictures and clearly fake paraphernalia that wouldn't lure even the most gullible of tourists.

- Man, can you believe this, Mabel? Who would believe in such things? - Dipper asked into the void, leaning against the counter. - Oh, you;d be surprised.

Dipper let out an embarrassingly high-pitched meep as someone jumped from behind the counter. The girl had long, red hair, wore a green plaid shirt, was missing one front tooth, but it somehow didn't detract from her beaming smile. It took Dipper a moment to realise he has been in Mabel's arms the whole time when she caught him, and stepped to the floor.

- Hi there! - the girl asked - You are Mr Pines' grand-kids, right? Oh man, maybe finally the borefest will end. - she kept talking, while she sat on the counter and dangled her feet, which Dipper now noticed were hidden in bizarrely huge boots. - Hi! I'm Mabel! - Wendy. Wendy Corduroy. - the girl reached her hand and fist-bumped Mabel, much to her delight. - Dipper! She knows the SECRET HANDSHAKE. - Heh, it's not very secret, isn't it? - Wendy looked at the chestnut-haired boy - And it's... Dipper?

She raised her brow, ogling him from head to toes.

- It's... it's a nickname. Anyway, - Dipper quickly changed the subject - You were talking about the, uh, clients? - Oh yeah. Lots of people fall for those. - Wait, how do you know? - Dipper inquired - Are you... working here? - Yup.

Wendy jumped to the floor and walked to the twins. She was fraction of an inch taller than them, though her oversized ushanka might have contributed to that effect.

- You are talking with Mystery's Shack best saleswoman! Mostly because I'm the only woman. - she added. - Wait, how come grunkle Stan let you? - Mabel tilted her head in confusion/ - "Grunkle"? - Wendy chuckled - What's that short for, "grumpy uncle"? - "Great uncle" actually. - Ah, makes sense. So, anyway, I asked him if I can work here to earn some cash, and he said yeah, and he was happy cos he thought he'd have to pay me only a half. So then I told him I might call the feds, and you'd have to see his face when he heard that.

Mabel and Dipper exchanged bewildered looks after the girl sputtered the entire history seemingly in one breath. Wendy looked around and lowered her voice.

- Between you and me, I think your grunkle has some serious skeletons in his closet. Or maybe the basement.

She jumped in place, and as she landed, the three heard a faint echo, just like when Dipper put down their bags.

- There must be one, but I can't find an entrance. Anyway, do you guys want to take a tour around the neighbourhood? And by "neighbourhood", I mean forest. - Sure! - Mabel exclaimed - Dipper, isn't she the coolest? - Uh, y-yeah. - Dipper spoke cautiously and followed the two.

Wendy grabbed something from the counter, and as they left the building, it became obvious what did she take.

- Woah, woah, woah. - Dipper ran forward - You're not gonna tell me you will drive this. - he pointed to the golf-cart parked in front of the Mystery Shack. - Oh, you can drive, too? Cool. - Wendy spoke nonchalantly and tossed him the keys. - No, that's not what I meant-

Dipper tried to argue, but the girls were already in the car, looking at him with mischievous looks. He sighed and passed the keys back to Wendy, who, with her big boots, were just tall enough to reach the pedals. While Mabel was singing some silly song, Dipper was saying his last prayer, but he quickly realised he might have underestimated Wendy's abilities.

The three drove into the forest, down the old, beaten paths, and the two city kids were suddenly engulfed by the untamed, serene nature that surrounded them. The sounds of birds chirping, leaves rustling and the distant roar of waterfalls created ambience they only heard in documentary films. And with the sudden rush of clean air came the oxygen shock, and Dipper couldn't stop himself from speaking his mind.

- Wow, Wendy, this is...

He looked to his left and saw the same girl, whose long hair now flowed with the air, while her face and her green eyes were partially obscured by the flickering shadows of the nearby trees. Words got stuck in his throat, and only one came out.

- ...beautiful. - Yeah, it's nice around here. - she answered nonchalantly. - It gets weird when the trolls come from the mountains.

Dipper blinked.

- I'm sorry, what? - Yeah, they are a pain in the behind, but they're not that bad, unless you know how to handle them. And then there are the unicorns, those are jerks, but again, they stay in their glades. Man-bats can be weird, they get rebooted every season anyway, so as far as monster go, they are not that bad, and then there's-

Suddenly, Dipper gripped Wendy's shoulders and turned her towards him, the sheer horror on his face.

- THERE ARE MONSTERS HERE?! - Woah, Dipper, don't do that, or I'll ran into- - A TREE!

Mabel screamed and Wendy slammed the brake pedal, just as they were about to crash into a mighty tree. But only thanks to her reflexes, the car stopped, making only the tiniest contact with the tree that arose in front of them.

- Oh, geez, oh geez, Wendy, I'm so sorry, are you-are you okay? Mabel? What about you?

But neither of the girls reacted to Dipper's questions, staring at the obstacle they nearly ran into. And when Dipper followed their sight, he realised why. There was now a hole in the tree. Not a round one, not one caused by any of the parts of the golf-cart, but a rectangular, precisely cut one, and the door it was hidden behind hang onto the only remain hinge.

- Woah, guys, we found a treasure!

Wendy eagerly jumped out of the cart and crawled onto the mask, her hand already diving into the hidden compartment.

- We-Wendy, be careful there might be some rabid animal there-

Dipper alerted Wendy, who, from the looks on her face, already found something inside.

- Guys, there's some mechanism here!

The red-head eagerly pushed the button inside, and Dipper once more let out a faint meep when he felt that ground underneath him began moving, uncovering another obscured hole, this time underneath thick, metal sliding door. Mabel and Wendy rushed to the spot, but this time, they let out disappointing sighs.

- Eh? A book? Come on, I expected a treasure chest!

But this time Dipper reached for the old, brown-red book as quickly as Wendy jumped up the tree before. The corners were encased in golden metal that once probably shone brightly, but years have made that shine obscured underneath the thick layer of dust. The center of the book's cover was an outline of six-fingered hand as well as number "3", and there was a magnifying glass attached to it on a string.

With trembling hands, Dipper opened it, worrying the book might crumble to dust, but to his surprise and amazement, the book was in almost immaculate state, sans the yellowish tint the once-white pages have acquired.

As he shuffled through the pages, Wendy and Mabel leaned over his shoulders, and with each new hand-made drawings, their curiosity deepened, though only one of the three knew what Dipper might be holding in his hands.

- Holy smokes, guys! - Wendy exclaimed - I think this is some sort of guide to all the monsters and weirdness that happens around here. - she nudged Dipper in his arm - Dude, if you didn't distract me, we would have never found this. - Y-Yeah. - Dipper replied with a equally ecstatic smile - And-and it looks like some pages are written in a code, look!

He opened the book and pointed to a series of mysterious signs that looked random, but upon further inspection were clearly written with some thought in mind.

- Guys, this might be something really big! - Dipper cheered - I thought we might get bored to death here, but-

Suddenly, Dipper remembered why he nearly made Wendy crash their cart.

- Wait, Wendy, did you mention "monsters"? - Oh yeah, the woods are chock full of them. - Wendy shrugged - Like manotaurs, giant ducks, and... - CORDUROY!

The three turned their head around as a new voice reached them. Dipper nearly dropped the mysterious book when a creature from the very same drawing he was looking at materialised itself in front of them, together with dozens of its spike-hatted brethren.

- ...gnomes. - Wendy spoke in disgust and spat - What do you want, you jerks? - We told you not to come here - one of the gnomes spoke - Not after your father tore down our forest. - Ugh. - Wendy rolled her eyes - He is a lumberjack, what else was he supposed to do? - We-Wendy, maybe we should-

Dipper's concern became real when the small, inoffensive-looking gnomes suddenly gathered around, and from the mass of colourful hats, a new, humongous gnome arose, comprised of the whole pack that just a moment ago looked comical.

- Er, okay, guys, it's time to scram.

Wendy didn't have to say it twice to the twins. The three jumped into the cart and Wendy slammed her foot onto the gas, driving them back towards the Shack. Mabel and Dipper watched as the monstrous mega-gnome was left behind, and for a moment, they thought they might have escaped its wrath. But a moment later, a deafening roar shook the forest and the colossal gnome appeared from behind the trees, running after them much faster than they anticipated.

- We-Wendy! It's-it's getting closer! - Check the book! - What? - Check the book, maybe there's something in it!

Dipper and Mabel quickly opened the mysterious journal back onto the page that described the gnomes. Dipper frantically looked through the hand-written descriptions, hearing the ominous, thundering footsteps behind him.

- Er... Er... We-wendy, there's nothing about their weaknesses! - Well, we'll have to improvise. - Wendy spoke - Hold on, guys! - Ah, my hat!

Dipper reached to grab his brown hat that flew with the wind and as it collided with the mouth of the gnome it was torn into pieces.

She made a sharp turn, and the next moment the twins found that for the second time this day their cart was on a collision course, this time with something much bigger.

- We-Wendy! The water tower! - Mabel screamed, but the red-hair was already steeping out of the cart as it slowed down.

Something metallic shone onto her belt, and with a quick "Be right back", Wendy disappeared.

- Oh, great, she left us! - Dipper panicked, but Mabel pointed up. Dipper followed her, perhaps just to avert his eyes from the oncoming death.

With an axe in her hand, Wendy was climbing up the water tower, as as the gigantic gnome was about to squish Dipper and Mabel, she struck the old cistern, and jumped to the nearby tree, as the pressure did the rest. A stream of water hit the gnome in the face, and it began disintegrating, as if it was made from sugar, revealing each and every single little gnome that were part of it.

Like cats treated with a sprinkler, the might enemy dispersed, cursing Corduroy's name as they came back into the woods. With the same grace, Wendy jumped to the ground, welcomed by Dipper's and Mabel's overjoyed cheering.

- Wendy, that was the coolest... - ...most irresponsible, but definitely coolest... - ...think we've ever seen! - Wow, Your mom must be so proud of you! - Mabel exclaimed. - Yeah... I suppose she would be. - Wendy looked away for a moment - You gotta learn how to deal with these guys. Maybe I can help you complete this book, eh?

For a moment, Dipper didn't realise Wendy was addressing him. Though the water around them made the air chilly, he felt hot when his eyes locked with hers, and only Mabel's hand breaking that contact brought him down to earth.

- Oh, oh yeah! Sure!

Wendy raised her brow, and only after a while she realised that was missing from Dipper's usual look.

- Dipper, your hat's gone. - Oh, oh yeah, but it's not a big deal, Grunkle Stan has tons of caps in the Shack, I'm sure he will-

But before he could end the sentence, Wendy plucked her oversized hat onto his head. And as she ruffled his hair, she suddenly noticed something peculiar on his forehead.

- Woah, what's that? A birthmark? - Y-Yeah - Dipper blushed - It kinds looks like... - A big dipper! - Wendy exclaimed - Wow, that's so cool! Now I get why people call you that.

Once more, Dipper found himself speechless, looking at the stunning, brave girl, whose red hair were now illuminated by rainbows from the last streams of water leaking from the water tower. And before he knew it, they were back at the Shack, saying goodbye, as the sun was setting down, and their new friend had to go home.

- Oh, by the way... - Wendy's cheeks turned crimson - You are not the only one with a weird name. My middle one's Blerble.

She stuck her tongue out and waved the twins goodbye, before she ran into the forest, following a path only she knew.

Dipper let out a sigh and was about to walk into the shack, when he collided with his sister, and was met face-to-face with the widest of snarky grins he has ever seen.

- What? - Someone's in lo-ove! - Mabel sang - Come on, Mabel. - Dipper rolled his eyes. - It's not like that. - Oh yeah, mister "It's not like that" - she mocked him - You couldn't take your eyes from her! We drove past like a dozen of weird things and you didn;t even flinch, you were ogling her soooo much!

Dipper walked faster, trying to escape Mabel's taunts.

- Mabel, Wendy is just our friend, we just met her! And yeah, she is cool, and can climb trees, and knows all about the wildlife, and she saved our lives, and she wants to help work on the... the book with me...

Dipper Pines stopped in the middle of the Mystery Shack, and uttered a single "Oh no", just as Mabel erupted into laughter.

#Wendip #Wendip week #wendip week 2020 #same age #nautiscaraderfics

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backandimbamon · 5 years

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yes i spontaneously wrote a bamon drabble because i can never get their dialogue out of my head (:

Damon knew Bonnie.

In fact, he knew her so well that he could paint her with ease on an intimidatingly large canvas, blindfolded, holding the paintbrush behind his back.

They spent an aggressive amount of time together, plus he was a vampire so his Bonnie experience was intense- not one detail went amiss.

Like for instance, she liked her natural nails to have length, and never chose nail polish outside of flesh tones; her go-to was a sandy nude but it had to be just translucent enough to reveal a bit of her cuticle.

