#(as you can see i have no self-control and went absolute ham here)

[rozaceous]

We’re talking about Naruto here, so I can’t help but mention the good old Warring States (?) AU. Give me Mariko getting unwillingly involved with Madara and Hashirama’s drama while trying to make sure Konoha does get founded lol

OH THIS TICKLES ME, ANON

(aka, i went a little ham, and this might turn into a proper ch later. have some older!mariko being Done w everything)

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," she grumbles, brushing dirt off her trousers in clumps before she gives up and does it with a shiver of chakra instead. She'd--mitigated her landing, but it still hadn't been the best. Granted, she hadn't anticipated Sasuke's Rinnegan tearing a hole through space-time and then falling through it, emerging somewhere in the stratosphere and thoroughly disoriented.

The crater is pretty small, considering.

Clothes, bones, and hair set to rights, she sweeps her chakra out in a fine mist. Mariko's never gotten the hang of traditional sensing and considering that this is partially what she'd learned Hidden in the Mist Jutsu for…

Fuck.

Fuck fuck FUCK.

Not only is there someone who's incoming, they're fast and their chakra is huge. Bigger than her own, certainly, and somewhere on Sasuke's level. Fuck. She's got maybe thirty seconds.

Right. She's not going to pass as civilian given how she's dressed, and nor is she going to pass as poor, nor too traditional. She's in calf-length trousers, geta, a silk embroidered haori, and while she's not wearing her full kanzashi set, she's got enough bira pieces to catch eyes and ears. It's not her fanciest outfit, but it's hardly one she'd choose for training, either. Besides her tinkling jewelry, she hasn't got more than a handful of uchibari, her tanto, and a bit of wire on her. Her longer blade is still at home. Well, that's fine, she can work without many weapons, but what she's really concerned about is her kanzashi since there are some Uchiha-specific designs on them. Subtle, but present and identifying.

There's always genjutsu, she supposes.

And then she sees who's storming her way and it takes all her self-control not to start throwing a tantrum and stomping the ground.

"I'm going to kill him!" she says. Sasuke is so dead.

She is not killing Uchiha Madara twice!

She doesn't use any genjutsu on her kanzashi. Instead, she crosses her arms in her sleeves and cocks her head.

Not only is she now older than this Uchiha Madara, she can reasonably lay claim to the title of Uchiha Clan Matriarch. She's Mom Energy-ing her way through this.

---

Madara isn't…entirely sure how this all happened, and has the vague feeling of being hit upside the head despite being reasonably certain that no head trauma was involved. All he knows is that there's an Uchiha woman who fell from the sky, apparently from the future where she's the clan matriarch, and she has absolutely no tolerance for nonsense and is currently healing the gut wound they had all been prepared for Izuna to die of. Because she knows chakra healing.

---

She bitches under her breath as she heals motherfucking Uchiha Izuna because this entire goddamn situation is goddamn ridiculous and that's an assesment coming from her, so that really means something considering the sorts of situations she's found herself in before. This might actually manage to top the whole 'reincarnated into a major anime franchise' bit, but honestly the race between that and 'get summoned to the Warring Clans Era of aforementioned anime franchise's timeline via doujutsu bullshit and, apparently, sincere prayer' is close.

Mariko is ready for her karmic reimbursement for putting up with all this shit.

It's not even that bad of a gut wound. Like, all gut wounds are bad, duh, but the really bad ones have you dying in about a minute or two and there's not much to be done for it unless you're--well, her. But considering that Uchiha Izuna is about to die of infection rather than the injury itself--

"Do you fuckers need me to build another hospital? Is that it? Is this my eternal fate, to just build medical programs and teach people what ought to be obvious shit so that the terminally obtuse don't terminate from their obtusity? Who thinks I just have time for this shit? I could take naps instead! Nara took naps all the fucking time, and he's clan heir! I'm supposed to be some nobody, but somehow I have more responsibility than him? What a fucking scam. I don't get naps! I get summoned across space-time instead to fix intestines and livers!"

Madara makes some rude comment about her attitude that she only half listens to, and then Mariko flings a rotting piece of Izuna's jejenum in his face. She's the motherfucking queen of rude and tactless and bitchy and if this asshole wants her help so bad as to pray for it, he'll shut his fucking trap and be grateful that he's got someone as amazing as her saving his brother from absolute medical incompetence. And also sepsis.

Which is what she tells him.

And five hours later, Izuna is basically out of the woods. They don't have intravenous fluids or blood transfusions here, so he's not doing as great as he could be, but he's not going to die, and he's even probably going to regain all of his functioning if he recovers properly and rests. Which, she informs him, he'll be doing if he has any sense of respect for the amount of trouble that's been gone through in order to keep him in the mortal plane.

Madara gives a watery laugh when she tells Izuna that.

---

It's not arrogance when Mariko says, "I bet I could take him" about Senju Tobirama.

Izuna gives her a scornful look, opens his mouth, and Mariko cuts him off.

"His Hiraishin bullshit, right?" she says, unimpressed. "His new technique that makes him so fast? Well, that white-haired, talentless hack needs seals to do what I can do with the fucking Replacement Jutsu. He might be able to travel longer distances with it than I can, which is honestly the Hiraishin's greatest strength, but in direct combat? I'm better. I'm faster. I win."

Izuna, gone quiet, fixes her with an assessing look. "You actually think so."

"I know so. He needs seals to travel via Hiraishin, which means he's limited to places where he's thrown a weapon or placed a seal down earlier. And he's going faster than his eyes can actually keep up, but he can manage because his reflexes and his sensing are fucking amazing. Well, I might not be a good sensor, but I've got my own methods, my own methods will likely manage to throw off his sensing so that he can't predict my movements, and I'm also not limited to seal placement. I can Replace wherever I want, and what he's trying to invent as his fighting style has been my fighting style for years now. I win."

She leans back. "Of course, that's all supposing that killing the Senju off is even the best move forward, which might not be the case. I mean, if I don't want Konoha to be founded all I need to do is have a chat with Hashirama and be very honest."

Izuna's eyes narrow. "I have no desire to make peace with the Senju, but even I'll admit that that sounds incredibly ominous."

"You'd be right about that part."

"What." Madara's affect has gone totally flat.

Mariko meets his gaze levelly. "They fucked with my friends. Konoha deserved everything it got."

Izuna makes a noise that might qualify as interest.

#ARE these tcba spoilers??? or am i just a troll??? #IS mariko married to sasuke??? or am i just a troll??? #basically take this however you want there are no wrong interpretations #i will not be taking questions on the matter #the universe outside us #internet user demands answers #also mariko thinks this is Mom Energy but it's more like Vodka Aunt

[sadsilktrader]

Secret Admirer

I apologize for my extreme tardiness for posting to the Geraskier Holiday Exchange. This was written for @gotfanfiction 

A modern Geraskier AU in which Jaskier is receiving gifts from an admirer.

...

"I'm telling you Yen, the man doesn't even know I exist. It can't be him," Jaskier paced the living room of his small apartment, small watering can in hand, completely forgotten. His plants looked on forlornly. 

"Hm," she replied, he could hear the scritch-scratch of the emery board while she only half-listened to his prattling. "All I'm saying is that he was there at the pub the night you played and he lives in your building and he can hear you when you practice and those have all been the nights you've got gifts from your secret admirer." 

"Half the building goes to that pub, it could be anyone! Plus, he doesn't even know I exist. " He flopped dramatically onto the couch, spilling water on himself. "Anyway, I'll let you go do whatever important business you have to do. You'll be here before my show on Saturday with Triss, right?" 

"We'll be there. We just have to drop Ciri off at her dad's first. Now promise me you'll at least talk to him next time you see him."

"Maybe." He grumbled. 

"What was that?"

"Fine, fine! I promise!" 

"You better. I'm tired of listening to you wistfully sigh every time we speak."

"You're the worst."

"I love you too Jaskier, bye." 

The phone clicked. 

He'd met Yen online, a friend of a friend of a friend. They played DnD together, starting off as catty enemies and somehow developing into the deep friendship they had now. She was a good person, just a little rough around the edges. Well, very rough around the edges. 

She'd settled down a lot over the last few years when motherhood had fallen into her lap though. He wasn’t certain about all the details, they were close but she was a private person. She shared custody of her adopted daughter, Ciri, with her ex. He'd never had the pleasure of meeting the man but he'd heard enough about him to form his own opinions. Heart in the right place but not exactly open about his feelings. 

Sounded a lot like his own mysterious love. He sighed again, there was no way it was his gorgeous and stoic upstairs neighbor. The man was gorgeous and kind and lovely. He was tall and pale with silky white hair. Not to mention outrageously muscular. Jaskier had seen him in their apartment's gym working out on more than one occasion. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to keep himself from openly ogling him. He'd seen him feeding the feral cat that lived in the parking lot. Helping their elderly neighbors with their groceries. Playing with his daughter on the weekends. The man was too good to be true. Which was why he was absolutely positive he couldn't be the one leaving the gifts at his door. 

The mystery man was perfect but he, Julian Alfred Pancratz, college drop out, jobless, barely squeezing by with the money he made by doing odd jobs in the apartment complex and occasionally performing at the neighborhood pub, was an absolute mess. There was no way someone like the man would give him more than a passing glance. 

He sat up quickly leaving the forgotten, spilled watering can to the side to search for his notebook and pen. At least all the angst and longing seemed to also be a fantastic inspiration. 

...

He chewed his lip, the leather-bound notebook balanced on his knee. He strummed a few chords on his guitar before setting it back carefully down to scribble something down. 

The sun was fully set now and his balcony light had flicked on giving the small area an ethereal glow. He loved the process of writing and creating outside where he could feel the world around him. There was something about feeling the gentle breeze against him, the sun and moon shining down on him, and the fluttering hummingbirds that visited his feeder that just felt right.  

He stretched and yawned and was contemplating packing up for the night when he heard it. A barely-there, soft knock at his door. Eyes gone wide he all but threw his things down and ran to the door to open it. No one. As always. There was however a small box tied in a ribbon and a note attached. 

A voice so sweet deserves something sweet in return. -love, your admirer 

He undid the ribbon and opened the box. Inside was an assortment of homemade chocolates. He popped one in his mouth and let it slowly melt over his tongue. Dark chocolate, caramel, sea salt. He couldn't help the sappy smile that plastered itself on his face and would stay there the rest of the night. 

It had been a little over a month since the gifts started arriving. Most of the time they were baked goods or sweets of some kind but occasionally it was something different.  A clutch of flowers, a silver bracelet with music notes engraved, once there was even a picture of a particularly beautiful sunrise left for him. He treasured them all. 

He was a hopeless romantic down to the core of his being. He had never met his admirer but he was sure it would be love at first sight.

…

He was bone tired. He'd spent the day hauling furniture away to the thrift store and painting the walls of one of his elderly neighbors who was soon moving to a rest home. For all the work he was paid thirty dollars and a batch of very good snickerdoodle cookies. He knew it was all the woman could afford to give him and he was grateful for that. Not exactly enough to pay the rent but enough to buy a few groceries at least. 

He stood in the deli section, weighing out the pros and cons of value pack meats when he saw him. The man, his white hair hanging loose around his shoulders, dark jeans, and a leather jacket. His breath hitched and his mouth went dry. 

Gods how can anyone look that attractive just going to the grocery store. 

The man looked up, catching him staring. His eyes the color of amber and honey. He felt like a deer in the headlights caught in his gaze. A few faint scars visible on his face and neck. He couldn't help but wonder if there were more on the rest of the man's body and felt a blush rise to his cheeks. 

"It's leaking." The man said.

"What?"

"The honey ham your holding, it's leaking."

He stared at the gorgeous being before him for a moment longer before it clicked. 

"Oh fuck," he dropped the squishy package on the ground, ham juices splashing on the both of them. 

"Oh, gods I'm so sorry," he wasn't sure his face could get any redder. 

"It's okay, really. I've had much worse things spilled on me before. You looked pretty lost in thought."

An employee glared at him with a mop and trash can. He smiled awkwardly, wishing he could just disappear. 

"You're the musician, right? I live in the apartment above yours. I can hear you playing from my living room." The way the man said it had him wondering if that was a good thing or not. 

"I'm Julian, well Jaskier to my friends and fans." He mustered up the courage he usually reserved for the stage and gave the man his best smile. 

"Geralt. I'd shake your hand but," He nodded to his arms full of groceries. "You know when you go into the store thinking you only need one thing?" 

"Well, you're in luck," he gestured to his cart, "I just so happen to have the best cart in the store. Not a squeaky wheel in sight." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Absolutely! The life of a musician leads to a very sparse diet. More than enough room for both of us. Plus we're headed to the same place." 

Geralt had an amused smirk on his face that made Jaskier's heart skip a beat. Conversation between them came easy. Geralt was the quieter of the two but his dry wit and cheesy jokes had him laughing harder than he had in ages. Handsome and funny. 

They made their way back to the apartment complex walking slower than was necessary, he noticed. 

"So you have a daughter? I'm not stalking you or anything, I just noticed her around the complex sometimes."

"Ciri," he replied. "My ex and I share custody, its-" he sighed, running his hand through his hair, "it's a bit of a complicated situation actually. But they’re moving closer soon and that should help.”

The elevator stopped at his floor and he stepped off. 

“So, I’ll be seeing you.” he mentally berated himself for not being able to come up with something more clever. The door was closing between them and he suddenly shot his hound out, stopping the door. 

“Actually, and please forgive me if this is too forward, maybe I could give you my number and we could grab a coffee sometime? Or do our grocery shopping together again?”

Geralt chuckled before reaching into his pocket, tapping at the screen a few times, and passed it over. He added his number with the name Jaskier followed by a heart and music note emoji. The moment the elevator door closed he was dancing, groceries in hand, for his forwardness paying off for once. 

…

It was colder tonight but he still played outside until his fingers were near numbing. His cheeks were flushed red from the cold. After his run-in with the man, he felt like he was walking on clouds. The world was at peace and he was the luckiest man in the world. He’d almost forgotten about his secret admirer completely until the same soft knock came from outside the door. Today was different though. Today he was brave and he had left a note for his admirer to find.

I beg of you to reveal yourself to me. I will be performing at the Royal Oak this Saturday. Please, wear this token so I may recognize you amongst the other patrons. Love, Jaskier

He strained his ears and purposely walked slowly to the door, giving his admirer time to leave the gift and find his note. He swore he heard mumbling of words. He closed his eyes and counted to ten before opening the door. 

His note was gone and in place of it a container he opened to reveal a miniature-sized three-layered cake elaborately decorated with chocolate-covered strawberries. It was, as always, delicious to the point of sin. 

He felt a twinge of guilt. He didn’t want to string along his admirer, especially if things with Geralt turned out well. But he was getting ahead of himself. They had spoken once and here he was already planning their life together. 

…

The next few days passed quickly. His wish of getting more work around the complex had come true but he was, unfortunately, unable to do any more practice for his upcoming performance. Every day he came back to his apartment with every intention of playing only to wake up from an unintentional five-hour nap on his couch. 

To make matters worse, he hadn’t received a single text from Geralt, and since his sleep schedule was completely messed up he hadn’t caught a single glimpse of him since their last accidental meeting. He thought of swinging by his place to invite him to his show but decided against it. Maybe he needed some space? Maybe he had come off as too clingy? The doubts and second-guesses were mounting.

He arrived at the pub early to set up and get some practicing in before going on stage. Geralt wouldn’t be there but at least, he hoped, his soon-not-to-be secret admirer would be. Inside the note, he’d left a silver brooch of a songbird in flight. It was small but something he would instantly recognize. The glimmer of it from the stage lights would catch his attention. At least that’s what he was hoping. He felt more nervous about this performance than he had in a long while.

“You okay there Jaskier?” The voice came from behind him and he turned to see Triss, her curls down, beautifully framing her face. 

“Oh thank the Gods,” he hugged her tight. 

“Where’s your better half?” he asked looking around the growing pub’s crowd. 

“Outside on the phone. It’s her ex, they don’t argue often but when they do,” she made a face. “Something about him needing her to watch their daughter.”

“Doesn’t he only see her on weekends? What an asshole.”

“Right?” 

He felt more at ease with a friendly face by his side and felt even better when Yennifer joined them. He was smarter than to ask her about the phone call and instead chatted about everything and anything to get his mind off his nerves. Time went by more quickly now and soon it was time for him to play. 

The second he stepped on stage his demeanor changed. Gone was any trace of nerves and doubt. The stage was his solace, the place he could bare his soul to the masses, or in this case to the forty-odd people crammed into the pub. 

It was halfway through his third song when he remembered to keep an eye out for his admirer. He scanned the crowd hoping for the familiar glint to catch his eye but there was nothing. He chewed his lip. 

The third song blended into his fourth and fifth. Still nothing. He took a break to grab a drink. He made small talk with Yennifer who raised a delicate brow at him. 

"Alright, spill it. What's got you so distracted?" 

He finished his drink and let his smile fall into a grimace. 

"I left a note. For my admirer. I asked them to come tonight. I left them something to wear so I would recognize them and-" 

"And they did show?" She finished for him. 

"Nope. Wait how did you know?" 

"First off you're terrible at hiding your emotions, and second I was fucking right and you owe me.”

“What?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I guess I’m partially to blame, I should have realized it earlier.”

“I- what?” he asked again. 

“Jaskier. Darling. Sweetheart. I was right.” she said the words slowly as one would do to a small dog. 

“Right about what?”

“Your admirer. It’s your neighbor. You never told me but let me guess. Pale, white hair, roguishly handsome, looks like he could snap you in half like a twig?”

“How do you?” He was feeling a little faint now like he was at the edge of realizing something terrible.

“Your neighbor, your admirer, and my ex are all the same person.”

His eyes went wide. It all made sense. All the clues were there but he had just been too dense to put them all together. He’d seen pictures of Yenifer’s daughter but he’d never spent more than a passing glance at Geralt's visiting daughter. 

“Oh fuck.” he sat down, suddenly unsure of his legs beneath him. 

“He called me right before I came in going on about needing to go out for a few hours and if it was alright with me if he left Ciri alone.” she chuckled. “I told him to not be an asshole and spend time with his daughter.”

Jaskier’s head perked up. Geralt had wanted to come. He hadn’t blown him off. 

“I have to go. Fuck, I can’t leave in the middle of a set though.” 

Yennifer waved him off, “I’ll sort things off here, you go to him.”

He kissed the top of her head and gave her a quick, tight hug. “You would tell me if this bothered you right? I mean, he’s your ex and all.” 

“I think you two would do a very good job at evening each other out, now go!” She smacked him on the shoulder and off he went. 

…

He ran home, or at least halfway home before running out of breath and proceeded to briskly walk the rest of the way. He was still trying to decide what to say when he found himself outside the door, sweating profusely and looking an absolute mess. He knocked on the door before he talked himself out of it. 

“One minute!” A voice from beyond the door answered followed by the sound of an oven door closing and the chain sliding from the door’s lock. 

The door opened. He looked beautiful, even like this, wearing an apron covered in flour cocoa powder. Especially like this maybe. 

“I’m friends with Yennifer and she said it was you but I didn’t believe her and I didn’t realize that your daughter Ciri was also her daughter Cirilla which in retrospect should have clued me in but-” he took a deep breath in. Geralt looked nervous and his rambling wasn’t happening. He started over. 

“You’re my secret admirer?”

The man blushed. “I am. Is that okay?”

“Very, very okay.” He smiled. 

“Would you like to come in? I was just baking. For you.” his blush deepened and Jaskier heart felt like it would burst with affection. 

“I’d like that very much.”

#geraskier holiday exchange #geraskier #geraskier fic #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fanfiction #this is so laaaate #modern au geraskier #secret admirer fic #sometimes I write

[lesserfandomappreciation]

This is probably a tall order, but I was wondering if you could do some general personality headcanons for the Deadly Six from Sonic Lost World? It hurts my heart that the characters weren't more popular, but I can understand why at the same time since they're not that fleshed out. I mean, there's hints of stuff here and there, it's just not much. But the zeti have potential, damn it! Let me know if you want some specifics on things, of if you wanna do this in pieces. Thanks for your time~

WORLD BUILDING! World building and character building is my ham so I’m thrilled to do this! This actually become significantly longer than intended. 

So I have never played this game, so I’m basing this exclusively off a few cutscenes I managed to find and general initial impressions. Let me know if you want something more in-depth!

Deadly Six reimagined (Sonic Lost World)

General

The Zeti race as a whole is referred to as “demons” with the Deadly 6 appearing to be the deadliest of their species. Heavily implied in the game is the fact that the Zeti are a lethal, violent race taking pride in practiced malevolence. 

An entire race being evil or amoral is not only an outdated trope, but one with really icky origins so knackers to that I’m throwing in some of my own world building. 

Based on how the Deadly 6 are all either disciples of or literally Master Zik, the reimagined!Zeti race is less malevolent so much as focused on attainment of glory and recognition. Every person is expected to discipline themselves into a strong, powerful being capable of great achievements. Competition is rampant with rivalry being imposed from a young age. 

Despite rivalry, those who study under a common Master consider themselves as a structured force or clan representing their Master and his/her/their ideology. Master Zik in particular holds the ideology of complete domination of foes and enforcing the strength that already exists. Those who come across his clan often get the impression the Zeti exist to conquer when really, it is only in response to what is done to them to remind people not to mess with them. 

Zeti are driven by the goals of communal recognition; challenges make individuals stronger, thus reinforcing the people as a whole. Spar-matches and challenges are inherent in the society. Clans and individuals alike compete to bring glory. 

But. There is an unspoken rule amongst the Zeti that keeps things from ever turning to a full blood bath. Zeti do not turn against their own Clan or family (both if they are one in the same as is the case with many). The idea of any Zeti attacking a sibling in learning or a relative is unheard of - any who did that are considered dishonorable and risk expulsion as a whole from society. 

Master Zik

Utter the name “Zik” in any Zeti plaza. Previous foes will wilt in cowardice. Pride from their allies puffs up further. The average Zeti, neither friend nor foe, will still be able to share a tale or two of one of the greatest warriors to have ever trained. 

In a society focused on discipline and achieving greatness, Zik went above expectations. Bars he set have but rarely been neared. Until Zavok, most were largely considered impossible to meet. 

Zik is a unique Zeti. Warriors do set Clans up to welcome new students and carry on their name, but Zik is not an easy master. His ideology of domination is standard but his ideas of strength are incredibly unique in a world where weakness is to be quelled and trained away. Zik believes that the inherent strength within an individual should be harnessed instead of ignored. Any skill can be made combative if one knows how to master it completely. 

In all his years Zik took on only a handful of students, with only 5 ever making it into his inner circle and being official members of his Clan. He is not an easy teacher. 

Obstacles are nothing to this little Zeti. He has faced a lifetime of challenges due to his small stature and his unique powers. Strategy, cunning and an overwhelming drive to be strong allowed him to rise above the ranks. Any challenge he faces he knows has a solution - it is a difficult task to actually perturb him to the point of nerves. 

It’s specifically because of his lifetime of difficulties that he taught all his students to eradicate their foes so thoroughly. Too many times his mercy let to more foes than needed. Crush a foe and all they hold dear, and no one will ever come to avenge their broken ashes. 

Zik views himself as a father figure turned advisor to the group. In his heart of hearts, they are his pride and joy. He could not leave them. Bedridden and frail he’s still drag his way alongside them to keep these youngsters of his on the right path. 

Zomom (First Disciple)

Zomom is the eldest of Master Zik’s student, being the first welcomed into Zik’s inner circle. This is a matter of great pride for him and makes him very protective of the others as a result. Zavok holds the title of leader but it is no secret that the eldest of the students holds his fellow disciples close to his heart much how an older brother might view his siblings. 

