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#I’ve been wanting to use the fight for air event as backdrop to something for while
homerforsure · 2 years
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Whumptober No.14
Crush injuries / beaten / force
They were only supposed to do one run. The Fight for Air Climb was a charity event for the American Lung Association, a mile(ish) run up and down one of the tallest buildings in LA. Buck had heard about it from a friend of his, a transplant recipient named Kyle who went to his gym and ran harder and faster than anyone Buck had ever seen. The event was a series of three races and Buck had bullied the rest of the 118 into signing up for the first responders’ climb, a race in full gear up to the top of the skyscraper and back down again. They’d trained for it for months, took donations from other shifts, even had special LAFD shirts made up with a pair of lungs drawn in flame on the back.
Buck and Albert were the only two dumb enough to shed their gear and turn around and go back up for the civilian’s run. Eddie had laughed at him when Buck tried to needle him into going.
“I’ll have the icy hot ready for you when you come back down,” he said, placating Buck with a quick kiss. “If you don’t collapse halfway.”
The warning shout had come when they were nearly three quarters of the way to the top and spread through the crowd as quickly and easily as fire through dry tinder. Buck tried to urge calm, tried to get the runners around him to move slowly, be careful, but he couldn’t reason with panic. All around him a steady marathon pace quickened into a frantic run, people who had previously been traveling up turned and traveled down, crashing into other runners who had no idea what was going on and it was only a matter of time before someone fell.
“I don’t smell smoke, do you?” Albert asked as the two of them jogged with the flow of the crowd, trying to keep pressed against the wall and out of the way of the dozens of people pushing past them.
“No,” Buck answered. “Who yelled?”
No one who ran by seemed to know who had been the first to yell “fire,” but they’d all heard it and they were all responding.
Bodies came thundering down the stairs, racing and shoving, alarm more palpable in the air than the imaginary smoke they were all running from. There were race aides stationed on various floors, people with vests and water and clipboards who maybe could have calmed the crowd, but they were at least five floors from the closest one.
“LAFD!” Buck tried to yell. “Everyone stay calm. We’ll get out faster if we all go slow and steady.”
The words didn’t make any difference and he didn’t dare put an arm out to grab anyone and risk a fall. More runners came down from behind them, pushing them forward into the backs of those ahead. Buck hadn’t even realized they were behind that many others when they were running. Obviously the first run had taken more out of him and Albert than they thought.
Rounding another landing, Buck crashed into the door, leaning hard on the bar to open it and hopefully give the runners behind them another path out. There’d be another set of stairs on the other side of the building.
The door was locked.
Buck threw himself against it just to make sure and shouted as he bounced off of it and Albert had to steady him.
“Come on,” he said, “We’ll try the next one.”
But the story was the same on the next landing as well. The door didn’t budge and the crowd of runners was morphing into a sweating, terrified mass of humanity that was barely budging either. As he looked down, Buck was starting to see the crowd mesh together in a tangled knot, the descending runners collided with the ones still climbing and panicked cries were rising like smoke.
“Go up,” Buck urged. “We’ve got to keep people from coming down here. We have to thin this crowd or-”
A high pitched shriek echoed in the stairwell and the group stumbled forward a half step and then stopped and Buck knew with a sinking terrible feeling what had just happened.
“Stephanie!” someone shrieked. “Get off of her. Get off! Get off! Steph!”
Without thinking, Buck hauled himself up onto the railing. His running shoes gripped the metal bar, one hand coming down to steady himself as he tried to see where the screaming was coming from. Around the next corner, he saw her, a dark-haired girl struggling to keep her own balance as she reached down to someone that Buck couldn’t see. She was braced hard against the throng behind her, but she couldn’t stay on her feet and keep reaching at the same time. Whoever was underneath was being crushed, would die if no one did anything.
It was a narrow stairwell and Buck could easily drop from his position down to the next railing so he did, ignoring the faint tug Albert gave his t-shirt. Once on the next level, Buck scooted further down the stairs, his heart slamming against his ribs with every jostle he got from the crowd.
Above him, Albert had started yelling, “Hey! Hey! LAFD. Stop shoving! There’s a girl trapped down there! Hey!”
Buck yelled too, trying to get the attention of the people he passed, trying to get them to stop, but as he caught the eyes of one terrified teenager, he realized they couldn’t anymore. The crowd was a living thing, moving of its own volition, headed inexorably forward toward disaster. He heard the sound of more people slamming into the doors on the landings, banging on them, screaming, finding each and every one locked. They shouldn’t be locked. One was an accident. But every floor…
Finally he reached the shouting girl. She had a white knuckle grip on the railing and she was still stretching her other arm forward, trying to reach her friend. Buck could see a flash of a yellow t-shirt on the ground, a wave of black hair. The girl was conscious, fighting, but she was trapped upside down on the stairs and she couldn’t get free. He had a half second to decide what to do, how to help.
“Hey,” he said to the one who was standing. “My name’s Buck; I’m with the LAFD. What’s your name?”
“Cherie,” she answered, her voice shaking with strain. “Please help her. Stephanie-”
“Cherie, I’m going to climb down in front of you and I’m gonna get Stephanie off the ground. Can you hold on or are you going to fall?”
It was an impossible ask on a staircase with a thousand pounds of force pushing on her from above and gravity pulling on her from below. But rising above the fear in her eyes there was a steely determination. “I can hold on,” she said. “Please help her.”
“Alright,” Buck said. “I’m coming down.”
He stepped over where her hand clutched the rail and lowered himself down. Cherie teetered and stumbled forward as the crowd pressed behind her, around her, but she held her ground. Taking a deep breath as if diving into a wave, Buck squatted low, letting go of the railing, risking his balance, risking his life, because he was only going to get one shot at this and he needed both hands.
Buck was straddling Stephanie’s legs, bent and bloody, and he couldn’t see if anyone was standing on her other limbs, but he had no way to move them if they were. Praying to god she didn’t have a spinal injury, he did the only thing he could do: He grabbed Stephanie tight around the waist and lifted. She fought to help him, her feet running forward, trying to find an edge on the stairs to push up on as Buck used every inch of the muscle he’d spent years building to rise, lifting them both and holding his balance.
“Oh my god,” Cherie said from behind him. “Is she-?”
And Stephanie groaned in his arms before saying, “I’m okay.”
It was all she managed to get out before Cherie crashed into Buck’s back, finally wrenched loose from her position on the stairs and all three of them slipped quickly down two steps. Buck didn’t even think Stephanie’s feet were touching the ground. She was wedged between his chest and the back of the man in front of her. He couldn’t see what her injuries were but his arms were covered in blood.
“Buck!” Albert yelled from up the stairs.
Buck wanted to yell back, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lift his arm to say that he was okay. The wave lifted and shoved him forward until it broke on the landing and everyone stumbled in the spare few inches that they had available to move. Other people were climbing on the railings now, desperate souls following Buck’s example without Buck’s athleticism. Time seemed to stretch out, every moment swollen with desperation and lingering on and on, but it really couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before someone else fell. Then another.
The screams all blended together in a loud hum. Buck reached again for the railing, but he was well and truly part of the ocean now and he couldn’t stop long enough to get the leverage he needed to hoist himself up. He lost track of Stephanie as they turned a corner and he was jostled, thrown across the landing and nearly hitting the opposite wall, but Buck didn’t really start to get afraid until his feet lifted to descend the next stair and didn’t come down again.
He wouldn’t panic; he couldn’t. The only real difference between first responders and everybody else was that sense of purpose. Buck had a mission. Get everyone out. Get himself out. That focus let him run in when every survival instinct in his body should have been screaming at him to run out. He clawed for that purpose now but he couldn’t seem to reach it. His body was lifted in the air and his chest was crushed together with other desperate chests and Buck started struggling hard to get out get out get out get loose.
Every breath he took seemed shallower than the last as he was squeezed tighter and tighter. Buck didn’t think the crowd was moving anymore. Maybe they’d hit one final locked door at the bottom and there was nowhere else to go. Buck imagined himself being squelched like a watermelon in a hydraulic press. He imagined himself being scraped off the stairs by the teams of paramedics who were waiting just a few flights down, who had no idea any of this was happening. He thought of Eddie.
Oh god, Eddie. Eddie who had just started relaxing into the permanence of Buck’s love for him. Eddie who would force his way into the stairwell the second he heard something had happened. Eddie who would find him. Eddie who would be crushed just as thoroughly as Buck was about to be. The thought of it hurt, it hurt so much but also what else was Buck supposed to think about in the last moments of his life? Nothing but Eddie.
Drawing a breath into the last of the room in his lungs, Buck summoned all of the strength he had to fight, just to try and carve out a little bit of room for himself and as he shoved, he felt something give way in the horde around him.