And the fact that she wasn’t a perfume girl, but more of an earthy oil type. If he could bottle her up in a fragrance it’d be a concoction of patchouli and vanilla, a hint of citrus zest and a bit of a floral scent because whenever she couldn’t sleep at night, she’d sprinkle lavender oil on her pillow which eventually would embed itself in her hair.

Oh, and when he fixed her breakfast she never failed to complain about his pancakes but she would always do an exciting finger wiggle before grabbing a fork and digging in.

The prison world did something to her. To them. He had ample amount of time to observe and truly see the little witch for who she was, an opportunity never granted to him before. In the strange case of forced matrimony, Damon was able to fully see Bonnie Bennet sans overbearing, attention-seeking friends, even if one was his beloved girlfriend.

There was always Elena and after that, Elena’s shadow, and after that, Vampire Barbie but in the prison world there were none and he saw elements of himself attach to Bon Bon like friction particles during traction. And even stranger, Bonnie was completely unaware, behaving in a very Damon-like manner as if she had always done so, like she had coined the phrases, prolonged the banter, carried the stichomythia all along. Like he himself was the imposter.

Seriously, all Bonnie needed was a black leather jacket and a Camaro and she’d be his own personal mini me.

And even when his hope of returning floated away like a stray balloon, forever with her didn’t seem that bad.

To say the silent truth didn’t make Damon’s heart warm would be a lie. Developing a strong eventual friendship with someone who wanted you dead years prior could heat even the iciest of hearts.

So he had positively known her. He had seen her face, day in and day out for months on end; clay brown skin, leaf green eyes, a smirking mouth (another habit she picked up from him, he noticed proudly,) with a bone structure a model would envy, Damon hadn’t thought of any other equation that personified Bonnie Shelia Bennett.

She was very pretty in a way that snuck up on him over the years, he became accustomed to her beauty because he could accept it, it was manageable and tame. Not a loud or demanding beautiful but a sacred and layered one.

Bonnie was basically sugar, spice, everything nice, with chemical x as her magical witchy woo woo.

But who knew something as simple as a new hairstyle could change someone so drastically.

“So what do you think?” She asked, brimming with a poorly contained excitement.

It was a quiet day in Mystic Falls, no monsters to fight, or talisman to acquire. She had just entered the boarding house as Damon grabbed a Bourbon from the kitchen, tumbler held by a lazy grip. His eyelids lowered.

Gone was the modest brown bob, the one that allowed her to be pretty but not intimidatingly so. The hairstyle that he had expected from her; the witch’s default to not draw too many eyes for fear of being unnecessarily seen.

Gone was the beauty that was also his because she shared it with him like a secret gift. Only Damon Salvatore could witness the depth since he was always too close, always too invasive and she had trusted him just enough to let her guard down. It was theirs but now it was hers.

In the place of the brown bob was silken chocolate roots blended into caramel-colored barrel curls that tumbled down her frame. Her face was more intense, skin browner, eyes moodier, lips no longer smirking but pouting instead. She looked more mature and not like the sweetheart that he had come to adore but more like a bombshell, a sex symbol- hot...

It was odd.

He was captivated by her face, how different she looked, an effortlessly sexy appeal that was so un-Bonnie-like that he probably would’ve hit on her if she wasn’t his best friend.

Damon was drinking in her appearance with veiled appreciation but she couldn’t know that. He contorted his brows in thought and brought a cocked hand up to his chin quizzically.

“Hmm...” he said walking closer and examining, if only to buy him more time to stare at her, study her, secretly admire her.

She narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head in annoyance.

“Damon it doesn’t take this long, you either like it or you don’t.” That excitement had digressed to something else as she ran her fingers through her long hair self-consciously.

He stepped up to her, invading her space as he normally did, and pinched a few strands of hair between his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re right Bonnie, I don’t like it.” He said cavalierly, just to get a reaction out of her, just to make her feel a little less gorgeous because it was making him uncomfortable.

She stuck out her chin, arms still folded, “It’s not like I did it for you.”

The statement hung in the air like she had options, almost as if meek Bonnie Bennett had men standing in lines to take her out. Like her excitement to show him her new look only moments before didn’t exist because his opinion was no more important than the dust particles in the air.

“It’s okay if you don’t like it.” She stated, mouth certainly pouting now. He could see her defenses activating. “You’re entitled to your own opinion. This new look has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me and what I want. I think it’s-“

He rolled his eyes. “Save the women-empowerment speech for someone who actually cares, Bon Bon. I love it.”

“What?”

“Your new hairstyle. I don’t like it, I love it.” He over-enunciated.

That bubbling excitement returned, “You do?”

“Yeah. You’re blonde now,” he smirked and stepped even closer if that was possible. He circled her, eyes sliding up and down his Bon Bon to reassert that only he could be the sexy one in their duo, not her. No one else could master sexy the way Damon had. It leaked from him, she couldn’t compete with him for such a title. But Bonnie was barely bothered. Impulsively, her eyes rolled as he continued to walk around her as if he were critiquing an art display. He stopped in front of her.

“Little Miss Blondie Bennett.”

“How original.”

“I know, I put a lot into that nickname.” His hand was in her tresses before he could even register what he was doing, fingertips at her scalp, gliding to the tips of her hair with a light pressure. He released, then swept up the wisps of hair on the nape of her neck and tugged gently. Loose curls fell around his grasp.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to touch a lady’s hair?” Her eyes were foggy when she gave him a weak glare and gooseflesh rose on her skin.

“Do I look like I listened to my mother?”

He still had her hair in his grip and he tightened it a bit for emphasis before dropping his hand abruptly.

There was something that stretched between them, like maybe it was cruel to have a stunning little witch and an eerily handsome vampire only be friends. Like maybe Damon should keep his hands to himself because other thoughts could arise like why hadn’t he noticed Bonnie like this before? Out of all the women he’s crossed paths with, why was it impossible to imagine the witch as a sexual being? Why did she seem above carnality? And Bonnie could think why she hadn’t allowed herself to be noticed, what made her decide to hide herself, to keep walls so high that it would take years to cave in? She could ask herself what it was that made her a supporting character of her own life; who would she be if she allowed one misstep, had made one wrong move? Would Bonnie Bennett still be Bonnie Bennett if she put herself first?

Blonde hair was a baby step.

The presence of Elena was there and not, omnipotent as the sun between the world of Bonnie and Damon because there was no way they could see each other in any other light outside of friendship. And Damon was seriously questioning why he couldn’t possibly fathom, could hardly bring himself to whisper the phrase, sex with Bonnie.

Bonnie was his first best friend ever. In his multitude of years, he hadn’t blurred that line like he did with the long list of women he met before. He could think of not one platonic friendship in his history of friendships that was with a woman. She really was his first. It was like there was a block in his mind that prevented him from seeing her that way.

It was... strange.

The silence was stretching, as thoughts blossomed between them about themselves and one another. But of course the duration wasn’t too long.

“You went to a salon?” Damon asked, attempting to rid the moment of that gentle intimacy as he held her eyes.

“Yeah, it was this guy from Atlanta. He said a caramel, slightly ash blonde color makes the green in my eyes more intense.” She paused. “Caroline’s gonna flip,”

“Yeah she’s not the only blonde in town now.” His eyes widened. “You’ll probably have to mud wrestle to fight for the official title.”

“How classy of you, Demon. I mean Damon. I think.”

“Ha, ha.”

He could feel himself staring at her in a weird, pensive way, despite his lighthearted banter. She looked like the exact opposite of him bottled up in a human being. She was stunning.

“I’m guessing you didn’t listen to your mother when she said it’s impolite to stare either.” Bonnie chimed smugly.

Damon didn't laugh, his eyes grew sincere as he held eye contact with her in a way that used to make her feel uncomfortable before she became accustomed to it.

“All jokes aside, you are beautiful, Bonnie Bennett."

Those words had never fallen from his lips before. Especially never with such a seriousness. It was a fragile phrase, profound and evocative because she couldn’t recall the last time someone told her that.

Her face grew rosy with flattery and maybe embarrassment. “Thank you, Damon.”

She could see how Elena could have fallen for Damon, regardless of Stefan Salvatore and his handsome, chivalrous nature. Everyone warned you against men like Damon because they could get anything they wanted out of you and the world. A wolf in wolf’s clothing. Somehow frightening and irresistible at the same time. He was the shiny apple, red as sin in the garden of eden, plump and juicy and ready to be eaten. It was only natural for Elena to succumb. Most women would if the apple was dangling so dangerously low to their lips.

But sometimes, like then, he wasn’t so predictable. He took you by surprise when you least expected it. Because he wasn’t just enigmatic, he was flesh, bone, almost human. He had feelings and reactions and even he could be taken aback by his best friend with blonde hair. And even he could appreciate a beauty that wasn’t just Elena’s without feeling guilty.

“Little Blondie Bennett. I could just eat you right up.”

He really could.

#bamon #bamon fanfiction #bamon shippers club #damon salvatore #bonnie bennett #bamon fic #bamon fanfic #damon x bonnie #bonnie x damon

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signorinaempia · 4 years

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𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐬.

𝐢. 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖺 𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗄.

My name is Lillian Mallozzi.

I am an ally of the American government. Tossed around like a rag doll, usually — the FBI and CIA being the main catches. I was, a few years back, a rookie detective for the FBI, transferred to the CIA for "other business".

Before all this? I was the Unholy. Still am, to a certain extent. Unholy is an alias I acquired after being taken in by a man called X: a mob boss who took a liking to me when I was a homeless kid on the streets of New York. With a few of the acquaintances I had, we trained ourselves. It was kind of needed in a city like this one. People took advantage, and you could only rely on yourself. We needed to learn how to defend ourselves, how to live without the support we had left behind.

In my case, I went batshit crazy and bought a one-way ticket from Heathrow to JFK back when I was fifteen years old. My father… well, he let me down. And don't get me started on what mammina dearest got me into. But... to get back on to the subject: X found me fighting some odd fellow who tried to steal my bread. Yes, sounds fucking weird, but it was my bread. All I had for a good two weeks. I remember him grabbing my arm and pulling me back and my expectations. I thought he was gonna hit me, but he simply placed me to the side and hit the other guy instead. “Fa fucks sake, Johnny, why th' fuck y'stealin' this poor woman's food, huh?” He called out, in an accent similar to my own. With that alone, I felt safe. Terribly biased of me, really. The man scurried off as best he could, and the middle-aged fellow before me turned with an inviting smile.

Being fifteen, I was still naïve, and I should not have let him take me in. But I did. I thought it was fate for a very long time, but he knew all along. X was the head of a league. A league of Elite assassins, most of us being from around the same area. Sorrento, Italy. How he got us all? I don't know. But I know why he got me.

Back in the eighties, my mother was a mercenary. She worked for a multitude of organisations, mainly those who paid the highest — I must've gotten that from her. But boy, she was an animal. And back then, the only man she took orders from was a young man named Xavier, but he preferred X. He had fought in the Vietnam war, proceeding to become a prestigious CIA agent following the end of it. He branched off, though. The big bosses were aware, of course, as they now had a new unit of operations. The mercenaries. Some of them preferred assassins, and in general, X did too. But my mother deemed herself a sole mercenary, and going from a mere pencil pusher to that was all the excitement she needed that my father failed to give to her. That society had failed to give her. I didn't see mother much — we had an ice-cream parlour back in Atrani, and that's where papa and I spent most of our time. But each month, we'd travel over in a helicopter to spend some time with my mother. It was always nice, pleasant and the reunions of our family never failed to make my stomach full with excited butterflies, but she was never the same.

Always battered and bruised, taking calls and looking tired. She told me about Xavier one time, explaining how he was an uncle to me. Family is a big deal to us Italians, so I was of course respectful whenever she needed to leave because he had called her for some help. What I didn't understand was her untimely death, a little after my tenth birthday. I remember sitting on the private helicopter my mothers bosses had sent for us, completely numb, wondering what the hell witness protection was, why I was moving to London and why my name was Lillian Mallozzi all of a sudden. Never did I quite put together that X was Xavier. I suppose my childlike frame of mind never stored his name as X-avier. An innocent mistake, but one that I often slap myself in the face for.

But when I was taken into a murky safe house not too far from the alleyway I called home, I questioned it all. But he didn't. “You have your mothers eyes, empio,” he would mutter to me. “And her attitude.” I remember being so confused over the nickname he had for me. It translated back to a few things, Impious, Godless, Unholy. What the fuck did that even mean? After all, I only really spent a few years in school. It was a miracle alone that I had taught myself to read, and the like. But then it all seemed to just — 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬. I knew mothers job was top-secret, and I knew she worked for the supposed good-guys. What I didn't know was the whole truth. I got a hunch. So I asked. After all, if this guy was training me then I could at least confide in him, ask him a few questions. And that I did. He brought me a multitude of different files on my mother, Isabella Damiani. Her codename was always Unholy. Throughout her years as an agent-cum-mercenary, in each place and person she had worked for, she was the Unholy; through and through. X told me that the name courses through my blood, and that my children, and my children's children, would too take on the family name. I of course told him to shut his fat mouth, because I simply could not believe the things my mother did.