Zomom knows a lot about the other members of the team. They feel comfortable around him one-on-one, often using him as a quiet listener to talk through their thoughts. 

Zomom is a strange Zeti. By height and strength he should have been a popular choice amongst his people. Yet his lack of common sense and social norms made it difficult to fit into society’s definition of a good warrior. The perceived lack of discipline in terms of food also earned him backlash from others. Emotional manipulation is an effective way of ensuring they didn’t have to fight the giant warrior physically. 

It was his sincerity, his genuine sense of being and wanting to learn, that made Master Zik bring him in as a student, then disciple. Zomom is genuine, true person who could not tell a life to save his life but still tries so hard to survive in a world where lying is viewed as not just acceptable but required in some social circles. Zik saw his food abilities and build, before tailoring his training to include more food intake and improve speed. 

Most affable of the Deadly 6, Zomom may be the butt of the joke at some times but they would all be furious should any harm befall him. Zomom’s willingness to shrug off insults does not sit well with any of them and they will gladly take the place of his vengeful fury to ensure it does not happen again. 

Seeing one or two of the Deadly 6 relaxing with Zomom when they are burned out or want to slow down is common. 

Zazz (The Second Disciple)

This is a case of a master forcibly adopting a feral child than a student asking a master to teach them. Zomom who was there the day Zazz was brought in to be taught is the only one besides Zik who knows why the Master took such a shining to Zazz, though the most he ever says on the matter is “It was like looking at a silly mirror.”

Zazz is almost the perfect Zeti. Intensely strong, with an immense battle-hunger. You’d be hard-pressed to find a more terrifying opponent. The issue lies with that same battle hunger that would make them popular in other circumstances. The whole point of the Zeti’s competitiveness is that it is, somehow, disciplined and the result of self-control/personal growth. Zazz’s entire motivation can be summed up as “because I want to.”

Zazz is very much a wild child turned wild adult with a lot of energy to burn. The ideas of the Zeti bore them a lot - why should they spend time proving himself when everyone’s so much weaker than them? They’d rather be seeking out good opponents or filling theirs time doing things that feed his ever-flickering attention. 

Despite their very intense personality, Zazz is fiercely protective of the clan. They’re the only ones to really indulge Zazz’s wide range of interests and teach them a few of their own. One day they may be with Zeena learning new techniques to make their appearance fiercer, the next they’re in the shadows with Zor learning a shadow technique that will absolutely scare the shit out of Master Zik, this time for sure!

Picks up skills like a dog gets fleas. They’re not a master at any of them but the way they’re able to combine them makes them a fearsome opponent, a lethal prankster and find something to connect over with anyone. 

Zeena (The Third Disciple)

Female-identifying Zeti are held to the same standard as any other Zeti so her presence in the Clan isn’t entirely unexpected. However, many Zeti tend to prefer Clans of their own gender out of comfort or outright preference.

Youngster Zeena, known for her cold intensity, had her pick of the litter in terms of Masters - her tethering abilities made her a powerful long-distance opponent, and her technology skills make her a verifiable weapon powerhouse. Her choice to go for Master Zik was a surprise, but Zik accepted her. 

In truth, she went for Master Zik because she didn’t want to just be a long-distance specialist. She wanted a Master who could hone her abilities to be used in more creative ways. Zomom and Zazz’s successes got her attention.  

With Zik she learned to use her tethering abilities to completely control the field. Able to move quickly, redirect her opponents and load the battle field with her varied arsenal, facing off against Zeena is incredibly difficult. 

Always looking to perfect her abilities as the “Perfect Zeti Fighter” Zeena spends a lot of time perfecting her body to make it superior to other Zeti. Outside of that in her lab she’s developing new weapons with distinct abilities to use in combat. Bouncy bombs, whips with unique charges - she’s offered to create some for the rest of the team, but they’ve only accepted limited help. 

Zeena views herself as the pinnacle of Zeti power, with the ability to do more. She holds the rest of the Deadly 6 to the same standard and is not above offering weapons advice or ways to improve their appearance to terrify their enemies into a stupor. 

Zor (The Fourth Disciple)

Zor was not expected to succeed. There are many ways to be considered a successful Zeti - strength, speed, smarts. Lurking in the shadows is not traditionally viewed as particularly impressive. Zor’s inclination to the shadows made him unpopular in the society.

In turn, this made Zor dislike society as a whole and develop a severe nihilistic attitude that continues to plague him to this day. Why should he trust a system that failed him so badly anyway? It is ultimately pointless. 

Zor didn’t so much as join the Clan as he was chased into the clan. Lurking in his shadows he didn’t know of the tall Zeti whose attention has zeroed in on the very interestingly-moving shadow until Zazz had already begun to give chase. Master Zik hadn’t a clue what to make of the huffy Zeti his Second Disciple had under his arm, but if Zazz saw talent in this one, it was worth exploring. 

Zor’s abilities as a spymaster make him a vital part of the group. His abilities contribute to that but it is his powers of observation and deduction that really lend themselves to this role. Having been a spectator to his society for most of his life, he has developed powerful strategies to collect information at a mass scale - needless to say, trying to keep a secret from him is difficult. 

The main introvert of the group, Zor struggles to be with them all at once. While he likes each one of them just fine (good luck getting him to say that) their overall energy can be overwhelming. He prefers to be with one-three people at a time to preserve his social energy.

Zavok (The Final Disciple)

Societies have ideal standards people strive towards. Often impossible to achieve, they’re viewed more as a lifetime goal than a realistic achievement. Those who do manage to hit it are considered to be above others as they command respect. Amongst the Zeti, that impossible person is Zavok. 

Zavok himself comes from an impressive lineage - all the Zeti before him have been great warriors, commanders, people filling leadership roles. Each generation of greatness placed more expectations upon the next and as an only child, Zavok had no one to share these burdens with. He exceled at them, but it was not the glory he sought. He wanted to great his own reputation free of his past. 

The announcement of Zavok’s self-imposed expulsion from his lineage shook Zeti society to its core. His subsequent request to become Zik’s pupil further shook everyone, but Master Zik did have a penchant for collecting odd students. What was one more lost warrior seeking purpose?

Zavok evolved far beyond anyone could have guessed under Master Zik’s tutelage. Part of this was due to his own upbringing, but it truly was Zavok’s own determination and fast mind that let him adapt to Zik’s unusual forms of training. He wanted to become indomitable and he would do whatever it took to do so.... 

...But, he wasn’t quite perfect.  Zavok is a brilliant minded individual, but upon reaching the inner circle, he realized that he was incredibly unused to working in a group. It took a great deal of time, self-reflection and humbling for him to become the leader he is to do, due in part to his own hang-ups he thought he had left behind with his family. 

With time, he grows to respect each team member and view them as close family. Upon Zik’s retirement and Zavok’s ascension to the head of the Clan, Zavok was the undisputed respected and admired leader of the Clan, holding each of them in high regard and daring anyone to try and take what they had built. 

#sonic #sonic lost worlds #zeti #worldbuilding #deadly six #i know nothing about these characters #I just watched a few cutscenes and ran with it #in the future #please limit to 5 characters #my imagination ran wild this time but it took so much longer than I though #imagine #sonic imagine

[mira--mira]

One obvious for the ask game. The main protagonist; Naruto Uzumaki and Izuku Midoriya.

@shiryusamarkanda it’s so nice to hear from you again! <3 

I totally didn’t forget to post this and had it fully finished in my drafts for days...totally. 

Naruto

What I love about them:

Naruto's a bratty kid who’s not afraid to speak up and challenge something he thinks is "wrong". This, of course, is part 1 Naruto. I actually like when he's a bit insensitive without being explicitly malicious bc its very fitting for his background/how he grew up but also gives him a clear path forward as he learns how to work as a team/starts to grow. It wasn’t exactly a smart move, but I really liked how he continued to challenge Zabuza in the Wave Arc saying “he’s still my enemy” after Kakashi told him to back off. This is all good and strong characterization that, to me, was more often endearing than it wasn’t. Naruto had goals and a purpose and in early Naruto that was still clear.

What I hate about them:

Part 2 (Shippuden) Naruto. There’s a lot that goes into this but the core deviation is getting away from the underdog story. In Shippuden Naruto is the son of the 4th, the Child of Prophecy, a reincarnation of the Sage of Six Path’s kid, makes friends with Kurama, and has the most OP power of the them all: Talk no Jutsu. What makes all of this even worse is Naruto went from a loveable bratty kid to an insufferable messiah figure. To be “perfect” his natural personality is shorn down until he’s only allowed occasional “stupid” mistakes rather than mistakes that emerge from his characterization. This also makes his ideological “wins” with villains...completely meaningless. Shippuden Naruto doesn’t really...have beliefs. He wants to be hokage and bring Sasuke back to the village. “Being hokage” was fine as a kid but I expected the progression into shippuden to be “what kind of hokage do I want to be?” This seemed natural bc we get in the Wave arc Naruto pushing against “what a shinobi is supposed to be: a tool” from Haku and declaring he’d make his own ninja way. Flashforward to the chunin arcs: hates Orochimaru for messing with Sasuke (esp when he eventually leaves to join him) and Neji for treating Hinata the way he did until he learned more about the Hyuga before declaring it wasn’t fair and you had to fight against fate and destiny. Tsunade’s arc was more about reemphasizing the village was something worth protecting and the Sasuke retrieval arc, while focused on Sasuke, at least kept up this theme. But these moments of growth are only alluded to in shippuden and by the time the war arc and ending come around...nothing changes. Naruto didn’t upset the status quo, he only maintained it. And once that ending was established it was a lot easier to go back and pick out exactly when his characterization started to fall through and the weird messiah figure took over instead. Part of this, imo, is the focus of his ultimate goal being “bring Sasuke back to the village” rather than understand what Sasuke is doing/why he’s doing it and then deciding to help him or stop him. 

Favorite Moment/Quote:

“You’re cute when you’re chubby” [in reference to the frog purse] 

I really love the quiet moments Naruto has and watching him live out his daily life. The frog purse is absolutely adorable and I love seeing it crop up time and time again. A close second is when Gai kicks Jiraiya in the face and, a short time later, offers Naruto the green tracksuit which he’s appreciative of. 

What I would like to see more focus on:

In Part 2 Naruto having a long-term goal alongside bringing Sasuke back to the village or trying to seriously think about why Sasuke does what he does and how that would potentially affect the plot. If I could go back to the very start, keeping the actual heart and intent of an underdog ninja story rather than everything turning into superpowered mecha/kaiju battles and aliens from space this is the big point that I’d want to address. In general, I really like fics that focus on training and give him a range of jutsu besides spamming shadow clones and rasengan variants. I’ve said this before, but if Naruto really wants to keep the “number 1 unpredictable ninja” moniker, learning a variety of small, diverse jutsu and using them in interesting/creative ways would be the way to go rather than spamming the aforementioned two. I also really like fics that buckle down and just go ham and create their own variety of jutsu, especially if it’s small practical jutsu rather than the latest and greatest OP Power #839281 kind of jutsu. 

What I would like to see less focus on:

The messiah figure. Talk no Jutsu. The obsession with having a morally pure hero in a world that routinely employed child soldiers and put them in war. I understand Naruto was a shonen manga first and foremost but like...this was the setting/world Kishimoto decided on having. However, I will say some fics take it to far on the other extreme for my taste, creating a edgy nihilistic Naruto that hates everyone and everything. 

Favorite pairing with:

Uhh...I don’t actually have a strong feeling for this one LOL. The most I’ve read has been SasuNaru (Sasuke x Naruto) because I’ve found really interesting set-ups. I like the ship and it does have a decent amount of backing in canon but it’s the little moments (or my ability to see possible little moments) that really make or break a ship for me. SasuNaru is all Big Declarations and I struggle to see how they’d actually settle down post Shippuden time into something sustainable. My favorite iterations of the ship is focused when they’re genin age and have a better relationship...but then I recognize that this is getting closer and closer to Hashimada. The other big things I run into with shipping Naruto with Sasuke is 1. Sasuke needs a shit ton of therapy/willingness to process his family related trauma and 2. Naruto needs a good support network/family outside of a romantic partner because it personally makes me uncomfortable to read ‘you’re my one and only’ (here being: I have no other friends, family, loved ones outside of you). It’s a ship that can work but it’s not my personal OTP.  

Favorite friendship:

Canon/OoT - Naruto & Sakura

I do have a softspot for fics where Naruto realizes his crush on Sakura is actually a desire to have friends/someone to care about him and then they do become close. In canon Sasuke was clearly the favorite of Kakashi (if chunin arc is kept the same/similar and he takes him away for the month to train) I really like Naruto and Sakura sticking together and trying to help each other. They’re both loud and can wind each other up but Naruto can help Sakura relax a bit from her rigid view of herself and she can help keep him on track/encourage him. 

NOTP:

Again, no real strong opinions here. Probably harems? I remember seeing a lot of those a couple years ago and I fundamentally dislike the harem so it will never be ‘done well’ to my personal taste. 

Favorite headcanon:

Naruto is smart, he just needs things to be explained in a way he can understand. 

I’m not a fan of ‘he’s the smartest person in the entire world’ trope but Naruto is creative, he created the oiroke jutsu before he graduated to genin and has a lot of stubborn determination. He’s just really bad at typical ‘book learning’ and traditional testing and he’s not a genius/prodigy like Sasuke or Neji.

.

.

Read line for BNHA manga spoilers

Izuku

What I love about them:

He’s such a smart kid and while he’s unsure/insecure about himself he still does his best. Honestly the premise of BNHA is amazing and I was so excited to watch this little quirky (heh) boy do his best and outthink heroes, utilizing his intelligence and knowledge of quirks. I really love early Izuku and how he has to approach situations from a different angle bc he grew up quirkless/can’t properly handle OFA. The sports festival arc remains one of my personal favorites and really showed his ingenuity. I also really love that Izuku is openly emotional, he cries, he gets super happy about things, he’s angry, he’s sad, etc.  

What I hate about them:

Why do stories insist on calling themselves “underdogs” when for a majority of the time, they’re not? Or not as much as they would be from the original premise? Look, TDP came about exactly bc BNHA was billed as ‘quirkless boy becomes number 1 hero’ it changed rapidly into ‘Izuku gets the strongest quirk but can’t control it’ and while I was...disappointed with that, it happened so quickly I wasn’t really upset. Fast forward to apparently OFA has...what seven(?) quirks inside it and I just...it’s frustrating. Even more the longer we go the more Izuku strays away from a character that is forced to use his intelligence and creatively outthink his opponents and instead becomes...I just have to hit him harder! The Muscular fight already inched towards this but the Overhaul fight just felt like Super Shonen Smack-down 728329. Which, isn’t an inherent problem, it just doesn’t match up to the expectations I had about BNHA I had at the start and how I hoped the series would go. For a character trait that I hate: Izuku is stupidly self-sacrificing. It makes sense with his character but he shoots beyond what is safe and reasonable and I wish there would be more internal emphasis on the question “is it better to save one person today if it meant I couldn’t save ten people tomorrow?” I think he’d choose the former or forsake the question altogether (we touched briefly on this during the overhaul arc with Eri) but I think it’s a serious question needs to be touched on (or I just need to go back and rewatch things again LOL) 

Favorite Moment/Quote:

See entire sports festival arc. I don’t really have a favorite moment because I love the entire arc and we get so much out of it. 

What I would like to see more focus on:

Quirkless Izuku. There’s already a lot of fics, but I really do love them. It deviates a bit, but I do like the creativity of giving Izuku his own unique quirk and then exploring what he can do with that/how it changes canon. Really I want Izuku to keep his original characterization and not trade his smarts for more punching power or deus ex machinas for quirks hidden inside of OFA. If OFA!Izuku is kept, I like story ideas where he still has to rely on means outside of his quirk. Preferably this is isn’t because he injuries himself so much, but I like toying with the idea that Izuku never gets OFA to All Might’s level so he really does have to make the quirk his own and still rely heavily on his intelligence and quirk journals to become the number 1. 

What I would like to see less focus on:

Quirks hidden inside OFA. Strength should have been enough, it was already billed as the most powerful quirk of all. I know this is a common theme for shonen stories, and I don’t mean to harp specifically on Izuku, but again the premise of BNHA was an underdog story. 

Favorite pairing with:

Tododeku (Todoroki Shouto x Midoriya Izuku) 

Friends to lover and battle couples lads, I am weak to them. I like the contrast between their personalities as well as origins (Shouto being the number 2′s (now 1) kid and Izuku from a quiet civilian background). At the end of the sports festival arc both of them are extremely well characterized and it’s easy for me to imagine how their relationship progresses from there and how they can support each other and help each other grow. It’s a very sweet and wholesome ship the way I write and read it and it’s v cute.

Favorite friendship:

Canon- Midoriya Izuku & Uraraka Ochaco & Iida Tenya

I really like the core trio and think their interactions are really sweet. They balance each other out well and their friendship was immediately believable to me. I also like later when Tsuyu and Shouto start to get included in the group and out of the “main” core friends I’m endlessly entertained whenever Izuku and Tokoyami interact with one another. (This is also because I love my bird son, but you know.)

TDP - Midoriya Izuku & Ashido Mina or Midoriya Izuku & Hatsume Mei

Really, I love all of TDP’s kiddos interactions. Their chemistry is one of my favorite things about the fic and all the villain school kiddos meshed really well and had hilarious interactions. Mina and Mei are my faves but just barely. Mina came out of left field for the fic but she plays a similar role that Ochaco does in canon as a usual source of positivity (but unlike Ochaco with additional chaos). She’s Izuku’s first real friend even before starting HIVVE and wouldn’t hesitate to call Izuku her cousin as she views him as family. In return, Mina’s someone Izuku can completely count and depend on if necessary. Mei is...Mei. Izuku is her best “useful customer” and it’s actually terrifying how similar their thoughts are, just Mei has an (un)healthy dose of Hazmat’s insanity and her own business acumen added into the mix. They have slightly different fields of interest but are intellectual equals that work well together and that’s something new to both of them.

NOTP:

Bakudeku (Bakugo Katsuki x Midoriya Izuku)

It’s unhealthy. Unless it’s an AU that changes what the start of their relationship is like, Bakugo and Izuku will always have a toxic friendship to me and I can’t ever see them in a healthy relationship. Both of them have a lot to learn and I am of the opinion that Bakugo should get the opportunity to grow and become a good person and leave behind his past as a bully. However, I’m also of the opinion that no matter how good of a person a bully becomes their victim is never required to absolve them of past wrongdoings. Izuku and Bakugo were friends once, their relationship turned toxic, and now it’s in the interest of both of them to grow apart from one another. I even hesitate to really say they’ll be friends again because the early characterization of their relationship was so imbalanced to me, but for the right author and the right work I may see them being on good terms. It’s still a romantic relationship that I dislike. 

Favorite headcanon:

Crack headcanon? Izuku does have a natural quirk, the force of his tears is clearly superpowered 😂 Regular headcanon, (that is canon in TDP and kindaaa in regular canon(?)) when Izuku gets really engrossed in a super stressful fight he focuses on what will work rather than what is moral. It has...mixed results. 

.

For the ask game. 

#shiryusamarkanda #naruto #bnha #mha #naruto uzumaki #izuku midoriya #my fics #the diverging path #out of time #spoliers #bnha manga spoliers #asks

[kalee60]

Subliminal Advertising (snippet) The Rise of Darcy...

Soooo... I don't generally do sequels per se - but, I had so many wonderful people ask about Darcy and what happened to her at the end of the fic... And the lovely @marvel-fanfic-recs sent me a picture of a deliciously punny product from Finland and, well, this small snippet just fell out of my brain...

If you haven't read Subliminal Advertising - click here (this will probably make more sense if you’ve read it first! Warning though, it’s a bit longer than this... like 20 times almost 😉)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bucky snapped off a photo and giggling like mad, flicked it off to Darcy.

“Really, babe?” Steve asked as he grabbed pasta sauce off the shelf, Bucky grinning in return. There was something glorious about shopping with Steve, instead of being a crazy stalker who couldn’t string two sentences together, yelling words at Steve’s gorgeous face.

“Absolutely, she shouldn’t have said anything if she wanted to pine in peace.” He retorted and put the sauce back on the shelf Steve had grabbed, replacing it with one that was infused with herbs and garlic. 

Steve shook his head in exasperation at Bucky’s pickiness in sauce, then with a soft smile said, “so she slept with the guy, leave her be. Which one is he anyway?”

“He’s a few aisles over, and it was hardly a one-night stand,” Bucky scoffed, although they’d been dating for months now, clearly Steve had no idea how he and Darcy worked as friends.

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Fuck off!!!!!! I don’t care...

OneBuckToRideThisTrain: What you don’t like Almond joys all of a sudden?

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Get me a pack, and is he there?

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Actually I don’t care

Bucky laughed and pocketed his phone, looking into the basket at the chocolate whose wrappers declared, ‘Sometime you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t’ it was perfect.

“She’ll replace all your sugar with salt again, or worse this time,” Steve warned and Bucky just shrugged it off, leaning up to kiss Steve’s cheek, who turned his head and caught Bucky’s bottom lip between his teeth and pressed just so, and Bucky tried not to whine into it. God he loved this man.

“She shouldn’t have slept with him then. More than once.”

A few weeks earlier, Bucky and Darcy had dressed up and headed out to their local Irish bar where she'd met a nameless man, who she’d taken back to her apartment. The following week, the same nameless man had appeared in the early hours leaving her front door, and the week previous the still nameless man had made it to breakfast before leaving.

“I can’t believe she never found out his name, she really likes him right?” Steve chuckled, his hand placed on the small of Bucky’s back, pressing him forward, and yes please, Bucky loved when Steve steered him around, pushed him places, told him where he wanted him to go. They’d discovered so much about each other in the space of a few months and Steve delivered on every single fantasy Bucky could dream up. Though the official go-to move of Steve holding him against the wall and fucking him hard, was impossible to beat. Couldn’t be beaten in his mind. Steve was just… a lot. And all Bucky’s.

"She said it got too awkward to ask again because she forgot it almost immediately, and yeah, she digs him. Hey, we should totally be buying this in bulk,” Bucky sassed as he threw a three pack of lube into the basket, and loved how Steve flushed. For such a big dominant guy, he sure was sweet. 

“We at your place or mine this week?” Steve asked as they started down the next aisle and Bucky had been thinking about that exact same thing a lot recently. The way they spent every night together but still had separate apartments, he was ready to take the next step, although still wary that it was too early, too new for them.

“Yours, oh crap, hang on, this one is brilliant,” Bucky took a shot of a Cambell’s soup tin, the words ‘Mmm, mmm, good’ front and centre and sent it to Darcy.

“She’ll also hide all your toilet paper or put itching powder through it,” Steve warned for the second time. “I’m not going to scratch your ass if it’s burning.”

“I think we should move in together.” Bucky blurted, and it was too much, his face burned red, so hot it hurt and he grabbed the first product he found to read the back intently.

“Itching your butt makes you want to move in with me? I’m… flattered. Also, we are not buying canned ham. That’s not going in our pantry.”

Bucky dropped the ham, “our pantry?”

“Jesus, you’re thick. Lucky I love you,” Steve said and pulled him in close, kissing Bucky with intent, tongue pressing in deep, making Bucky gasp for breath. “Maybe grab another three pack of lube and yes, I want to move in together, have for ages.”

“Oh…” Bucky replied dazed from the kiss combined with Steve’s words. His phone chirped.

DarcyLewis&TheNews: You are the worst friend in the world

OneBuckToRideThisTrain: That’s a no to soup? It’s on special...

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Cream of chicken

They finally made it to the last section and Steve started to peruse the meats, when something caught Bucky’s eye in the ‘smallgoods of the world’ area. Laughing, he couldn’t stop himself, taking another photo while ignoring the groan from Steve, who’d grabbed the biggest parcel of bacon he could (good boy). 