There was just enough time for Buck to remember that he was still suspended before he wasn’t anymore. He crashed hard to the ground, his knees hitting first and then his outstretched hands before his chest slammed into one of the cement stairs, knocking all of the hard-won air from his lungs. Buck shouted as he scrambled, grasping at the stairs, trying to push himself up and then he felt the thud of a kick to his ribs. It wasn’t intentional--nothing anyone was doing was intentional anymore--but it bruised all the same. There was another thud and another as someone passed over him, stepping hard on his hip as they did and before he could cry out, another shoe crushed his fingers.
Buck was nudged, steamrolled, rammed, squeezed, tumbled down the stairs. He was like a stone at the bottom of the ocean, destined to be sanded down, rocked back and forth for eternity until he was filed down into nothing. And he had just enough time for the horror of that to overwhelm every one of his senses before another flailing foot connected with his jaw and everything went black.
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atlabeth · 3 years
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warmth - zuko x fem!reader
summary: the two times he notices her shivering and the one time he does something about it. 
a/n: lmaoo we have been in a DROUGHT my people. i have barely given you any content this whole month and i feel bad. i wrote this out over the course of a few hours after getting the idea in the shower. i did not proofread. i am not sorry. enjoy.
and NO that end part is not dirty it is simply two kids sharing a bed for warmth bc they got cute lil crushes on each other 🔫🔫🔫🔫
wc: 1.6k 
warning(s): this is pure fluff bbbbbb 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three times. 
It happened three times before Zuko was finally able to get over himself and have a real, face to face, one on one conversation with the one person he hadn’t been able to get out of his head. 
Y/N. It was a name that had made a home in his mind, belonging to a girl that had made a home in his heart. He knew that she was a waterbender from the Northern Tribe and that she had joined the team after the Siege of the North, but apart from that, her life was a mystery to him. She was a mystery to him. 
It was pathetic. How could he become so enraptured with a girl when he didn’t even know the first thing about her? When he had spent the past couple of months fighting against her, trying everything in his power to hurt her? When she had no idea he even thought about her that way? 
Sometimes Zuko questioned himself, but then he caught a glimpse of her — the gleam of her hair, the way her eyes crinkled at the edges when she laughed, the fierceness with which she fought rivalled only by the way she cared for her injured friends afterwards — and he laughed inwardly. 
There was no way he couldn’t feel that way about her. She was simply enchanting. 
But there was only one thing he questioned more than his affections — why in the name of Agni could he not just walk up and start a conversation with her? There was no one else in the world that made him as nervous, as flushed, as completely incapable of basic speech as Y/N, and it drove him insane. 
It drove him insane that it took three times. 
~~~
The first time he noticed her shivering, it wasn’t on purpose. 
Zuko was serving tea to everyone as they gathered around the campfire, chuckling as Aang recounted one of their earlier adventures, back when he was still trying to capture the Avatar. Thinking about his past, who he used to be, was painful, but it gave him all the more reason to be thankful for where he was now. 
He wasn’t as focused on Aang’s story as he was on Y/N, though. She could hardly keep her thoughts to herself, interrupting every couple of seconds to add a detail that Aang forgot or give her own input on the events that he was describing. He started to frown as he noticed her shivering despite sitting right next to the fire — Zuko didn’t even realize how distracted he was until he felt someone hitting his arm. 
“Hey!” He was snapped out of his reverie by the harshness of Katara’s voice, angrily gesturing at the broken teacup and now spilled tea all over Haru. 
“Oh— I am so sorry,” he stammered as he crouched down and started to pick up the pieces on the ground. “Are you okay?” 
“It’s just.. really hot tea,” Haru muttered with a small wince. “No big deal.” 
“You’re right. It’s not a big deal.” Y/N raised her hand and with a small, fluid movement, she bent the liquid out of the fabric and formed it into a tiny sphere in the air. “See? Good as new. And you’re not even burnt.” 
Haru chuckled and pulled at his tunic, giving Y/N a grateful nod. 
“Can a sky bison drink tea?” She mused as she moved the liquid orb around in the air. 
“I don’t think so,” Aang said with a small laugh. 
“Shame we have to waste it.” Y/N bent it away from the group and let it fall to the ground, sinking into the rock below them. “Zuko can always make more though, right?” She said with a hopeful smile. 
“Uh, yeah. Of course.” 
“See, guys? No harm, no foul. You’re the best, Zuko.” She gave him an overexaggerated wink then began to pester Aang to get back to the story, leaving Zuko to continue handing out tea and keep his shaking hands as steady as possible. 
She really had no idea the effect she had on him. 
~~~ 
The second time? It was definitely on purpose. 
The night was unusually cold, even with the bonfire blazing in the middle, and he found his eyes trained once more on Y/N. This time she was the storyteller, giving them all a taste of Northern Water Tribe culture as she recounted a bedtime story she was told as a child. She had a whole arsenal of character voices at her disposal, keeping everyone thoroughly entertained despite the numerous lines she forgot. Zuko didn’t even realize he was staring until Sokka elbowed him in the elbow, gesturing at her with a nod of his head and a cocky grin. 
“What are you doing, just gawking at her like that?” 
“Wh— gawking? I am not gawking. I’m— I’m just listening to her.” 
“Yeah, sure. But I’m pretty sure Appa could start talking right now and you wouldn’t notice because you are hopelessly into her.” He gestured at Zuko’s eyes with his hand then in Y/N’s direction. “Gawking.” 
“I— I am not!” He protested, tearing his eyes away from Y/N’s animated face to give Sokka one of his signature glares. He lowered his voice to a whisper to ensure that no one would hear them. “I’m not into her, I’m not gawking, I am appreciating her storytelling.” 
“Uh huh, yeah.” Sokka looked at her and grinned before glancing back at Zuko. “If you’re not into her, then I can ask her out, right?” 
Zuko didn’t respond, simply kept glaring at him in hopes that it would intimidate him into backing down so he wouldn’t have to say anything and risk embarrassing himself. 
Sokka chuckled and held up his hands. “Alright, geez, I’m just joking. But maybe use some of that fire to keep it going? Looks like she’s cold.” 
Almost immediately, he broke eye contact and fueled the fire with a simple blast. Y/N shot him a grateful smile and nodded as she continued her story, and Zuko noticed her hands falling back down into her lap from their former place on her arms. 
No amount of fire could’ve caused as much warmth as her smile. He was sure of that. 
~~~
There was no way he could miss it the third time. After all, she was the only one there. 
Zuko hadn’t been able to sleep so he ended up outside, and there she was — sitting there, all alone in the middle of the temple grounds, shivering quietly with a moonless night sky as her backdrop. Before he could second guess himself, Zuko started walking over. 
“Hey.” Y/N greeted him without even looking up as she pulled her arms around herself, bringing her legs up to her chest in an effort to conserve all the warmth she could. 
“Hey.” Zuko took a seat on the ground next to her and crossed his legs. “Are you cold?” 
She let out an airy chuckle and nodded. “Strange, isn’t it? I grow up surrounded by snow and ice and I’m perfectly fine, but after a few months away a couple of breezes are tearing me down. I don’t get it.” 
“You’ve been shivering a lot lately,” he said after a beat of silence. Y/N raised an eyebrow and gave him a wry smile. 
“What, have you been looking?”
That sent him stammering. “I-I— yes? I mean— no, I’ve noticed, but I’m not actively looking at you, that’s weird, I’m not— I mean—”
Y/N threw her head back and laughed, the same laugh that sent flutter bats through his stomach and made his heart burst with happiness. She set her hand on his and squeezed, giving him a gentle look that almost immediately ceased his rambling. “Zuko, it’s alright. It’s… nice that you’ve noticed. Like you’re looking out for me or something.” 
He opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find his voice — he was sure his cheeks were as red as his tunic, just at the simple touch of her hand — and it only got worse as she placed her other hand on top of it. 
“You’re warm,” Y/N muttered. “Like… intensely warm.”
“Is that bad?” He wondered aloud, preemptively panicking. “Do you want me to turn it off? I can’t turn it off, but I could find a way somehow—” 
“Thank you,” she interrupted with another small laugh, “but no. I don’t need you to uh, turn off your firebending. That already happened once. But you’re adorable to think of me like that.” 
The two of them stared into each other’s eyes, the air between them heavy with something she couldn’t quite place. Y/N pursed her lips and bit back a growing smile as she glanced at the ground. 
“This is, uh… really helping. With the cold, I mean. And I was… I guess I was just…” Another laugh. “I was just wondering if you’d maybe want to spend the night with me? Just because my room is especially freezing, and you’re so warm, and I think I would sleep a lot better if I—”
Now it was his turn to interrupt her rambling. There was something about her getting so flustered about him in the same way he did around her that made this easier. “I’d love to.”