I was no angel, and I knew my parents weren't either. But I was not aware just how unholy my mother was.

“She died a busy woman,” X told me one day, the pair of us sitting on a rooftop and sipping piña coladas, “She had, and has, a lot of unfinished business. Undying allegiances if you will.” I don't recall my exact reaction, but a wild guess would be a mouthful of profanity and a roll of the eyes. I was hurt, in a sense. I knew I was much too young at the time to even comprehend what my mother did, but what in God's name was stopping my papa from doing it? I suppose that's one of the reasons I rebelled against him. Left him behind along with the rest of the family. We speak daily, and I visit him on the odd occasion, but he's losing it.

That hurts. But it's not my job to be hurt.

This legacy I had to live up to, it constantly played with everything I did. Took over my entire fucking mind. I was grossly violent for a long time. Cutting off limbs and shit. Luckily, I'm not that bad anymore. I usually just stick to fingers and things people can live without.

After a few years of detective training only under X, I made the big move up to the FBI. At first, I was a rookie agent. X had put in a good word for me, and seeing as I knew pretty much everything in regards to murders, they didn't necessarily discriminate. They set me up with a slightly older lady named Mallory, and I played sidekick for a good two years before moving on once again. The CIA required the Unholy's assistance once more, and I did what I needed to do.

What drew me back in was the fact that they had discovered a group of former allies of my mother's threatening to release secrets, and I had to dispose of them all. It was a priority — one of many. That was the first of many names finally crossed out of the ledger. I continue to do so to this very day; with the knowledge I have acquired from years of being a detective, it's easy. And sometimes, I can't help but wonder if mother did this on purpose.

In my years under X, I killed hundreds of people. In my years under the American government, I killed even more. I am not ashamed of who I am, or who I once was. I am this way for a reason. I work alone now. I'm freelance ninety percent of the time. I still hold allegiances with both the CIA and the FBI. I suppose there are perks of being too useful and too frequently used by these people. Vita Damiani isn't gone, Lillian Mallozzi is sticking around, at least for now. But even if it all goes down the shitter, I am the Unholy, through and through.

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postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 4 years

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Time for The Witcher episode 4!!

So the last episode was Intense(TM) and also I finally realized that the show isn’t happening all at the same time but it’s following multiple timelines, which, better late than never. Now things make more sense...

Alright, bando alle ciance and let’s do this.

“Ciri! Ciri” Cirilla: yes? “Not you, I was talking to Siri. What’s the weather going to be tomorrow”

That’s such a stupid joke. Unfollow me right now, it’s okay.

Glowy Forest Intensifies... oh, there’s people now. Forest Dora Milaje aren’t happy to see her, which is understandable, I guess. But the boss arrives.

Meanwhile, except not meanwhile, a man has had a very bad day. Apparently the nickname White Wolf has stuck. Remember when we thought the MCU was going to make Bucky into a Black Panther character as the White Wolf, official media outlet even used the White Wolf as a title for Bucky, and then it ended up in nothing? Sorry for the digression but I really hoped we’d get Bucky written by Ryan Coogler and I was really disappointed when that didn’t happen but *waves around* all of that happened instead. I mean, technically it’s not too late to make it happen but Bucky is a Disney+ creature now, so, bye.

Hello Jaskier! My boy! I missed you.

Ah, the new media image campaign is working.

“You never get involved, except you actually do, all of the time” I love this XD “I don’t do emotions or attachments” character who does emotions intensely all the time and gets attached to everyone they meet paired with “sure Jan” character who calls them out is a very good dynamic.

Ah, yes, this is perfect. I’m sorry but dark brooding protagonist and bubbly comic relief sidekick is my secret weakness.

No offense, Geralt, but those clothes did need a good washing after your latest job, so don’t make that face.

Blah blah royal affairs I should probably pay attention to.

“I am not going to protect you” [*Spongebob font* five minutes later...]

But yeah, the princess is Cirilla’s mother, I suppose, and I’m sure the marriage that produces Scream Princess is super important. She is very pretty and has lovely hair. Sometimes I wish I had long hair I could braid artistically.

The princess doesn’t want to get married to some strange dude, but the queen is A Very Strong Woman(TM) and has no time for silly things like her daughter’s feelings over the most life-changing decision in her life. She’s an interesting character for sure, and the narrative doesn’t try to frame her as either definitely good or bad, which is interesting.

Oh! Rat Boy isn’t dead! That’s great. That makes sense narratively, native forest women who suffered genocide from colonizers wouldn’t kill an elf boy who went through the same thing.

Promised husband is a shitty dude. Queen Calanthe likes Geralt, which, relatable. But she and her entourage are racist assholes, and the next scene with Cirilla and Dara tell us that their anti-elf talk isn’t just talk.

By the way, now we know for sure how much time there is between Geralt’s timeline and Cirilla’s.

The queen doesn’t like feminine dresses. Lady is trying to overcompensate a lot. But her banter with Geralt is entertaining.

The first suitor is from Nilfgaard, and in hindsight it would have been a wise choice to unify the two kingdoms... C’mon, poor guy is just awkward, he doesn’t deserve the humiliation. Or is he the guy who’ll make war later? The pilot threw too much new information at me the other day.

Yennefer is bored... and apparently 30 years has passed since the last we saw of her. (I refuse to try to understand when in relation to the other plots that puts this scene. Things will click together at some point or I’ll just accept whatever happens and nod along.) And coincidentally she is paired with a woman who laments being only considered important as a baby-producing womb. Oops. Awkward.

Not relevant to the show but my parents never get inside my room as often as while I am watching something on Netflix.

Yennefer thinks life as a court mage sucks, queen Kalis thinks life as a baby-maker sucks. They envy each other for what the other has, but they’re probably both right.

Well, boredom is no longer a problem.

Oh, poor queen, her husband paid to have her killed because she’s only given him daughters. Two episodes in a row about female heirs to kings, plus queen Calanthe being female and having a daughter who’ll have a daughter. Theeemes!

You can’t be rude to the only person who is your only hope not to die horribly, girl.

Queen Calanthe is frustrated she isn’t a man, which we could guess. She also likes the simplicity of killing, which we could also guess.

Oh! It’s almost pre-decided husband’s time to claim the girl’s hand in marriage, but New Guy appears! He’s been cursed and Mr I Don’t Pick Sides Ever No Matter What, guess what, picks a side. The audience is shocked. No one could foresee this unexpected turn of events.

Noooo the baby!!! Yennefer loses a rare chance to acquire a baby. This is sad. Damn this show doesn’t shy away from killing children, such a different feel from most stories we’re used to.

These people are weird with destiny. Calanthe says fuck destiny, Geralt says lol mood but just because you’re a queen doesn’t mean you’re above sacred rules.

OOOOH Calanthe says fuck sacred rules and it does not go well. Is this happening because she tried to mess up with the order of the world and chaos said hi? Was the princess always magical or did this happen because destiny will have its way no matter what?

Ah, her grandmother had it, she never manifested it before until now, when circumstances awoke it.

Queen Calanthe acknowledges destiny, and of course they’re all dressed in green like the mages of Feminist Hogwarts aka Chaos School. I should have paid more attention to colors but green seems to be the color of magic slash chaos slash destiny.

Then bam, red. Men. Violence.

Everyone in the forest is also dressed in green... Colors aren’t really my thing, you might have noticed that I rarely analyze colors in Supernatural and I’m not particularly into what which color means and I only notice things when they’re very obvious like the purple of transformation-slash-death, so, yeah, I am not the kind of person who notices colors until they slap me in the face. I guess this is my slap in the face by this show’s color palette XD

Also consider that I watch everything with f-lux on, so I don’t even see colors the way they actually look, I guess that’s why it’s harder for me to notice colors when everything looks orange.

Alriiiiight *disables f.lux for current app*

Oh. Oh. So this is how this show looks like.

Awkward. This is so embarrassing.

I should rewatch the whole thing with real colors now... well, another time.

Anyway, Dara has drunk antidepressant juice, but it doesn’t work on Ciri, because she is Relevant(TM) to destiny so she can’t forget her past otherwise the plot destiny can’t happen.

Sleep well baby.

Aaah husband’s curse is broken! Yay.

Geralt accidentally acquires a bond with a baby. One baby dead and Yennefer’s potential bond with her lost, one baby on her way and Geralt’s future bond with her created. So this is all about parallels based on babies and births. Cool.

In the future, destiny has arrived and indeed wrought calamity on the court and the city. Someone makes something gross with Calanthe’s dead body--a spell to learn the location of Cirilla. Trouble is coming.

Oh! It’s him, he’s not dead? And taking something from Calanthe (that will be relevant later)?

Ciri drinks stronger juice and goes to the ancestral plane, er, I mean has a vision of a Very Important Tree, sorry I had Black Panther stuck in my head from before.

Well this is very interesting and things are starting to click together and yeah it’s a weird ride but I’m enjoying it! I suppose only at the end of the season you get the full picture of why and when everything has happened so I’m just sitting here metaphorically eating popcorn waiting for things to make sense on their own rhythm. There’s a theme of motherhood and babies and it seems that Geralt’s destiny is to become a metaphorical mother for Cirilla? Or am I mixing him up with a similar kind of character with a tendency to become everyone’s mom? Anyway, I’m looking forward to see what happens.

#the witcher

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zenonaa · 5 years

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Read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318629/chapters/43362350

Comments: Day 1 for TogaFuka Week! The prompt is ‘Beginnings’

***

If anyone thought that somebody stacked a dozen books on a desk in Hope’s Peak’s library and abandoned them there, they would be wrong but the mistake would be understandable. Behind the barricade of books lay Touko Fukawa, her shoulders hunched as she scribbled in a small purple notebook. Her pen nib scratched against paper, paving a story word by word. The world around her faded away within the first few sentences, and all that mattered now was the fictional girl made of thoughts, paper and ink who recently transferred to a new school.

Much like Touko, herself.

While she had her own dorm here, where she could work and exist as she pleased, for her current project, she wanted to draw from her surroundings. For example, as she left her dorm, her eyes darted about the narrow corridors, where the cream flooring was polished so much that she could see her blurred reflection in it, and she noted the slight resistance from the wooden stair rail as she descended to the ground floor. Once outside, Touko listened to the hum of school life under a sky with clouds boasting grey stomachs, and she remembered the lazy tumble of an empty packet of crisps as she crossed a courtyard.

The library emitted a rich, booky smell, a blend of glue and aged must, with old books intermingling with newer ones, an aroma that Touko’s dorm hadn’t yet acquired since she moved in two weeks prior. In her pursusal of the library, she found books long out-of-print. When taking into account that the academy had been established hundreds of years old, that was to be expected. On opening a few books, just curious about their age, she discovered yellowing checkout cards, and she suspected several stamps had been pressed into them for people no longer alive, rotting in the ground somewhere.

Yes, Touko had been called morbid. A lot. One nickname of hers was ‘zombie’, and then there were others like ‘ugly’, ‘weird girl’, ‘four eyes’ and ‘Wednesday Addams’. However, at that moment, Touko existed only as a vessel for the character in her current work in progress. The girl was drinking in the sight of the old school building, gripping the handle of a secondhand suitcase that had a wheel that kept sticking, and her mouth hung open, tinged with the bitter tang of fear.

She was about to take the plunge and go inside when she exploded in a cloud of dust, blown away by a single spoken word.

“You.”

That wasn’t said by the girl, or anyone in the book, or even Touko. She jerked her head up at the blunt voice that shoved her out of her zone and placed her back in a dim, musky library.

A male student stared down at her, his lips twisted with disgust, an emotion that Touko was well acquainted with. Narrowed blue eyes watched her from behind a pair of white framed glasses. His hand rested on top of one of the piles of books that she amassed. Even though she wrote fiction, it had to have some basis in reality. She acquired them for research purposes, though one stack consisted of paper folders with notes and plans for this particular story.

Touko tried to swallow as quietly as possible.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” she asked tightly.

“You’re certainly doing something,” he said. He craned his neck, trying to see into her notebook, and wrinkled his nose. “Are you writing one of your romances?”

She wrenched her notebook toward herself and hugged it against her chest.

“W-What’s it to you? Why do you need to know? Do I need a permit to write here?” she snapped.

He clucked his tongue.

“That sure is a persecution complex you’ve got there. You’re giving yourself too much credit. You enrolled as a high school literary girl, and as an avid reader, and because you happen to be here, I thought I would investigate,” he said.

“Investigate?” She raised in pitch. “What are you, a detective?”

“That’s a side hobby for me. I’ve even solved a few cold cases,” he told her. Touko eyed him, trying to place where she had seen him before, because she was fairly sure she had somewhere. He turned his head to one side but kept his gaze on her.