“This is on your head, you know that right?” Steve stated and wandered off to the bread section while Bucky giggled like a ten year old over the packaging he’d just found.

“Yeah, yeah,” and Bucky looked up and caught the eyes of the dark haired man who’d somehow slunk up next to him. Blue/green eyes opened in surprised recognition as they met each other’s gaze.

“Err, hey,” the man said in a deep British accent, making Bucky grin.

“Hey,” he replied, smirk firmly in place, loving the slightly panicked look he was receiving.

“Small world, right,” the man finally settled on with a small self deprecating laugh. “Look, I hope you don’t think I’m a... well, a scoundrel, to Darcy...”

“A scoundrel no, very brave, yes.”

“Brave?” the man replied, the hint of a confused smile on his pale face.

“You’ll find out. Look, if for some reason I happened to say ten random numbers in an order, would you maybe ignore them, or put them in your phone?”

The man tucked a strand of long dark, almost black hair behind his ear and smiled fully, and Bucky was slightly taken aback, he looked almost sinister in a very, well, a very sexy way. He could see why Darcy liked him. He pulled a phone from his pocket and looked at Bucky expectandly. So Bucky recited the numbers by heart and at the man’s thanks he nodded his head once, like he’d done a service to the community.

They went their separate ways and with a pleased smile, he found Steve staring at where he’d just been.

“Huh, I didn’t know you knew him?”

“What? Who?”

“That man you were chatting to, that’s Thor’s brother, you know, Thor from the gym. I can't remember his name."

“Oh, you are kidding me,” Bucky cracked up, Darcy had the biggest crush on Thor, until she’d met Jane, his wife. It was too much, it was brilliant, it was serendipity. “Hang on, hang on, I have one more photo to send.”

Steve rubbed a hand over his face, completely done with Bucky’s antics, but when Bucky slipped his hand into Steve’s large one, the blonde melted and tugged him in closer.

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Okay, I will actually pay that one - that’s good

OneBuckToRideThisTrain: Might be sooner than you think...

The sliced pork from Finland stating, ‘from the taste, you remember it’. Only made even more perfect because Darcy had no idea what was about to happen, and she’d definitely be remembering his name soon.

“Come on are you done?” Steve asked and pulled him towards the checkout, Bucky following with a happy grin on his face. He’d got one up on his best friend and he was going to be moving in with his boyfriend. 

“Yup,” he replied, hearing his phone go off again, and looked at the screen.

“I’m taking that away when we get home and you’re not getting it back until you’re too exhausted to use it again.”

Bucky swallowed and looked up at Steve with wide eyes, seeing the promise reflected in dark blue ones. Bucky would never look at his phone again if it meant Steve taking control until he couldn’t move.

DarcyLewis&TheNews: What the fuck, you gave him my number?? 

DarcyLewis&TheNews: I’m going to kill you

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Jesus - I can’t date a man called Loki...

DarcyLewis&TheNews: ONE date, that’s it… I swear Barnes - I’ll get you back.

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Thanks <3

Putting his phone in his back pocket, Bucky helped Steve package up their groceries, before heading across the road to Steve’s apartment; where Bucky was hoping to go through at least two tubes of lube that night, maybe make a start on the third.

His life was pretty darn perfect.

#mywriting #stucky #Steve x Bucky #darcy lewis #short and cute #kind of a epilogue - of sorts #maybe a peek behind the curtain #subliminal advertising extra #people are so amazing reaching out to give me ideas! #though I'm supposed to be writing for the three challenges I've signed up for instead 👀 #but what Darcy wants - Darcy gets

[alarawriting]

52 Project #4: Rand Mart

All I wanted to do was buy a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, and ham. But I’d been to four cash registers already, and no one had been willing to ring me up yet.

The first cashier – a girl with dyed black hair, a tattoo of a dove on her cheek, and nose and tongue piercings – informed me that she’d ring up my bread, but she was morally opposed to the consumption of animal products, so the conscience clause permitted her to refuse to ring up my milk and ham. The dark-skinned woman with a red dot on her forehead, at the next cash register, would ring up my ham and bread, but told me that the American milk industry was unconscionably cruel to cows, who were beloved in the eyes of Brahma. The woman with the light blue scarf around her mouth, nose and hair, at the third register, was willing to ring up the bread and milk, but thought that pigs were unclean and their meat banned by the Prophet. And the fourth cashier, a bearded man with a yarmulke, wouldn’t ring up any of my goods, because it was Saturday.

There was a self-service lane, of course, but it wrapped around the entire cash register area with about forty people queued up in it because no one wanted to go to a cashier-operated register. I’d thought that the fact that so few people were lined up at the registers meant that I’d get through the line quickly. I should have known better.

There were two other cash registers open. On one, a painfully thin woman was haranguing a slightly overweight woman over her choice of sodas. “High fructose corn syrup is pure poison!” she was shouting. “It’s murder! If I let you buy those Sprites I might as well be putting a gun to your head!” At the last cashier-operated register, the clean-cut young man behind the counter was ringing everyone up for all their products… as long as they accepted Christ as their personal lord and savior.

Screw this. I abandoned my groceries in one of the many, many baskets set outside the cash registers for exactly that purpose. The baskets were overflowing. I wondered how the supermarkets made any money anymore.

And then I did what I’d sworn I’d never do again. I got in my car, and I drove to Rand Mart.

***

Rand Mart was infamous for being a terrible employer. It abused its employees, forcing them to work unpaid overtime, failing to give them health care coverage, busted any attempt to unionize, and fired them for absenteeism if they were ever sick at all. I wouldn’t have been caught dead there under any other circumstances. But I wasn’t willing to lie my way into the Christian-only grocery stores, and the service at the secular grocery store was getting steadily worse.

Ever since the Conscience Clause Laws, created originally to allow pharmacists to get out of filling prescriptions for drugs whose purposes their religions disapproved of, were expanded by Supreme Court decision to allow any person to refuse any duty in the course of their work, provided that they had a “heartfelt moral objection” to performing it… more and more people were discovering the joys of sticking it to their employers (and customers) by developing heartfelt moral objections to any number of things. Their employers weren’t allowed to fire them for it, either.

Originally it had been based on religion, until the vegans sued, claiming that just because their belief that meat was murder was not based on the teachings of a god, it was no less heartfelt or moral. The Supremes bought that, deciding that when the Founding Fathers said that Congress should establish no religion, which had been extended to Congress not infringing on any religion, that any heartfelt moral belief counted as a religion for the purposes of not being infringed on, because it wasn’t the business of the law to decide what was and was not a religion.

Corporations weren’t allowed to practice religious discrimination in hiring unless their own heartfelt moral beliefs would be compromised. So the Christian-only stores could get away with hiring only Christians – which had made them very, very popular lately, even though they’d only let Christians shop there, because most Americans are Christian at least in name and most Christians didn’t have a religious objection to selling anyone anything, as long as it couldn’t be used to allow women to enjoy sex without guilt. But a secular store couldn’t demand that its employees actually do their jobs, because no one had a heartfelt moral belief that employees should do work, apparently.

Except for Rand Mart.

Rand Mart had successfully won the right to discriminate against any employee of any religion who wouldn’t do their job on the grounds that their heartfelt moral belief was Objectivism. They believed (heartfeltedly and morally, it seemed) that the government should not interfere in contractual matters between employee and employer, or consumer and vendor, and that therefore they had the right to sign their employees to contracts that stated that they accepted the inability to raise a religious objection to anything as a condition of employment, and make it stick. They used the Hobby Lobby case as precedent along with the Conscience Clause decision to prove that a corporation had the rights to adhere to the heartfelt moral beliefs of its owners even if doing so trampled on the rights of its employees.

As a result, you could get absolutely anything at Rand Mart that they felt they’d make money on selling to you, and no one could raise any sort of objection. Guns? Sure! The Second Amendment and the Conscience Clause meant that they didn’t have to do background checks, because that was government interference with their relationship with their customer, and they believed they shouldn’t have to abide by that rule. Abortifacients? You betcha! They weren’t the only ones – sex shops frequently invoked their heartfelt belief in the right of all humans to sexual pleasure and control over their own bodies to sell things like birth control, Plan B, and actual abortion drugs, without prescriptions, and no one could really stop them because they had the names of everyone who’d ever used a credit card to buy sex merchandise, which included most of the fine, upstanding citizens who tended to protest abortion clinics. But Rand Mart was the one you would go to if you didn’t want to walk through displays of lingerie and dildos to get the pill. Marijuana? Rand Mart didn’t believe in anti-drug laws, and while they were sane enough not to provoke the government on stuff like meth and heroin, they sold weed quite openly, and the Feds were more likely to bust a legal California grower of the medical grade stuff than Rand Mart.

Obviously, given their willingness to sell such culturally controversial stuff, you could get any of the basics at Rand-Mart as well, and none of their employees were allowed to refuse to sell to you. So I drove over there, because I really, really wanted my bread, ham and milk.

As usual, Rand Mart’s parking lot was a zoo. True confession time: this wasn’t the first time I’d been driven to have to go to the place. Every time I went here I swore I’d never do it again, and while my abhorrence of their treatment of employees was one reason, the behavior of the other customers was another. Pedestrians were everywhere, because why should they have to follow rules like the presence of crosswalk markings to make life convenient for drivers? They had the right to walk and they were going to walk, dammit. This, of course, made the drivers of the other cars frustrated, and when you considered how tiny the parking spots were and how quickly they got snapped up, you had frustrated, angry drivers rapidly turning into slavering, starving beasts who’d savage each other for a parking spot. Road rage deaths were not unheard of in Rand Mart parking lots, including incidents where folks used their brand new Rand Mart guns to put a hole in a fellow shopper for fender bender accidents caused by overeagerness to take a parking spot. I parked all the way out at the end of the lot and walked, careful to avoid the cars who were taking out their aggression against the thick clouds of pedestrians in front of the store by nearly running down the ones walking to or from their cars.

The way Rand Mart is laid out, you have to walk through an entire aisle of really cheap impulse buys and sales items before you can even get into the store proper. Then the groceries are all the way on the other side. Shoppers inside Rand Mart are every bit as considerate as the ones outside, which is to say, I had to dodge a lot of folks who were walking straight at me as if I wasn’t even there, or as if they wanted to play Store Aisle Chicken. I was really, really glad I needed so few things and didn’t need to push a cart, because there were so many endcaps and stands of merchandise and random pallets of restock that I couldn’t see how a cart could get through half the aisles.

I plugged my metaphorical ears to the siren song of really cheap electronics, and really cheap DVDs, and really cheap winter jackets, and really cheap kitchen appliances. (I’m a bachelor. I don’t really cook. I do, however, make a lot of use of rice cookers, and toaster ovens, and single-serve coffee machines, and I own lots and lots of other kitchen appliances that promise to pretty much make my food for me, despite which I still never use the damned things.) In what seemed like a long and peril-fraught journey, but was actually probably about three or four minutes, I got to the grocery aisles and started looking for the stuff I’d come for.

And then I ran into Emily. Wearing a Rand Mart uniform, and stocking yogurt cups onto the shelves.

Emily used to be my manager. I work in IT, where the controversies are few; as long as we don’t hire any Amish dudes, we’re not likely to get saddled with deadweight. However, the hours are long, and Emily decided she wanted a new career that would let her spend more time with her young son, so last I’d heard, she’d opened a day care. Considering that this was Saturday, I supposed it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that this was her second job, but Rand Mart was infamous for giving their front line employees really egregiously varying schedules with totally inconsistent amounts and times for hours, so they weren’t generally compatible with having, or being, a second job. “Hey, Emily!” I said. “How’s life been treating you?”

“Oh, hey, Brad. You’re looking pretty stressed. They giving you a hard time at work?”

“Oh, no, no, I’m just stressed because I had to come to this place,” I said. “Six cashiers at the Allfood, and none of them willing to ring up a simple purchase of ham, milk and bread.”

“Don’t I know it,” Emily said. “The other day I was in Curtains and More with my son, just trying to get him some new bedsheets, and they practically threw me out of the store because I wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. I told them I don’t wear it because my circulation’s not great and my fingers swell up, but they didn’t believe me. I had to show them my wedding picture in my wallet before I could buy a damned thing, because they thought I was an unwed mother, and that’s sinful. Do you know every single employee in that place is a pregnant woman?”

“What, do they fire them if they’re not pregnant?”

“The owner’s into some odd Christian sect where you’re supposed to have as many babies for the Lord as possible. So I guess they’re not always pregnant, but they’re always either pregnant, on maternity leave, or they’ve got a little baby. It’s crazy.”

Her story reminded me that I needed to get cups for my coffee machine, and that as far as I knew coffee wasn’t against anyone’s religion. Maybe I’d drop by Curtains and More myself. I was a single guy without any kids, so I figured I wouldn’t run into the problems Emily had. “Are they one of those places where you have to be Christian to get in?”

“Oh, no, no. That’s what tripped me up; I was completely not expecting to run into an issue like that. They looked secular.”

“So why’re you working here at Rand Mart anyway? Still doing the daycare thing?”

She shook her head sadly. “No… I couldn’t keep it going. I hired a couple of extra workers, trying to expand – you know, the state’s very strict about how many children you can have per working adult. Well, it turned out that one of them had a strong Christian belief in ‘spare the rod, spoil the child.’ Apparently it’s a central tenet of her religion that you have to beat kids.”

“Oh my god. Really?”

“Yup. Obviously I couldn’t let her anywhere near the kids – she made it clear that if she saw them engaging in bad behavior, she had to follow her moral beliefs on how to ‘train them up’, rather than my instructions. Well, I could have lost my license for allowing any corporal punishment at all on my premises, so I couldn’t let her anywhere near the kids, but I couldn’t fire her, because Conscience Clause. So I had her running errands, but what I really had needed was someone to watch kids. Without being able to take on the extra kids that her watching them would have allowed me to take, I couldn’t afford her salary.”

I shook my head. “Unreal.”

“I managed to eventually fire her for taking too long to run her errands, but I had to document it for months so she couldn’t claim it was an illegal termination on religious grounds. By then it was too late – I was too far into the red to recover. I had to declare bankruptcy. I couldn’t get hired back into IT management because I guess making a sudden shift into running a day care made me look flaky? Or out of touch, anyway. So, you know, I’m still looking, but I’ve got to pay the bills, so…” She shrugged. “Here I am.”

“That sucks. I’ll check the internal postings, see if there are any openings at the company. I’m sure they’d love to have you back.”

“That’d be great,” she said. “But listen, I gotta finish this and clock my task completion time so they don’t dock me for excessive inefficiency.”

“Oh, yeah, I understand. I gotta find my groceries, myself. See you around!”

“Sure, see you,” she said, and went back to unpacking yogurts, this time pulling them out of the box in stacks of three and shoving them onto the shelf as fast as she could go.

Once I had my groceries and I was checking out, I ran into my old friend Ryan, who was working the cash register. “Ryan! You’re working at Rand Mart too?”

“Sad but true,” he said.

“Thought you were working at that hipster coffee place.”

“Went out of business last month,” Ryan said regretfully. “We hired this one guy who would not stop aggressively proselytizing to the customers, and people just felt really uncomfortable ordering coffee from someone who kept insisting that they embrace the Lord. The owner tried to keep him in the back, but you know, small coffee joint. There’s not much to do that isn’t in the front, customer facing… he’d do unloading and garbage runs but the rest of the time there was nothing for him to do but work out front.”

“Yeah, I just heard about my old manager’s day care folding because she hired the wrong person.”

“It’s bad, all right,” Ryan said. “The small businesses can’t take it, and even the bigger ones are starting to feel it. That’ll be $15.99.”

For a pound of deli ham, a loaf of bread, and a gallon of milk? I goggled at the receipt, glad I hadn’t tried to get the coffee single-serving cups here. Well, Rand Mart never pretended to have the lowest prices on groceries; they’ll just sell you anything you want without a hassle, and that’s enough of a draw that they can charge out the wazoo. That and all the cheap impulse buy stuff creating the illusion that the store’s prices were overall low. “You guys are definitely cleaning up on it though,” I said as I swiped my credit card.

Ryan snorted. “I’m out of here first chance I get. There’s a new burger joint down the road, Charley’s. I put in an application there and we’ll see where it goes.”

“Is that one of those places where you have to wear flair?”

“Naah, flair is corporate now. They do have all the kitschy plastic toys all over the ceiling though.”

“I’ll have to check them out.” Maybe today. A burger sounded good. I was getting kind of hungry.

As I walked out of Rand Mart, I swore to myself that this time, this time, I wasn’t coming back.

***

Charley’s was a low-key kind of place, dark wooden beams and light brown wallpaper showing great sports stars from the entire 20th and 21st centuries, despite which it was actually not a sports bar. It was rare to find a burger joint that was neither excessively corporate, nor did it have 25 television screens showing different subchannels of ESPN. Their menu said they were all about the social experience, implying to me that one lone dude like me was probably not their target customer. On the other hand I’ll do a lot to avoid the black attention sucking hole that is large television screens with no sound. I’m not into sports nearly enough to want to see Ukrainian men’s field hockey or whatever ridiculous crap they show on ESPN17, and especially not enough to want to see it with the sound off and no captions.

I was pleasantly surprised by how fast my server collected my drink order and came back with my Coke. She was a cute brunette with curly hair. “I’d like to get a Works Cheeseburger, hold the spinach,” I said.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that.”

I blinked at her. “Are you out? I don’t have to have all the toppings—“

“No, I mean, a cheeseburger isn’t kosher, so I can’t put that order in for you. Sorry.”

Oh, not this again. “Come on. You’re working on Saturday. You can put in a cheeseburger order.”

“No, I really can’t. I have to work on Saturday because I need the hours, but I do keep kosher.”

I sighed. “Can you get me a different server, then? I came here to get a cheeseburger.”

“I could get you a cheese veggieburger… the tofu ones taste really authentic.”

“No. I want a cheeseburger. Made of beef, and cheese. Are there any other servers who’ll take my order?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t refer you to any of my colleagues,” she said. “If it was just a matter of you preferring a different server, that’d be one thing, but I can’t get a different server for you when I know that I’m enabling you to get a cheeseburger.”

“Okay, I’m not going to order a cheeseburger, but I don’t like you and your sanctimonious attitude, so just go get me a different server because I don’t like you.”

“No, sir, I know you’re lying and you really are going to order a cheeseburger if I do that.”

I glared at her. “Look, I know enough about Judaism to know that you don’t need to enforce the kosher laws on non-Jews, so what justification do you have for not letting me order a cheeseburger? Don’t the kosher laws just apply to Jews?”

“Yes, but I can tell you’re actually Jewish.”

I blinked. “No, I’m not.”

“Well, of course you’d say that, sir, since you don’t keep kosher and you don’t keep the Sabbath, but I know a Jewish man when I see one.”

I had a roommate who was Jewish once, and that was the full extent of my connection to Judaism. “Look, I’m not. Really. I’m allowed to eat a cheeseburger.”

“I sincerely believe that you probably are, and you’re lying to me because you want a cheeseburger.”

So I gave her two bucks for the Coke, which was $1.99, and told her to keep the change. If she was hungry enough to take Saturday hours despite being dedicated enough to her faith to enforce kosher on non-Jewish customers, maybe a spate of 1 cent tips would persuade her to let customers order a cheeseburger in a goddamn burger joint. Or maybe they’d cause her to quit. What the heck was someone with a religious objection to cheeseburgers doing working in a burger joint anyway? I bet she wouldn’t have let me get a bacon burger either.

To be honest, I was pretty sure she was enforcing kosher laws on a non-Jew because she could. Used to be that every store treated its employees more or less the same way Rand Mart does. Long hours, low wages, and if you didn’t take the customer’s abuse with a big smile, you could lose your job, no matter how unreasonable the demands. Nowadays, the hours were longer and the wages were lower – businesses couldn’t stay in business with all the deadweight they were forced to carry if they didn’t exploit the hell out of their workers – but employees could get away with nearly anything if they expressed a heartfelt belief. In fact, I’d read an advice article online that suggested that as soon as you got a job in retail, you should come up with some religious reason to deny a customer something, because then if they tried to fire you for anything else, you could sue them on the grounds that it was retaliation against you exercising your First Amendment rights.

Dammit, I was really, really not in the mood for McDonalds’ or something. The last time I’d tried to go through a drive-thru, I’d found out that the fry cook on shift that day disapproved of the high carbon footprint left by cars, and was refusing to allow any of the fries to go out via the drive-thru. Plus, I’d really wanted a good burger. Rand-Mart had one of those snack bars that they have at places like Target, but I was pretty sure their burgers were at best a single step in quality above McDonald’s, if not the same or worse.

I decided to go to Anomie. Their food wasn’t the best, but the good thing was, you put in your order through an electronic kiosk, swiped your card, and people you never saw in the back, who never saw you, would take whatever orders they felt they could morally accept. Then the food would be slid to you through a numbered slot, kind of like the idea behind the old Automat. You never had to see a single person that worked there.

***

After a mediocre cheeseburger I managed to obtain without interacting with a single human being, I felt somewhat up to going and getting my coffee. It’d be cheapest at the grocery store, but I wasn’t going to go back there if I could help it – even though I was pretty sure none of the cashiers I’d run into would actually prevent me from getting coffee, except maybe the Sprite Is Poison lady, I still didn’t feel like paying any of those people’s wages. So I decided to try Curtains and More. If they weren’t the kind of store that would try to check my religion before letting me in, what was the worst that could happen?

Ten minutes later I was standing in front of a security guard who was saying “I’m sorry, sir,” while blocking my entrance to the store. “You can’t go in there.”

I stared at him. “Why not?”

“Well, you’re a man, sir. Men aren’t allowed in Curtains and More.”

“…My friend just was here and she never told me men aren’t allowed. She brought in her son.”

“Boys under the age of 10 are allowed, but men aren’t. Our corporate policy at Curtains and More is that men and women shouldn’t mingle socially, so they shouldn’t shop at the same stores.”

“So is there another curtains store that just sells to men?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. I don’t make the rule.”

“But you’re a man.”

“Yeah, I have to stand out here all day. I’m not actually allowed in the building.”

“So how do you punch your time card?”

“There’s an app for that. I have to do it with my cell phone.” He sighed. “Kind of dumb, if you ask me, but what’re you going to do?”

“Shop somewhere else, I guess.” I shook my head. “I thought these folks were Christians.”

“They are, but they’re some weird sect that thinks men and women shouldn’t see each other unless they’re family.”

“And that women should be pregnant all the time?”

“Didn’t know that, but I’ve seen employees go in through the side door, and yeah, most of them are pregnant. Is that why?”

“That’s what I heard,” I said glumly. “Why do they let women in and not men, I wonder? Most of these kinds of places discriminate against women, not men.”

“I don’t know, but I don’t have to turn too many guys away. I guess men don’t shop for curtains as much.”

“Guess not.” It was as good an explanation as any. “I’m gonna have to go back to Rand Mart, aren’t I?”

“I hear they’ve got a pretty good selection,” the security guard said.

***

I figured I’d probably end up back at Rand Mart, but I had to at least try to avoid it, so I tried a few other coffee places; most coffee places sell pods for coffee machines, after all.

I tried Starbucks, and walked right back out as I heard the cashier refusing to serve unbelievers. I didn’t even know what they were unbelieving in, and I didn’t care. The Dunkin Donuts was run by someone who professed a sincere and heartfelt belief that children should work in the family business, and I didn’t want to be served by an eight-year-old again. There was a hipster coffee joint, but they wouldn’t let me in because my belt looked like it might be made of real leather, and they believed strongly in veganism. I considered leaving my belt in the car, but then my pants might fall down in the coffee shop, and I wasn’t risking that. Besides, people like that might give me some song and dance about single-serve coffee pods being terrible for the environment, or something.