“Great,” she breathed, the same smile from before returning just a little bit brighter. Y/N stood up and they began their walk back into the temple, hands still intertwined, warmth emanating between the two of them. 
Three times. 
Two strikes. 
One success. 
And that was all he needed.  
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whitherliliesbloom · 3 years
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reflections in crystal
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[ ffxivwrite2020 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #30 - splinter ]
[ wol and her found family ]  ★ [ 1,654 words ]  ★ [ post-5.3 ]
all of the shb scions except urianger (sorry urianger i just can’t deal with the way you speak aaaaaa). mentions of ryne, krile and tataru too. 
we may forget ourselves, but we’re ever riding home. and for now and evermore, we will never lose hope.
“I do hope you have a good explanation for dragging all of us out here.” With crossed arms, Y’shtola frowns at the miqo’te as he beckons towards his fellow scions and ushers them out the stairwell and onto the balcony, tail flicking in anticipation.
“It will be worth your while, I promise!” He lets out a boyish grin, the very picture of innocent glee that Y’shtola saw fit not to argue against and merely shrugs. G’raha closes the door behind the party, before moving to the stone railing and gesturing to his lalafellin companion.
“Here, here! A front row seat for our hero of the hour!”
The champion and hero in question flushes, a hue of pink rising up to dust her cheeks and the tips of her ears as she hides her bespangled violet eyes beneath the shadow of pure white bangs. 
“P-please! N-None of that! This isn’t about me right now!” 
But her piss poor attempt to hide her emotions are fruitless - in front of the ones she has spent what feels to be her entire eventful life with, and the lalafellin’s embarrassed state has evidently given the others some amount of amusement, from Alphinaud’s stifled laughter to Alisaie’s smirk - though the latter was quickly wiped away as the feistier of the twins turns her attention to the vista before them. 
“Well whatever it is he dragged us here for, I don’t really mind.” Alisaie’s amiable mood seems to catch the man in question off guard, who widens his eyes at the awestruck expression upon her face. “At least the view’s pretty.”
Pretty would be a sore understatement, really... and there wasn’t a single scion who would think to disagree.
Together, their eyes raised heavensward, where a tower of crystal stood amongst the stars and the full moon in all its radiant glory. 
For a moment there was silence as the scions lined themselves up to look upon that beacon of light - and from within the intense lapis glow of the crystal’s shine they saw glimmers of the past; a past that felt both so distant away, yet vivid in their minds all the same. 
It almost felt like a dream - their adventures in the First, and though they had all just barely recovered from their taxing soul transfer, the scions felt a burst of renewed energy as they reflected upon those memories while their eyes are so nearly blinded by the everlasting light of the crystal tower.
Illya sits herself upon the railing, and from her sling bag she fishes out a jar of oddly familiar cookies, holding them out to Thancred with a smile upon her face. 
“Coffee biscuits baked by Ryne! She said it may taste a little different from the one you’re used to, though. She wanted us to enjoy some while we gathered tonight.” With a raised eyebrow, the man in white takes the jar, eyeing the unevenly browned biscuits through the glass with suspicion, though it wasn’t exactly the biscuits questionable appearance that caused him reservation. 
“Gathered tonight you say? Is this some kind of special occasion?” Thancred asks, and frowns when the lalafell merely shrugs her shoulders, eyes glistening with a well-rehearsed faked expression of ignorance. “So I take that you know what G’raha’s up to.”
She peers up to glance at the miqo’te man beside her who stares down at her in return, and after a moment of contemplative silence, their lips turn upwards into a cheeky grin that causes Thancred’s eyes to almost roll out of his own skull.
“Aha- speaking of what I’m up to.” Vivid red eyes light up at the sight of a distant gleam, and with a raised finger he confidently points up to the shimmering sky. “I believe it’s just begun!”
Upon the darkened night sky, they begin to witness a spectacular shower of lights, falling from the heavens before splaying apart. Like the descent of cosmos, they paint streaks of gold glitters across the backdrop of the cloudless darkness, forming an array of fleeting constellations.  Luminous sheets of blue and purple auroras rise, and their combined radiance fills the hearts of the scions with a veneration and awe that they could not find words to describe. And amidst the astral plane, the crystal tower is right at home, its light shining ever brighter as if taking in the prayers of the hopes and dreams that had been wished upon the falling stars. 
Reflected in their eyes, they momentarily saw fire and ash, and they could almost hear whispers of the past and voices muffled by water. 
It was a star shower not unlike the one they’d witnessed in the First, one that was understandably a sore point of memory for most of the scions present.
“You took us all here.. to see a star shower? After everything that happened?” Thancred asks, tilting his head inquistively, though his eyes never once leaves the spectacle in the sky. 
“I thought it fitting.” With a serene smile, one of an ease that he has not known for the past hundred years, G’raha murmurs, and he takes in a deep breath to calm his hummingbird heart. “So that we’ll remember what we once were.” 
Termination was no pretty sight, and it filled him with no more trepidation than any of the other scions. The sight before them was one of a memory of pain, a reflection of world’s end, and what could have been crippling failure.
But the illusion of no tomorrow was broken, as did the shackles that had kept him prisoner of his own duty. And his heart soars a hundredfold as he closes his eyes for but a moment, and recalls the way he and the Warrior of Darkness fought and cried out against fate with one voice until the very end - until the arrival of another clear blue sky.
And from within crystal, he can finally look back on his reflection with a fondness in his heart, and watch the shower of stars as a symbol of future’s arrival - a future that will ever keep coming so long as they held on to hope. 
“Emet-Selch had once said that we were incomplete - that our souls, sundered and broken as they are, hold no worth in the world.” Alphinaud reflects, leaning forward and resting his arms against the railing with a smile. He lifts a gloved hand, drawing invisible lines across the sky as if connecting the fading trails left behind by the stars. 
“But he forgot that our worth laid not in the weight of our souls, but of the legacy we leave behind. Our souls may splinter and fray.. but they will never truly disappear as long as we fight to live. And through that, the light of a thousand fractured stars is still enough to birth a sun.” 
Like scattered moon dust, the stars continued to hang in the air proudly, and they will ever continue to do so like jewels of the night sky until morning light comes to greet a new day. Their reflection slowly fades into the dark as the falling stars slow and vanish - but as the light of their souls persists, so too will their memories live on, waiting to be relived another day in their dreams.
And upon a mountain of pained memories, there laid a hope for a brighter tomorrow that has not yet died. If even the end of days was not enough to extinguish their light, then what could?
“Ugh.. there he goes again being all pretentious and poetic.” Alisaie groans, folding her arms across her chest as her brother shrugs. “Besides.. isn’t that not fitting at all.. given the Warrior of Darkness and everything..”
“T’was just a metaphor, dear sister. Though I suppose I should be more careful with my vocabulary seeing how some people are too slow to understand.”
The young man’s collar was promptly grabbed, and Alphinaud nearly suffocates helplessly against Alisaie’s death grip as she shakes him violently. Illya lets out a melodic laugh, one that echoes in the air to accompany the soft whispers of the wind. When Alphinaud’s face has been sufficiently paled, Alisaie finally releases him to cough, puffing her chest out with a huff.
“So are we done here? I got places to be, thieves to chase, you know.” 
“I concur, Krile and Tataru have need for my assistance with something and I think I’ve kept them waiting long enough.” Y’shtola, despite the sternness in her tone of voice, flashes an uncharacteristically gentle smile. 
“Well, if everyone’s dispersing I guess I will too.” With a stretch and a grunt, Thancred raises the jar of coffee biscuits up. “I’ll leave these in the Rising Stones for anyone who wants some.” 
If G’raha had been attempting to hide his disappointment, he truly did a poor job at it, as his ears flatten against the top of his head and his lips forms into a pout for but a moment. 
“I had hoped that we’d get to linger a little while longer but-”
The Warrior of Light swivels around, and grabs onto Alphinaud’s hand before hopping off the railing, and from beneath the bangs of her hair that shone with an ever transcending radiance, he catches glimpses in the vibrant lavender hues of her eyes a promise - a promise of an adventure, a future, and a wish he’d kept locked in his heart for so long until recently. 
“Don’t worry. We may scatter now.. but..” Illya’s smile is one of a tranquil, reassuring gentleness, as her long hair sways gently like waves among the starry night breeze. G’raha shivers as the wind howls and blows away any ponze of lingering doubts away for good, and he finds himself mirroring the renewed expression of joy she wore upon her face. 
“We’ll all come home again, no matter how long it takes.”
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hjnsa · 3 years
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An Interview With David Herlihy, Author of "Bicycle - The History"
David Herlihy's book, Bicycle: The History, was the sole book on bikes which came to the most unmistakable presentation remain at my neighborhood Barnes and Noble. Distributed in 2004, it has been a staggering achievement, carrying the historical backdrop of bikes to a huge number of individuals in a few unique dialects. The book is rich and brilliant, both in its photographs and its words.