A few seconds passed, then it clicked.

“You sit in front of me in class,” she announced. Yes. She recognised his blond hair from the one day she went to class. They weren’t compulsory, and she was a genius, so she preferred to spend that time writing instead.

If she could help it, she kept her eyes down in class, but she had to look up occasionally, and with him right there, glimpsing him was inevitable, though she usually only saw the back of his head. And, of course, she saw his face while researching her classmates prior to starting at the academy, but after reading his title, Super High School Level Heir, she hadn’t lingered on him for much longer.

“The answer to a question I didn’t ask,” he remarked coldly. Up to this point, he hadn’t taken his hand off the pile of books, but he did now, pushing up his glasses that hadn’t slipped at all far down his slender nose.

He folded his arms over his chest and regarded her again.

“As I’m sure you have as well, I researched my classmates before coming here,” said Byakuya, and she shoved her thumb against her gritted teeth.

She just thought about that - she needed to make her face harder to read, but she couldn’t stop clenching her jaw and scowling.

“When I saw your title, I was interested to see what sort of things you wrote,” he continued. “For you to have been handpicked by Hope’s Peak, you must have talent at it. Imagine my disappointment when I saw your bibliography comprised of romance novels...”

Heat rose to her face and she balled her hands into fists.

“What, do you think an ugly fatty like me can’t write about romance?” she snarled. He didn’t even flinch.

“That’s irrelevant. Romance in real life is repulsive, and I can’t see why anyone would want to read about it,” he said.

Touko bristled. The nerve of this guy! She was ugly, smelly and a bunch of derogatory terms, but to dismiss her livelihood... she wouldn’t stand for it. For a while, she couldn’t even muster up any words, and she could only see white hot anger.

Finally, she looked up and said, “How-?”

He was gone. Touko choked on her saliva and tried to return to her writing, but her narrative came out stilted, repetitive. She gripped her pen tighter and screamed in her head, not with words but filling herself with an internal prolonged, frustrated wail. Even when she stopped attempting to think what to write next, a fizzling sound still ate away at her.

A stubbornly long time later, she slammed down her pen. The nerve! Touko left the library books where they were - she knew librarians preferred putting books away than having visitors try to. She collected her folders and stormed out of the library, her skirt swishing wildly.

Despite the fluorescent lighting in the corridors, night fell some time ago, but she didn’t have a curfew or anything to obey. If she wanted to be out past ten o’clock, then so be it. As she blitzed through various corridors, tinted various colours by the lighting depending on the area of the school, the few people straying around her had sense to avoid her.

When she entered her dorm, she let the door swing shut with a bang, and she tossed her folders onto a small round table. She stood still, gripping her hair, and her ragged breathing eventually tired her out. The room speckled in her exhaustion, and her limbs weighed down as she sauntered to her bed. Not bothering to take her uniform off, she flopped forward onto her mattress and whined into her pillow.

What a pomposh, self-important fool! He must have felt so smug, leering at her and taunting her about what she wrote. Just because he was rich and handsome, he thought that made him better than everyone else, but he couldn’t fool her. Touko had met too many handsome men and they all turned out to be vile. They pinned love confessions onto noticeboards, asked her out on dates on dares or told her that she was more mature than her classmates, after class when everyone else had gone home.

Yes, they were the same as each other, and in her experience, ended up dead.

Touko fell asleep, thinking of comebacks and retorts that she should have said at the time. In the morning, she woke up early for once. Rather than sleep in, she heaved herself out of bed, sprayed herself in cheap body spray instead of taking a shower, and she gathered her things for the day. As soon as she saw Byakuya, she would slice him to pieces with her tongue, brandishing her arguments and superior intelligence. After all, she was intelligent, and him? He was just an heir, which required no work, no extra effort. Just rich parents.

Yes, as soon as she got her notebook containing her novel, she would...

... she sorted through her folders...

... as soon...

She stopped.

Then wailed.

It wasn’t here. Her notebook wasn’t here. Touko must have left it at the library the previous night, and it was all Byakuya’s fault because he flustered her so much. She ran out of her dorm, her school bag thrashing against her as she sped over to the library, ignoring the concerned looks aimed her way.

When she arrived, she could barely breathe, not just because she was so unfit, not just because she was so out of breath, but because that notebook held her precious story. Panting loudly, she checked where she had been stationed the previous night. The books had been reshelved, but her own notebook was nowhere to be seen.

“Did you see a notebook here last night?” Touko asked the librarian, who had cautiously drawn closer upon seeing Touko burst in.

“No, sorry. Everything I put away belonged to the library,” said the woman. She tilted her head to one side, looking upward in thought. “The only person who has been here since after you left and before I tidied up was that Togami boy who comes here a lot. He left after you yesterday.”

Him! Touko growled and without bothering to say her thanks, she left the library, heading toward their homeroom. As usual, she had skipped breakfast, but her stomach had hardened rock solid so she didn’t feel hungry.

She opened the door forcefully and looked inside. No one else was here yet, not even the student attending for being an elite public morals committee member. Classes weren’t compulsory, but Touko didn’t know the location of Byakuya’s dorm, and in this sort of mood, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on her writing anyway, so she stomped over to her desk in the back corner of the room and flumped down on her chair.

Five minutes later, Kiyotaka arrived, his shirt tucked in, tidy as an esteemed committee member should be. He took a few steps before noticing Touko and hesitated, then raised a hand.

“Good morning, Fukawa-kun!” he called out.

She glanced at him. To her dismay, he stared, expecting a greeting back. How bothersome.

“It’s nice that you’ve decided to attend today,” he added, breaking into a wide grin.

“I can’t say the same back,” she said. His face fell, and he left her alone now.

A few more students spilled into the classroom soon after, such as a girl who wore a paperclip in her hair and seemed to bounce as she walked. She approached Touko with a donut bundled in kitchen tissue, and she had the audacity to put it on Touko’s desk.

“What is this?” asked Touko, turning up her nose at it.

“I’m Aoi Asahina,” chirped the girl, and she cupped the back of her neck. “I, um, thought... you might get hungry, so...”

Touko cringed. “I don’t want... your bribery!”

“What? It’s not bribery,” said Aoi, adopting a frown. “I noticed you never come to the cafeteria in the morning, so thought I’d get you something. I was wondering if we could be friends.”

Exactly. Bribery.

“You can’t fool me. Leave me alone!” Touko sneered. “You probably hid razor blades in it.”

Like those girls in her middle school had done with a cake.

“That’s horrible!” Aoi said, widening her eyes. “I would never...”

But Touko had learned otherwise.

“You... You big-boobed piece of beef jerky!” Touko twisted her body away from Aoi. “Go away. Moo-ve away from me!”

Aoi gasped and then stalked off to her desk with a huff, as Touko intended, leaving the donut behind, not so much intended. More people arrived after. A girl with long blue hair and skin as smooth as a doll’s, walking in with a boy with brown messy hair. A girl with violet hair and a small braid on her left side, the headmaster’s daughter. Every time the door opened, Touko peeked up, and upon seeing that they weren’t Byakuya, she would lower her gaze again.

With five minutes to spare, the door opened, and this time, when Touko perked up her head, the sight of Byakuya greeted her. She tracked him as he strode over to his desk, wearing a dark brown shoulder bag that cost more than it should, and as soon as he slid onto his chair, she spoke up.

“You. Togami,” she said.

He gave a hum, and she thought for a moment that he wouldn’t even bother looking at her, but then he turned around and held out a small purple notebook.

Her notebook.

“You thief!” Touko hissed as she snatched it back.

Byakuya blinked calmly and made no attempt to stop her or steal it back.

“You left it behind in your haste last night. That’s your fault,” he said.

She glared at him. He retracted his hand and pushed up his glasses.

“I planned to return it to you after classes today, but you saved me the effort of chasing you down by coming here,” he added. “Which I thank you for, because I have better things to do. A lot of them.”

“L-Like what?” she jeered. “Smelling your own farts? Getting everything handed to you?”

For the first time, emotion flickered in his eyes. An ignition, a spark, a flame within a case of ice. His nostrils flared.

“Is that what you think of me?” he asked sharply. “That I am someone who has not had to work to get to where I am?”

Her heart beated faster, but she didn’t pay heed to its warning, to its plea that she back down against someone raising their voice, even slightly.

“An heir is born,” she said, digging her nails into her palms. She could feel herself shaking.

“Usually, but not in my case,” he said, trying to keep his tone even, but annoyance made the baseline crumble a bit. Still, he lowered his voice, so Touko could breathe easier. “I had to compete against my siblings to become the sole heir. I, the youngest child, battling against people who in cases were decades older than me, had to prove myself... to everyone. They thought I would lose, but my hard work, intelligence and cunning made me victorious.”

The way he talked about it made it sound like some kind of competition. She bit her lip, not knowing what to say. What to think.

He saved her the trouble.

“By the way, I read what you wrote in there,” he said casually, pointing at her notebook.

Touko twitched. “You what?” she squawked.

She could have bitten his head off. Reading one of her works in progress...! Without permission...! He may as well have read her thoughts, or peeped in on her while she showered or got undressed.

“I have said that I abhor romance, as a genre and I object to it in life too, but you have a reputation,” he told her. “One of your books made fishermen popular with young women, and another with butlers. Pennyworth couldn’t leave the house with me without being inundated with admirers for months.”

He inclined his head, very slightly, not breaking eye contact.

“I admit I have read some of your works prior to enrolling, and this story here... You have not just talent, but an almost magical way with words. A gift. You could accomplish great things if you didn’t waste your time on a subject like romance. I don’t know why you’re throwing away your talent on something like that.”

Touko processed what he said and jolted with a spike of anger. She opened her mouth to retort but at this point, an older adult came in who Touko didn’t recognise as their homeroom teacher. For starters, she remembered their homeroom teacher to be a man.

This woman carried a comically large net over her shoulder that seemed to be holding an actual human being, and she straightened as she spotted Touko.

“Ah, you must be Fukawa-kun!” the teacher said with a smile, like she hadn’t just been caught kidnapping someone. “You saved me the effort of having to go find you.”

Touko ignored her. The teacher didn’t pursue the conversation further and walked over to a desk. She emptied her net there. Indeed, a human being had been in it, a tubby boy clutching a manga with a chibi girl on it that Touko suspected had been used as bait.

After he sat down, the teacher left the room, and conversations popped up again. No one paid attention to the two in the corner. Byakuya stared at her. Touko breathed in, aware that her heart was racing, that her face had grown hot.

He complimented her writing. Yes, he was unkind and a massive jerk, but she knew that he didn’t say that to try to win her over. His only intention was to say the truth. She trusted him... at least for this.

It had been ages since she received a compliment she felt was genuine.

“I’m... I’m not wasting my time,” she said. Her tongue struggled to cooperate, and she didn’t know what had come over her. Words turned into a mass of feathers in her mouth, clumped together by saliva. “Happy people write shallow novels, but the downtrodden, like me, see the world in its full spectrum and can vividly imagine an ideal world, envisioned in true beauty. Romance... is pure. It’s a source of hope and power.”

He grimaced.

“It’s a weakness,” he said. “A weakness to be exploited by others. People betray. Other people can’t be trusted. It infects you, taints your judgment. It’s idiocy.”

Her skin tingled, like grazed by fire. His honesty... burned hot.

“Love... gives you hope,” she said, tensing her shoulders. “It gives you purpose. In a book, even people who are ugly, smelly and stupid can experience it.”

But what he said about it... wasn’t wrong.

“That sounds delusional.” His expression didn’t change, and her heart sank.

They both continued to face each other. Byakuya’s gaze made her skin itch. She fidgeted, and noticing the donut that Aoi left behind, she picked it up and held it out.

“Here. Take this,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “You returned my book... and now we’re even.”

He scoffed.

“I don’t want that thing,” he said. “You could have poisoned it.”

She nearly dropped the donut and ogled him. “I...”

“I’ve survived assassination attempts from people more dangerous than you. I’m not an idiot,” he said. “Don’t think I trust you. I’m constantly on guard, analysing others’ tones of voice, lines of sight, minute changes in expression, posture... No one can be trusted. Not my former siblings, not my father and mother, and certainly not any of you.”

Touko couldn’t take her eyes off him. Earlier, she had seen him as a guy born into this position, with a silver spoon in his mouth and everything and anything given to him. Now, however, she didn’t see a spoiled brat who knew nothing of hardships, but someone who could see the world as she did, who must have seen things, been through things that people their age shouldn’t, that no one should. A coldness existed in his eyes, as cold as the surface of a mirror, as the shiver down her spine when she heard her door back at home creak open in the middle of the night.

But she wasn’t scared, no matter how much she trembled. He didn’t hide behind darkness, not like him. He didn’t hide behind lies, not like them.