And that was how I found myself going back to Rand Mart, about an hour after declaring I was never going back again.

I passed a group of employees on smoke break on my way in. They were holding “HOMELESS AND HUNGRY – PLEASE HELP” signs. I gave one of them a five. For all I knew my friends might be there next month.

Then I dodged around an excessively aggressive cart return guy pushing a conga line of wheeled death, and slipped into the store. I was beginning to come to the conclusion that no matter how many times I vowed I’d never come back here, I’d never be able to keep that promise.

#52 project #alara original writing #political satire

[sushiandstarlight]

“Cardinal”: NaNoWriMo 30 Days of Prompts

Prompt One / Prompt Two / Prompt Three

This one is a bonus!

Read this story on AO3

After it was over they purchased a cottage in South Downs, but they didn't settle there at first. No, first they traveled. They went to places they had been before, but couldn't enjoy because they were there on official business. They went to places that hadn't been official business, but they hadn't been to together. They traveled to cities that they had watched spring to life, but were altogether different now than they had been at the beginning. New places that didn't exist until now.

Somehow, they wound up in a tiny town in the northeast of the United States just before Christmas time. The town was a tiny place, barely a dot on Google Maps. They didn't have their own newspaper, nor their own post office. And yet, they were in full swing for the holidays. A towering live tree dominated the town square, reaching towards the clouds and covered in as many lights as it would hold: a dazzling array of whites and golds and reds and greens. Garland dripped from every telephone pole and streetlight. A small red and green hut sat dwarfed beside the evergreen, proclaiming that Santa would be there for the good boys and girls of the town between the hours of 5pm and 7pm right up until the day before Christmas. There wasn't a night in the twelve before Christmas that the jolly voice of carolers couldn't be heard drifting from one street or another. Most houses offered them cocoa or cookies as payment and protection from the cold. Every house fought the darkness of night with thousands of tiny lights.

“Crowley, dear, it's more about good will towards all men, loved ones, gifts, and warm bellies nowadays. We should enjoy the revelry. It's thanks to us, at least in part, that they're still getting to enjoy it!” Aziraphale was delighting in the season whole-heartedly. He'd booked them a room in the only tiny little bed and breakfast near the town (which had taken a miracle and a half, let him tell you, with all the people returning home to be with family for the holidays!) and, while there, spent every evening baking sweets with the elderly lady that ran it. In the morning, he'd find them both tuckered out and snoring away on the matching oppressively floral recliners in the sitting room, sugar and icing-covered aprons still on.

Crowley would sip his black coffee and perch in the bay window, watching the snow gently falling against the backdrop of the rising sun, and he would want to hate it. He would really, really want to. But, he couldn't quite manage it. There was something different about celebrations this year. Maybe it was the newfound freedom they had. It pushed him to feel that little bit more human. They were here by choice, not assignment. They could leave if they so chose, and they chose not to. The energy the humans were exuding was positively contagious. The snowy weather made him cold to his very bones, yes, but watching Aziraphale enjoy himself? That warmed him well enough to be worth the chill. He blew a warm breath on the window pane in front of him a drew a snowflake. Then, smirking, he drew a serpent slithering around it.

“I made you something.”

Crowley jumped and hissed, nearly spilling what was left of his coffee.

“Sorry, I thought you would hear me coming.”

Crowley grumbled and shrugged. Normally, he would have. Something about this place had made him drop his guard. He blamed all the damned coziness. He set down his coffee and turned away from the window to face Aziraphale and held out his hand.

As he had suspected, Aziraphale placed a cookie in his palm. He hadn't expected the cookie to be delicately piped in a non-christmas design. Turning it to face him, he supposed the original shape was to be Santa's toy sack. It was a lumpy shape and he couldn't imagine what else it might have been. But, Aziraphale had re-imagined the shape. Now it was a coiled black snake with a red belly and golden eyes. A lump formed in his throat and he tried, desperately, to swallow it. His eyes were stinging, too, and that just wasn't fair. Not over a cookie.

“I thought, well you know... The whole Santa myth is nice. And angels and Christmas trees and presents are good and well. But, my Christmas wouldn't be right without you in it, Crowley. Christmas is about time with family.”

“Th-” Crowley coughed and cleared his throat, “piping's pretty good, Angel. We might have to put you to work.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale waved him off, “you should see all the cookies that didn't make the cut while I was figuring out how to do this.”

“Could I see them?” Crowley just knew.

“Certainly not, they're all...” the angel sniffed, “disposed of.”

“Meaning you ate them.”

“To remove the evidence!” He was puffed out like an agitated bird and it took every bit of Crowley's self control not to laugh.

“Too right, can't have the evidence laying about.” He looked back at the cookie, the idea of eating it made him a little sad. Aziraphale had obviously put a lot of work into it.

“You can eat it, I won't be upset. I made it for you. Her recipe really is positively scrumptious.”

Crowley peered down at the cookie, glanced back at the expectant angel, and then back at the cookie. He then did the only thing that seemed right: he stuffed the entire thing in his mouth and chewed.

“Now, really.”

“Wuff?” Cookie crumbs went everywhere.

Aziraphale just laughed and cuffed the back of his head gently before turning back towards the kitchen.

“Wuss good, Angel, fanks!” Crowley called after him, gulping his coffee to help ease the cookie lump down his throat.

-

That night, everyone left their homes late in the evening. There was almost no need for the streetlights-although they were lit- the festive houses shone in a rainbow of Christmas revelry that did more than enough to fight the night back. Families came out and greeted one another, walking together. Adults laughed at the children as they squealed and threw snowballs at one another. Grandparents tutted about wet clothes on a cold night, but still smiled as if remembering what it had been like to not care about such things.

Crowley joined the crowd that left the bed and breakfast together, but lingered behind them. He had hoped Aziraphale would join them, that he was only lagging behind for some reason. But, the angel was nowhere to be seen. So, he followed the group to the square, wondering what this was all about.

Arriving in the square, he saw that there were lines of tables on either side of the Christmas tree. One side was laden down with dozens of baskets of ornaments. Old ones, clearly antique (and probably ridiculously breakable. New ones, covered in gaudy glitter that somehow looked beautiful when placed near the twinkle lights. Strands of garland, tinsel, and popcorn- the birds were sure to have a field day with that! The other line of tables were covered in all kinds of treats: one contained warm beverages from coffee to tea to cocoa. Another contained festive foods: turkey, ham, stuffing, rolls, mashed potatoes, and gravy. And, nearest the tree, was one covered in cakes, pastries, pies, and hundreds of cookies. Behind that table he spotted Aziraphale next to the woman that ran the bed and breakfast. They were laughing as they watched a small child eat one of the cookies, getting more icing on his face than in it.

Something relaxed in his gut, just seeing the angel again. Just knowing he was here, after all. Aziraphale had said that Christmas wouldn't be the same without Crowley. Crowley was beginning to think none of his days would be the same without Aziraphale. All the time they had spent apart over the last 6,000 years and now he didn't want to spend more than an hour or two without him.

“What, no Christmas snakes for the table?” his breath puffed out into the air between them and dissipated.

“As it just so happens, I did make you one more.” Aziraphale reached for a tiny paper plate that was hidden behind the other mounds of goodies and handed it to Crowley. It was another snake, like the one before. But, this one had cookie crumbs delicately placed all over it's snout.

“You know what, Angel?” Crowley could feel the laugh bubbling up from his belly and twitching at the sides of his lips.

“What, you old serpent?”

“I absolutely deserve this.”

Aziraphale's laughter rang out over the square, traveling into Crowley's ears and, somehow, curling at the bottom of his spine and making his limbs tingle. Or, you know, it could be frostbite. He would blame frostbite, for sure.

They both turned, smiling, to watch as the town folk gathered around the ornament tables. Everyone plucked up something, small or large or gaudy or delicate. The children grabbed whole baskets and skipped merrily to the tree. Someone was high above on an electric company lift, hanging giant baubles around the top. Everyone down here would only be able to decorate, at most, to the seven foot mark. Still, by the time they were done, the whole bottom half of the tree glittered and twinkled with so many decorations you could hardly find any tree beneath them.

As voices rose together in song between the tables and the front side of the tree, Aziraphale joined Crowley around the back side, handing him a steaming cup. Crowley sipped it: coffee and cocoa with marshmallows. Not his usual fair, but still good. He took a big swig, feeling it warm him from the inside out while the voices warmed him from the outside in. “I'm glad we stopped here for the holiday.”

“Hmm, me too. Though, I wasn't exactly expecting you to enjoy it.”

Crowley shrugged and took another deep sip, licking the melty marshmallow from his upper lip.

“I have one more thing for you.”

“You didn't have to get me anything.”

“I know, but I wanted to. It's half store-bought and half homemade. Little chintzy, really. You don't have to pretend to like it if you don't.” Aziraphale was dithering and shifting on his feet.

“Well, let's have it, then.” Crowley put out his hand and waited.

Aziraphale eyed him seriously for a moment then reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box covered in red paper, tied with a opalescent white ribbon. He passed it over and then turned to face the tree.

Crowley drank the last of his cocoa-coffee and sat the cup on the ground at his feet so he could open the box. Inside, nestled amongst some tissue paper, was an ornament: it was a green wreath and inside it were perched two birds, a cardinal and a dove. The cardinal had clearly been a part of the original design. Whatever had been perched next to it- probably a second cardinal- had been carefully removed and replaced with the dove.

“Didn't know you could sculpt.”

“I had some help from one of the innkeeper's grandchildren, to be honest. Do you... do you like it?”

“I think it's lovely.”

“Really?” Aziraphale seemed to let out a breath he had been holding and relax, “Oh, I'm glad. I mean, it would have been okay if you didn't...”

“But, I do.”

“Yes, good.”

They spent another moment looking at the tree instead of one another before Crowley broke the silence.

“What does it mean? I'm sure there's meaning here.”

“Well... in a literal sense, cardinals are said to be messengers of love and signs that angels are near. Or angel, as the case may be. Doves are a sign of peace. Peace and love, Crowley.”

Crowley looked from the ornament to Aziraphale and back.

“And, figuratively?”

“It's our first Christmas together... as, well, as family. Our side. And, this is our reward... peace and love. That's what we're free to receive. Well, from one another.” The angel swallowed, staring pointedly ahead.

Crowley side-stepped closer and hooked his arm in Aziraphale's.

“I like that even more.”

Aziraphale shot him a glance and his stormy eyes were glistening, but he smiled.

“Let's put it on the tree then,” Crowley tugged him along by the arm, “we'll find just the right spot... Ah, here!” he removed a glittery red and green plastic ball and hung the new ornament in it's place, right next to a golden light. He pulled Aziraphale closer into his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. A moment later, the angel relaxed and tilted his head to rest on Crowley's shoulder. Crowley placed a kiss on his forehead and rested his own head on top as he gazed at the ornament.

“Happy Christmas, Angel.”

“Hmm, Happy Christmas, dear boy.”

The voices on the other side of the tree dropped off one at a time as people dispersed to their warm homes, ready to crawl under covers and greet the bounty of gifts that were to be found in the morning. The couple stayed behind, content in their closeness, until everyone else was gone. Then they held hands as they made their way back to the bed and breakfast by light of the moon and the towering Christmas tree.

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x arizaphale #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #star light-reads #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #30 days of prompts #christmas #christmas fic #christmas fluff #i said it all probably wouldn't be christmas #but i never said that some of it wouldn't be...

[wolfofwinchester]

♛. THE WOLF OF WINCHESTER

The birth of a title.

WARNING: Contains heavy descriptions of gore.

They’d half a mind to speed for the hills when they found the girl waving her blood-smattered arm along the side of the dirt road, their horses startled by the enormous wolf meeting her hip in height. The entire sight gave the humble folk and their steeds a terrible chill.

“Wait!”‌ The driver’s son grabbed his father’s shoulder, giving him a shake before he could slap the reins. “Pa, wait! That’s The Earl’s daughter, innit? It’s Lady Claudia!”‌

The much older man adjusted his dusty spectacles, then gaped and dropped from the wagon. “My Lady, what are you doin’ out here lookin’ in such a state?‌You poor thing, you–”‌ He stopped, cautiously, nervously, eyeing the beast at her side who seemed strangely docile, but highly aware of the man’s moves. The nerves rattling the farmer’s skin wanted to send him scattering from the beast alone, from its maw to its coat wet with crimson - but, there was white, dirty cloth wrapped around one of its legs. That, too, was red. The wolf was injured.

“I‌ had an unfortunate event occur to my poor self, good sir.”‌‌ Claudia spoke with a hand resting on her chest, teeth red and face a mess with what looked like dirt and mottled bruising, dressed with smears of blood. Someone struck the girl hard, her cheek was swollen. That was the sight that put the old man to ease, drawing out the compassion and the concern. “I‌ need to get home somethin’ terrible. Would ya help a Lady out?” Her hand rested behind Gelert’s head, giving him a good scratch. “He ain’t going to harm ya, I promise.”

The farmer called for the boy on the wagon and he leapt off, scuttling to the back to let the panel down for the weary girl who hitched a burlap sack over her shoulder, the older man’s caging her shoulders to provide some semblance of comfort.

“Let me take that for you, miss,” Spoke the son. “I‌ can-”

“No.”‌ Claudia cut him off short. “I‌ appreciate that, but I‌’ll be carrying this.”

The skies of April 5th, 1947 rumbled, earning the farmer and his son urgency. No Lady of Phantomhive was to be left in the rain.

Her exposure to rain was the least of Hawthorn Phantomhive’s, the father and the man who was almost burning tracks into the carpet he paced in his office, arms crossed behind his back. The man had a face of stone for the most part, never giving way to any emotion and always donning a frown. Only drastic measures made his brow ever so slightly twitch. Right now, there was a terrible twitch that was beyond his control.

“Foolish.” He cursed.

“Now now, M’Lord,”‌ Spoke a voice that made even the stoic Earl’s spine tremble. It creaked like an old door on rusted hinges, cracking with age — you could practically feel the dust tumble off the tongue it belonged to. “the last thing you want to do is let out such grievances while the dear girl has yet to be found. Men have been in your place and came to regret letting their mouth speak without the mind’s leash.”

A look like ice flew in the funeral director’s direction, who merely canted his head, hands that’d been crept close to his chest clicking their talons. That grin of his was absolutely unchanged by the look that made many crumble. Made the few others in the room feel grateful such intensity was not rested on them.

“Keep your penny dreadfuls behind your lips.”‌ The Earl stalked past the giggling man, pouring over his desk and peeling through the files. Photos laid scattered, files laid opened. He swatted aside the uncharacteristically bright green bag, wrapped by silver string and a tag with “do m'iníon milis*” attached. “Woolwich.”

“Not a peep, Lord Phantomhive.”‌ Piped a man with black hair, puffing on his pipe. “The only trading is in tobacco and weaponry from America.”

“Twyford.”

“Nobility’s not been in their stock for some time,”‌ Piped another with blond hair, rested languidly on the deep rich blue couch. “Druitt’s kept me sharply informed.”

“Norwood.”

Again, the funeral director spoke, traipsing to one of the long windows that peered over the front. “M’Lord, have I given you reason to doubt my information?”‌ He could see it, even if the others didn’t. He’d long since grown to recognize the subtle signs in the great Earl — the man was frantic.

“If I‌ find nothing in West Ham, I‌ want to know where to look next. Alternatives.”‌ Lord Hawthorn answered sharp. “Trafficking highborn is fast-paced. If my men can’t find her in the auctions tonight, I‌ will have others stationed elsewhere. Norwood.”

‌Tension laid thick, exchanges of glances between the two quiet nobles. The reports went on as the Earl listed off location after location, shouldering his coat and drawing ‘x’s on some parchment. The funeral director, on the other hand, had grown silent; his attention was quite preoccupied, watching a humble wagon roll up to the Estate.

“Well now,”‌ The Undertaker lilted, pricking every ear in the room. The tapping of a black nail on the glass drew Hawthorn’s eye. “the long lost pup has returned of her own volition.”‌

The mortician was all but shoved by the Earl’s rush to his side, which earned something of a frown that would’ve translated to “rude”. “Are you sure?‌ Are you certain?”‌ Hawthorn eyed, watching as his heir hopped to her feet, joined by that infernal wolf of hers. There was no mistaking it, it was Claudia.

“Good God,”‌ Uttered one of the two stray nobles, joining at the window. “The girl looks like she was dragged through the shambles. What did they do to her?”

“Oh, ‘to her’ you think?”‌

“Look at her, Undertaker.”

“I am. Are you?”

A strange look, but all interjected with the Earl’s quick turn on the heel as he strode from the office, the other three in curious tow. It didn’t take long to come across the girl, who walked clear through a gaggle of maids and footmen keeping their distance due to the growling Gelert.

“Claudia –”‌ Hawthorn barely got to speak, the bloodied progeny bore into him with a fiery leer the second their eyes had met. His heart pierced, looking at the mottled discoloration on her cheek of purple, and the crimson drench on her jaw stained to her neck and soaked deep into her collar. There were remnants of pearls in her curls, but the strings had obviously been busted, leaving wild raven blue flowing free in disarrayed waves. Her emerald dress was soiled in long-dried gore, the leading stench of iron that permeated and baked into her clothing from the Spring sun.

He didn’t see a wound on her, strike aside.

His arms rose, and Claudia silenced him immediately; she flung that burlap sack with enough force to make him grunt when it struck him in the gut, embracing that instead in confusion. He pressed it, and smelled the same whiff of iron; strong. Strong enough to make the two noblemen at his side gag.

It was also Claudia that spoke full and first, and also last. “Stiúradh glan uaim, fear Béarla*.” The Lady snarled, smeared mulberry-painted lips tucking into a snarl to show her teeth, the sharp canines with their white only seen in streaks through the ichor. Gelert in turn gave the same warning with a guttural growl. The two sounded too in-tandem to be comfortable. Made gooseflesh rise.

Locks flew with the storm that was the Bastard of Phantomhive, turned on her heel and surging down the opposite hall. The wolf lingered only a moment, adding to the edge Hawthorn felt cementing his feet to the ground, seeing to the father not following before padding after his mistress.

“— Lord in Heaven.” Came gagging when the burlap was peeled open, heads veering while the mortician peered closer with a coo.

“Might I, M’Lord?”‌ Lilted Undertaker, whom received no verbal permission, but the slow glance from those icy sapphires was all he needed to pry into the sack and draw back the bloodied noggin to cradle delicately in his palms. He rolled it, he examined it, grinning ear-to-ear with fascination of the wounds upon the facial features. Skin ripped from the nasal bone to show off shattered cartilage and strings of torn, and to his sharp eye, missing muscle. Half an eyelid hung over a lifeless grey orb, while the other was clearly ruptured beyond recognition; practically blood yolk.

The gap of freshly missing front teeth, bloodying the pencil mustache of the upper lip. Then the matter of the decapitation itself; how delightfully visceral! Only a bit of spinal cord hung, violently broken.

The Lords grimaced at the sight, and one even uttered a noise of disgust when the Undertaker clenched the bone with two nails and tilted it for closer inspection.

“Alexander Moore.”‌‌ Hawthorn noted, taking a cool moment to study the gored features before putting a name to it. “The Trader from West Ham.”‌ Notorious in the Underworld for his.. requested “stock”, of highborn and those of wealth. His trade knew no restrictions other than those who paid him in advance; he was feared because his men never left a trace when they took someone, and because he himself took part in the act.

He was not a man known for his mistakes, and he wasn’t one to be reckoned with, either. No matter the guard and no matter how high you were in the eyes of society, people died in pursuit of him. He was better off paid than trifled with. Hawthorn Phantomhive, however, did not bend to anyone.

As such, Claudia paid the price.

And then, Alexander.

“Wolf did a number on him. I’ve never seen a lopping like that.”‌ One of the men traced the outline of the broken spinal cord. It wasn’t clean cut at all, and the sharp of an edge pricked the noble’s finger with a hiss and a fast withdraw.

The Undertaker giggled, turning the head upside-down so the men had a better look. His fingers splayed around the neck, tapping a black nail to bone. “Take a closer look, m’lords — do these marks look like the dear Lady’s beasty?” Squints all around, and then the draining of color in two faces, joined by a hardness in the Earl’s. “These are human.”

The quick scuff of shoes as the two lesser nobles cleared from around the macabre viewing. “You’re mad if you think we’re going to believe—”

“Are you suddenly undertaker, Carlyle?”‌ Hawthorn cut, side-leering. There was no response to that. “If I remember correctly, you work as my bloodhound — so fetch:‌ find me Moore’s warehouse.”

The sun set, and would find itself easing into the horizon once the stated warehouse was found. In the middle of nowhere as to be expected, and it was thick with the odor of decay. The door to the place was wide open, and flies had set to buzz and whizz about as three men investigated the sight for themselves; Hawthorn, Undertaker, and of course, Carlyle, who must have been the palest of the trio as they stepped over the death scene.

It was a massacre. The bodies all had signs of mauling, there was not one man laid here that hadn’t been torn into by teeth, or sharp implement. Some were pelted with bullet wounds, and one unfortunate fellow hung strangled by chain with the ceiling. The main event was the office in the building, where a headless corpse laid in a heap upon the floor as the most violent death of them all; his stomach was busted into, and that, by the Undertaker’s inspection, was the work of the wolf, down the half-eaten intestines. His arms were broken, and the leather holster for his gun was empty.

“Think it was quick?”‌ Carlyle inquired, giving a kick to the Trader’s very stiff leg.

“No.”‌‌ Hawthorn answered, examining the wreck of the office. A struggle was evident, and the print of blood on the wall meant the man has his head slammed hard into the concrete, because the wounds on Claudia’s bod were lacking outside of a few bruises. There was no dire injury to be found. “I‌ think it was slow.”

“Very slow, at that.”‌ The Undertaker hummed, examining the neck more closely. “and excruciating! She chewed through his neck, see?‌ The muscles are strong, especially in a man like the late Alexander‌ Moooore. He was a man of fine physique. I’d reckon he lived well until she went for the main artery.”‌ A titter. “How terrible.”

“You don’t need to sound so happy about it, you goddamn madman.”‌ Carlyle muttered, exchanging clashing looks with the chipper funeral director. “That’s a corpse you’re hunched over.”

“Aye, and corpses are my work, Mr. Carlyle.”‌ A tilt of the silver-mopped head. “Don’t you ever feel exhilarated by your field of expertise?”

“I’m not entertaining that with a comment..”‌ The more Carlyle was exposed to this man, the less he felt he’d sleep at night. A shake of the head, and he glanced to the Earl. “What’re you thinking, Phantomhive?” 

The Earl had given the neck a good, long look. One could only imagine what boggled through his mind, knowing this was the work of his heir, his daughter, without doubt. Teeth snapped through the bone. A slow, agonizing death. The girl rejected it so strongly, but there was no doubt in his mind that the cruelty of a Phantomhive was deep in her blood. Their family’s cruelty, after all, was something inherited. “I think I have a wolf from Winchester succeeding me.” Whether that was a very rigid and awkward attempt at humor was anyone’s guess. 

A beat, and he rephrased himself. “I think I have the Wolf of Winchester succeeding me.”

‌--

Irish translations;

*‌ for my sweet daughter. *‌ Steer clear of me, Englishman.

#【 hc. 】 ¦ the wolf of winchester. #writing. #body horror // #horror // #(( you wouldn't believe I've been writing this for hours but la-de-da it's da-da-done. #the origin of why Claudia's called 'The Wolf of Winchester' !! )) #(( I apologize for the nasty gory details. )) #(( poor bby had a rotten sweet seventeenth. ))

[baddyzarc]

2/7 Ruins: Legend of the Gladiator

1 x 3 4a 4b 5 6 7  

The next Barian ruins I wanna discuss is that of Alito. I was supposed to group Gilag and Alito since my contract says I’m legally not allowed to separate these two. But I went absolutely ham on Alito’s ruins so, uhhh, im splitting them up.