I met David while I was in school during the 1980s. He was making a bit of additional money by purchasing delightful, marginally utilized street bicycles in Italy (DeRosas, Cinellis, Tommasinis and so forth) and afterward offering them at surprisingly reasonable costs to cyclists in the USA. This permitted him to enjoy his adoration for movement, play with great bikes, and welcome delight to individuals on the two sides of the Atlantic. On second thought, his books on cycling do essentially exactly the same things...
Q: Bicycle: The History was an enormous achievement. How has this achievement transformed you?
A: Thanks, Forbes. "Tremendous" is a family member (and exceptionally complimenting) term. Yet, in the event that I might gloat a little, since it turned out in fall 2004, Bicycle has sold more than 20,000 duplicates, for the most part hard covers. That is a beautiful thrilled figure for a book of this nature, distributed by a scholastic press. I'm certain it's much more than even Yale had expected. From what I hear, it's currently one of their untouched blockbusters (there are even releases out in Russian and Korean).
This is exceptionally satisfying, just like all the consideration it got in the press, remembering surveys for lofty distributions like The Economist and The New York Times Review of Books (I need to credit my splendid marketing specialist, Brenda King, for designing quite a bit of that). Most were very great and simple to process (a couple were less fulfilling, however I figured out how to get over them before long).
What's more, indeed, I savored my brief encounter with popularity. It was incredible fun visiting and advancing my book, regardless of whether I needed to cover my own costs generally. I delighted in giving slide talks and marking books, and meeting cycling aficionados, all things considered. One of my most significant minutes was at a bicycle show in Edison, New Jersey, where I had a table. After one person affirmed that I was indeed the creator, he sort of lost it. He had his image taken with me utilizing his phone. I felt like a hero.
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Returning to reality a bit, I can't say that the book has fundamentally transformed me or way of life, essentially not yet. Be that as it may, it has been an extremely sure encounter and I think it has opened up new imaginative potential outcomes.
First off, it was an extraordinary alleviation and fulfillment to at long last transform 10 years in addition to of examination into something substantial that could give me some acknowledgment and really produce a little income to keep body and soul together (also assisting with paying for all that exploration, which incorporated various outings to Europe. Not that I'm requesting compassion, mind you!) And I should say, with all due respect, that a lot of my best material surfaced around the finish of my request. Had I distributed the book even a couple of years sooner, it basically would not have been as vivid or as rich.
In addition to the fact that i was ready to share many intriguing disclosures, I likewise had the opportunity to air some profoundly held feelings. I think there are a great deal of misinterpretations out there about bike history, particularly as to the innovation and early turn of events. The kick-impelled Draisine of 1817, specifically, was not a bike as such and, as it ended up, it didn't lead straightforwardly to the first bikes of the 1860s (however it was seemingly the essential motivation). I've likewise inferred that the Scottish need claims emerging during the blast of the late nineteenth century are questionable, best case scenario. Also, obviously the extraordinary commitment of Pierre Lallement, the first bike patentee, has for quite some time been eclipsed by the Michaux name, which similarly covered the job of the Oliviers, the genuine mechanical pioneers.
سكوترات كهربائية
In some sense it very well might be a losing fight to demand this load of focuses legends are obstinate things. In any case, presently I've spoken my tranquility and I can continue on to other energizing ventures with somewhat more monetary soundness and somewhat more validity and clout.
Q: What are some different activities you are chipping away at?
A: Over the previous few years, I've kept on giving talks to a great extent for different cycling gatherings and instructive projects. One month from now, for instance, I'll take an interest in a board conversation at the uncovering of the Major Taylor dedication in Worcester. What's more, on May 24 I'll give a discussion at the Museum of the City of New York. We're beginning to discuss assembling a show on the historical backdrop of cycling in New York, related to properly enough-Bike New York, (patrons of the yearly 5 boro ride that draws 30,000 cyclists).
I've likewise completed a few ventures with Velopress of late. I interpreted an extraordinary book on the historical backdrop of Paris Roubaix by the editors of l'Equipe. It's an excellent foot stool book with astounding photographs. Furthermore, I need to say the content is likewise very captivating! I additionally interpreted a book on the Alpe d'Huez stage by my old buddy Jean-Paul Vespini. It's turning out in half a month and I'm truly anticipating pawing through it. I just saw a few evidences and the photographs are eye-popping. Besides the creator worked really hard covering the historical backdrop of this marvel not just as a definitive stage in the Tour yet additionally as a beautiful social rendez-vous.
What's more, I just marked an agreement with Houghton Mifflin to compose a book on Frank Lenz. Exploring his captivating however failed to remember story has been my concentration for as long as couple of years and will keep on being so for a significant length of time.
دراجات هوائية
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To sum up: in May 1892, on the cusp of the bike blast, Lenz set off from his old neighborhood of Pittsburgh to circle the globe on the most recent "wellbeing" bike with inflatable tires. Two years into his excursion, in the wake of intersection North America, Japan, China, Burma, India, and Persia, he bafflingly disappeared. Examiners later followed him past the Persian boundary, into Turkey and the premonition place where there is the Kurds. Unexpectedly, Outing magazine, Lenz's support, sent another American "globe girdler," William Sachtleben, to discover Lenz in any condition. It ended up being an extremely awful an ideal opportunity to visit Turkey, with slaughters of Armenians unfurling before his own eyes. Sachtleben himself was fortunate to get back alive. He immovably accepted he had settled the secret, however his inability to discover Lenz's bones or bike, or to get palatable feelings for homicide, left the matter putrefying. Lenz's crushed mother at last got a repayment from the Turkish government, yet his inheritance immediately blurred in the twentieth century as the public lost interest in the bike. I'll talk about Lenz's experience and character, and what persuaded him to go off on this risky experience. I'll likewise follow the excursion exhaustively, putting a positive twist on it. At long last, I'll seriously investigate Sachtleben's discoveries and attempt to sort out what truly befell poor Lenz.
افضل موقع بيع دراجات هوائية
Q: Do you actually have the opportunity to ride your bicycle?
A: I admit that I have the opportunity in principle. What's more, the bicycles. In any case, I don't do as much sporting riding as I ought to (and it shows, though it pains me to say so!). Of late, I've for the most part done coordinated rides every now and then. Bicycle New York has become a practice each May, and it's an impact. I likewise did part of Cycle Oregon a couple of years back, and a couple of other gathering rides from that point forward. Yet, generally I cycle in the Boston region, just to get around. I just procured another Bike Friday, which I actually need to gather. I hope to ride significantly more get-togethers. I might want to get once again into street riding, as well. In principle I could utilize one of my old Italian racers, yet I couldn't want anything more than to get something more contemporary. Also, perhaps a trail blazing bicycle as well. Had the opportunity to complete this book first, however, so I have some optional assets.
Q: Your book clarified that you love bikes. Do you cherish any one kind of bike more than others? Is there a specific sort of bike that is closest and dearest to your heart?
A: I'd need to say the exemplary light weight street bicycle with thin tires is as yet my top choice. But at the same time I'm into bikes as essential transportation, particularly during circumstances such as the present. The Bike Friday offers an incredible mix off both riding delight and reasonableness. I can't actually address mountain trekking as I've never truly enjoyed that game. In any case, I have companions who are truly into it, and I know some time or another I ought to truly check it out.
Q: You used to bring brilliant utilized street bicycles back from Italy. Do you actually have associations around there?
A: In principle, indeed, however I haven't purchased any bicycles around there in a long while. I spent various years in Italy growing up, I actually go one time each year. So I'm as yet conversant in the language. In the past I went routinely to the Milan career expo. Also, I found the opportunity to meet and meeting some incredible names like Cino Cinelli and Valentino Campagnolo, when I composed for Bicycle Guide. However, I haven't kept up my contacts in the bicycle business, though it pains me to mention it. Recently when I've gone over it's been really investigating, eating, visiting, and mingling. In a specific order, obviously.
دراجة هوائية رياضية
Q: Have bikes improved through their set of experiences? Or on the other hand were the old bike plans more down to earth than the plans for new bikes?
A: Well you can surely present the defense that the bike advanced in the second 50% of the nineteenth century, turning out to be progressively roadworthy and thus pragmatic in that sense. The first "boneshaker" of the 1860s was an honorable thought yet one in urgent need of material improvement. You could contend that its substitution, the armada however shaky high wheeler, took the idea off course, that is, away from reasonableness. All things considered, the first bike created a global uproar decisively in light of the fact that it should fill in as a reasonable "individuals' bother." And the high-wheeler, obviously, turned into a costly toy for athletic guys.
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cai-magica · 3 years
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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Have a wall of text that summarises my current thoughts on all the breaking news! It’s late here and I’m tired so I’ll probably edit this later for clarity, but here is my initial response. 