Too soon, he faced forward, and something in her chest shifted. She put the donut down. At the front of the class, the teacher from before clapped her hands, having returned without Touko realising.

“We’re all here! Awesome. Right, I’ll be replacing your old homeroom teacher,” she said warmly. “Kizakura-san sends his warmest regards.”

She was replacing a teacher who they could only have had for a few weeks. This teacher wore a white apron over her blue dress. Her orange hair was styled in a ponytail with white ribbon, and her green eyes shone with determination, bright and young - she couldn’t have been that much older than them.

“Alright, so my name is Chisa Yukizome, and I hope to get close to all of you. Now, let’s do roll call,” said their new homeroom teacher, Chisa Yukizome, clasping her hands together.

As she called out names, Touko studied the back of Byakuya’s head. With a small smile and a wringing knot in her chest, she decided she might start attending classes more regularly.

#togafuka #touko fukawa #byakuya togami #danganronpa #togafukaweek #fanfiction #croatian rhapsody

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babykeithsmullet · 6 years

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Send Your Cutest Delivery Boy

aka: the klance bike courier au no one wanted but I wrote anyway

(read on AO3)

***

Getting hit by a car is not how Keith wants to start his day, but sometimes that’s just how things go. One minute he’s turning a corner onto Fairview, the next something slams into his back tire and knocks him clean off his bike. He sprawls on the pavement, rolling until he comes to a stop at the end of the curb. He stares up at the blue sky, blinking until the spots in his vision clear.

A loud honk and a squeal of tires announce the offending car leaving the scene. Keith groans, pushing up onto his elbows just in time to see it speed down the street. Hit-and-run drivers are jerks. Then he sees where his delivery bag landed (pretty far from where he got hit, he notices), open and spilling its contents onto the sun-warmed sidewalk. The Chinese takeout has exploded out of its container to throw itself into the dirt. Then he cranes his head back towards his bike, which is now sporting a mangled back wheel.

Ugh.

The whole thing is an annoyance more than anything. He’s not injured (he thinks), but he scraped his right leg and elbow on the pavement when he bailed and it stings like a motherfucker. His bike is busted. The order is unsalvageable.

This is going to be a hell of an incident to explain to management.

The sound of footsteps draws his attention to a woman running towards him. She has her phone out, waving it towards him like a white flag.

“I got the license plate,” she says, reaching down to help him to his feet. “And I called an ambulance. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Keith shakes his head. “Thank you, but that’s really not necessary. I’m fine.”

Her eyes go wide. “You flew when that car hit you. At least get checked out for a concussion!” She stares pointedly at the blood that’s beginning to flow from the scrapes and cuts on his leg. He grimaces; it looks worse than it is, but he has a feeling he’s not going to be able to talk her out of it. A few more passers-by have stopped, clearly wondering if they should help him out or not.

Keith looks back at his broken bike and sighs. He’s not going anywhere. He might as well let them.

***

After getting off the phone with management, Keith grabs the receipt from the delivery order. The EMTs said it was fine for him to keep calling, but they insist on going through injury protocol while he does. They’ve finished shining bright lights in his eyes when he goes to get the receipt, settling himself back on the curb. He should have this number hotkeyed by now, he thinks, with the amount of times this guy orders.

Weird Takeout Guy had become a regular customer of Keith’s, somehow always ordering when he was on shift and in the right delivery zone. At least twice a week, sometimes three, and always just for himself. It was kind of ridiculous. But he was cute, and it helped that he tipped 25% on every single order (Keith had started to wonder if he’d accidentally acquired a sugar daddy somewhere along the path of being a bike courier). Between the joke-flirting and his insistence on giving him weird nicknames (Emo Bike Man, Kiki’s Delivery Service, and Zuko’s Day Job were all things he’d been called), he actually seemed like a nice person. Keith feels kind of bad about fucking up his order.

Lance McClain picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Keith from U-Eat. I’m really sorry about this, but I’m gonna be late with your order. I got hit by a car.”

“You WHAT?!” Lance screeches. Keith winces, holding his phone it about a foot away from his head.

“I talked to management already, so you’ll get a full refund and another driver will be by within a half hour with your food,” he continues, mentally conjuring the standard protocol for late delivery. “If you have any complaints I can give you my supervisor’s name—“

“Stopstopstop. You got hit by a car and you want to know if I have complaints? Are you okay, dude?”

Keith is surprised. “I — yeah, I’m fine. The car just grazed me. I flew like fifteen feet apparently, though.”

“You flew fifteen feet after getting hit by a car and you’re asking me about complaints?” Lance asks in a high voice.

Keith sighs. The EMT picks up his elbow to check for a full range of motion and he shifts the phone to his other ear. He hisses when they prod the scrapes. “I’m fine,” he insists, and he’s not sure if it’s directed to the EMT or to Lance.

“Dude, I’m so sorry. I feel awful. Can I make it up to you? Where are you?”

“Fairview and Pine. Look, it’s no big deal. I gotta go anyway — I need to get my bike fixed.”

“No. Stay right there. I’m coming by in like ten minutes,” Lance says, and abruptly hangs up. Keith stares down at his phone for a moment before shoving it in his pocket.

The ambulance leaves a few minutes later (at his insistence) and he’s in the middle of ordering an Uber when a car pulls up in front of him and honks. He looks up to see Lance in the driver’s seat of a bright blue BMW that looks like it’s seen better days. He parks and jumps out of the car, striding towards Keith before he can even stand up.

Keith glowers. “I really don’t need any help, okay?”

“It’s my fault your bike is busted,” he says. He crosses his lanky arms over his chest and stares down at him with determination. “Let me at least give you a ride home.”

Keith sighs. “Fine. Whatever.”

They pile the bike in the backseat with some difficulty, and within a couple minutes they’re driving down Fairview again. Keith sulks in the passenger seat, trying not to look at the way the sunlight catches the planes and angles of Lance’s face, tries not to stare at the muscles in his arms (thanks to the muscle shirt he’s sporting), tries to ignore how those wide blue eyes are watching his every move.

When they take a left onto Maple Street, Keith shoots him a pointed look. “Are we going to your house?”

“My roommate’s a mechanic. He might be able to help you with your bike.”

“Lance, you really don’t need to do this. I’ve been hit by cars before. It’s fine.”

Lance breaks for a stop sign. “But it’s my fault it happened. Let me do something for you, okay?”

“You could just date me and call it even.”

Lance freezes, his eyes going wide. They don’t move for several moments, and it’s only when the car behind them honks that he’s startled back into action. The car jerks forward as he steps on the gas pedal. “Did you just —“

“That’s why you order so much, right?” Keith really hopes he’s not wrong, but judging by Lance’s reaction he’s right on the money. “Next time just ask for my number. Maybe then I won’t get hit by a car.”

“I — what — How the fuck did you figure that out?” Lance demands, pulling the car into a parallel park outside his apartment — a sight Keith knows well. His face is bright red as he navigates the car into a space and turns off the ignition.

“Are you kidding me? You flirt with me every time I show up. You put ‘send your cutest delivery boy’ in the special instructions of every single order, Lance.”

“That was a joke!” he says. Then he pauses, and turns sheepishly to face him. “Well, maybe at first it was.”

They sit in silence for a moment before Lance speaks up again; “So, uh, if you were serious... wanna go for coffee next Thursday? Café Leon?”

Keith shrugs. “Sure. If you’re not gonna pay my hospital bills, you might as well pay for my coffee.”

The sight of Lance beaming at him more than makes up for the terrible afternoon.

"Yes! Lance still has it, baby!" he practically sings.

"Please don't give yourself too much credit. You did get me involved in a traffic accident."

The sight of Lance's instant pouty glare forces him to stifle a laugh. For all the trouble he's caused him, Lance really does seem like a nice guy. Maybe this'll be good. It almost makes up for the fact that his bike is broken.

Almost.

Keith decides to not let that detail slide right away.

#klance #vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender #klance au #fics #my fics #bike courier au #this is SO SHITTY i'm sorry #i cranked it out in like 1.5 hours lol #my posts

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iammultifandomaf · 3 years

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Chapter 22 - One out, one in

BROTHERHOOD

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12211562/22/

He was becoming tired from all the punching, kicking and low-level magic spells inducing inner pain. But they knew they can't let him bleed. Not yet at least.

Stiles knew how to handle pain. That didn't worry him. What worried him most was the moment when the sorcerers get bored and will aim only for the crucial information. How to eliminate his brother.

Stiles spit at the ground after another heavy punch into his face. His nose hurt a lot.

Has to be broken, he thought.

This reminded him the times when he used to be a Roman soldier. Good old days.

With a loud thud, a big metalic door flew open on his right. Stiles eyes wandered to the side to see what had happened.

He couldn't believe his senses when he realized that there is an old lost friend of his in the door frame and behind him, the redhead he loved.

The four sorcerers standing about in the room began chanting at the sight of the vampire.

"You, go help him," Credence ordered Lydia and disappeared. Lydia blinked twice, noticing that the wizard on her right went down in blood, dead. The other three magicians focused on Credence.

Lydia run to Stiles who looked at her with wide eyes.

"Lydia, listen to me, magic is holding me up so you won't be able to get me down. So... Shit, I hope I won't regret this. Cut me somewhere, Lyds. I gotta bleed."

Lydia smiled at him with her teeth covered in dried blood which took Stiles a bit aback.

"I guess I will have to bite you," she said nonchalantly. Without hesitation, Lydia's teeth sunk into his forearm, making a streak of blood come out.

"More," Stiles said, biting his lip.

"Watch out!" Stiles yelled out but it was too late. A woman with a wooden stick struck Lydia's head who immediately let of off Stiles' arm and dropped to her knees.

"Lydia!" Stiles cried out.

Credence was finally done with ripping the other wizards apart and quickly attacked the last enemy who just hit Lydia.

Within seconds, it was oddly quiet in the room, only Lydia's loud breathing was audible.

"So... you think he noticed?" Credence asked Stiles, leaving all his questions aside for now.

"I do hope so... He needs to be fast, though, otherwise–" his words were interrupted with the sound of loud and fast footsteps nearing.

"Shit, Credence, get her out of here."

"I can't leave you here!" Credence protested while helping Lydia to her feet, subconsciously doing what he had been told.

"Stiles...," Lydia voiced and looked up to see his eyes which were filled with confusion, pain and nervosity. She wiped her bloodied lips with the back of her hand. Feeling the adrenaline rising, she looked around quickly and her eyes landed on a knife lying next to a corpse. The redhead glanced at Credence: "Could you hand me that?" she asked, eyeing the shining blade.

"Found yourself a tiny warrior, haven't you?" Credence said to Stiles, a bit of admiration in his tone and reached for the weapon, handing it to the rather fragile girl, in his eyes at least.

Stiles himself was still a bit surprised by Lydia's newly acquired attitude – that didn't matter now, though. If his brother didn't hurry up, they would end up in quite a mess.

...

It's been quite a day, Thomas thought. Does he feel weird about it? No, he cannot. The note he had given on Stiles' desk was a good move. He knew it. They got him. Finally.

He felt good. Yes. Brilliant even. Everything his ancestors tried to achieve. He just did it. Basically by himself. Thomas didn't want to admit it out loud, but he was well aware of the coven weakening. He was one of the few. One of the few capable of something.

His speciality was lurking about in minds of others, playing with them. So, even after the four, maybe five years of working with him... Sometimes he thought, he can't be that bad. But the memories – the memories brought him back on track. Stiles was a monster.

"A monster," he whispered for himself, reassuring.

"Thomas," his mother, Meagan said, drawing his attention to her.

"We need you there, now," she urged and Thomas rose to his feet.

"What's up?" he asked, grabbing his amulet which was hanging from his neck, out of habit of course. The amulet was given to him by his father, Thomas Shelby. Yes, they named him after his father – wanting the child to inherit not only the name but also the talent. He got both in the end. Lucky child, they called him. Not like his cousin. She was a mistake, they said.

"Should've gotten an abortion," once Meagan said.

He knew she meant it.

"The bloodsucker got out somehow, making a mess there, we need to stop him."

Thomas knew that her we meant in reality you. The coven thought highly of him, for bunch of reasons which for him seemed merely as luck. At first, he didn't know he was working at the same place like him. Why would he go through a head of a random colleague. Unnecessary, rude even, he thought. But a few months ago, he did it, by accident, maybe. Maybe not. And, lucky he, Stiles was just thinking about something in his past. And there it was – a reason to dig deeper. The revelation was shocking and very troubling. He had been grabbing lunches with him every day then. Thomas even considered him as a sort of a friend. A friend, the word felt disgusting now.

Two days ago, yes, only two days ago, a member of the coven; a nerd in Thomas' eyes. He figured out the old diaries of the mighty and long dead family members who wrote about the brothers. About the enemies for life. And there it was, the brothers knew each other weak points, how to subdue one another. How to dispose of each other.