Alito is a fascinating, fantastic character. Not only is he outwardly bisexual and genuinely a non-evil character, he’s one of the most interesting due to how the writers use him to progress the narrative of the Barian Emperors. This could be attributed to his close relationship with Yuma, and thus he’s allowed ample screen time to play his role in the story.

Alito’s ruins are located under an artificial lake in the fictional city of Spartan City located somewhere in Italy. The ruins are revealed when Alito blows up the dam and drains the water away. Judging by the presence of a colosseum and the fact that Alito was a gladiator in his past life, I’m sure this is supposed to be based on Rome’s Colosseum. Not a big shocker, but this sets up the basis for the discussion. 

The Guardian for this Mythyrian Number found in the ruins (Number 54: Rebellious Fighter - Lion Heart) is a gladiator. This Guardian is the hardest one to decipher out of all of the Guardians. You have Mach, Ponta, Abyss, Minotaurus, Jinlon, and then a random gladiator. Each of the Guardians I listed have something to say about the Emperor it corresponds to, and I believe that the gladiator also falls into this category because of this line.

The gladiator recognizes Alito. This confused line is also spoken by Jinlon when he first encounters Mizael, so it can be said that some of the Guardians may not immediately recognize their Emperor, but they do feel their “aura”. 

Like Jinlon, the gladiator takes a moment before realizing its attacker is Alito. After that, Alito breaks through its power and gains him to get control of the Mythyrian Number. 

The most common theory, and the one I personally believe, is that the gladiator is the prince of the legend. 

My evidence is slim, but I think his likeness to the Mythyrian Number "Number 54: Rebellious Fighter - Lion Heart", his usage of a sword during his fight with Alito, and strong familiarity with Alito (”we’re like brothers!”) provides enough evidence. Not the best or decisive, but from what we have, I like this one the most.

Not only that, and I may be reading into this scene a little too deeply, but it looks as though the gladiator recognizes that this angry blob of hate is Alito, and under some choice of its own, it  allows itself to be taken by a Barian. Rather, the Mythyrian Number yields to a Barian. (For reference, only Nasch and Gilag came into direct contact with their Numbers; each has their own situation with Nasch’s being more complex and Gilag’s being similar to Alito). But why would something like a Mythyrian Number give itself to a Barian? I’ll get into that when I talk about the Ruins Duel later on.  

Back onto the ruins itself, when I first started this, I was truly struggling to see how the past and present are the same place. 

Obviously they have to be the same place because that’s how the plot works, but looking at the placement of the mountains, this image of the ruins in modern Spartan City does not match the geography of the past (unless there’s a glacial retreat or something, mountains do not wear away that quickly). I assumed that the animators didn’t consider this until I found a single second that shows that these locations are the same place. The image of Yuma is a poor angle of the ruins. 

And luckily for this shot, it gives me not only a confirmation that the geography is consistent, it also allows me to use this as an accurate frame of reference for the layout of the city.

Hold onto this information for a minute, because it is absolutely tasty.

Now that I confirm that everything is consistent, I can move onto Alito’s legend. His legend is straightforward if you discount the false memories embedded in him. Alito was a popular gladiator who was also friends with the prince. They frequently fought head-to-head and were on equal footing with each other. According to the legend, Alito and the prince were going to have a final showdown to see who comes out on top. However, the prince’s advisors were afraid that the prince would lose and damage the reputation of the country. The advisors framed Alito for murder, and despite the prince’s plead that Alito was innocent, he was executed under charges of murder. But according to Alito’s memories (or the ones altered by Don Thousand), the prince declared him guilty and was the one to call his death. Alito, being a hero adorned by many, was betrayed by his best friend and scorned by the people of the city, and this was what pushed him to Barian World. 

(Side track: But this is one of my favorite scene of his legend. The casket-shaped shadow, the crystalline, Barian-like shape, is a prelude to his fate after being framed for murder through the works of Don Thousand. At this point, no matter what happens, only death waits for him. The bright crimson coloration not only alludes to his bloody demise but also his descension into Barian World.) 

Now, the past lives of the Barians are often mucky because it’s hard to distinguish the truth from the lie, especially since Don Thousand altered the lives of the Emperors in many different ways (memory change, influencing outsiders, personality alterations, ect. It gets disgustingly messy). But in the case of Alito, it appears to be influencing the advisors to frame Alito, and then a memory alteration to where Alito believes that the prince was against him rather than for him. Because of this, I assume the legend recounted by Gauche (aka the advisors framed Alito + the prince was for Alito’s innocence) is the truth. I believe that if Alito knew the prince thought highly of him and trusted him during the entire trial, this would’ve been enough to allow his soul to pass onto Astral World regardless of the truth.

Therefore, Alito’s resentment exists as a product of Don Thousand going into his mind and changing his perception of reality. 

And this statement is what ties his character together during this arc. 

Now, if you know anything about this blog, you oughta know that I do not believe the Barian Emperors are evil. Except Vector. Vector is evil. He is evil because he feels like it and that’s it; it makes him happy hes a freak. The rest of them act like that because they are living-beings and have some self preservation. If they do not retaliate, Astral World will literally erase them from history. Each of the Barians (vector DNI) exemplifies this concept throughout the show. They are not antagonizing Yuma because he’s the hero. They are antagonizing him because he sides with Astral, and thus he supports the side that wants them dead. (and ngl, aside from Vector, they are incredibly inept at being evil villains, just look at their accomplishments if you take Vector away, gilag ate a live racoon whoop-de-doo these guys are going extinct)  

But this isn’t what this essay is about. This is about the legend and ruins of Alito, who is the most prominent in his lack of evilness. At the beginning of Zexal Second, Durbe ordered Gilag, Alito, and Mizael to defeat Yuma and Astral. From here, these characters acted first on orders, and then on self-motivation (or not at all). Mizael followed this order before getting side-tracked with surpassing Kaito. Gilag followed this order before kinda just joining a bunch of random clubs at school and watching *looks at script* Love Live. 

Alito did not followed that order and was immediately infatuated with Kotori. And by chance BY CHANCE did he run into Yuma, before being infatuated with him too. Alito has zero drive to be evil or follow any orders. He doesn’t hate humans nor does he act on anything malicious. Even with Yuma, his drive wasn’t to defeat Astral but to duke it out with Yuma with as much passion as possible. 

This is a stark contrast to what happens to him (and Gilag) when Vector injects their comatosed bodies with Don Thousand juice. This happens Twice. And each time, he loses his passion and becomes a genuinely evil person. He hypnotizes Gauche and makes him use the adverse effects of “Lion Heart”, he puts Kotori in danger, he wants to kill Yuma, he is filled with so much hate and rage that all the characters point out that “this isn’t the same person” they originally met. 

In essence, he became cruel by coming into recontact with Don Thousand. 

But we all know this. Don Thousand is evil while Alito is not.

So how does this prologue connect to the ruins and the Legend of the Gladiator? It has everything to do with Gauche.

Consider the geography of this again.

Even though it doesn’t appear like it, these images reveal some information about Alito and his proxy, Gauche. Compare the geography of the mountains and the placement of ruins, look at the current location of where Gauche and Droite live in the present and Alito’s home in the past. 

It’s the exact same place.

Neat, yes, but also consider that Alito was a hero to the children of his time and Gauche wants to be a hero to the children of his time. (“A Messenger From The Stars For The Kids”) Not only that, these two have an interesting relationship with Yuma. At first, Gauche dismissed Yuma before seeing that his unbreakable spirit makes him a worthy opponent. Same with Alito. They also get possessed by Barian powers in order to fight without their iconic fiery passion. These two characters are thoroughly similar if you can look past the surface level (also they were opponents during the Barian Onslaught arc if that counts for anything). 

From here, we can draw direct parallels between the fate of Gauche and Alito. 

On a historical note, I assume that Alito is not from Spartan City. Most gladiators in real life consisted of slaves, prisoners of war, or criminals, and if you consider the “Alito’s Theme” soundtrack and his “Farewell, My Friend” soundtrack (which I believe only plays after he frees Gilag from Don’s curse, but correct me if I’m wrong, also these are two of my favorite soundtracks), it sounds like it has vaguely Spanish origins to it. (again, correct me if im wrong, im not good at cultural interpretation of music)

The theory I accept is that Alito was a prisoner of war for some other country, say modern-day Spain. Gladiators in real life, if popular enough, can win back their freedom, and I assume Alito’s charisma, passion, and strength won him the favor of the public and the prince along with his freedom. He still fought, of course, but this may be due to his drive to keep fighting. 

Unlike Alito, Gauche is a native to Spartan City, but he started in the similar wrungs as Alito, although not like, slavery. He was an orphan living in the streets with Droite, and he also used his charisma, passion, and strength to rise as the Dueling Champion of Spartan City. 

Both of these characters are champions of their respective times, but Alito got decapitated while Gauche did not (so far). If Don did not interfere, Alito might’ve received a happy ending like Gauche.

This connection doesn’t go much further until we get into the Ruins Duel with Alito/Gauche vs. Yuma/Droite. And this duel is what I think storytelling through duels should be like.

Earlier, I talked about how the Guardian allows Alito to gain control of the Number. I do not think this is a fluke on the Numbers part. Mythyrian Numbers are the antithesis to Over-Hundred Numbers, and the only way to break the spell of Don Thousand is to use a Mythyrian Number. I believe that the Guardian saw that Alito was under Donny’s influence, and thus gave him the Mythyrian Number in hopes of snapping him out of it. 

This happens with Gilag too, where Ponta hands him the Mythyrian Number before swapping into his body (as well as Ryouga but this was before he was declared an Emperor, and i will get to this when i cover him). The only other Emperor who got close to his Mythyrian card but didn’t touch it was Vector, who made Black Mist deal with it; that said, I wonder what would’ve happened if Vector reconnected with his Mythyrian? 

Back to duel, will you believe me when I say that the actions of this duel tells the story of the Barian Emperors? Maybe, maybe not.

But I do not think it’s a coincidence that Alito is the only Barian that participates in the Mythyrian Numbers duels (mr. Ryouga and ms. Rio do not count for obvious reasons) nor is it that he fights under the full influence of Don Thousand. 

There is a lot that happens in the duel under the text, but the overall message of the duel is the rekindling of the original self. This is in opposition to Gauche and Alito, who lost their true spirits after being possessed. In contrast, Yuma and Droite duel with as much, if not more, passion than ever before. 

The duel, although not spectacular in terms on the plays made, has a lot of interesting imaginary that I appreciate so much. 

I think this scene is the most lovely of this entire duel: a fearsome lion and a tender butterfly facing off against one another. The butterfly is able to move the heart of the lion, and Gache returns to his original soul with Droite’s unyielding passion alone. He isn’t freed, but this action opens the door to his heart. 

Droite’s actions mimics the flow of Yuma returning Alito to his original soul. Instead of responding to his hate-filled dueling with a similar stance, Yuma duels with relentless passion, summoning out “Heroic Champion - Excalibur” and letting in face off against “Number 54: Rebellious Fighter - Lion Heart”. This is enough to save Alito from Don Thousand’s spell.

Furthermore, I feel as though this entire duel is closure for Alito’s past life whether he realizes it or not. As you know, Alito and the prince never had their final match due to Don Thousand’s interference. This duel concludes their fight and put the souls of both parties to rest (figuratively speaking). 

As the duel picks up, the stadium comes to life with the spirits of the spectators. They cheer for the duelists as the fight gets more and more intense. It’s as though the characters are thrown into the past.

The final move of the duel is what gives this “Legend of the Gladiator” the closure it deserves while presenting an amazing end to the narrative of Alito and Gauche. 

As Gauche and Yuma duke it out with “Lion Heart” and “Excalibur”, two monsters that are passionately battling one another, Alito interferes with “Cheat Commissioner”. This is no different than when the advisors cheated in order to murder Alito, thus preventing the final match from commencing. The strength of “Number 54: Rebellious Fighter - Lion Heart” and “Heroic Champion - Excalibur” was able to overcome “Cheat Commissioner” and as a result, Alito is instantly knocked out rather than Yuma or Gauche. 

Alito’s Mythyrian Number and Gauche’s former ace—their passionate souls working together to defeat a common foe, freeing their masters and returning them to their original self.

The presence of “Lion Heart” and the knockout of Alito’s “Cheat Commissioner” (or Don Thousand’s interference with Alito and the prince in the past) was enough for Alito to shake off Don Thousand’s control and revert back to his original personality. He’s confused and baffled as his memories as a human flood into him, but he quickly retreats back to Barian World. 

A similar outcome happened when Yuma faced off against the gladiator version of Michael, who is a character who shares many similar traits with Alito. I talked about this before and I rather post this here than rewrite a decent explanation of my thoughts. 

Yuma was able to free Michael of his hateful and rage-filled state like how he did it during this duel with Alito and their final encounter. 

But from the contents of this duel alone, it is revealed that Don Thousand has the ability to alter the Emperors’ minds; he can also influence even the kindest Barian to act cruel and sadistic. It demonstrates that enough passion and force from their Mythyrian Number is enough for them to shake off the control—if only a little bit—and return them to their true nature. It also cements that the true memories of the Barian Emperors are suppressed and hidden from them, and they are the heroes we suspect they are, but unknown (but probably Don Thousand-based) circumstances sent them to Barian World without their consent.

You can take all of this was a grain of salt or say im looking too deep into it but,

This is what I mean when I said “story-telling through duels” should be something like this. There shouldn’t be a character in the background recounting what’s happening below the subsurface. Seeing a battle between a lion and butterfly, or the knockout of “Cheat Commissioner” through Alito’s Mythyrian Monster and Gauche’s original ace monster, or the awakening of the spectators to cheer for Alito—this should be left for the audience to dissect. I’m not gonna say this is my favorite duel or the plays are amazing, but I truly appreciate the story it shows without the characters looking at the camera and expositioning what this means. 

This analysis is long enough as it is, but I want to end it by talking about “Number 54: Rebellious Fighter - Lion Heart” and and “Number 105: Burning Knuckler - Cestus the Meteor”. They’re both based on fighting, which fits Alito’s personality. These monsters (as well as Vector’s) are unique in that they are the only ones that swap attributes between the Mythyrian and Over-Hundred Numbers. “Lion Heart'' is an Earth Monster while Cestus is a Fire Monster. I’m actually quite stumped on this decision. Lion Heart looks like it should be a Fire Monster based on the colors of its design, the fiery background, and fiery spirit it uses to keep fighting even after death.

However, despite this, I think it’s a cool idea that the Over-Hundred is a Fire Monster. According to the legend, the gladiator is said to “still wander the ruins of the Colosseum” because he “... regrets… not being able to finish his fight with his rival”. 

To “seal the wandering spirit of the unappeased gladiator” the Colosseum was submerged underwater. 

Water suppresses the flames that Don Thousand forced into Alito, and as the water drains away, revealing the earth beneath it, after a thousand years, the lost gladiator wanders through the ancient ruins of the Colosseum once more. And through the cheers and hollers of the spirits that transcends time, the champion and lion partake in their final showdown. With the conclusion of the intense battle, the bantering of the spirits fade away in the glow of rising sun, and gladiator of the legend is liberated.

#i legit said ''ill group gil and alit together since their ruins dont have much to them'' #boy #zexal #alit #alito #dyzarc writes #barian biology #long post

[peppersandcats]

Flash stuff, comics and TV

So, I am finally up-to-date on The Flash in both comics and TV format, and I have some thoughts. The comics ones are mostly in the “oh come on are we expected to buy this, clearly you are aiming for that” vein, and the TV show ones are very mild and possible super-obvious, but since both deal with what both what is happening and what I think is going to happen, both might be spoilers so I’m putting them under a cut.

To be clear: please do not tell me anything about these assumptions that does not come from existing text. So for example:

“but in issue 76 we saw X” or “in episode 6 of this season Y happened, so we might get Z fallout” is totally fine. Yay analysis! Would love to hear from you!

“in the comics X happens, so that might mean Y for the TV show” is also cool.

“the comics writer said he’s aiming for X” or “a casting decision has been made so we know Y is still showing up/is not on the show anymore after this point” is really not fine please do not tell me that. I do not want to hear it. Thank you.

Also: discusses possible upcoming character death. I know some people would rather not see that, so mentioning it now.

With that in mind, here are my “I am okay with being wrong about this, but I bet this’ll happen” thoughts:

Comics

Oh, comics. Len has apparently turned into a vicious blowhard, Lisa is picking a fight with him, evil King Cold rules over Central, all is lost, no-one is paying me enough to pick up extra titles from DC to find out what all space and time being broken means, dour, dour, grim.

With that in mind, I have a possibly-more-cheerful read on current Snart events than the one initially presented. I’m going to keep in mind Len’s mention of the Rogues going with Lisa’s plan (issue 78 “Without my sister, the whole plan is on hold.”; issue 79 “This isn’t Lex’s plan. It’s not even my plan. It’s your plan.”), and assume that that was true.

This means that I think (hope) that what they’re going for is a long con. That the Snarts are running with a plan where Len plays bad guy to Central City, Lisa tries to convince Barry to use mega-uncontrollable Speed Force power against Luthor by pitching it as "save my brother he's gone bad", and the end goal is that the world-breaking nonsense and Luthor both get taken down while the Rogues get to keep all the shiny new tech in a world that isn’t weirdly broken by evil.

The big thing that kept throwing me about the narrative presented to Barry is why is Len keeping Barry alive?

Because, look. Right now everyone thinks the Flash is dead (seriously, those guards in the throne room were absolutely thinking “jeez, boss, we’ve heard how the Flash died in your arms three times already this week”), and yeah, that’s good to keep Central hopeless. And Len is coming across as mean as hell. But then why hasn’t he really killed Barry? He’s not angling for the “I will build my reputation with a grand execution!”, because then he wouldn’t be talking up how he’d already killed the Flash. He might be keeping Barry alive just to torment him, but then there’d be no benefit to lying about how he’d killed him. Dude’s stuck in Ice Heights, not even the Trickster* can make a dent in that, it’s not like someone is going to mount a successful rescue.

*Please insert usual where-the-hell-does-he-get-those-wonderful-toys rant here, I’m sure you’ve heard it from me by now.

And if Len was building part of his power on the “I will crush Central City’s spirit by letting them know I have taken down the Flash!” foundation, then Lisa’s “oh no, we can’t let people know you’re alive” seems a bit odd.

So if I take a step back, what I see isn’t “Lisa has a heart of gold and is begging for the Flash’s help.” It’s not even “Lisa is vamping Barry and feeding him a sob story about how her brother has gone bad.”

What I see is “the Snarts have a secret plan that involves no-one knowing that the Flash is still alive, so it doesn’t get back to Lex Luthor. Right now the genius supervillain has a massive blind spot about the existence of a terrifying Speed Force bomb, and Lisa is collecting pieces of Mirror Master’s tech. Those are totally the kind of things you could combine to break Luthor’s secret reality-busting stronghold, which would enable you to get rid of him but still keep your super-cool empowering tech.”

And if Len and Lisa are in cahoots on this, the bombast makes a lot more sense. “My sister has been in hiding ever since I took over Central City... and she reveals herself by stealing from me?" is a performance for the benefit of the two-high level mooks who were following Len and could probably hear him through the open doorway. Giant ice-wolves aren’t anything to do with Lisa being scared of dogs when she was a kid (which didn’t really come across in her reaction to them anyway), they’re just really cool and the speech is Len hamming it up for whoever in his citadel is spying for Luthor.

(I mean. It’s Luthor. You’re working with Lex Luthor, you gotta assume.)

So, yeah. I’m still hoping we’ve got the Snarts running a very sensible long con, which combines the best aspects of “we are crooks who want cool stuff” and “we’re not evil, evil is dumb.” Fingers crossed.

TV

Okay, minor stuff, but I think I’ve finally decoded the symbols on the Monitor’s door!

I was assuming, pretty much, that these referenced the Justice League. The Flash in particular has been throwing in asides to the Justice League since its inception (everyone’s seen the mural at CCPD headquarters, right?), the last crossover involved a building that has people who don’t watch the show assuring me that it’s meant to evoke the Hall of Justice, one of the trailers mentioned seven heroes, here we have seven symbols, etc.

Left to right, I think these represent

Black Lightning - it’s not a logo, but the shape evokes the lightning streaks on the torso of his costume. This one was one I kept getting stuck on - I kept thinking “Trident! ...but it makes no sense for them to bring in Aquaman.” Then I went to catch up on Black Lightning a little and it clicked.

Canary - I honestly was thinking White Canary because I really want to see LOT involved, but Sara doesn’t wear a face mask. Therefore, probably need to go with Black Canary (who is a founding member in at least one version of continuity, lord knows which one, I have trouble keeping track)

Flash - that is, to me, obviously his cowl. Little bit coming down in the middle, little chin covering pointing up, wing-y bits on the ears, we’re good.

Martian Manhunter - this one I’m the least sure of, but given the options available, I think it has to be him. He’s totally a Justice League guy, and the hex with straps pointing up and down to the sides, echoes his costume torso.

Supergirl - again, I was staring at this for a while, completely lost, but now it looks to me like a really stylized ‘S’. If it was narrower on the bottom than on the top, it would look a lot like the family logo.

Batwoman - this is both a scarier-looking mask than the second image, and can be read as a figure spreading their wings to either side. (Huh, I suppose it might be Hawkgirl? But I’m betting on Batwoman. If I’m wrong, that’s okay! I have been wrong before)

Arrow. I mean, really, just Arrow. It’s an arrow-head. Arrow.

And I mean, I don’t necessarily think everyone’s going to survive through this. Oliver Queen in particular I think is going to die. Whether that means Roy or Mia steps up to try and become the Arrow, or whether they leave a seat empty at the table to honour Ollie’s sacrifice, I don’t know. But: Arrow in the JLA of the CW.

But.

Arrow is TV, but in a lot of ways it’s still comics. You know how it happens when people die in comics.

I think we might get to see Ollie as the Spectre.

It fits with the well-meaning darkness and the grim drive. It fits with the judgement of "you have failed this city". It fits with the green hood. The recent “hey, vigilantes working with the police” feel like it gives Ollie a sort of cop-if-you-look-at-him-sideways aura that makes him line up better with Jim Corrigan and Crispus Allen--hell, even Hal Jordan functionally comes across as a space-cop. Even Corrigan’s death thematically echoes Ollie’s first (presumed) death by drowning on the Queen’s Gambit.

I would like that. I have long loved the Spectre, and I would not be where I am as a DC TV fan--hell, as a DC fan--if Arrow hadn’t clicked with me.

I would like it if Oliver Queen, that grumpy control-freak secret-keeping self-righteous ass, could still be there on some level. He means a lot to me.