Initial reaction 
Honestly I really wasn’t expecting the follow up to Rebellion to be themed around WalpurgisNacht, considering Walpurgis hasn’t been relevant to the storyline since the original series. Once Madoka made her wish to eradicate witches from all timelines, I had kinda just assumed that, whichever timeline the story takes us to next, it wouldn’t involve witches? Especially considering that Homura created the last timeline where we left off, it would be in her best interest to keep Madoka’s original wish intact; after all, this world was created with the intention to keep Madoka safe at all costs, so surely she wouldn’t want any witches lurking about. 
And I can’t imagine any of the other girls would have any particular reason to tamper with Madoka’s wish either, unless I’ve missed something? Whilst there were certain advantages to the witch system (such as the Doppels introduced in the spin off series), they were significantly outweighed by disadvantages. 
If I’m remembering correctly, it was implied that the Incubators at the end of Rebellion had vowed to end their magical girl programme because human emotions were simply too irrational and messy for them to work with. So while I imagine Incubator interference isn’t unlikely considering they’re the primary antagonists, I’m not sure I can see how and why they would want to reinvolve themselves with the girls after everything that happened. 
So my only guess is that when Homura tore apart Goddess Madoka and essentially kidnapped her core personality, something in the fabric of space-time must have gotten a little fucky and somehow altered Madoka’s new world order? But again, it doesn’t answer the question of why witches are even making a comeback this far into the story. I was expecting something that focused more on the fragility of Homura’s new timeline; a goddess with amnesia close to recalling her true form, and a demon doing everything in her power to repress her memories in order to keep her from ascending, thus effectively trapping her and keeping her safe from harm. With all of these developments made, why reintroduce witches?? It makes very little sense to me...please feel free to message me and speculate with me, I would love to get a discussion going! 
Mami and Sayaka
I rewatched the concept movie and I noticed that it had similar themes explored in Magia Record; notably, the concept of Mami as a potential antagonist, and Sayaka confronting her former mentor. If they continue to explore this potential dynamic in the upcoming film, I will be happier than a kid in a sweet shop! 
Mami has never sat right with me as a protagonist; heroic Mami kind of feels a little too perfect to me, sort of Mary-Sue adjacent...orphaned girl with tragic backstory, struggles to make friends, finally integrates into a team to defeat a common enemy and dies a hero’s death...it feels too ‘clean cut’, too predictable...it’s like the film telling you ‘hey, look how tragically beautiful this character arc is! You should like this character! Root for them, relate to them!’ And I don’t like stories telling me what to do and who to like so directly and bluntly, it comes across as lazy writing to me. 
Contrastingly, I feel like a more antagonistic Mami ticks all the right boxes for a series like Madoka Magica. A sweet, well meaning girl with a tragic backstory, intent on doing the right thing, but becomes very gullible and easily manipulated due to her loneliness and longing to connect with others and be a part of something bigger, ultimately succumbing to delusional thinking and impulsivity. We saw this play out in the Magia Record spin off series, where Mami was shown moving to another town and being indoctrinated into a cult who manipulated, exploited and weaponized her. We also see this implied in the concept movie; although the clips are very vague and mostly just based on imagery, we see Mami’s sunshine coloured image being contrasted against fiery backdrops and overbearing, sinister undertones; a far cry from the warm, talented, heroic yet somewhat misguided protagonist we saw in the first three episodes of the main series. 
Speaking of the first three episodes of the main series, I want to mention the development of the dynamic between Mami and Sayaka. Mami started off as a mentor figure to Sayaka, who was quick to praise and idolise her. Sayaka was much more insecure here; full of self doubt, she projects onto her new mentor and places her on a pedestal, aspiring to be as brave, noble and righteous as her. In Magia Record, Sayaka has grown and matured; no longer a student in her mentor’s shadow but a formidable magical girl in her own right, she confronts ‘Holy Mami’ who is now a shell of her former self, pointing out that it’s ‘not like her to bully the weak’ and fighting against her when she attacks Yachiyo and Iroha. There are also echoes of this shifting dynamic in the concept movie; Sayaka’s voice can be heard firmly saying that she ‘hates anyone that would point a blade at someone for a reason as ridiculous as that’ (or something along those lines) A minute or so later, a sketch of Mami wielding Sayaka’s swords flashes across the screen, and the clip ends with Mami’s musket rifles being fired across a white backdrop, the sound of the gunshot echoing against the eerily haunting, twinkly music playing on the title screen, creating an atmosphere of unease and disillusionment. 
I suppose my one main hope for the Rebellion follow up is that Mami’s character development as a potential antagonist is expanded on more, alongside the shifting dynamic between her and Sayaka. I really love what I’ve been seeing so far across Magia Record and the clips from the concept movie, I can only hope to see them expanded on further as the series continues. 
New girl on the block?? 
I’m going to preface this by highlighting that I have never been able to play the Magia Record game as it’s unavailable in my country...my knowledge of everything in the Magia Record timeline is limited to the spin off series. However, the new character introduced for the upcoming event, theorised to be a foil for Homura, has absolutely piqued my interest, particularly as she’s apparently linked to WalpurgisNacht. Looking at screenshots from the trailer, it seems to be heavily implied that she also uses time manipulation magic and was present at WalpurgisNacht along with the others, never acknowledged until now. She appears to have an air of omnipotence about her; scarcely being actually seen, but subtly involved in everything, altering and toying with the structure of the timeline, her motivations currently unknown. 
Whilst it may well be exclusive to this event in the game, I’m very curious to see if she’ll be linked in to the film somehow...if she proves to be interesting, I would love to see her make an appearance.
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angelanimedesaray · 4 years
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Through The Looking Glass Chapter 4:  Friend
AN:  Ah, yes...here we see a bit more of a focus on Reader’s background, with a follow through on something that was more briefly touched on in the last chapter.  A little more on the side of heavy topics, buuutttt it goes back to lighthearted again, don’t worry.  The heavy stuff is more of a backdrop in the younger years in this story.  Also, I think the next chapter is going to be time passing, cause these are starting to feel a little...I don’t want to say forced, more like hard to weave into a solid chapter in a straight, continuous timeline.  I feel like I’m starting to stretch ideas further than they were initially intended to stretch to make a chapter without jumping all over the place.  Finally, sorry, but that means the serious/heavier stuff is gonna start kicking in sooner than I originally planned XD
Characters:  Levi, Reader, Reader’s Mother, Mentions of various background OCs
Pairing:  (Eventual) Levi x Reader
Warnings:  Language, Bullying, Minor Injuries, Aftermath of Bullying
Word Count:  4669
<---Previous Chapter    Masterlist    Next Chapter---->
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(One Year Later)
*Reader’s POV*
Your fingers flexed around the slick plastic pouch that was pressed against your throbbing forehead, the freezing pouch getting gradually harder and harder to hold as your fingers grew painfully numb and the ice that had kept the pouch solid melted against the heat of your forehead.  Your other hand held one half of a break-in-two popsicle, sucking mindlessly on the frozen treat to sooth the second pain on your lip.  Your foot scraped idly at the dirt as you sat on the last step of the back door stairs, nose starting to get runny with the cold of the popsicle, ice pack, and the slight chill in the air...also because your tears had been happening off and on for the past couple of hours.  The sun was also high in the sky, blazing down on you and making you have to squint slightly against the light if you wanted to look anywhere but down.
Inside, you could hear your mom still on the phone, still yelling at whoever she was talking to from the school.  At least out here she was a little muffled, not as loud as she’d been in the house up in your room.  You didn’t want to be around while she was yelling, even if she wasn’t angry at you, which was why you’d opted to be chilly on the steps instead of tucked into your bed like your mom would probably prefer.
“It’s your job to take care of my kid while she’s at your school, what the hell are all your teachers doing on the playground if this is happening on a daily basis?” you heard her shouting inside, and you felt yourself start to curl up like a turtle trying to retreat into its shell.
I wish Dad was here...
Frankly, you weren’t even supposed to be home right now.  You were supposed to be sitting in class with Ms. Richardson for math time...or maybe it was time for reading by now.  Either way, school was still in session, but you were home early because during recess, while about to go down the metal slide on the playground, one of the other kids had pushed you hard enough you’d tipped forward, slammed your head against the slide, and...well...the next thing you remembered was your mother looking down at you.  You didn’t remember where you were when you came to, either, just your mom looking at you and the light being a little too bright as you asked why she was there.  After a confusing blur of events you couldn’t get straight or remember details for other than you thought a doctor might have been involved because you remembered a man in a white coat and the crinkle of tissue paper, you’d found yourself here, on the steps, listening to your mother scream inside because you had nothing else to do.
A friend would be nice, too.  I don’t have any of those at school…
“What the hell happened to you?”