And here we are, Thomas thought whilst he speeded to the room where his colleague was hanging down, a prisoner of theirs.

Thomas bursted through the door with two other wizards and his mother, quickly scanning the room.

Stiles, still tied up, the vampire near to him, holding up the redhead, Lydia, he remembered, who held a small knife. Stiles eyes landed on him. He saw how Stiles' lips formed the word Tommy. Oh, a sharp pain in his chest. He can't let himself influence by this ridiculous nickname the monster used to call him. Within seconds, though, Stiles' eyes went from sadness to stone cold.

There he is, Thomas thought, but somewhere at the back of his head, a quiet voice told him: "He feels betrayed, you idiot."

No, Thomas shook it off and started whispering his chants to get him protection. From the vampire who, surprisingly, didn't attack.

The tall pale man looked at Stiles, as if he was asking a question with his eyes, still holding the girl by the shoulders. Stiles gave him a nod which apparently answered the vampire's query.

All of this happened within seconds, even though it felt like minutes to Thomas. He began marching towards the vampire, about to bring him down with a spell he had quickly rememberd.

A loud thud which was follwed by the walls shaking, cracking even, made everyone stop at their spot, looking around for the source of this disruption.

Thomas had a bad feeling about it, noticing Stiles' arm covered in blood. He's coming, he thought.

And there it was, a loud blow from the ceiling which had collapsed right somewhere in between where Thomas was standing and the enemies.

The brothers glanced at each other quickly, as if they exchanged silent words – there he felt it, energy directed towards them, smacking them against the wall. Thomas was the first one to be standing.

It seemed like they didn't know. They think they are safe, Thomas chuckled in his head, gathering his thoughts again, acting fast. Repeating the words, the foreign language he has gathered from Stiles' depths of his memory.

It was working, the other brother, fell to his knees – it worked faster than expected. The vampire tried an attack. The barriers Thomas had set before worked, though, like a charm one might say. Stiles, still hanging, tied up with magical ropes, looked down at his brother who was, struggling, trying to break the spell. Not the one binding him, though. The one binding Stiles.

Michendros, the name appeared in Thomas' head. Yes, that's his name. Michendros knows he's passed saving. It only took the three words to cripple him and now, he will finish it. At least that's what Thomas thought.

The ropes, suddenly, evaporated – as if they were nothing more than dust. Stiles quickly jumped down, like a cat almost, crawling to his brother. Crawling? Thomas asked himself whilst he repeated the poising lullaby. Oh, he noticed, a sprained ankle – from the jump. Stiles was now close to Michendros' face, caressing his cheeks as if one's lost lover. Laughable.

Michendros mouthed something. A word. No, two words. Get. Out. It seemed that the vampire was faster to act; with his dark bloodied claws and unhuman speed, he cut the redhead's arm as well as Stiles'. Again, started saying something in an unknown language.

Meagan rose to her feet just now, still recovering from the previous blow and charged towards the three who were being binded by a blood spell. The vampire outstretched his hand to grab the other brother as well, but no. Thomas had taken care of that. A heavy burn he only got. He deserves nothing less.

But that was the last deciding detail. The vampire, carrying the two on his back and front, like a parent, having his little children in some sort of scarfs tied around his body, he jumped up through the hole in the ceiling – like Superman flying away up to the skies. But no – Thomas had to finish his chanting, he couldn't stop now. They will catch them later, the coven has the big bad now.

"Bastards," aunt Meagan said through her teeth, "Jerry's dead, he hit his head way too hard. But you're doing good, my boy," she said. The first sentence just a statement. Meaningless information. The second one, like a owner petting his dog for catching the ball. Thomas hated that. He hated being called like that, like something which is owned.

The job's done now – he stopped his lullaby.

"What now?" he asked.

#stiles stilinski #stolos #michendros #john mitchell #thomas shelby #lydia martin #fanfic #credence #brotherhood #chapter 22 #one out one in

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the-master-cylinder · 4 years

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SUMMARY A nuclear war breaks out in 1986, expending the world’s entire nuclear arsenal, except for one missile. Two children, Philip Chandler (John Stockwell) and Marlowe Hammer (Michael Dudikoff), are abandoned by their fathers in a fallout shelter cut into the side of a wooded mountain. The pair grow up in the shelter, with 1950s detective fiction and swing music as the guiding force in their learning. Fifteen years later Marlowe succeeds in digging out the cave entrance. The pair give each other haircuts, dress in suits, and go to rejoin the world.

Philip narrates their adventure on their first day out:

My name’s Philip, and this is going to be a yarn about me and my pal, Marlowe. About the day we got out of this shelter and went off into the post-nuclear world. Now, as excited as we were about leaving the shelter, it was still a joint that held fond memories. I mean, it was the only world we’d ever known. Where I practiced my magic, Marlowe, his dancing; where we both dreamed of becoming private eyes, just like the ones we’d read about.

Marlowe hopes to find their fathers, but Philip is disgruntled that they never returned, and presumes that they are dead. The mountain is now devoid of trees. The first people they find are a trio of radiation burned “mutants” chasing a beautiful woman, Miles Archer (Lisa Blount). They rescue Miles, who kisses Marlowe as a distraction and steals his gun. This backfires, as she drops the activation keys to the last nuclear missile. Miles leaves, and the pair are immediately attacked by a biker gang of bald women in red wigs. Afterwards the boys discover the activation keys, which bears their fathers’ names. This excites Marlowe, but disturbs Philip.

They rescue another young woman, Rusty Mars (Michele Little), from a group of armed children Philip nicknames “disco mutants”. She takes a liking to Philip, and leads the two of them to Edge City which is plagued by gang warfare. Rusty takes them to a dance club, where they are captured by cannibals. They want the nuclear keys, and to eat the young men, a rarity of uncontaminated meat. Although Rusty helps them escape and apologises, Philip doesn’t trust her. Just after they part ways the pair meets up with a friend of Miles’ who also wants the keys. After he is dispatched Miles shows up and takes them to her hideout. There she tells them about the purpose of the keys. Miles then threatens to kill them, but they escape.

Rusty has followed them to the hideout, but is attacked by the child gangsters. The pair chase them away, but Philip still doesn’t trust her. He wants to shoot her, but is out of bullets. After Rusty apologises again for lying to him and originally handing him over to the cannibals he says, “That was a million years ago, and I got a short memory. In fact, I don’t even remember who you are”.

The pair resolves to rid the city of the gangs and keep the keys. They go to an abandoned warehouse, using themselves as bait, in the hopes that the gangs will kill each other before killing them. For the most part, the plan works. However, the bosses of the child-gangsters are in fact Philip and Marlowe’s fathers. Before he dies, Philip’s father tells him that the past does not matter. In the end, the only gangster left standing is Miles, who has the keys. She shoots at them, and misses, but startles Marlowe into shooting and killing her.

The film ends with Philip letting go of the angst which he had nursed for 15 years. He adopts Marlowe’s “silver-lining look on life”. The two demonstrate Marlowe’s tap-inspired “post-nuke shuffle” to the crowds of the city. In the closing narration, Philip explains that they plan to set up shop as detectives, but that first he will find Rusty and see if he can repair his relationship with her. Of the keys, he says that he and Marlowe hid them in a secret location, because “you never know, in a tight jam a nuclear missile just might come in handy”.

PRODUCTION Albert Pyun’s first film, THE SWORD AND THE SORCERER, made box office waves and instantly established him as a hot property in Hollywood. If you haven’t heard much about the young director in the past two years, it’s because Pyun has been busy working on his next feature, a post-nuclear fantasy-adventure tale entitled RADIOACTIVE DREAMS. The film is scheduled for release later this year, though a distribution deal has not yet been finalized.

The long pre-production period was, in part, due to the challenge of acquiring financing (after THE SWORD AND THE SORCERER, Pyun had several offers, but wanted to work independently from the studio system and a six month talent search for the roles of Phillip and Marlowe. Pyun estimates that he saw over 600 young actors, striving to find two who weren’t too modern-looking, and could believably carry a 40’s attitude as part of their characters. During this time, Pyun and Karnowski wrote some 50 drafts of the script, began scouting locations, and dove head-long into the other crucial pre-production elements.

A visit to the production office at Laird International Studios reflects just how much work had already been done on the project which, in Pyun’s words, has a budget only “slightly larger than the $3.5 million spent to film THE SWORD AND THE SORCERER, the walls are covered with color storyboards by in-house illustrator Shawn Joyce (who will be preparing all the film’s matte paintings), character sketches, blueprints of sets, and even tabletop poster board miniatures of the hippie city square (modeled after San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury district), and the bombshelter (which comes complete with a two-car garage). Mark Moses, a winner of several CLIO awards, serves as the film’s visual consultant, with Chester Kaczenski handling art direction.

Principal photography, by German cinematographer Thomas Mauck, who shot many of Werner Herzog’s films, began in March in Pyun’s native Hawaii, on the island of Hawaii. The remote locations-in the mountains and on the site of the Mauna Loa volcano, where an unexpected eruption occurred on the first day of shooting-generated some visually sensational dallies, according to publicist Scott Fields.

Interview with Albert Pyun

How did you come about writing Radioactive Dreams? Albert Pyun: I wanted to do something after “The Sword and the Sorcerer” that was distinctive and not like anything else. I think I felt that if I only got to make 2 movies in my life, the second had to be as imaginative as I could create. So that was the start of it and I had a lot of meetings with studios and what they liked about my first film was how it was imaginative, so I went that direction.

Did the 1980’s missile crisis have anything to do with what inspired you? Albert Pyun: Well, no, but growing up in the Col War years certainly did. I always was a fan of Dr. Strangelove and i think that and “O Lucky Man” got me going on the idea of the last nuke left.

How long did it take for the guys to get the “Post Nuke Shuffle” down? Albert Pyun: Did they ever?? To be fair, we had to shoot it really fast as the sun was coming up and we were losing extras. So we had to shoot it fast and that was unfair to John and Michael because they did work hard on that dance. We shot most of the big music scenes and extras scenes in one night so that really made it a very rushed shoot night. I don’t know if John was as comfortable with the dance as Michael. I think it went against this sort of “cool” vibe John had. He was very dedicated to what we were doing but some of it i could tell unsettled him.

The dance looked pretty amazing. I’m surprised it isn’t a staple to dance to at weddings and birthdays. Any memories of when you filmed the big final scene? Albert Pyun: Just how fast we had to do it. I was disappointed we could do it with more takes and shots. It was pretty basic and FAST. And they had a costume change in the middle of it. I had actually shot several book end scenes which were set 40 years later and had a young mutant reporter interviewing Rusty about Philip and Marlowe. It talked about what eventually happened to them and how Marlowe was murdered by a gang trying to get the launch keys and how Phillip left rusty to destroy the keys once and for all but never returned. I think there was a small shot at the end showing Philip and Rusty’s son and a quick peek of Philip watching from afar to keep them safe.

The soundtrack to this film still remains very popular. Did you personalty pick any of the artist that made it into the movie? Albert Pyun: Yeah, I selected the songs used. My friend and co-producer John Stuckmeyer was into that LA music scene and got a lot of bands to submit cassette tapes of demos. He weeded out the most appropriate ones and he and I selected the final choices to be used. I think we had a couple written for the movie specifically when we couldn’t find exactly what we wanted.

How did you end up meeting John Stockwell and Michael Dudikoff? Albert Pyun: They came in during the casting process. We saw a lot of great actors of that time, Judge Reinhold, Clancy Brown, Tim Van Patten, Harry Anderson, many really good actors. We even had a breakfast meeting with Tom Hanks, a tape submission from Ellen DeGeneres. All were young and at the start of their careers as was I.

As a special effects makeup artist, I found the mutants completely terrifying! Any memories of the makeup process on the actors? Albert Pyun: That was by Greg Cannom who would go on to win oscars for Dracula and more. He figured out the design and look. I was disappointed that I had to lose the surfing sequence in the film. We wanted to dye the ocean flourescent orange and have surfing mutants surf and rot I think but the Coastal Commission said no.

Do you think a film like that could be made today? Albert Pyun: No, Radioactive Dreams wouldn’t get made today. It’s way too eccentric and weird. Even in 1984 it was tough to get made. I raised the budget myself from a single investor. He was a real estate developer in San Bernadino California. I think he did it because he finally gave in to my dogged persistence for over a year. He said “no” many times, but I kept hearing “yes”. I’m an optimist I guess. I believed in the film and knew it would be a unique picture to follow up The Sword and the Sorcerer. Anyway halfway through production the funding disappeared.

A couple of Edge City’s best and brightest with costume designer Joseph Porro

SPECIAL EFFECTS Special prosthetic make-ups were created by Greg Cannom. His bizarre designs range from the mysterious repulse men to a wrinkled surf bunny (a girl whose excessive bathing in the post nuclear sun has given her the appearance of a 90 year-old woman) and his favorite, the mutant surfers: those who refused to give up their treasured pastime, even though the ocean has become radioactive.