#commentary #the flash spoilers #dc tv #dc comics #crisis on infinite earths #my commentary #theories #leonard snart #lisa snart #the flash iss. 83 #the monitor #justice league #justice league dc tv #oliver queen #the spectre #arrow #here for a positive fandom experience

[vincent-frankenstein]

different anon, but heck yeah u should definitely infodump about lucid dreaming!! im really interested in it

aaaaa okay !!! uh hold onto ur ears yall im abt to talk em off lmao

so !! if u didnt know, lucid dreaming is basically when you become aware that you’re dreaming while youre in a dream. once you’re aware, you can take control of the dream in literally any way u want — u can do anything, go anywhere, meet anyone, all with the knowledge that nothing can hurt u and nothing can stop u

its a fascinating concept and, the feeling when u actually become lucid for the first time? its better than anything else in the world. its the most invigorating thing u can ever feel, i think. but actually becoming lucid is, ,, , , hm. a time and a half. 

putting the rest under a cut bc, hooooo boy this is gonna get long

first things first! you absolutely have to keep a dream journal. forgetting ur dreams is all well and good when ur not trying to accomplish anything in them, but if you become lucid and then wake up with only the vaguest memory of what you actually did? thats painful.

u can either go all out and get a fancy journal and write them down physically each morning, or u can do what i do and just download an app. i personally use the app Dream Catcher, which lets u tag ur dreams for easy organization. just get in the habit of writing down your dreams every morning, and if you really, really cant remember anything, just write down that you didnt dream anything that day. you’ll train your brain to remember your dreams better

secondly! reality checks! are absolutely imperative! the idea behind them is that, if you do something throughout the day that “proves” your reality, eventually you’ll start doing it in your dreams as well. for example, a common thing in my dreams is that i’ll have extra fingers, so i check my hands a lot throughout the day. 

it can’t just be a casual thing, too. if all you do is glance at your hands and b like “yo looks normal, we gucci”, then you’ll do the same in your dreams even if you have Weird hands. trust me, Dream-You is an idiot, you gotta be obvious with this stuff. take a few moments, look at your hands, count out your fingers, and really think to yourself “am i dreaming?”

try to get in the habit of doing that at least 15 times a day, and eventually you’ll start doing it in your dreams too. 

now, if you just stick with doing those two things — which is what i’m doing right now — your chances of becoming lucid will raise astronomically. even just those two tiny things can train your brain into realizing when the world around you is real and when it isnt. you can also attempt something really easy called a MILD — a mnemonic-induced-lucid-dream — which can help your chances even more without upping the effort 

whenever you go to bed, just take a few moments — even just five minutes can help — and just. lay there. and think to urself, again and again “the next scene will be a dream” or “i will become lucid in my dreams tonight” or something similar. get ur brain really focused on lucid dreaming right before you fall asleep and chances are, those Vibes will bleed over into ur dreams and you’ll become lucid

practice those three things consistently, every day, and pretty soon you’ll start becoming lucid. it takes time, though! dont be discouraged if you end up not becoming lucid for the first few weeks, or even months. sometimes your brain just needs a bit of extra training

that’s what ive been doing for the past year or so — bc damn do i Not have the energy to actually put in too much effort — but!!! there are other techniques!!

my personal favorite is the WBTB, or wake-back-to-bed method. with this technique, you set your alarm for roughly 5-6 hours after you go to sleep so you’ll wake up inside of one of your REM cycles, specifically one where your dreams will be the most vivid. dont do anything, just roll over and go right back to sleep. 

you can even use a MILD along with this, repeat whatever mantra u usually use as you fall back asleep. you should start to see hypnagogic imagery — blobs of color and vague shapes floating before your eyes. just observe them. at one point, they’ll start forming more familiar shapes, and places, and maybe even people — and there should be a moment, a snap, where you go from observing these images to actually being in the scene. you literally build the dream around yourself, its magical

i have read that WBTB can cause sleep paralysis, but i’ve never personally experienced any problems with it, aside from the fact that im always tired the next day.

another thing that could severely increase your chances of being lucid but also involves Effort — meditation. specifically mindfulness meditation. the act of bringing full awareness to your Existence, honing in on just Your body, Your mind, Your breath, will make you a more aware, mindful person, which in turn makes you more perceptive of dream signs. also, the ability to clear your mind and center yourself with a moment’s notice really comes in handy when the dream becomes destabilized and you have to take control

if ur an adhd lad like me — or neurodivergent in any way, really — the idea of meditation can be,,,, terrifying. honestly, i havent meditated in like six months now, because it really wasnt?? doing anything for me?? mostly because im absolutely incapable of sitting still for that long without Something to stimulate me

so! loophole! guided meditations. having someone else guide you through the process can make it a bit easier to focus. just find one that works for u on youtube. there are even guided meditations made specifically to prime ur brain for lucid dreaming!

so thats how you get lucid. now for when youre lucid

at first, lucid dreaming is going to be extremely hard. dreams fall apart very easily — if you get too overexcited or if a dream-character looks at you the wrong way or if you cant seem to do what you want to do, your lucidity can fade and you’ll either go back to being your normal dream self or you’ll wake up. dreams are volatile and hard to control, and even harder to master

thats where meditation comes in handy. youll have a much easier time controlling your dreams if you can look at the world around you, take a breath, center yourself, and know that you can control it. that being said, you can absolutely learn to take control without ever having meditated a day in your life. its all about your mindset!

you have to go into it with confidence. the key to controlling your dreams is knowing that they’re your dreams. you cant forget that you’re in control. thats why i feel like learning to lucid dream doubles as a lesson in self-confidence — you have to learn to trust yourself, trust that you can handle any scenario thrown at you and come out on top.

if you can achieve this mindset, you can literally do anything. ive had maybe 50 lucid dreams since i started learning about them — which… is honestly a really low amount, but. i havent really had the time/energy to really throw myself into it  as much as i want to. but just in those dreams, ive flown, ive shapeshifted, ive met my sides, ive teleported to vast, gorgeous lands and seen some of the most beautiful things ive ever seen. anything is possible in a lucid dream; thats why its so worth it to put in the effort

but when youre first starting out, itll be extremely hard to maintain that mindset. like i said, Dream-you is dumb as shit — you’ll forget youre dreaming, you’ll be unable to control anything, you’ll wake up before you manage to accomplish anything. more often than not, the dream will destabilize, which is Not Fun

if the dream starts to destabilize — basically, if things start going fuzzy or vague, if you suddenly cant see, if you can feel ur body in bed, basically anything that points towards you waking up — there are ways to fix it. literally just spinning around helps for some reason? spin around, fall down, run ur hands along anything u can find and feel the texture, or just demand that the dream stabilize itself. most of the time, thatll work

and if it doesnt, dont be discouraged. theres always another night to dream

so basically: start a dream journal, do reality checks, mmmmaybe meditate if youre up for it, and your dreams will become like. at least 10x more interesting. trust me, try flying: its literally the best feeling in the entire world

its just !!! such a huge, incredible thing, and its so fascinating to learn about too. all the different ways you can train your brain, all the different things you can do, all the studies done on the subject. i suggest reading about Steven LaBerge or keith hearne. hearne led the study that proved lucid dreaming existed in the first place! he got a lucid dreamer to signal to him that he was conscious while asleep using REM (rapid-eye movement), because lucid dreaming happens during the REM state. also, robert waggoner’s book Gateway to the Inner Self is really fascinating too!

hm wow i really went ham here lmao

thanku for giving me a chance to infodump im very happy rn

#me: /spends a full half-hour infodumping abt something most people havent even heard of/ #now if only i could remember this much when it comes to schoolwork lmaooooo #ty for the Infodump Permission im !! vibin rn #lowkey highkey this makes me wanna get back into it. . . might do a wbtb tonight... #personal #logan talks #lucid dreaming #Anonymous

[thebulletinhamilton-quotes]

13,14,15, 29, 30, and 37?? Sorry I kinda gave you a lot whoops 😬

A/N: Hey you’re good @hamilton-a-quotes-blog !! Thank you so much for the ask!! I had so much fun answering your questions!!! I love it when I get to talk to people! :) Thank you again for sending the ask!! Here we go...

13 = how do you deal with writer’s block?

Uh....

How do I put this??

Whenever I’m working on the ham fic’s (they’re coming I swear!!), I try to just sit down and type (or write). I outline, I write down how I want to the story to go. I get stuck on a scene? I do research or start on another project.

The important thing I’ve learned is this: keep going. Do it. Don’t sit and wait for a perfect stormy day. If you find yourself wanting to write a story, write it. Put it away and just get started.

You have to want to write and to do it. And if you come across a mental block, well do what helps you. Know everything about yourself first. You are the one in charge of your destiny. (God I sound like a Nike ad, moving on...)

Hope this helps!!

(Another way is to tell yourself writers block is made up, you’re a good writer. Just writing that is itching at me to write now.)

14 = What’s the most research you ever put into a book?

Right now!! I’m writing a book about magic!, romance!, drama!, war!, and more. I’m mostly researching how people come up with myths and importantly, religions with multiple gods. I also recently went to Greece so I got to learn how myths were developed in certain regions.

Additionally, I’m also doing research on how politics worked when there was the divine right of kings and queens. In addition to how societies today primarily rely on democracies and such. It’s fascinating (if not terrifying) to read about it. And more, I’m learning about unions and how they worked. I’m also trying to learn how some countries were able to trick their people so long (hint hint: good weather & good economic times).

I also need to do figure out how I want magic to work in the world. So far, I have a couple ways on how people use magic. I’m trying to add in a way so people who weren’t born into magic can learn and become proficient.. the question is how? It’s a long process. Though I think I found the solution... we’ll see...

I’m also always looking ways to improve my writing. I have okay grammar and spelling so I’m looking for ways to make sure my story makes sense to my readers.

If you guys have any inputs or could recommend me any books in the areas I mentioned, please DM me!! I would be happy to have your assistance!! And if you want to hear about it, let me know! I love talking about it!!

15 = Where does your inspiration come from?

EVeRYwhERE.

No I’m kidding.

I would say....my followers, reading, playing RPG, knowing the rules for improvisation, journaling, doing new things and more. I also get inspiration from watching things that scare me, talking to people, going out of my confort zone and there’s more. There’s nothing definitive that works, for creativity.

I am a firm believer that information available to everyone could make a huge difference. I think a lot of us have more talents than older generations realize. I’m able to learn how to speak French, draw, interact with people across different countries and backgrounds. So for now I’ll say information is the way for creativity. (At least for me)

29 = Who do you write for?

SIGH.

I stared at this question for a long time. This is kinda painful, so be warned:

I lost someone very very close to me over a year ago. Their hole will never ever be filled. It’s aching and it eats at me more than I care to admit. But the thing is, they told me stories of unlikely heroes, people who shouldn’t have had the opportunity to make change did and such. They were a firm believer in kindness, creativity and education.

They made me the person you (hopefully) see behind the screen. They encouraged my dreams and told me that through hard work and persistence, I’ll make it. I’ll become an unlikely hero. I just need to work to get to that point.

So I write for them. I want them to know that if my story ever gets published it’s because they told me: ‘tell stories. Keep going. You can do it. I believe in you.’ I will tell the stories that deserve to get heard. I will hopefully encourage people to take what I give out and create their own stories.

And I will tell everyone who inspired me. The person who told me to keeping going when everyone told me to give up. The person who lifted me off my feet. I miss them so much. But wishing and missing won’t get them back. The only thing I can do is take their lessons and share it. To use their words in times of struggle to give the motivation. So when I complete my story, I will feel their smile in my heart.

The hole that they left, will at least, feel proud.

30 = Favorite line you’ve ever written.

Oh man. You guys are good. Let’s try this:

‘I may fail, but I will do it anyway. Nothing can stop from doing it. It’s not enough to try, because any fool can try. I will not become another bystander. How am I to grow if I just accept this? I am neither a fool or a bystander, I am myself first.’

I wrote this a few days ago. The MC in my book is making a point that she (or they) will not accept the options presented.

In my fan-fiction that I’m writing:

He could hear the glass shattering and the number of shots that sang through the air was making him go numb. What kept him sharp was the fact Alexander was holding his hand behind the counter, panting. John could feel the tattle take of his heart beating so fast, his ears were full of his blood pumping through his veins. It was a moment before he realized someone was talking to him. Or at least now, yelling.

37 = Most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you.

There are a couple of quotes I live by:

“You will continue to suffer if you have an emotional reaction to everything that is said to you. True power is sitting back and observing everything with logic. If words control you that means everyone else can control you. Breathe and allow things to pass.” - Bruce Lee

“Ignore the fools. They are not worth wasting your energy on. Focus on those who can be persuaded. Because when it’s all said and done, the fools will live better. And their children will be the ones to tell them wrong instead.” - the person who I miss

“Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain but it takes character and self control to be understanding and forgiving.” - Dale Carnegie

“I consider my ability to arouse enthusiasm amount men the greatest asset I posses. The way to develop the best that is in a man by appreciation and encouragement.” - Charles M. Schwab

“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.” - Marilyn Monroe

“I believe in you.” - Lin Manuel Miranda

...

Special shout out to @hamilton-a-quotes-blog !!! Thank you again for the ask!

Hey guys my inbox is open! Send me a number , a request or if you want to say hi! Love talking to you guys!!

#non hamilton #not a quote #ask answered #hamilton a quotes blog #thank you so much for the ask #thebulletinhamiltonquotes answered

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Z 222

The recap for this episode includes a cutaway diagram of Babidi’s spaceship.   I think I messed up the screencaps here to make it look like there’s five stages instead of just four, but you get the general idea.   The big chamber at the bottom is where I think Babidi monitors the fights, and then below that is the room where Buu’s ball is stored.  

The thing I never understood was why so much of Babidi’s ship is devoted to this gauntlet he’s having our heroes run.   Each “Stage” is equipped to absorb energy lost by intruders as they do battle with the stages’ defenders, which is handy for Babidi’s current project of reviving Majin Buu.   But this is probably the first and only time this has ever come up.    Would Babidi even have need for stolen energy other than reviving Buu?   

Come to think of it, has Babidi ever had any other agenda before this?   My understanding of his life is this: He was created as a duplicate of his “father” Bibidi, probably to do some side work for him, and when the Supreme Kai killed Bibidi he eventually started plotting to take over where Bibidi left off.   So I would assume he’s spent his whole existence trying to recover Majin Buu, though much of that was preparation, I’m sure.   He had to learn more magic, assemble a crew, acquire this spaceship, and figure out Buu’s location.

Anyway, up on Stage 1, Vegeta has to fight Puipui before they can proceed further into the ship.    If Puipui hurts Vegeta (or Goku or Gohan, if he ever gets to them), the damage will feed Buu’s ball.  But that doesn’t seem to matter, since Vegeta utterly dominates the guy in his base form.

To improve Puipui’s chances, Babidi uses his magic.

Now, the Supreme Kai claims that Babidi only used his magic to change the room, but later episodes will strongly suggest that they’ve all been teleported to a new location outside of the ship.    I’m not clear on this, but one way or another, they’re now standing on what looks like Puipui’s homeworld, the planet Zoon.   The subs spell it “Zun”, but I feel like “Zoon” is right.    “Zuun?”    I kind of like all three.   Skip it.  

Whether they’re actually on Zoon or a reasonable facsimile, Vegeta is surprised by the change, and Puipui brags that he now has the advantage, because the gravity here is ten times that of earth.    Oh, you sweet summer child...

Punch.

Kick.

Titty grab.

>:^D

Closed casket funeral.

The Saiyans head for the next deck, while the Supreme Kai is gobsmacked by Vegeta’s performance.   Puipui never even touched Vegeta, and Geets wasn’t even using Super Saiyan.  

Watching this fight again, I notice that Vegeta’s style has changed dramatically since his battles against the androids and Cell.    He taunted Puipui a few times, but he wasted no time in putting the guy away.   I’d suggest that the only reason the fight lasted as long as it did was because Vegeta wanted to scout him out a bit before he committed to a finishing blow.   This is a far cry from when he fought 19, and he basically gave 19 a bunch of free hits just to show him how outclassed he was.    He horsed around with 18 and Cell in a similar fashion, thinking he had an advantage that he really didn’t.  But against Puipui, he was all business.   

I point all this out, because it’s tough to square Vegeta’s stoic gruffness in the 2010′s with his manic bluster from early and mid-DBZ.   When he first showed up in the Saiyans Saga, he was very cocky, but also quiet, letting Nappa do most of the gloating.    Then Goku got under his skin and he became downright nutty.    On Namek, he acted like a total lunatic sometimes, which I always chalked up to his desperation to beat Frieza to immortality, and the rich rewards he would achieve if he could pull it off.   

Most of the Androids and Cell period was him trying to prove his superiority, to be the man he had always claimed to be.   His big problem was that he thought turning Super Saiyan was a destination instead of a journey, and that it would solve all his problems.    This is why he kept losing in that arc, because he went into every fight thinking he’d already won by showing up.  

The Puipui fight is the last time we see him win a fight in DBZ.    If we want to count the later series and movies... let’s see.    He killed Nappa in Dragon Ball GT, but how big a deal is that?    He beat Golden Frieza in Movie 15, but he was practically beaten anyway after fighting with Goku.    In Dragon Ball Super he took out Captain Ginyu, then several fighters from the other universes.   Toppo was the big win for that series.     Dramatically speaking, though, all of these resemble the Puipui fight more than the battles he had before that.    Much more focused, no nonsense, and shutting out distractions.   

Maybe that’s what Whis meant when he told him he was wound up too tightly in Movie 15.   If Whis could have seen Vegeta’s fight with Semiperfect Cell, he would realize that Vegeta used to be way too sloppy and self-assured, and the “overthinking” approach he used afterward was his attempt to compensate for that.  

Anyway, Babidi and Dabura are shocked to find anyone this strong on Earth, because they scouted the planet 300 years ago and didn’t find anyone nearly that powerful.    Okay, but what I don’t get is that they must have realized the Saiyans were unusually powerful, because that’s why they lured them on board in the first place.    They wrote Krillin and Piccolo off as useless, and I’m betting either of them could have killed Puipui.   

Back at the stadium, Chi-Chu suddenly realizes that she has no idea where Goten is.    For some reason, Bulma doesn’t seem terribly concerned about Trunks, though.  

Turns out, they’re both in the... lounge?   I have no idea what this room is for, but it’s some place for the tournament fighters to hang out, because when the World Tournament Announcer comes into find Mighty Mask, he finds the boys instead, and tells them they aren’t allowed back here.   See, Goten was tired of carrying Trunks on his shoulders, so they came in here to take a break.   

WTA wanted to tell Mighty Mask that they’re still figuring out how to proceed with only five fighters, and then he notices MM’s costume on the floor, so Trunks uses super speed to turn on the shower.    WTA almost walks in on the guy, but Goten insists that he’d be mad about that.    WTA’s like “Oh, yeah, those masked fighters hate for anyone to see their faces.”    Okay, yeah, but more importantly, maybe you don’t just walk in on somebody while they’re taking a shower?   Geez.  

So he calls out to MM from there, and Trunks has to pull the crappiest ventriloquism act ever to respond.    The Announcer buys this completely, just like he buys that Trunks and Goten only came in here to find Mr. Satan and get his autograph.    Then again, WTA’s seen a lot of weird shit in his time.   I get the sense that he’s a dude who gets along by not asking too many questions.    If you served him Steamed Hams, he’d be all excited to sample authentic Utica cuisine.   

Piccolo and Krillin update: They’re still statues. 

In the ship, Babidi decides to send Yakon down to Stage 2.   Dabura thinks that’s a bit extreme, but Babidi doesn’t want to take these intruders too lightly, not after Puipui got killed without landing a single blow.    

Dabura’s all worried that Yakon will kill them all before he gets to have any fun with them, and Babidi has to remind him that he’s his mind-controlled henchman, so he’s not here to have fun, dammit.

That’s kind of the interesting thing about the dynamic between these two.    Babidi seems to give his slaves a lot of leeway, either because he can’t control them absolutely, or because he prefers to let them think independently.   In Dabura’s case, he seems to enjoy having him as a dependable second-in-command, offering counsel and relaying his orders to the crew.   It gets to the point where even Dabura gets a little too comfortable with the role now and then.   

And it becomes easy for us in the audience to forget that Dabura is one of Babidi’s victims.   He only wants to awaken Buu because Babidi told him to want it.    Would Dabura even care about this goal otherwise?   I mean, it’s an evil agenda, but maybe not his brand of evil, you know?   

I think this is why Toriyama designed him to look so much like a classic interpreation of the Chrisitan Devil.    He’s not like Frieza or King Piccolo, where he’ll have time to establish his credentials as a major villain.   Dabura has to look like a major villain up front, because we’ll never really get to see how he earned the role.   His job is to look like a big deal, to emphasize that Babidi has turned him into plaything.    He could make this guy swab the decks with his tongue if he wanted to.    He only lets Dabura play first-officer because it suits his purposes.  

So some of the henchmen got to summon Yakon for Stage 2 duty, and he kills them as soon as they open the door to his room.    Awesome!   This guy ain’t fucking around.

Then Babidi calls to him, probably though telepathy or something, and it’s clear that this guy is Babidi’s plaything too.    It kind of makes you wonder why Babidi even bothered having minions go fetch Yakon in the first place, if this was the only way to get him to cooperate.    But it makes a lot of sense once you realize Babidi is a sick fuck and all of his servants are expendable.   

In Stage Two, Vegeta suggests forcing the door again, and when the Supreme Kai argues that this might release Buu, he asks how big a deal Buu really is.   After all, Puipui was helpless against him, and Dabura’s not that big a deal either.  

Shin’s like “Whaaaaa?” and Vegeta’s like, “Yeah, Dabura’s not that tough.    Your friend Kibito only got killed because he’s a bitch.”  

Shin asks Goku if this is true, and Goku’s like “Yep, Kibito’s shit tier, Supreme Kai.”

Goku estimates that Dabura’s about as strong as Cell was, and Cell was a big deal... seven years ago.    Now, being as strong as Cell doesn’t mean jack to these guys.   That’s awesome.   I love this.  

And this makes the Supreme Kai look like a real geek, because he only seemed to know that Goku and the others were very strong, but he had no idea how strong.    My impression is that he had no idea the Cell conflict ever happened, which kind of makes sense, seeing as Cell came from the future.    Perfect Cell was never really meant to be, when you think about it.   In his own timeline, the androids he had to absorb to become perfect were already dead, so without time travel, no one would ever have to deal with him at full power.   As it was, he fought the Z-Fighters umpteen years before he was born, so it sort of forced the heroes to get stronger than they would have been normally.

My guess is that the Supreme Kai knew about how strong Frieza was, and that Goku beat him, so he estimated his power based on this.   Still, you’d think he could have asked around before today.    He knew Goku would be at the tournament, so he must have had some advance notice on this.    All he had to do was talk to King Kai and go “Hey, how do you think Son Goku would stack up against, say, Dabura?”   And King Kai would go “You know, I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think Goku could take him, sir.  He’s improved dramatically since he beat Frieza.”    And at least then he’d know what he was dealing with.  

Something else I wonder about is why none of the Kai’s seem to know anything about Saiyans.   I mean, they’ve all been around for millions of years, and Goku wasn’t the first Super Saiyan.    Maybe he and Vegeta are stronger than all the ones who came before, but you’d think some of the Kais would have noticed when the last Super Saiyan was running wild a thousand years ago, or the Super Saiyan before that, and so on.   

My point is that both the Supreme Kai and Babidi seem to think these guys are key to their respective plans, and yet they seem surprised to find out how strong they are.    Let me throw out a suggestion here: If Shin knew exactly how strong Goku is right now, do you think he’d just blow up this spaceship and have done with it?    I mean, if Buu wakes up prematurely, in his weakened state, Goku could probably beat him, right?   It’d be a gamble, but no worse than what ends up happening in this story.    

Anyway, Yakon finally shows up on Stage 2, so we can finally get on with this thing.   

And it’s Goku’s turn to fight, so we get to see what he can do after all these years.    Doncha dare miss it!