You jumped at the unexpected voice directly in front of you, looking up sharply and wincing when it made your head swim, but still able to make out the familiar boy standing in front of you.  You must not have noticed him walk up to you because your head had been down…
Levi looked even better than the last time you’d seen him.  His skin didn’t look sunken in anymore, though he was still pale.  Instead of a ragged mess, he’d finally gotten a haircut, black strands of hair falling just past his ears and a little longer in the back, just above the nape of his neck, the rest shaved down.  His clothes were cleaner--still dirty, but no longer torn, frayed, and far larger than he was--and while there still seemed to be dirt and dust clinging to him, he seemed cleaner, too.
For a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t at school.  Was he homeschooled?  He hadn’t seemed worried about school the first time you’d seen him, so maybe that was the case.  Too bad...you could really use a friend like him at school, especially with how bad things were getting.
“Was it those two assholes again?”
Remembering Levi had asked you a question, you blinked, noticing that your hand had started to fall in surprise and Levi’s gaze had lifted towards the discolored goose-egg on your forehead before you covered it up again with the ice pack.  You shook your head slowly, taking the popsicle out of your mouth so you could answer him, though you kept the cool treat resting over the split in your lip from two days ago that had been re-opened with recent events.
“Those are bad words,” you said disapprovingly.  Levi only rolled his eyes, so you chose to answer his question, still sulking.  “No, they stopped picking on me after you pushed them,” you said softly.
Inside, your mom’s voice rose considerably to what was basically a scream, making you wince and Levi look back towards the house.
“A court case is what’s about to happen!  My kid’s been coming home with bruises and cuts and scrapes for two years, it’s been getting worse, not better like you kept telling me it would!  Your recess monitors aren’t doing anything, they’re sitting there watching and letting the other kids get away with this bullshit!  None of this should have gotten this far--I shouldn’t have to pull her out of school to take my unconscious daughter to a doctor--!”
“The kids at school are getting worse…” you said quietly, your mother’s voice growing more muffled as she paced away from the back door again.  Levi’s eyes seemed to get harder, suddenly studying you up and down, and you squirmed under his gaze, subconsciously tugging at the pant leg of your shorts to try and hide the large bruise that covered the sensitive skin of the back of your leg behind your knee.  It was older, like the split lip, but still discolored and obvious--the spot where Serenity had kicked with her steel toed boots until you’d pushed her away.  You didn’t think you managed to hide it quickly enough, cause Levi’s gaze seemed to narrow.
“Aren’t you fighting back?”  As you shook your head no, his gaze seemed to harden a little more.  “Why not?” he asked with surprising force.
“I’ve tried,” you said defensively, rubbing gently and absentmindedly at the bruise on your leg.  After you’d pushed Serenity away with that self defense move your father taught you, you’d ran, not wanting to get kicked with those boots in a fight.  More specifically, you ran towards the recess monitor who’d been watching to get Serenity in trouble for hurting you.  Instead, you got in trouble for pushing another kid on the playground and got detention and recess revoked for a while.  Your eyes burned with angry, frustrated tears at the memory that you pushed down, the words ‘only babies cry’ ringing in your ears.  “Even if I just push someone off me, I get in trouble with the adults.”
“Who gives a shit what the adults say?  Make them leave you alone so you don’t get hurt.”
It wasn’t that simple.  Maybe with those two boys Levi shoved it had been, but this was different.
“If I do, the school’ll have an excuse to kick me out.  Mom hasn’t moved me to a different school cause she says this is the best one.  She had to try really hard to get me in, even though the school didn’t want to.  I can’t get kicked out cause Mom and Dad want me to do really good in school.  They say since I’m smart, I have a chance to do better than them...so I can’t get in trouble, which means I can’t fight back.”
Maybe that’s why they all pick on me...cause they see I won’t fight back…
“Tch,” Levi let out a long sigh, hand raking through his hair as he sat down on the steps next to you.  “If they’re anything like those idiots from before, it would only take one time to make them leave you alone.”
With all the problems at school, it might only take one time to get you kicked out.
You shrugged, resting your elbow on your good knee as your arm started to hurt from holding the ice pack against your forehead for so long.  “It doesn’t matter.  Mom found out my teacher’s trying to fail me on purpose, and started talking about schooling me at home.  I think she’s gonna do it after this.”
Right now, however, you really didn’t want to be talking or thinking about any of this.  Levi always looked so serious or hesitant.  You liked seeing him smile, though--you liked getting him to play with you, to have some fun.  He never knew the games you wanted to play, and you always had to teach them to him, but when you did manage to get him to loosen up and play, it made you feel...proud, for some reason.
Deciding you needed to change the subject away from the sad things, you put down your ice pack, ignoring how your head throbbed as you reached for the other half of your popsicle all wrapped safely in the white wrapping, pulling it out and offering it to Levi with a small smile.
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*Levi’s POV*
Levi carefully took the bright red treat that matched the one Y/N had been sucking on, holding it awkwardly for a few seconds.  It felt...cold.  Freezing.  How the hell was there something this cold in weather this warm?
“You look much better,” she said after he’d taken it from her, her voice sounding far more cheerful this time...though it seemed a little forced.
Levi studied her.  The small smile she gave him despite the sad look in her eyes, the multicolored goose egg that swelled across at least three-fourths of her forehead, the reopened split lip that might have been bleeding still if she wasn’t holding the red frozen treat against her lip.  He’d seen her flinch when her mother shouted loud enough to be heard from inside.  She’d been hunched over, curled into herself on the step when Levi first realized where he was and spotted her.  He wasn’t used to seeing her to timid--usually she’d been right in his face with all her upbeat intensity, and he didn’t like seeing her shrinking away because she was in pain.
She wanted to try and go back to being her usual upbeat self.  That was what she was trying to do by switching the topic back towards him and away from her.  She was asking him to stop talking about what was happening, and to help her be her usual self.
Though it made him wonder...if she was still in pain, if she was still upset, yet she was still able to be upbeat and happy...was that really who she was?  Was it a front?
He’d play along.  If it helped her feel better for a while, then all right.
“Can’t say the same for you,” he returned flatly.  She looked taken aback for the first second, and Levi worried he hadn’t made it clear he was joking and had hurt her feelings.
Thankfully, she broke into a brighter smile, laughing partially from surprise, and partially out of real amusement.
“This?  Whatever, I’m pretty,” she said cheerfully, though the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she said it.  She didn’t really believe it, then.  She was simply returning the banter, looking away and sucking on the frozen treat again.  She hadn’t told him what it was called yet…
Tentatively, Levi finally mirrored her action.  It was freezing cold, but sweet, like some kind of fruit, melting slowly in his mouth like it was turning into a refreshing cold juice.  He attempted biting down on it, but a jarring chill shot through his teeth and down his spine when he tried, promptly stopping him from trying to bite it again and reverting back to letting it slowly melt in his mouth.
He liked it.  It was sweeter than anything he was used to, yes, but still good.
A companionable silence settled over them as they both sucked on their matching treats, Y/N now wearing a slight smile.  Even though she didn’t want to think about what she’d told him, he still did.
It might not have been anything deadly, but she was still banged up.  Levi’d heard her mother say that she was unconscious and had to be brought to a doctor.  The last time he’d been here, she’d brushed off the kids picking on her like it wasn’t anything serious, and he’d believed her.  She’d been upset, yes, but she’d brushed it off and moved on without much of an outward reaction.  Not to mention, he’d easily scared the two kids off.  So he’d let it go.
This, on the other hand...this was serious.
Part of him wanted to go and kick their asses himself if she was so insistent she couldn’t do it herself, but he knew that wouldn’t help.  Sure, they’d know he was strong, but if he wasn’t there the rest of the time, that wouldn’t stop them from hurting her.  It wouldn’t help her.
Frustratingly enough, he could also begrudgingly admit he understood why she felt she couldn’t fight back.  It sounded like her parents wanted her to have a better life and were pushing her to get the best education in order to do that.  He wasn’t sure how all of this could be better, though--it was already more than he’d ever seen.  A large house, obvious luxuries, citizenship on the surface with trees and open grass in the back...but he hadn’t seen much beyond this.  Maybe there was more, something her parents wanted attainable for her.  They wanted a good life for her, and she was worried about ruining that.
That didn’t mean he thought she should just lay down and let others beat her unconscious.
Levi came out of his thoughts as Y/N moved next to him, setting down the wooden stick that remained after she’d already finished her half of the treat.  At the same time, she leaned over and rested her head lightly on his shoulder, the side that the goose egg wasn’t on resting against his shoulder.  Levi stiffened at the unexpected contact, unsure how to react or if she wanted something from him in return.  She seemed to be curling into herself again after he stiffened, but she didn’t move her head off his shoulder.
“Levi...are we friends?”