The surfers’ skin, hanging loosely from their bones, is riddled with chemotherapy patches and permanently-affixed barnacles. their long. scorched, platinum blonde hair is missing entire sections. Josephine Turner, who did the intricate hair ventilating for THE HOWLING and THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING WOMAN, will create the wigs. Straight and extra make-ups will be provided by Ve Neil and Rick Schwartı.

Mutant Surfer

Special fire and mechanical effects will be handled by Joe Lombardi’s Special Effects Unlimited. The film’s extensive stunt work, under the direction of Alan Gibbs offers several cliff-hanging sequences: a chase on winding mountain roads involving female bikers, a high-speed helicopter pursuit, various gun battles and a warehouse explosion. Additionally, there will be a surfing sequence in a ‘radioactive’ ocean-a portion of the real ocean near the shoreline will be chemically dyed expressly for filming.

Cast and crew spent most of their final week of production in Los Angeles, working with a 14-foot high mechanical rat created by Charles and Steven Chiodo, with 22 separate functions and 12 operators-giving it head, arm, and body movement capabilities-said to be the most advanced pneumatically controlled robot ever constructed for a motion picture. Star Lisa Blount does a scene while standing in the rat’s mouth. Her stunt double Andre Gibbs, wife of the film’s stunt coordinator Alan Gibbs, takes over for Blount’s death scene in which she is eaten alive by the rat.

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Radioactive Dreams (1985) Soundtrack Most of the songs featured in the film are pop rock in the new wave vein. The exceptions are Zim Bim Zowie, a swing number, and also a tune in the American Songbook style, Daddy’s Gonna Boogie Tonight, played on a phonograph during the scene when Philip and Marlowe prepare to leave the fallout shelter. The latter and another track called All Talk were left out of the Australian and German soundtrack releases.[7]

youtube

Nightmare – Jill Jaxx – 5:10 Radioactive Dreams – Sue Saad – 5:18 She’ll Burn You – Maureen Steele – 4:13 Young Thing – Cherri Delight – 4:09 Tickin’ Of The Clock – The Monte Carlos – 2:07 Psychedelic Man – Shari Saba – 2:41 Eat You Alive – Lisa Lee – 2:40 Guilty Pleasures – Sue Saad – 3:44 (Performed by Saad on-screen) Turn Away – Mary Ellen Quinn – 2:13 She’s A Fire – Sue Saad – 2:07 When Lightning Strikes – Sue Saad – 6:51 Zim Bim Zowie – Darryl Phinessee – 2:20 Daddy’s Gonna Boogie Tonight B.J. Ward All Talk Lynn Carey

CAST/CREW Directed Albert Pyun Produced Moctesuma Esparza Written Albert Pyun

John Stockwell – Phillip Chandler Michael Dudikoff – Marlowe Hammer Michele Little – Rusty Mars Lisa Blount – Miles Archer Don Murray – Dash Hammer George Kennedy – Spade Chandler Norbert Weisser – Sternwood Christian Andrews – Brick Bardo Paul Keller Galan – Chester (as P.K. Galán) Demian Slade – Harold Hilary Shepard – Biker Leader (as Hilary Shapiro) Sue Saad – Punk District Singer Kimberly McKillip – Sadie – Hippie Chick Gulcin Gilbert – Greaser Chick (as Gulshin Gilbert) Mark Brown – Greaser Russell Price – Greaser

Makeup Department Greg Cannom … special makeup Ve Neill … makeup designer Brian Wade … additional makeup effects designer / additional makeup effects supervisor / special makeup effects artist Kevin Yagher … prosthetic makeup assistant

CREDITS/REFERENCES/SOURCES/BIBLIOGRAPHY Cinefantastique v15n01 La Cosa Cine Fantastico Issue #113, July, 2005 staystillreviews

Radioactive Dreams (1985) Retrospective SUMMARY A nuclear war breaks out in 1986, expending the world's entire nuclear arsenal, except for one missile.

#ALBERT PYUN

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jarmes · 5 years

Text

JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: Twisted Destiny Chapter 15 - Airport Security

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Johana pulls into the parking garage and looks at her companions. Nero sits in the passenger seat, staring at the sky and balancing a nail on the tip of his nose. Kan sits in the back; her Stand flies in a circle around her head, catching pieces of trail mix Kan throws into the air. Johana sighs and puts the car in park.

"Our flight leaves in 90 minutes," Johana says. "We need to get through airport security without any funny business."

"Do not worry, JoJo. I have flown many times and have never had trouble getting through security," Nero says. "Besides, even if we do run into any trouble, my Stand is more than strong enough to defeat some security guards."

"Okay, that's the type of thing you aren't going to say in the airport," Johana says. "There are a dozen Stand Users gunning for our heads right now. If we don't get on this plane and leave London, we're probably going to die."

"Aren't you worried about a Stand User attacking us before we can get on a plane?" Kan asks.

"If our enemies are smart, they won't attack us in a crowded environment full of security agents," Johana says.

"And if our enemies are stupid?" Nero asks.

Johana sighs. "If they're stupid, we hope we can take them out before our flight leaves," she says.

Johana walks over to the car's trunk and pulls out her suitcase. She reaches in and pulls out the Stand Arrow. "The problem is getting this through security," she says. "It's metal, so it'll show up when we go through the security line, and it's sharp, so they probably won't let us take it on the plane."

"We could just tell them the truth," Nero says.

"Oh, that's a fantastic idea, Nero," Johana says, rolling her eyes. "Hey airport security guys, would you mind if we brought this weapon on the airport? Don't worry, we aren't going to stab anyone with it. Actually, it isn't meant to be for violence anyway. It's actually an ancient artifact that gives an incurable illness to anyone it pierces. Plus, if they survive the illness, they get god-like superpowers that could easily destroy a plane mid-flight!"

"Okay, I get it-"

"Don't mind the blood on the arrow, it isn't mine. It belonged to my friend Mylo. He's dead now. But don't worry, I didn't kill him. I mean, I did shoot a woman in the head this morning, but I'm not a murderer. Anyway, how about letting us on that plane?"

"Okay, it was a dumb idea," Nero mumbles.

"Why don't we just hide the arrow and have a Speedwagon Foundation agent come and pick it up later?" Kan asks.

"If we leave it, there's a chance that someone will find it and use it to create new Stand Users," Johana says. "I don't want that blood on my hands. Our only option is to somehow get this arrow on a plane."

"Why don't we just use Dora?" Kan asks.

"I don't think children's cartoon characters are going to be much help, Kan," Johana says.

"Not the character, silly. My Stand," Kan says as her bird lands on her head.

"You named your Stand Dora?" Johana asks.

"Well, if we're being technical, I named my Stand The Doors," Kan says. "But I'm giving her the nickname Dora because it's easier to say."

"Why The Doors?"

"Well, she can open these little portal things, and The Doors was the band name that fit the best," Kan says.

"Why did you need to name your Stand after a band?"

"Doesn't everyone give their Stands music reference names? Guns N' Roses, Coldplay, Iron Maiden, those are bands."

"They are?"

"Yes! Come on Nero, back me up on this," Kan says. "You named your Stand after the Coldplay song, right?"

"I named my Stand after a song Mylo's Stand wrote?" Nero says, confused.

Kan sighs. "Forget it," she mutters. "The point is, my Stand shouldn't have any problem sneaking the arrow through airport security."

+++

Nero stands in the baggage claim area holding a large bouquet of flowers. He impatiently taps his foot and tugs on his collar. He looks at his wrist, only to realize he isn't wearing a watch.

An elderly woman waiting for her suitcase taps him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, young man, are you alright?" the old woman asks.

Nero spins in a circle and places his hand on his heart. "To care about a stranger as you do is the pinnacle of kindness, dear maiden. It warms my heart," he says, chewing scenery like bubblegum. "Alas, I am not alright. For you see, kind stranger, I am in love!"

"Oh, I love a good love story!" the old woman says. "Tell me more!"

"Two months ago, I met the most beautiful woman. Her eyes were like lilies. Her hair? Also like lilies," Nero says with more ham than a Christmas dinner. "The two of us fell in love immediately. Every moment of our days was spent in passion. But..."

"But?"

"But then came the tragedy! One month ago, my love's great aunt became ill and requested my dear leave to nurse her back to health."

"Oh, that's tragic. For two lovers to be split apart like that."

"Also, her aunt lives in a foreign country that doesn't have cell service so we couldn't talk on the phone or whatever. Anyway, I haven't seen my love for an entire month. We swore to remain faithful, but I fear that another may have stolen my dear's heart."

"Oh, don't worry. She'd be a fool to leave a nice young man like you."

"I thought the same and came to this airport so I may kiss my love as soon as she returns to London. But, her plane landed one hour ago and she still hasn't come out."

The old woman places her hand on Nero's shoulder. "I'm sure everything's fine," she says. "Your girlfriend is probably just stuck in the crowds."

"I pray your prediction is correct, kindly octogenarian," Nero says.

"She's going to come out any moment and you two are going to have a beautiful reunion," the old woman says. "I can picture it now: she sees you, she drops her things and runs over to you. You take her in your arms and give a big kiss to...to...what's her name?"

"Her name?"

"Yes, your girlfriend. What's her name?"

"Yes, I suppose asking names is appropriate, considering the amount of personal details I have shared with you. What is your name?"

"My name is Whitney."

"And I am Nero."

"And your girlfriend? What's her name?"

"Her name? Her name is...uh...Baggage. Baggage Claim."

"Your girlfriend is named Baggage Claim?"

"She's french. Also, her parents are really weird."

Nero pulls his phone out of his pocket. "Oh look, my phone just made that noise it makes when I get a text. I better check it," he says. "It is a text from Baggage. I should read it."

"What does it say?" Whitney asks.

"It says Dear Nero, although you are tall and handsome and smart I am breaking up with you. Oh, the humanity! I am so sad now that I am going to throw these flowers at that wall."

Nero throws the bouquet of flowers at the wall as hard as he can. Instead of falling to the floor, the flowers disappear completely when they hit the wall. "Wow, you threw those flowers so hard they disintegrated," Whitney says.

"My broken heart granted me incredible strength," Nero says. "Okay, I am going to leave now."

Nero walks off towards the security line. "Where are you going? The exit's the other way," the Whitney says.

"I have decided to leave the country because London contains too many memories that are now painful," Nero says.

"Don't you need to buy a ticket?"

Nero pulls his ticket out of his pocket and waves it in the air. "I bought one in advance so I could leave London quickly in the event Baggage broke my heart," he says.

Nero leaves Whitney and goes through airport security. "What a strange young man," she says as she grabs her bag from the conveyor belt. "I hope he finds love soon."

+++

A bouquet of flowers passes through a hole created by The Doors and is caught by Johana. She and Kan are hiding in a bathroom stall. Specifically, a bathroom stall that shares a wall with the baggage claim area. A bathroom stall located on the other end of the security scanners. Johana unwraps the bouquet, revealing the arrow hidden within.

Kan hands Johana her suitcase and she opens it, placing the Arrow inside. "That was a good plan, Kan," Johana says. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Kan says as her Stand lands on her shoulder. "Thank Dora."

"I'm not saying thank you to the bird," Johana says. "It's weird."

The two walk out of the restroom and into the airport food court. They walk past a fast food restaurant, heading for their gate. "You know, since Stands are just reflections of people's souls, it isn't that weird to say thank you to Dora," Kan says. "After all, Dora is basically me."

"Still not talking to the bird."

"Now that I think about it, it's strange that my Stand is a bird. You and Nero have Stands that look like people. Does that mean there's something weird with my soul?"

"I wouldn't think too hard about it."

"And that Kelly guy, his Stand was a glove! He must be really weird inside."

A man wearing sunglasses watches from the fast food restaurant, sipping an energy drink. He wears a camouflage vest and short shorts, and his golden hair is spiked up high above his head. He chugs the rest of his energy drink before crushing the can against his forehead. "Target acquired," he says as he summons his Stand.

To Be Continued In

Chapter 16: Thunderstruck, Part 1

STAND STATS

Name: The Doors

Dub Name: The Hatches

User: Kan Nijimura

Namesake: “The Doors” (American Rock Band)

Appearance: The Doors takes the form of a small, black and white hummingbird with infinity signs in its eyes. A necklace containing a large amount of keys hangs around its neck. The edges of its wormholes are covered in what appears to be fire.

Abilities: The Doors has the ability to create temporary wormholes with its keys. Anything that passes through the opening of these wormholes is transported to the other side. These wormholes can be placed on the surface of a person or object and lead to its opposite side. These holes can be as small as one millimeter and as large as four meters in diameter.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo fanfic #writing

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ashe-xiv · 6 years

Text

❝ let me help with that. ❞

Walking through the market, Mori had bought far too many a thing. The Raen juggling a few boxes of street foods, sweets, and that clothe wrapped blade. Oh, how did he end up with so much? Maybe he should have been more mindful before going all out on the food. Heck, even a clay pot of Hingan liquor hung from his wrist since he promised one of the fishers he would try it when he got back home.