#dragon ball #2019dbliveblog #babidi saga #goku #vegeta #puipui #gohan #supreme kai #babidi #dabura #yakon #goten #trunks #chi chi #world tournament announcer #ox king #yamcha #marron #master roshi

[arnorcttos]

( ludovico tersigni + 22 + muse 59 ) isn’t that apollo amoretto over there? i heard HE joined faction: nomads after they got back to west ham. it’s funny, ‘cause they were only on the service trip to terrorize his peers. hopefully they fit in there – they’re ADROIT, but also INDELICATE. oh, i’m sure they’ll be fine. ( james, she/they, 20, EST )

okay hi i’m james and this is my baby apollo, who is actually a brand new spankin’ muse of mine so !! we’ll see how this goes b/c i’ve literally never rp’d him before !! and i’ll b frank. his background is inspired by logan in veronica mars. sue me. actually don’t i’m already in college debt but sudfjkfg PLEATHE plot w/ him. leave a like. two likes. that’s not even possible. i may change his fc in the future b/c like ... i’m currently making his gif icons as i go and to b frank ,,, it’s rly hard sdjfkgh but i love him. so we’ll see. sdjnfkmgh

TRIGGER WARNING - DEATH, MURDER, MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE

a e s t h e t i c s

fingers across keyboards and piano keys, m&m’s scattered, vintage gaming consoles and tangled wires, worn vans and broken skateboards, banging of drums and splintering drumsticks, deep rhythms beating with your heart, the hum of a hefty computer and the buzz of a monitor, green text against black screens, unruly hair unkempt, flannels filling closets, bloody baseball bats, posters lining up and down walls, loud punk music shaking the walls, glares and whispers, the suffocation that comes with loneliness, pills rattling in their bottles, unmade beds.

general info !!

full name: apollo casimir amoretto

nickname(s): caz, polly, lover boy, 2000 (b/c of his screen names lmaoo)

b.o.d. - january 31st, aquarius boi

label(s): the escapist, the hellion, the insurgent, the netizen, etc. etc.

height: hitting 6′0″

hometown: west ham, kansas !

sexuality: bi...? fucking. it’s pride month ofc he’s bi.

his stats are TBD but his pinterest is HERE !

biography !!

cristian amoretto and camilla silvestri had a romance that could be described turbulent at best, and down right explosive at worst

cristian, a native italian actor whose career began before he could walk, and camilla, the daughter of two italian immigrants with big dreams in a small town, met on the set of a coffee shop. their love story began quickly, dating within only a few months of knowing each other and engaged before the year was up

camilla walked down the aisle 6 months pregnant with lil’ baby apollo, who was then born in west ham, kansas, aka the town that camilla’s family had settled in

was raised primarily by his mother and grandparents! his father was often off shooting movies, leaving camilla to take on the role of stay-at-home mom despite her own dreams of making it big as an actress

apollo grew up as a huge momma’s boy -- i mean, god, he just really loved this mother, y’know? his relationship with his father was much rockier because of his ... lack of being around.

when his grandparents died around the age of eight, that’s when things got...worse. it felt as if camilla’s parents were the only barrier between camilla and cristian’s budding wrath.

it became more apparent that cristian was not meant for the family life, his anger quick and his fists quicker, stinging words and venomous glares. a control freak who couldn’t handle camilla being an independent woman.

this wasn’t apparent to the neighbors, or much of the town in general, because the amorettos were such a prominent family up in their mini-mansion in oak ridge -- it was hard to imagine that their life was anything but exquisite and dreamlike.

this was, of course, up until camilla filed for divorce and a restraining order in the same day, face bruised and nearly unrecognizable. she, obviously, got custody of apollo.

at this point in time, apollo was fourteen and...pretty stoked for them to get away from his father. they holed up in southside and life continued as normal. for the time being. gossip swarmed apollo at school surrounding the circumstance which was annoying, to say the least. it led to him becoming withdrawn from the other students, not getting the whole ... gossip appeal.

in hindsight, they should’ve moved out of west ham. death threats in the form of letters and the eerie feeling of eyes constantly being on them came to a halt on apollo’s graduation day: the day that his father also, coincidentally, murdered his mother.

for making me miss out on years of my son’s life, was cristian’s excuse as he was escorted from the bloody crime scene at their apartment and into the police car.

obviously, cristian was convicted and sentenced to prison. apollo still has dreams about testifying in court against his father.

and then apollo became known not as the son of two celebrities, but the son of a murderer. total bummer !

became even more withdrawn and almost dropped out of college a few good times! the only thing that kept him rooted to west ham was his band.

and now he can’t leave, and he’s surrounded by people who all look at him weird and he feels like they’re all expecting him to be like his father, and he’s not, but god -- when people expect you to be one way, it’s so hard to act otherwise. it’s just not a good time !

pretty much why he went on the service trip tbh ... like, y’know ... if ppl want to believe that he’s just as bad as his dad then damn ! he was gonna wreck sm havoc on the trip, just being an absolute nuisance. 

personality !!

his main focuses are computers / video games, drums / his band, and like ... skating ... vaping ... gamer things, y’know.

from a young age he’d always been very fascinated by video games, and being the Rich Boi (tm) that he was, ended up with a whole lot of them to play, on a whole bunch of consoles.

but like ... he’s a PC guy :/ he may have a super rare nintendo 64 console or two but nothing can beat his dual-monitor set up with his hand-build computer !

he also got real into hacking, y’know, just small things like watching security cameras in different cities and occasionally changing his grades b/c like ... who wouldn’t ? also ... cheated in dark souls. fucking loser.

his favorite games to play were always multiplayer games online like WoW and overwatch so !! he’s pretty fucking mad he can’t play them anymore. like. so mad. genuinely furious. he’s been trying to hack his way into like ... wifi or something dumb, ever since they got stranded in new west ham, but he’s had no luck !

he joined a band in high school because he was angsty and young, and like, turned out to be really good on drums ?? they had like ... some real big jimmy eat world / green day / say anything / old school fall out boy vibes. just a whole bunch of ‘fuck the government, fuck the authority, anarchy, rebellion, revolt revolt revolt’ angry rock music that got a buuunch of noise complaints during practice.

his role in the band was essentially the ~nerdy~ one, because he was a gamer, but like he was also Edgy and Angry and wore all black like Constantly (he still does who are we kidding)

probably paints his nails black and has a nose ring b/c gamers can be edgy too !!

huuuuuge junk food junkie. like ... he will consume Everything and Anything unhealthy. has a huge sweet tooth, he can’t remember the last time he’s drank straight up water.

but like ... he’s a loner pretty much. only friends he really bothered keeping were his bandmates and like ! half of them went missing along with the rest of the town so ! he’s feeling a lil’ lost

but not lost enough to do Nothing, y’know ?? coming back to west ham to an empty town awoke his little baby survivalist in him, probably due to a lot of survival games he played online, and he immediately took over his old home in oak ridge ! it was pretty much rotting there with his dad in jail, but not anymore !!

has also probably broken into a few homes already tbh b/c he’s just. ruthless. impulsive. if it feels like the end of the world then he’s yolo’ing, he’s peace-ing out, u cannot stop him.

uuhhh so he’s got this fucking...pomsky, right? her name is tulip. she was camilla’s before she passed away and like, what is apollo gonna do, huh ? put the dog in a shelter ? hell fucking nah. that’s his dog now.

unfortunately tulip isn’t the most .... tough looking dog. apollo set up a bunch of fucking speakers around the property of his dad’s house and plays large barking noises whenever somebody gets too close, just to ward off intruders, but like ... there’s no fucking big dogs man. it’s just apollo and tulip.

this isn’t like a Personality Trait but idk where to put it so ! apollo’s on antidepressants b/c like ... y’know ... the whole dad-murdering-mom thing sort of fucked him up a lot ! they make him feel pretty blah and diminished his sex drive so like ... hook ups aren’t really an option for him atm !

besides that he smokes a lot of weed b/c self medication

he’s ... sort of an asshole. like ... he can be rude and he doesn’t have much of a filter and i don’t know if there’s any softness left to him ! he just really misses his mom and his bandmates and has a lot of wishes involving changing the past and he reacts badly to things because he’s so defensive and on edge constantly.

he misses twitter the most, tho.

no but he’s just like. .. sad gamer boi ... a man and his dog ... who also carries like five knives on him and definitely knows where his dad kept his gun.

like he’s not socially awkward or necessarily Bad with people .. he’s just bad with people :/ doesn’t try hard enough ! is a little too apathetic ! chaotic to true neutral

wanted connections !!

i envision his band to have like ... four or five members including him. two guitar electric guitar, one bass, one drums / keyboard, any of them singing idk that’s not important. and since two of them have Disappeared, i’d like the One (or two) that Remains ! anarchy boys !

generally .. anybody else who is tryn to survive, that maybe he can bond with or completely clash with ??

i’d love enemies, just ppl he Refuses to get along with or they are just on bad terms for whatever reason

people he’s trying to not ! not get along with ! but it just doesn’t work out b/c like ... lbr, apollo’s pretty bad with other people.

just any falling outs.

uuhh ... maybe a few somewhat-friendships ! like... awkward acquaintances

ppl he knew primarily from high school / haven’t spoken to since

maybe one or two ppl who’s soft towards him or he’s soft towards or vice versa b/c like ! i’ll b real .. it’s pretty nice to have !

ex-flings, ex-somethings, ex-gfs, bfs, anything from the past.

hookup gone bad b/c he couldn’t get it up b/c antidepressants be like that (this is based off of a true story can we get a sad yeehaw in here)

gaming pals from before no wifi.

skater buds. vaping buds. b/c i can confirm that apollo owns like three juuls. stoner buds.

someone he’s like ... hesitantly forming an alliance with b/c sometimes it’s easier when you have someone on ur team ! b/c then drama when one of them betrays the other uwu

somebody trying 2 break into his house b/c u Know it’s got some good shit in there but he’s just like ‘alexa play dogs barking audio’ and then ur muse is like ... there’s no fucking dogs

juul pod dealer. that’s all.

i’m down for anything rly !! pleathe hmu !!

#apogeeintro #god i'm sorry this took so long #death tw #mental illness tw #it's implied but yknow #murder tw #domestic violence tw

[danyka-fendyr]

As the Raven Flies: Part 2

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines​ @rhabakoli​

Are there only two people on my taglist? Yes. Am I making it anyway? Also yes. It makes me feel more official. Anyway, here’s the next chapter of my disaster fic. The good news is that I took the time to edit this time and actually like...paced myself somewhat while writing.

Wordcount: 3246 bc apparently I have no self-control???

“My entire family is dead.”

“What?”

“You gonna make me say it again, Castle?”

Frank looked speechless. “How did it happen? If you don’t mind..”

“I mind.” Vivien crossed her arms over her chest, trying to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear even though it was all bunched up in a ponytail. Nervous tick.

Thus ensued the longest, most regret filled pause of Vivien’s life. She didn’t know what to say any more now that no one was asking her about her dead family, and Matt seemed to think he either wasn’t a part of this particular conversation or just didn’t have anything relevant to add on. Vivien waited as the silence stretched out, just about ready to kick Matt Murdock for not opening that big fat mouth of his the one time in his life she actually wanted him to.

Finally, Frank spoke. “Are you hungry miss?”

Vivien blinked. “What? 

“You hungry? I only ask because Red here doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to remember what food is, let alone that he needs to feed someone else.”

Vivien laughed slightly. “Yeah. He’s pretty bad about that. So am I though.”

“I’ll take that to mean you’re hungry. C’mon. I know a pretty good diner about 3 blocks down from here. You can keep the mask on if you don’t wanna show me your face.”

Matt went to speak up, but Frank interrupted him. “The invitation was for you too, Red. Though you should probably lose the costume.”

“We can swing by my place first. That way I can change into something a little less...conspicuous,” Matt said.

“I don’t mind showing my face, so if nobody objects I’ll be wearing something not made out of Kevlar to this late night snack party.”

“Fine by me,” Frank said. “But we ain’t doing that running across rooftop stuff you two do. I’m getting my car.”

Vivien turned to Matt, hands on her hips. “Why don’t we have a car?”

“I’m still blind, Vivien.”

“Excellent point.”

Eventually, they got everything sorted, and thankfully they ended up somewhere that didn’t smell like blood and urine. Said place also happened to have a killer burger, which was currently making Vivien very happy. Whoever invented eggs on cheeseburgers was a genius.

Frank didn’t speak much, just letting them eat and doing the same. Matt, on the other hand, suddenly couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Maybe that was why he was so bad about eating. He would have to stop listening to the sound of his own voice to do that.

Currently, he was giving Frank a lecture on morality that Vivien gathered was a standard precursor to every conversation they had. She couldn’t be sure though, since she had stopped listening shortly after, “This city needs heroes, not your twisted version of justice Frank.” Blah blah blah, blah blah, blah blah. She made a face, copying Matt behind his back as he leaned across the sticky green tabletop, intense. She exaggerated his movements, hamming it up because frankly, she was bored.

Frank’s laughter was slow. It started as a quiet snicker, but it quickly turned to a loud bark that devolved into what could only be called giggles, spurred on by Matt’s sheer indignance at not being taken seriously. When Vivien started laughing too, he turned on her.

“You too? Is there some kind of joke I’m missing?”

“Oh, this is...this is too good,” Frank gasped, wiping his eyes.

“Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all week. The impressions are free, but if you want me to tell you exactly what Matt Murdock would say to you in any given situation, that’s going to cost you $5 an hour. If you don’t think that’s a practical business model, then I don’t know what to tell you. Clearly you’ve never been lectured by Matt. I’m surprised he doesn’t charge by the hour.”

Frank was dying. Absolutely dead. What could she say? Vivien was quick to feel out her audience. Or something like that.

“Were you mimicking me again? Vivien, we talked about that!”

“You said not in front of clients,” Vivien reminded him, waving a fry pointedly.

“Frank used to be a client.”

“Keywords being, ‘used to be’. I don’t deal in the past anymore Murdock. Makes me uncomfortable. Plus I’m cranky that I have a traumatic backstory because that’s just cliche.”

Matt pouted. Matthew Murdock, the devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Daredevil, attorney at law, was sitting in some grungy diner smack dab in the middle of New York, pouting over a turkey sandwich.

“You know what I think? I think we owe Frank our lives for introducing us to this place. This is a truly awesome burger.”

Frank smiled. “I’m glad you like it miss.”

Vivien nodded, eating another fry, her burger officially gone now. “Like I said, we owe you our lives. In lieu of those though, since we are currently making great use of them -or at the very least, mediocre, in Matt’s case- how about we feed you next time? Karen’s been dying to have you over for dinner.”

Frank paused, shoulders stiffening.

“Yeah? She say that?” He asked carefully.

“Didn’t have to. She’s been talking about how much she misses you for weeks. It’s getting irritating. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Karen, I do. But if I have to hear her wonder what you’re doing one more time…”

Frank smiled. “I could maybe come around and visit sometime. But only if you promise to do more impressions of Red over here.”

“No more impressions! I am being targeted here,” Matt objected.

“Only because you make it so fun, Matty,” Vivien said. “You know really I love you, you self-righteous jerkface.”

She leaned over, hugging him from the side in a silent plea for forgiveness.

“Those words did not sound like love.”

“I can hear you pouting Murdock.”

“I don’t pout!”

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you pouting. I think it’s getting louder.”

Frank was laughing again. “Oh, you’ve got a deal. I can’t possibly miss a dinner with all of this happening.”

“Good. Let’s say...Tuesday?”

“That works for me.” Frank nodded. “Thank you for the invitation, miss.”

“You’re welcome,” she said.

Matt glanced down at his watch. “You’ll have to excuse us Frank. This little munchkin is up past her bedtime.”

He patted her head patronizingly, causing Vivien to glare at him.

“I have to tuck her in and read her Green Eggs and Ham five times so she can drift off into dreamland.”

“Don’t get confused. I’m the funny one in this partnership,” Vivien said.

“Sure you are,” Matt looked quite pleased with himself.

“I have to let him win sometimes. Otherwise, he gets cranky and refuses to feed and house me and then I have to become a little old bag lady like Vanellope from Wreck it Wralph,” she said solemnly.

“Wait, you live with Red?”

“Yes. He was kind enough to take me in after everything that happened. But that’s a story for another time.” Or never.

“Tuesday,” he said. “You’re telling me that story on Tuesday, miss.”

“Okay, fine. But you better come!” 

“I’ll be there. Promise.”

“Cross your heart?” she asked.

“Cross my heart.”

“Good. See you!” Vivien sat up, waiting for Matt to grab his cane and join her.

“You told Frank what to get him to come to this dinner?” Karen whirled around, hands swallowed up by oven mitts and carrying a pot roast fresh out of the oven.

Karen’s kitchen was small, but cozy and warm. Everything had a sort of yellow accent to it that seemed to brighten the place up, even at the worst of times. And right now was not the worst of times, not even a little bit. For once.

“I told him you’re in love with him and you want to have his children,” Vivien said nonchalantly, sitting on the counter and letting her legs dangle, swaying in the nonexistent breeze.

Karen leveled her with a scolding look Vivien was very, very familiar with.

“Okay, okay. I told him that you really wanted him to come over and that you missed him.”

Karen turned bright red, setting the pot roast down on the table before burying her face in her hands. “You told him that?”

“Yep. Left out the lovey-dovey bits though. Figured you can’t force true love.”

“It’s not-it isn’t-just….just toss the salad, please!”

“Whatever you say, K.” Vivien hopped off of the counter, grabbing everything she needed to toss up a mean old salad.

Karen peered over her shoulder. “That’s too much dressing.”

“No such thing. Besides, your lover probably likes dressing.”

“Vivien, so help me!”

Vivien was giggling like mad, pausing in her enthusiastic efforts at pouring dressing. Karen took this opportunity to snatch the dressing from her, and as she put it in the fridge the girl’s smile slowly faded.

“You know what this reminds me of?”

“What?” Karen asked, voice soft.

Vivien leaned against the counter, staring at a crack in the wall shaped a little bit like Ohio. “My mom. Whenever we had people over she would fuss over everything like this too. And she hated having too much dressing on the salad. My dad liked a ton, but my mom was always trying to get us all to be healthier or whatever.”

“That sounds nice,” Karen said.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

Vivien blinked sharply, wiping at tears that refused to fall out of her eyes, just hanging there off the ends of her lashes and stinging. She turned to the table, busying herself with making sure all the plates and forks and such were set up right. Karen let her, watching for a moment before grabbing the bread basket and setting it out.

“How is that story you’re working on going?”

“Pretty good. It’s just a boring fluff piece though.”

“Still in trouble for that last one you wrote?” Vivien grinned.

“Uh, yeah.” Karen laughed a little bit. “Yeah, definitely still in trouble for that.”

“Well, you know, Matt would say-”

There was a knocking on the door, and Vivien went to go answer it. Speak of the devil. Or the Daredevil, as fate might have it.

“Am I early?” Matt rested his cane on the wall.

“No. For once in your life you’re on time, actually. It’s everyone else that’s late.”

“Don’t give him any credit.” Foggy appeared behind him. “He’s only here on time because I dragged him.”

“You don’t get enough credit for all the good work you do, Foggy.”

“I know.”

Vivien moved out of the doorway so they could come inside, squeezing into Karen’s modest dining room. The tablecloth had more than a few wine stains, but fortunately it was wine colored, a wise decision on Karen’s part. Everything was set out and ready to go, the pot roast buried in a nest of carrots and potatoes, the rolls sitting pretty in their basket, and a glass of wine ready to be filled for everyone except Vivien. She had tried to argue in favor of her drinking wine because she already broke the law anyway, but Karen vetoed that. In truth Vivien thought that wine was absolutely horribly nasty, but she definitely didn’t want to be the lame kid drinking orange soda in front of The Punisher. No matter how much she loved orange soda.

“Is that...orange soda in a wine glass?”

“Don’t call me out like that Foggy. I’m doing my best.”

“That’s absolutely adorable,” Matt said, trying not to laugh.

“I’m going to punch you.”

The doorbell rang before Vivien could make good on her threats, and Karen’s head snapped up, swiveling over to the door.

“You going to get that?” Matt was still visibly amused.

“Yes. Yeah. Definitely. I’m going to go…” Karen wandered in the direction of the doorway.

“It’s true looooovvveee,” Vivien whispered.

Karen shot her a look.

“I bet you $5 he has flowers,” she said, ignoring the look.

“That’s ridiculous. You’re about to owe me $5.”

Karen opened the door to Frank holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Hi Karen,” he said.

Was The Punisher...blushing? Yes. Yes he was.

“Oh. You brought flowers,” Karen said, looking pretty red herself.

“Um, yeah. Thought I would thank you for dinner,” he said.

“That’s really nice of you Frank.” She smiled at him.

They were totally making eyes at each other. Vivien communicated as much to Matt through barely audible whispers, making Matt laugh very audibly. Karen glared suspiciously at her, and Vivien shot her an innocent grin as she let Frank inside, letting him pull her chair out for her.

Frank sat down across from Vivien, giving her a concerned look. “So, do you have a name miss?”

“Oh, we never actually formally told you that, huh?”

“It’s Valerie or something, right?”

“Vivien.” She smiled at him.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you in a setting where you probably won’t die, Vivien.” Frank glared pointedly at Matt.

“I just want you to know that I can’t see you glaring at me.”

“What you just said contradicts that, Red.”

“I made an educated guess.”

“It was still my idea to be a vigilante, Mr. Castle. Matt objects every time. It’s very annoying,” Vivien said.

“Have you ever considered… I don’t know, not recklessly putting yourself in danger?” 

Karen poured wine into Frank’s glass as he spoke, going around the table.

“Sometimes I think about that at night when I can’t sleep, and then I start laughing because can you imagine how boring leading that kind of life would be?”

Frank looked like he was about to say something, but Karen interrupted. “Alright, who wants to cut the roast? Matt?”

“Karen, I really think that’s a bad idea.”

Karen looked down at the table, biting her lip. “Right. Sorry.”

“I’ll do it.”

Frank stood, starting to slice the roast into thin pieces. It was obvious this wasn’t his first roast slicing rodeo. The man knew what he was doing. He wasn’t as good as Foggy, admittedly, but Foggy was raised by butchers, so that was sort of a given.

“I’ll say grace,” Matt said.

“You still say grace, altar boy?” Frank scoffed.

“Yes, yes I do. And you could probably benefit from it.”

Frank rolled his eyes, but bowed his head to pray with the rest of them as Matt blessed the food and prayed for the safety of the city. He kept it short and sweet, no doubt trying to avoid complaints from Frank, who Vivien was starting to get the sense was very jaded. She figured that was more than fair.

They ate in silence for the first few minutes, before Matt started trying to lecture. Karen intercepted though, not about to have any arguments break out at her dinner table.

“So, Frank, how have you been lately?”

“Oh, the usual, I guess.” It was a non-committal answer if Vivien had ever heard one. “And you? How is the reporter thing working out for you?”

“Good. I like it a lot, although I...tend to get in trouble.”

Frank chuckled. “Yeah, I figured as much. Your last article seemed like it might ruffle more than a few feathers.”

“You could say that.”

“It was good though. Great, actually.”

“Thank you.” Karen looked down at the tablecloth, smiling to herself.

They returned to silence before, surprisingly, Frank started the conversation.

“So, miss, how did you end up living with Red over here?”

“Well, that’s a somewhat complicated story,” Vivien dodged.

“Try me.” Frank speared a carrot, stuffing it in his mouth.

“Long story short? My family died and Matt found me living on the street through a fortunate series of adventures that involved some unpaid legal representation, which is what most of Matt’s adventures involve. Anyway, he found me, decided that I should probably not be homeless at such a young, vulnerable age, and took me in. And here I am today, thriving.”

Frank look at her appraisingly. “You don’t seem awfully torn up about your family.”

The change in Vivien was immediate. Her eyes darkened, hands balling into fists under the table. This son of a-

Karen placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. Easy there. It’s okay.”

Viven stabbed her fork violently into her pot roast.

“Some of us murder dozens of people, others deflect with humor. Just because I don’t feel the need to shoot anyone in the face doesn’t mean I don’t grieve, Castle.”