Levi glanced down at her, unable to see her face from the way her head was turned.
Where did that come from?
“I guess.”
She ducked her head a little lower, and for a moment, Levi thought she was about to pull away, the weight she was putting on his shoulder lessening for a moment.
“I don’t really have anyone else…” she said softly, almost too quiet for him to hear.
Oh.
Now that he thought about it, he didn’t really have anyone else, either.  All he had was Kenny...and Y/N.  Kenny wasn’t anything close to the warm or compassionate type that Y/N was.  And he rarely saw Y/N.  But when he did…
The weight on his shoulder got a little lighter as she started to pull away, and the words rolled from his lips before she could pull away thinking he didn’t really see them as friends or that he was being evasive because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings right now.
“Then we are.”
She paused, processing his statement before she fully rested her head against his shoulder again, scooting a little closer in the process.  It wasn't any kind of contact he was used to, but he tolerated it.  It seemed like she needed it, and it was...sort of nice.  He liked this.  Normally she was dragging him all over the place and he didn't get the chance to really stop and enjoy the surface.  Right now, he was able to sit quietly with her and breathe in the fresh air, feel the warmth of the sunlight he was normally denied, listen to the sounds of birds and rustling trees again as welcoming as a familiar lullaby.  This time he was able to revel in the feeling of being on the surface, and this time he wasn't alone while he did so.
He wanted this--he wanted to live up here on the surface with the sun and fresh air instead of in the rot of the Underground.  He wanted to be able to see Y/N more often, whenever he wanted--to be able to beat up those assholes that were picking on her with what Kenny'd taught him, and stay so they knew to leave her alone or they'd get hit again.
What did he have to do to stay up here instead of be stuck below ground?
Before he'd realized it, his entire treat had melted away, all that was left the red-stained, smooth stick it had been attached to.  Levi set it beside him on the steps like Y/N had done, still mulling over thoughts of how he could try getting surface citizenship.  Kenny would know something, right?  Levi didn't expect the man to help, he always wanted Levi doing things for himself, but maybe he could at least point Levi in the right direction?  Levi knew Kenny had been on the surface regularly, so surely there was something Kenny could tell him.
"I'm sorry if this is boring," Y/N said abruptly, interrupting Levi's thoughts.  "I'd offer to play a game or something, but I feel woozy when I move around too much."
"That's okay."  He didn't mind.  He was enjoying the quiet, and she was hurt--the last thing he wanted was to make things worse all for some stupid game they didn't need to play.
She straightened up a moment later, his side feeling chilly now that she suddenly wasn't leaning against him.  "There's other games we can play, though, sitting right here on the steps!"
"We don't have to--"
"I'm always having to teach you the games we play, which makes me think you don't play enough.  So yeah, when you're here, we have to play something!" she said in that tone of hers that told him she wasn't taking no for an answer, a determined pout making her split bottom lip prominent.
Why did he even let her boss him around so much?
A fresh bread roll was offered to him without hesitation by a hand as small as his own.  ”Here.  Here!  It’s for you.”
Because every time she’d been forceful with him, it hadn’t been to hurt him...but to help him, muscling right past his rougher exterior to get at the heart of what he needed and make it happen.  So he let her, because even if she was bossy about it, he tended to enjoy the outcome.
“What are you thinking?” Levi asked, ready for the incoming explanations depending on how many games she wanted to try.
She perked up, clapping her hands together in anticipation.  “All right!  We could play Double Double This, or have a Thumb War, Or play Simon Says, or we could play Slaps.  What do you think?”
What kind of game names were those?  Especially that last one, it sounded like the point was to go around smacking people...though considering the state she was in, that probably wasn’t the case.  Interesting mental image, though.
Levi shrugged.  “I don’t know any of those.  Whatever you pick.”
She let out that exasperated sigh of hers--he really didn’t know why she was still surprised when he didn’t know what any of these games were, by now she should have just accepted he wasn’t going to know them.  “Okay...we’ll start with Double Double This, cause that might take a little while to learn.”
Turning so they were facing one another, she took Levi’s hands in her own and started to teach him.  According to her, the fun was in learning it, and gradually being able to follow the pattern faster and faster.  It took him a couple tries, but once he had it down, ironically, it was Y/N that kept messing up, bursting into a fit of giggles before she’d straighten and demand they try again.  With how many times they had to start over, Levi was sure that the game was going to become muscle memory.
When she finally stopped messing up the pattern, and after they picked up speed until she couldn’t keep up with how fast Levi was going, she switched games, teaching him the simplistic thumb war game, and doing a few rounds of Simon Says (A game she said was more challenging when you were on your feet and anything was fair game to be called out).  They ended on the Slaps game she’d mentioned, her pain apparently forgotten since she was all for playing a game where the objective was to smack the other person’s hand before they could pull away.  Another one he was good at, considering his nerves were a lot steadier than hers and he was faster.  He could spot her flinches and bluffs, able to keep his hands steady over hers and unmoving except when he really needed to while she squirmed and kept starting to pull her hands back with soft squeaks of nervousness.  It was actually sort of fun making her jump or squirm when feinted, making her think he was about to try and smack--always lightly--the back of her hand and watching her squeal and jerk back with a wild whoop of laughter.  It kept making the slightest smile ghost across his lips, a thrill going through him as well, even if he was too fast for her to actually land a smack on his hands unless he let her.
Eventually, when Y/N ended up shaking her hands to get rid of the sting from all the times they’d smacked each other’s hands, they stopped playing.
“That was pretty fun,” she said with a grin, still shaking her right hand.  “We’ll have to do that one again sometime--you’re real good at it.”
Levi watched her lean back against the steps, picking up the pouch she’d had pressed to her forehead earlier and playing idly with it to keep her hands busy.  It sloshed around like it was filled with water…
“Hey, Levi?  I never asked you where you live,” she said curiously.  “You always just sorta show up, but I don’t know where you came from.”
So she finally asked.  She must not know, then.  Was her opinion of him going to change, like he’d worried it would the last time he came here?  “I live in the Underground.”
He waited in tense anticipation, waiting for some kind of disgusted reaction like he’d been led to believe surfacers would react to him with.
“Underground?  Like...like in burrows?  Like hobbits in Lord of the Rings?”
He had no idea what she was talking about with that nonsense about hobbits, but for a moment, he honestly thought she was making fun of him.  Until his sharp gaze registered the pure confusion on her face as he turned to look at her, ready to make some kind of scathing remark until he saw the look in her eyes.  Her brows were crinkled together, nose scrunched up, a thoughtful frown on her face.  Did she really not...know what the Underground was?  How could she not?  Wouldn’t someone have warned her to stay away?  Wouldn’t it have come up in that history class she’d told him she was so fond of last time he was here?  Half of him wanted to call her out for messing with him, but she looked genuinely confused.
“The Underground,” he repeated, suddenly unsure of how to explain it to her.  “It’s...a city, underground.  Dark, dirty, lots of...shady people,” he said haltingly.  How much did he really want to pop the protective bubble she seemed to be wrapped in?  He didn’t want to tell her that he never saw the sun.  That everything seemed to be in shades of brown and filth.  That rot clung to everything and everything.  That you could probably see a dead body every other street.
“So, you have your own house in a city that’s below ground?”
“The city’s below ground, but I don’t have my own house.  Kenny and I go wherever there’s space.”
“Who’s Kenny?”
Levi paused.  How did he explain Kenny?  The guy who took him in and taught him how to kill a man in ten different ways as soon as Levi had recovered enough to start learning things?  Again, it didn’t feel like something he should tell her.
“He’s...he’s a guy who used to know my mom...that started…” ‘Taking care of’ didn’t sound quite right.  Did you really throw someone you were taking care of into knife fights to see how well they did and if they’d learned anything?  “Looking after me,” he settled on saying.
This felt awkward.  He didn’t really want to be talking about it, and Y/N’s eyes were burning with curiosity, focused entirely on him as he struggled to find the words to explain a situation that had been so rooted in his sense of normal he wouldn’t have considered it strange if he hadn’t been glimpsing Y/N’s life in contrast.  Since the moment he’d realized she was naïve to the kind of horrors that he saw day in and day out, he didn’t want her to find out about them.  She lived in a peaceful existence that he wanted to live as well, and he was afraid to lift the curtain on his reality for her and risk shattering it with too much knowledge about his harsher world.
“You said you were learning to play the piano?” he asked instead, switching the topic as abruptly as she had earlier.  She blinked in surprise, but after a moment of hesitation, nodded.  “Have you gotten better?”
Taking the hint, she eased back into lighter conversation, talking about the songs she was learning to play, humming segments of some of the songs out loud, and talking about some of the more complicated keys she was starting to take on.  When she started to slow down and run out of things to say about one topic, he’d prompt her to another based off the interests she’d told him about last time.  Keeping her talking about the smaller things brought back the peace he’d had before she’d started digging into where he was from.  He was able to keep them there, comfortable, listening to her talk about her world, up until the moment he blinked...and once more found himself in the Underground.