So when he bumped into that woman. Oh. They looked familiar. It was the one he had nearly walked into that other time wasn’t. Weird, was she asking him for help? The green eyes widened in an expression that should have been accompanied by a self indicating finger point.

“M-me?”

A light laugh is given as Mori looks so confused about the offer of assistance, the sound airy, its mirth pure.

“Of course you,” she answers him, her voice still soft from its recovery. “You look like you might collapse beneath the bevvy of purchases you have acquired.”

While she left the blade to him and him alone, she beings to try and take some of the different packages he’s been juggling, allowing him some reprieve from being overburdened.

> “Th-thank you.” < The Raen managed the thanks in a nervous bout of Hingan before he realized it. Of course, he realized it and corrected him: “Thanks, miss, for your help. Ah…”

They had stopped at the pier heading back to Shirogane. The boxes were put down after Mori insisted the friends from Kotodama would be here to help him see the items safely onto the ferry and to the manor. One of the boxes were open with a set of chocolate mousse cakes in it, a small insistence she takes one if it was wanted. Each one in their own little fancy cup display. He had thought to share it with the Clanmates, but losing two before they got to the house was fine right.

Though he didn’t know what to think when a hand rested on his leg. Did he look that troubled? Out of sorts? He had been uncharacteristically quiet for their walk through Kugane, which he felt bad for of course.

“I-I’m quite alright, really. Honest. There’s just a lot of I am about to face and I’m not sure how ready I am yet for it. Here, I insist take one of the treats. Oji will lose his mind if he sees all this sugar and grease, I imagine. No way do I want to run five laps when I can swim ten!”

Mori was getting good at lies and misdirection it seemed, or at least it was becoming more common out of that mouth of his.

The Hingan didn’t phase her all that much, as she lived in Hingashi for some moons before she had ventured to Eorzea, and thanks to Paradyme, she was now living in Shirogane once more. Learning the language had been a necessity, to communicate with the locals, but also to help to obscure who she was further.

Although she and the Raen had crossed paths a couple of times, most often by nearly running into one another, this was the first chance they had to actually speak to one another. She was happy for such, as it’s rare that she was able to speak to that side of the Auri coin; aside from the good Doctor, she didn’t know any other Raen, having far more familiarity with the Xaela.

He seems a bit anxious, more than like from having to juggle the myriad boxes and such from his shopping. To draw his focus back to the moment, her hand touches his leg, the motion gentle and meant to ground him. The flicker of his surprise lasts for but a second or two, before he looks to her, his expression losing some of that distant anxiety, replaced with a friendly smile as he gives something of an explanation, before offering her the chocolate treat.

She returns the smile as she takes the fancy cup from him, taking a bite as the Raen explains how others he knows will be unsettled by the confection. This draws a little more of a smile from her, and a light laugh as he laments about the possibility of having to run and swim laps over such.

“Tis human to have such feelings. Even when one can see the obstacles in one’s path in advance, tis often hard to decide how best to navigate them until the moment arrives, and such becomes clear as one actually faces the matter at hand,” she replies to him, addressing the former than the latter. “And while a confection such as this might be something that causes weight gain, a bit of a treat from time to time doesn’t truly harm one’s physique all too much.”

Mori listened, but he wasn’t sure what to say.

The green eyes went about in a dance of consideration as if looking around would show him the words he needed in order to speak to her. Though he drew in a breath, swallowed, and let not the silence hang another second. A hand nervously just rests against the grip of the wrapped blade. The only part of it even on display was a tassel decorated with a bell and a chrysanthemum charm.

“I…well…” He drew in a breath and smiled easily enough. “You underestimate how stern my uncle can be, or how much the Daimyo of Kotodama loves setting us to run the stones of Shirogane, miss…”

Oh. All these chance encounters, and he had still failed to collect a name hadn’t me. So in returned the awkward silence.

She watches his eyes dart about after her statement, lightly following their shifting with her own gaze. When he does speak, she notes that he addresses the latter part of the discussion while avoiding the former, steering the conversation clear of the harder subject. She decides not to press him, given that they’re acquaintances at the moment; typically, she would tease out the reasons for such diversions from a subject, but felt it a little too forward yet.

As his voice trails off after the term ‘miss’, she gives another light smile, replying, “Ashe. Most people call me Ashe.”

It’s a statement of fact, at this point. No matter where she went, no matter who she met, her name was consistently shortened down by letter, the latter syllable forgotten. She had rebelled against such the first handful of times it happened, but in the end, she accepted that it’s inescapable. Now, she often skipped the process entirely and would introduce herself using the nickname.

((Source))

#A Moonlit Original #ashe.txt

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hangonimevolving · 6 years

Text

Camp NOLA

In accordance with a family tradition that appears to have formed over the last 3-4 years, I took the kids on our annual weeklong trip to my beloved hometown of New Orleans last week. The last few years, I’ve found myself running there every 2nd week of August, in that summertime Black Hole period between the end of the kids’ school-based summer camp, and the start of the new school year. A week at Ajima and Thatha’s house has become its own little summer camp to our crew: Camp NOLA :)

This year, I’d be flying there on my own with the two kids, while Dr. Spouse stayed back to complete an on-call week before flying out for the second weekend. My first experience flying solo with the crazies was on our first official Camp NOLA week in 2015, which I blogged about here - that time we traveled earlier in the summer, between the school year’s end and the start of summer camp. But same basic idea. Anyway, since that first brave voyage, I’ve traveled a shitload of times with both kids on my own, and I like to think I’m kind of an old pro at it by now. It’s gotten significantly easier, in many ways, now that both kids are independently mobile and fairly reliable walking and holding hands in crowded airports, managing security checks expertly, and all that - just earlier this year, we started traveling without a stroller, and it was like the heavens parted and rays of light streamed down around me from the heavens. Oh, to have the freedom to breeze through security without having to disassemble a stroller and manage all the stuff, only to put it all back together on the other side of the metal detector! To skip, hop, and sashay directly into the aircraft from the jet bridge, without having to unstrap the kids, bark at them to stand aside so other people can pass while I sweat and heave and disassemble the thing for the cargo hold! Life has changed.

The kids are pretty good fliers, but certain people (ahem, DEY) are still a little bit rambunctious and animated in the airplane.... sigh.

Time spent at my parents’ house is always fun for the kids. Vev frequently, and in great descriptive detail, talks about all the reasons why he likes my parents’ house better than our own. I am simultaneously touched and miffed by his honesty. But I know why it is they love the place. Aside from the obvious, awesome thing that my parents’ house has going for it - MY PARENTS - the kids also just love to sort through all the random crap that they have, most of which dates back to my own childhood. My pack rat parents have thrown very little away when it comes to my old toys, books, and childhood accoutrement, and this delights the kids to no end.

Take, for example, Vev’s infatuation with my Lego cargo airplane set, which I probably acquired when I was around 8 years old, and managed to preserve in its box still fully assembled (thank god - b/c I likely wouldn’t be able to put it together now!)

Dey had a great time building and demolishing and rebuilding a hospital from one of my sister’s Lego sets:

Another relic of my childhood, which Vev enjoyed creeping me out with on the daily: my childhood rocking chair, which still lives in my bedroom (this is despite the fact that I didn’t not actually grow up in the house where my parents currently live; clearly, they never got rid of the chair, despite them having moved 2 times since I was a kid, the last time when I was in my 20′s). The chair is the perfect size for Vev, and every morning, early in the wee hours, I’d open my bleary eyes, and immediately see this:

Such a creeper, that kid.

My dad, in his perpetual hyperness, did a generous (and kind of crazy) thing, and sprung for two expensive mountain bikes for the kids. I was kind of bewildered that he’d done that, when they’re going to outgrow these bike sizes so fast, and there’s also no easy way for us to transport the bikes back here to Florida... but, he’s an excited grandfather, so I guess he exercised his prerogative to spoil his grandkids rotten. The kids honestly LOVED their bikes, and went on twice-daily bike rides in the neighborhood park.

Dey had actually never ridden a bike prior to this, and he rapidly gained skill in it over the week - although he picked up the skill of speed far quicker and more easily than he has the skill of steering. It’s a nerve-wracking situation. Oh, and he refused to wear a helmet. So, yeah - he’s all over the place.

One of the kids’ favorite things about stays at Ajima’s house are the relaxed sleeping arrangements and bedtime routine... which is to say, there really wasn’t one. They were staying up waaaaay past their normal bedtimes at home, and sleeping either with each other or with me in my bed. Sleep deprivation and bad sleep hygiene are hallmarks of our summer NOLA getaways. They didn’t really seem to be affected by this, but I was fucking exhausted the entire stay.

NOLA means beignets!!!!! Hurray for fried carbs and mountains of sugar!!!

This NOLA trip was even more special than usual, because my uncle A and aunt N (father’s youngest brother and his wife) were visiting my parents from India, so we got to catch up with them and spend lots of quality time. It was also wonderful to have not one, but TWO Ajimas and Thathas around the house for child entertainment, conversation, and feeding. Glorious! We spent a few evenings of their stay going through some old home videos that my mom recently had converted to DVD. The stills below are from a 1994 trip to India that my family took to spend time with relatives. The weird looking preteen in the awkward head scarf and navy striped get-up is yours truly :) And the lady in the green sari is my paternal grandmother, Rajalakshmi (nickname Mani). We lost her very suddenly and heartbreakingly in May 2002, and none of us have quite gotten over how she was yanked out of our lives... it was poignant but wonderful to see her again on film, looking so animated and full of life. My dad and uncle sat in silence, watching these videos for hours.....

After about six days of being relative homebodys, playing with tons of old but dear toys, hanging out wth Ajima, Thatha, Thatha A and Ajima N, Thursday rolled around and Dr. Spouse arrived. The kids were happy to see Daddy, and his arrival signaled the chance for us to go out, do some excursions and sightseeing, and visit with friends.

Annual trip to the Riverwalk - a shopping and entertainment plaza along the Mississippi River, affording lots of chances to watch boats and freighters go by...

Dinner out at a Creole restaurant, where clearly our eyes were waaaay bigger than our stomachs!

Something I’ve wanted to do for a super long time - maybe 2-3 years - is to take the kids to a local small, organic farm near my folks’ house called Sugar Roots Farm. They have open community days on Saturdays, and somehow on our annual trips, we’ve managed to not spend full Saturdays in town, and thus haven’t been able to visit. But this time, we did - and we got some hands-on learning about sustainable farming, farm-to-table food production, and of course, animals!

This place is literally behind my parents’ house - its so weird!

Excited to see a tractor.... our main frame of reference with tractors are the ones that get cow-tipped in the Disney Pixar movie “Cars.”

Horses were intimidating.

Ponies were more up the alley of certain people.

We bought feed cups for a dollar so we could make friends with the goats, sheep, alpacas, and chickens.... but in the end, apparently my lionhearted sons were terrified of the teeth on most of these animals, so I got to feed them myself, haha :)

Feeding chickens was manageable, I guess.

Dey’s reaction to the rabbits was hilarious. He ran over to this enclosure, spotted a large white rabbit hopping around, immediately turned around making this face and exclaimed “Look, a bunny! It’s a bunny! It’s a GIRL!!!!” then just ran off again. Uh, what? Why do you assume its a girl?!!! It was so weird!!!

A GIANT pig. A very sleepy giant pig.

Quack quack quack.

Daddice with the boys.

This was an enjoyable way to spend an hour and change one morning!

Later that same day, we took a VERY special day trip to Baton Rouge, to the home of my cousin and bestie, Neets. She and her hubby B have two daughters, S and M, and they just put a new swimming pool in the yard of the home they’ve lived in for the last 2 years. We were excited to have a swimming playdate together, so I picked up a special gift for the girls which was immediately put to use: a giant inflatable rainbow cloud. Cousin bonding time!

I absolutely love this woman <3

Our final evening in New Orleans was spent playing tourist in my hometown. Ajima and Thatha accompanied us on a mule carriage tour of the French Quarter, where Bonnie the Mule and her driver/guide regaled us on the super-interesting history of the city. It was a throwback to my elementary and middle school History classes and field trips, where we’d tour historic sites and antebellum homes, write essays and field trip reports and special projects about Louisiana history and the mixed Creole, French, Spanish, and American culture of New Orleans.

Our attempt to recreate one of our iconic wedding pictures.... unfortunately the, er, large gentleman in the background decided to join us for the fun.

Updated family version.... how far we’ve come.

All too soon, it was time to bid goodbye to Ajima and Thatha, and to our delightful Camp NOLA. And now we’re back to Camp Memmy in our Miami home.... which is significantly less exciting for everyone involved!!!

#travel #NOLA

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