There was silence at the dinner table, but not the comfortable kind like before. This was cold and stunned.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t right of me to assume.”

“No. No it wasn’t.” Vivien chewed viciously.

Frank watched her carefully, but Vivien refused to meet his gaze.“You have a lot of anger in you, huh kid?”

“You have a problem with that too?”

“No. Seems pretty natural to me. I guess you take that out on criminals, huh?”

“It seemed more constructive then becoming a cheerleader and being horrible to every teenage girl that might threaten my supreme reign over all things high school related.”

Karen laughed softly, and Frank smiled at the sound.

“Yeah, I guess you’ve got me there. And I’m not in a place to judge how you take out your anger, as you so passionately pointed out.”

“Sorry about that.” Vivien glanced tentatively up at him now, doing her best to look genuinely remorseful.

“It’s okay. You were right.”

“Being right doesn’t mean you should say something.”

He chuckled. “You’ve got me there. So, Red trained you?”

“I trained myself.” She set her elbows on the table with complete disregard to all traditional manners. “And then Matt helped because apparently I was clumsy.”

“You still are.”

“Matt, please.” Vivien gave him a rather pathetic look.

“It’s just the truth.” He held up his hands in surrender.

“You’re mean.”

“You know, I get that a lot for a guy who does as much pro bono as I do.”

“Probably because you’re an a-”

“Ah!” Foggy reached over to his right to cover Vivien’s ears. “No swearing around the baby!”

“I’m not a baby! ...But he’s right, you shouldn’t swear. There are much more creative ways to express yourself,” Vivien said.

Frank looked at her like she had grown another head. “You don’t swear?”

“No. And if you have a problem with that then I hope a flaming squid falls on your face and squirts ink in your eyes.”

“Okay. Point taken.”

The rest of dinner was fun. They ate, they laughed, and nobody further mocked Vivien’s orange juice in a wine glass. Eventually, though, it had to come to an end, as all good things do.

“I should be heading back,” Frank said.

“Yeah, us too.” Foggy nodded, slightly tipsy.

“Did you want to stay the night?” Karen asked her softly.

Vivien may or may not have half-fallen asleep on the kitchen table. She reasoned that it wasn’t her fault that they had talked till 1 in the morning. She nodded sleepily, turning her head to look at Karen with sleep-blurred eyes.

“I’ll come by and get her in the morning,” Matt said, grabbing his cane.

“Okay.” Karen began trying to pick Vivien up in order to move her to the bed in her room.

“I’ve got her.” Frank scooped her up like nothing, carrying her into Karen’s room and setting her down gently on the bed. For a moment, Vivien almost could have confused him for her Dad.

She could hear them speaking in soft voices, trying not to wake her up.

“Thanks Frank.”

“No problem.”

Vivien may have only been half-conscious, but she could feel the way they were staring at each other.

“Red, I need to talk to you,” Frank said, breaking away from Karen.

“Yeah?”

Vivien tried to listen in on their conversation, but they went outside to talk, much to her chagrin. Slowly, what little she could hear of their voices faded away. And then she was fast asleep, gone until the next morning.

#frank castle #the punisher #oc #frank #castle #punisher #kastle #karen #karen page #page #matt murdock #daredevil #matt #murdock #as the raven flies #marvel #netflix #foggy nelson #foggy #nelson #franklin nelson #queue #queued post

[hvckleberried]

yeah, he’s smoking inside. fucking sue him. miles leans back against the countertop and watches these idiots actually work. he takes a long drag. blinks. are you gonna, like, help at all, man? his exhale’s elongated; he watches his own breath fade into the rafters. 

“ oh, does this bother you ? ” he asks, feigning concern. even cocks his head to the side for good measure. he lifts the cigarette in question to confirm their distaste. the other boy nods. miles’s forefinger taps against the cig and flicks ash onto his stupid west ham high shirt. and there it is. the smirk.

 “ my. bad. ”  

or, alternatively : ‘tis i, linc, with *dj khaled voice* anotha one !!  greetings & salutations to huckleberry jeremiah vernon. call him MILES or he actually might kill you. 

[   m   i    l    e    s        v    e    r     n     o     n      ––    OPEN   FLAME .

✔  oc + wc┊❝ ( aria shahghasemi. he/him &. cismale ) eighteen year old huckleberry jeremiah vernon was listening to "paint it, black” by the rolling stones when the field trip buses turned around. rumor has it he spent two years in juvie & is the unbeknownst father of becca’s child, but who knows if that’s true? what we do know is that their friends describe them as alluring & deft, even if they’re known to be a little anarchic & noxious from time to time.

( &&. general information )

full name: huckleberry jeremiah miles vernon

nickname(s) or alias: miles, vernon, fuckleberry finn ( west ham football team, freshman year ), that asshole, the scary one, the kid ( his foster parents )

preferred name: miles. call him anything else and it’s your funeral, fuckface.

current age: eighteen

astrological sign: scorpio

gender: cismale

preferred pronouns: he/him

sexual preference: bisexual

romantic preference: biromantic

home environment: the kiersney household. a manor-like three-story at the edge of west ham’s easternmost woods. it looks like ikea ate pier 1 imports and fucking barfed up its bones the next day. statement walls. matching furniture. modern art on the walls. his foster parents have a motherfucking sculpture in the front foyer. it’s sickening. suburban. tame. tidy.

current occupation: student. delinquent.

language(s) spoken: english. i’ll-wring-your-neck-with-just-my-eyes. spanish, barely.

native language: english.

current relationship status: his knuckles kissing your face.

( &&. background )

reason behind name: huckleberry jeremiah vernon won his name in the lottery of misfortune: at least, that’s what his aunt used to say to the young boy. he doesn’t know a lot about his parents. enough to know they were royal fuck-ups, crackheads with nothing better to do than fuck and get high and have an accidental kid. they thought it’d be a hilarious form of payback: this monster takes nine months of their precious time, so they’d make his life hell. simple. so when his parents died when he was just an infant, his aunt had the opportunity to change his name. shift the tide. but she couldn’t bring herself to go against her dead sister’s wishes, however fucking twisted up she got because of her bad-news boyfriend. she took huckleberry in and insisted on calling him by his birth name until, at three years old, he was sent home from school with a drawing of his aunt with x’s for eyes. “ my auntie if she keeps saying it ”. from that day forward, he was jeremiah. then miles. only miles.

birth order:  first and only for his biological family. the second-youngest of his cousins, when he lived with his aunt. they had a massive falling out after he returned from juvie. she chucked him out like he was rotten meat. the oldest ( or perhaps same age ) as his current foster brother.

ethnicity: what’s it to you. iranian-american

nationality: american.

religion ( tw: death, acts of violence ): fuck that shit. there’s no god. if there were a god, it’d be fucking him. this wasn’t always miles’s view; it started when he was 4, and accidentally killed his aunt’s cat in front of his cousins. they always hit people when they were doing something wrong in cartons! the cat was trying to steal his cheese stick. so... he hit it with a book. his aunt she made him go to bible camp that summer, where he was vilified for his name. “huckleberry’s a dingleberry! hahaha! where’s tom sawyer, huh?” whatever god there was wouldn’t let him have this name. or this life. he wouldn’t have let his parents die: huckleberry would later find the news clipping. “ bronx couple found shot dead in stolen vehicle, ruled double-suicide. ”  religion’s the opiate of the masses. it’s how pansy people sleep at night. young huckleberry wasn’t allowed back at church after he dropped one of those big candles and watched the altar go up in flames. fine by him. he started playing with fire. messing with the wrong people. getting wrapped up in sketchy city boy shit. any shred of faith left in his body was torn away when he and his older buds planned to rob a bank: miles was 12; his cohorts ( ty & presley ) were 18. miles did most of the electronic work: hacking the cloud, derailing the security system. they stormed the fucking bank of america. one of them whipped out a gun. miles... stabbed somebody in the shoulder, to get them off of ty. he watched that security guard die, that day. but not before his bullet ripped through ty’s head. juvie happened. two years. aggravated manslaughter. he got off easy, as a minor. presley’s still behind bars. so, yeah. there’s no motherfuckin’ god out there. and if there is? he can kindly suck miles’s dick.

political views: politics. are. bullshit. go cry to somebody else about your opinions. there’s 7 fuckin’ billion people on this planet and you think your thoughts on zoning laws and gun control matter? cry him a fucking river.

financial status: he’s secure, because of his foster parents. he keeps testing ‘em, to see if they’ll fuckin’ send him back. broken merchandise; we want a refund. but they don’t, so he... just keeps taking. stealing money from their wallets. selling expensive shit from the house to buy good shit. pocket knives. lighters. alcohol. a gun. 

hometown: bronx, new york city, new york. now it’s west ham. fuck that.

level of education: high school junior. because of his time in juvie, he entered school in west ham as a freshman at 15. he’ll turn nineteen before his senior year. not that it matters. he’s already planning his escape. he’s lifted enough money to skip town soon, go back to new york. avenge ty’s death. he’s got the other security guard’s details, from that day. it pays to be skilled with a keyboard. he’s brilliant, when he wants to be. sharp-witted. his idea of a prank last year was sending an anonymous tip in to the school saying the whole place might blow. hacking the database to make it look like it was sent from a real address. he’s still surprised people aren’t more fucking grateful. he secured them a stupid day off. he’s also known to hack into the cloud to get test answers, and sell ‘em to people that don’t completely make him want to punch them.

( &&. physical appearance )

looks like (or face claim, if applicable): aria shahghasemi. he’s got these midnight black curls. piercing gray eyes. 

height: 5′10. but don’t let that get your guard down.

figure/build:  lean and muscular. won’t be caught dead in west ham’s stupid gym, but he’s fit. his foster parents put in a whole boxing studio in their basement just for him. he’s been known to get into fights, throw punches. it was their way to kind of, like... get his anger out. joke’s on them; he’s not giving it up. that shit’s his. 

hair colour: black.

hair length: mid-length. curly, so it looks shorter than it actually is.

eye colour:  gray.

glasses?:  no. just shades.

skin tone: olive. smooth.

tattoos:  he got one in juvie, on the side of his right wrist. a cross. makes him laugh. irony. he’s in the process of self-tattooing fuck between his left forefinger and thumb, but only the jagged f is there right now. it’s a process. he can’t stomach the needle.

piercings: one diamond stud in his left ear. it’s about the side of a pencil eraser. stolen.

birthmarks/scars/distinguishing marks: a few faded cross-hatches near his hairline, from fights that resulted in stitches. a six-inch line across his chest. knife. a few patches of scar tissue from burns on his palms. all juvie.

dominant hand: left-handed. you can tell because that’s the hand he always uses to flick his lighter on and off, on and off. he’s always playing with that damned thing.

if painted, what color are their nails?: who do you think he is, fuckin’ bowie? jesus.

usual style of clothing: black on black on black. did i mention black? black t-shirts, leather jackets, denim jackets, dark jeans, boots. wouldn’t be caught dead in fuckin’ sneakers. failed gym because he wasn’t about to put on dowdy shorts and t-shirts just to run around a glorified prison for 30 minutes every day. oh, there’s a pep rally? we’re supposed to wear centurion colors? fuck you.

frequently worn jewelry:  he wears a thin gold chain around his neck every day. sometimes he’s got rings.

describe their voice, what accent?:  his voice is very punchy, low. cat-like. glimmers of some new york peppered in here and there.

what is their speaking style (fast, monotone, loquacious)?:  clipped. acidic.

describe their scent: amber. tobacco. smoky.

describe their posture:  he stands tall, defiant, aloof. chin always tipped up in the face of oncoming threats. his whole body’s a proverbial middle finger to the world: yeah, i’m here. bite me.

( &&. legal information )

any speeding tickets?:  yep. went 80 in a 25 zone.

have they ever been arrested?:  yes. at this point, the west ham police force is really tired of his shit.

do they have a criminal record?:  absolutely. various misdemeanors. cybercrimes. property damage, breaking & entering. shoplifting. aggravated assault. 

have they committed any violent crimes?:  hAs He CoMiTtEd AnY vIoLeNt cRiMeS ??? ( he’s laughing. )

property crimes?: affirmative.

traffic crimes?: should be the least of your concern.

other crimes?: don’t even get me started. the moral compass on this kid is... nonexistent. the answer to the world’s problems is fuck ‘em. anarchy.

( &&. medical information )

blood type: o negative.

date/time of birth: december 3rd. 3:32am. witching hour. ha.

place of birth: shitty hole-in-the-wall crackhouse. his parents dropped him at his aunt’s before freewheeling.

vaginal birth or cesauren section?: vaginal birth.

sex: male.

smoker? / drinker? / drug user?:  yes / yes / yes. what can he say? he’s an equal-opportunity employer.

allergies: grizz visser. fuckin’ ass. nosy people. pop music.

ever broken a bone?: his nose in second grade: the other kid got it worse. his hand in fifth grade. worth it. couple ribs in juvie. his arm, when he was a baby. his parents wanted to see if gravity was, like. real.

any physical ailments/illnesses/disabilities: nah. not that he’d tell you anyway.

any medication regularly taken: nyquil, sometimes. helps him sleep.

( &&. personality )

direct quote from them:  *blinks at you like you’re speaking swahili* 

positive traits: alluring, deft, crafty with computers. sly.

negative traits: anarchic, acerbic, explosive. heedless. noxious. 

likes: the flick of the flame. beat poetry. darkroom photography. scared glances. messing with the system. sidestepping boundaries. wintergreen lifesavers. blueberry slushies. ac/dc, the stones, lynyrd skynyrd, sting, the offspring, kansas. buttered toast. milk duds. history. cigarettes: he’s always got one tucked behind his ear.

dislikes: fucking football team. working on yearbook ( detention punishment ). catch him taking photos of those morons with his middle finger in frame. his roots. his aunt, for casting him out. his foster family, for giving him so many chances. he doesn’t deserve them. his name. bright sunlight, hurts his eyes. pistachios. remembering. weak alcohol. fraternizing with the idiots of west ham.

strengths: he’ll figure out your nervous ticks within two minutes of talking to you. he can go hours watching someone ramble and not say a thing, and not break his expression. making others feel small. digging his fingers into your dirt. finding back doors, loopholes, and getting through cybersecurity like a hot knife through butter. baking – but tell anybody and he’ll end you. tying cherry stems with his tongue. making sense of ginsberg. remembering stupid historical facts. pope gregory ix executed cats and that allowed rats to spread the bubonic plague in masses. still fuckin’ like your religion, asshole?

weaknesses: vengeful. his definition of justice is very much based in vigilante action; an eye for an eye. he’s got an aloof disposition, but his past wounds are still seething. empathy. expressing emotions other than anger. patience. impulse control. he can’t hide that you’re pissing him the hell off. swears in front of kids, often. probably slept with your aunt two towns over. can’t lose an argument, ever. even with authority figures.

insecurities:  what if he... caused ty’s death? what if that’s on him? is he worth shit? he’ll make himself worth something. he’ll get them back. all of ‘em. he’ll make ‘em pay.

fears/phobias:  hates needles. but fucks with ‘em anyway. fears oblivion, but puts up a front like he’s chill with it. fears he’ll never muster up... a purpose. or whatever the fuck people call it. fears this is all he’ll ever be: an eighteen-year-old fuckup with a record, hands that itch to fight, to crush, to destroy. 

habits:  playing with his lighter. chewing on toothpicks. popping milk duds like pills. glaring at everyone, no one, nothing. everything. laughing in the face of authority. making unprecedented digs at people, just because he can. propping his feet up on the desk in front of him when his teachers ask him to answer questions, twirling a pencil in his hands like he’s god. grabbing a slushie from 7/11 just to have something to do with his hands. messing with the popular kids’ social medias, just for fun. hacking the online lunch menu to see his classmates get fuckin’ pissed when mozzarella sticks are served on friday, not today, sorry. driving to neighboring towns’ parties and hooking up with chicks there. masquerading as a man with a reason. hitting up college parties often. lingering in shadow. living in gray areas. writing his own notes in the front of library books, on the title page, in sharpie. “ fuck you ten thousand ”  on the school’s copy of pride & prejudice. “ kindly die, thanks ” in gone with the wind. “ congrats, you’re literate ” in the front of catcher in the rye.

quirks: always sits in the back left corner of the room, near the window. he literally jumped out, sophomore year, when the school security officer tried to bust him for selling pills to a freshman in the hall earlier that day. popping his earbuds in during lectures. maintaining unbroken eye contact with teachers as he does so. getting ~very close~ and speaking ~very low~. purring threats. can never drink lightly. skipping school often, fabricating online attendance to avoid suspension. barely eating the food his foster parents prepare. leaving the table early, unexcused. digging into the leftovers after everyone’s gone to bed. severing ties. if he’s lucky, never makin’ ‘em in the first place. his new yorkisms come out when he’s drunk, or high, or tired.

hobbies: darkroom photography. reading poetry. burning shit. smoking. walking around the mini mart like he’s a hunter in the wild, just to make the clerks uncomfortable.   

guilty pleasure:  he listens to “lore” and “my favorite murder”. but he disguises that shit, saving the album covers of the podcasts as seether.

desires: to avenge ty’s death. get the fuck outta west ham. to find a reason to be here. a reason why.

wishes: his parents didn’t kill themselves. cowards. they deserved to deal with him. they deserved to be tortured, for doing this to him. he wishes he hadn’t pulled that knife on his aunt. then at least he’d still be in new york city, instead of here, with this stupid fuckin’ foster family that just won’t let him go.

secrets: killed a guy. the reason for his juvie sentence is redacted on his public record. he’s lonely, a lot of the time. and, oh yeah: he’s becca’s baby daddy.

turn ons:  no bullshit. sarcasm. intellect. no strings.

turn offs:  sentimentality. smileyness. too much perfume. caring.

lucky number: 1. he’s all he’s got.

pet peeves:  chewing gum: fucking pellegrino and his damned bubbles. bubbly people. cassandra pressman and the tree-sized stick up her ass. foot tapping. prying. school involvement. slow drivers. slow walkers. slow thinkers.

their motto:  “ fuck you very much. ”

( &&. favourites )

food: falafel. shut up.

drink: he brought vodka to school in a water bottle once. diet coke.

fast food restaurant:  wendy’s. he likes the chocolate frosties.

flavour: chocolate. 

word: fuck. for a vast array of reasons.

colour:  black.

clothing: his most worn leather jacket. touch it and he’ll end you.

accessory: the gold chain ‘round his neck. it was ty’s.

candle scent: smoke. tobacco. whatever that shit is, patchouli.

game: fuck games. fuck fugitive. leave him alone.

animal:  he has such a soft spot for caterpillars.

holiday: christmas. he likes baking shit. but if that ever gets out, he’ll flip.

weather: pouring rain, with patches of sun in between. it’s rare, but damn. it’s kind of beautiful.

season: summer. fast drives, windows down. no school. no bullshit.

book: on the road, jack kerouac.

artist: aerosmith.

band/group: ac/dc, kiss, guns ‘n roses, van halen, def leppard.

song: we’re not gonna take it, twisted sister.

movie/film:  star wars. fuck off, it’s good.

tv show:  history docs. he likes those decade pieces on the history channel.

sport: boxing.

possession:  his lighter.

number: 1.

person:  that’s the dumbest question he’s ever heard. himself. he’s lying.

( &&. skills )

talents: hacking. lying. breaking rules. testing limits. photography. playing people.

ability to drive a car?:  yes. recklessly.

can they ride a bike?:  yes, chooses not to.

do they play any sports?:  tonsil hockey. heartbreaking. boxing.

anything they’re bad at?:  empathizing. serenity.

do they have any combat training? why?:  yep. his friends in grade school. juvie.

( &&. firsts )

childhood memory: crushing a handful of cheerios in his tiny hands and feeling... powerful.

crush: ava watson. she said she liked his eyes.

email address: [email protected]

job: reception at a local gym in west ham. lasted a day; he punched a guy.

phone: flip-phone. now he’s got an iphone.

kiss: hanna parler. 6th grade. said she’d miss him before he left for juvie.

love:  HA. nice try, dick.

sexual experience: josie thwaites. 6th grade. they didn’t know what the fuck they were doing.

( &&. childhood )

best childhood memory?:  try again.

worst childhood memory?:  seeing ty’s eyes go dim.

what were they like as a child?:  angry. electric. not easily tamed.

any crushes growing up?:  some. he doesn’t do that now. crushing.

( &&. this or that )

expensive or inexpensive tastes?:  expensive.

hygienic or unhygienic?: hygienic.

open-minded or close-minded?: close-minded. his way or bust.

introvert or extrovert?: introvert. buzz off.

optimistic or pessimistic?: pessimistic. optimism’s dead.

daredevil or cautious?:  daredevil. caution’s an early grave.

logical or emotional?:  emotional.

generous or stingy?:  stingy.

polite or rude?:  rude. so rude.

book smart or street smart?:  both.

popular or loner?:  loner. notorious, though. everyone knows who he is. wonders what his deal is. he’s got this... dark magnetism. if you’re smart, you’ll stay away.

leader or follower?:  leader. follows his own path. likes disrupting order.

day or night person?:  night.

cat or dog person?:  cat. despite what his childhood mistakes might lead you to believe.

closet door open or closed while sleeping?:  open. come get him.

( &&. social media )

do they have a facebook? twitter? instagram? vine? snapchat? tinder/grindr? tumblr? youtube? yes to facebook and instagram. no twitter, no vine. has a snapchat, rarely uses it. yes to tinder.

if so; name on facebook: miles vernon.

instagram user: milesvernon.

snapchat user: milesvernon.

( &&. musical tastes )

theme song: paint it, black –– the rolling stones. 

makes them sad:  anything by the beatles. makes him think of his aunt’s apartment. and then he gets angry.

makes them dance:   nope. he wouldn’t be caught dead dancing in front of the likes of you. when he’s drunk, anything with a decent beat will make him sway his hips a little.

( &&. miscellaneous )

do they have a fake i.d.?:  hell yeah. a couple.

are they a virgin?:  ha. no.

describe their signature:  chaos. barely legible.

how long would they survive in a zombie apocalypse?:  he’d bite a zombie’s fuckin’ head off, if that answers your question.

do they travel?: nah.

one place they would like to live:  anywhere but here.

one place they would like to visit:  anywhere but here.

celebrity crush:  camila mendes. tell anybody and he’ll hunt you down.

what can you find in their pockets/wallet/purse: cigs. lighter. some form of tic tac. 

place(s) your character can always be found:  in the shadows. on rooftops. places he shouldn’t be.

when does your character like to wake up?:  7:03am. he doesn’t like rounded numbers.

how does your character spend their free days?:  reading. burning some stuff. driving out to other towns to do reckless shit.

what’s your character’s bedtime routine?:  read some poems. have a cigarette. knock out.

what does your character wear to bed?:  boxers, no shirt.

if your character can’t fall asleep, what are they thinking about?:  ty’s brains. that knife. juvie. getting back. making them pay.

what is their idea of perfect happiness?:  revenge.

on what occasions do they lie?:  on what occasions don’t they lie ?

most marked characteristic: his ghost-gray eyes. his smirk. his hair.

what is one thing they’d most like to change about themselves?:  only one?

how would they like to die?:  in a blaze of fucking glory.

do they snore? no.

can they curl their tongue?: yes.

can they whistle?:  yep. he likes doing that yoo-hoo kind of whistle. makes people uncomfortable.

do they believe in the supernatural?:  nope. bullshit.

has anyone ever broken their heart?:  no.

have they ever broken anyone’s heart?:  yes. on purpose.

are they squeamish?:  not at all.  

have they ever seen anyone die? what happened?:  see above: ty. that security guard. he’s sure they won’t be the last.

are they a lightweight?:  not at all.

#newhamhq: intro