It was such a non-event, so sudden with no warning, no exclamation.  The most that happened was the sudden silence as he found himself alone under his and Kenny’s room of the week after Y/N had been speaking to him.  It felt like some kind of...disrespect, considering how big of a deal for him appearing back in the Underground was.  Being shoved back underground with no warning shouldn’t have been so subtle, so quiet.  It was like he couldn’t fight back, like he had no control over it--he didn’t, but this just made it even more obvious, more frustrating.  He wanted to stay above ground, yet in the literal blink of an eye he kept finding himself kicked back into the rot.  He hated it.
He had a friend up there, someone who clearly cared about him.  And after getting a few tastes of what life could be like...
I’m going to find a way to stay up there...one way or another, I’m going to live on the surface.
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Next Chapter---->
Levi Tags:  @humanitys-hottestsoldier​ @clary-quinn​ @sunny-flo​
Tags:  @fanartdom @kaz2y5-pie @tartheyes​ @super-peace-fangirl @huntersbunker @nefelimalfoy @soft-levi-girl-blog @kissing-violet-wings @regalillegal @sugas-daddy7
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ethompson928 · 4 years
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We are Bulletproof (BTS GANG AU) Chapter 33
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Park Jin Young walked confidently from his car.  He immediately locked eyes with Namjoon as he approached the group.  The steely determination never wavered as the internal fight for dominance began.  Both men remained silent as they sized each other up and down and weighed up their best options.  At present Namjoon had the winning hand and Park Jin Young had willingly stepped into the lions den with nothing more than the clothes on his back and his radiating confidence.  
A silent stand off.  There was nothing but mere silence bar the gentle breeze that was flow past at random intervals and the gentle rustling of leaves from a nearby tree that homed several birds who chirped at intermissions with each other to create a backdrop soundtrack to the intense meeting.
"Mr Kim."  Park Jin Young was the first to break the ice and placed his hands behind his back, his posture straightening and a slight smile graced his lips as he did so.  
"Park."  Namjoon replied, there was an evident history between the two.  No more words were required as the two familiarised each other from previous endeavours.  "You have my money?"
"You return my daughter."
"Funny." Namjoon laughed as he glanced at the young girl beside him who was switching her glances between her father and the man who held her hostage, not daring the hold either gaze for too long before settling her eyesight to the ground momentarily.  Namjoon then continued to speak bringing his gaze back to the main focus.  "You left your family, for what 'their protection'" at this he mockingly held up his hands and air quoted his words.  "Poor sweet Allie here had to grow up without a father, not understanding why he left.  But yet at the slightest hint of danger and once you discover she's with us, you finally take interest and send your little work lackies, who, let's face it, were actually quite a challenge for us.  I admit that, unlike yourself, Park Jin Young, I appreciate talent where I see it.  Little Allie had talent, once we got past her flaws and insecurities, but she ruined it for herself.  It's a shame, she had so much potential and was a cracking shot.  But alas here we are.  Now, where is my money."
Park Jin Young did not flinch at the accusations.  He knew Namjoon was bating him, but he wasn't one to give up.  This was a game to him as much as it was to Namjoon.  He just needed to get his daughter away so that she wouldn't end up as collateral damage.  "My boys have learnt from the best.  JYP Enterprises has been raising the best contractors for years.  We work for the good of our country, taking out gangs like yourself who mean to do harm.  Naturally, it means we have targets on our backs, but my teams have the experience to deal with it.  Funny isn't it."  He mocked in turn.  "I was the one that ordered them to take her.  I do apologise for that by the way.  Granted I may not have been the best father figure in life nor do I hold a standard office job to bring home the bacon but I have done nothing but support my family for years.  I've made sure they have been safe, enough money and are suitably well looked after.  Then I learnt about her disappearance and it just so happened to be at Seokjin's club.  There was no coincidence in that.  So I sent the boys to do a little digging.  They discovered your hideout and began to learn about your daily routines.  I even have some secret agents working on the inside, so when I heard from my dear friend Park Chanyeol"  at this he knocked on the hood of his car.  "That you turned up to his boss' casino, sending Allison in as bait, and infiltrating the casino because you had a hunch it was them.  Clever I admit."  While he spoke the car door opened and out stepped Chanyeol himself, he held a bright silver chrome case and walked to stand beside Park Jin Young, the briefcase easily passing hands.  
"Hiya kid."  He smiled, moving his unkempt curly hair out of his eyes and passed her a small smile.  Allie lightly acknowledged him by nodding slightly.  
"That's when I began planning to get her back.  Granted, our first attempt wasn't as successful.  Now here we are.  So I have your money, and you have my daughter."  Jin Young finished, lifting the case to Namjoon's eyeline.  
Namjoon "tsk'ed" in annoyance.  He was irritated and Allie could feel it as it radiated off of him like heat.  His fingers were twitching, it was clear he wanted a fight.  But he had the money dangling in front of him and this was his end goal.  The money and the power.  
"Jin...the money."  Namjoon ordered.  Jin moved forward, straightening his own suit and walking to meet Jin Young in the middle of the confrontation.  The case was passed to him and he nodded in acknowledgement before placing the briefcase onto the hood of the car.  He quickly unlatched it and opened the lid.  He observed the money and fingered through it, his posture hunched over as he checked it for authenticity.  
"It's all here."  Jin confirmed as he locked up the case and took it back to his side and held it in a clenched fist.  
"I honoured my end of the deal.  Now it is your turn."  Park Jin Young commented, gesturing his hand to Allie who stood awkwardly to the side as she watched the events unfold.  Namjoon looked once more at Allie.  He took her arm once more and went to escort her back to her father.  But something in him clicked, as quickly as it started he pulled Allie into him and held her close to his chest in a tightening grip.  One arm restricting her movements and the other pulling a gun from his pocket and holding it against the side of her head.  Allie let out a terrified whimper as she felt her cold metal make contact with her skin.  
"Now what did I say Princess.  You talk without permission and you are dead."  He whispered into her ear.  As Park Jin Young and Chanyeol were quick to point their own guns at Namjoon.  He spoke loudly to the two men across from him.  "Shoot me and your precious daughter dies, right here with me."  It was a stalemate.  "Now princess, you've done everything I have needed you to do.  You've been a good little girl and now I have no use for you."
A grunt got itself lost in her throat as she tried to shimmy her way out of his grip but it was too strong.  The adrenaline was kicking in and all she could hear was her own heartbeat.  Behind Namjoon, Hoseok went to rush foreword his eyes full of shock, but he was pulled back by an arm.  It was Jungkook, he gently shook his head, but his own eyes were full of worry.  There was no point in them blindly rushing in, lest they wanted to make the situation worse.  
"See, I always win."  Namjoon called out loud for everyone to hear him.  In her own struggling Allie thought briefly back to her fighting lessons with Jungkook.  She had been in this position with him before.  She would only get one shot and this and if she didn't get it right, she would be dead before she had a chance to breathe.  She feigned that she was pulling at Namjoon's arm to try and relieve pressure as his titan strength hold across her chest, but in reality she was trying to get her arms in underneath his.  She tried to control her breathing and waited for the opportune moment.  "You never should of trusted me.  I'll do anything to win."  Namjoon smirked, Allie heard the gently click to the hammer get pulled back.  It was now or never.  
She threw her body weight forward, pushing her arms and using the momentum to push her lower half back into Namjoon, then using the velocity to propel herself forward out of his arms and onto the ground.
As she hit the floor with a sickening thud, she whipped around to face Namjoon as a gunshot rang out through the air.  
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flyswhumpcenter · 5 years
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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).
I have no idea what I'm doing and I must scream about my friend's OTP
*bangs pots together* I HEARD THIS FANDOM NEEDED MORE SICKFIC SO I CAME HERE TO PROVIDE With angst too! It's simple, even simplistic to a fault in fact, but I'm kind of happy with it? The beginning especially, man I love writing the literal equivalent of suffering. The ending may be a letdown, but I hope it's decent anyway.
also yeah can we all stan my good pal @chess-of-flowering-kingdom's writing in the chat because she's much better than me at this FE3H thing, she’s like an icon or something in this fandom
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Thanatophobia
Summary: [thanatophobia: noun. Literally, “fear of death”; a feeling of dread, anxiety or sollicitude when thinking of or faced by death or the process of dying. Derivated fromthe Ancient Greek "θάνατος", death, and "φόβος", fear or anxiety.] Ingrid almost loses someone again. 
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses (post-timeskip) Ships: Ingrid/Sylvain (pre-relationship)
Wordcount: 2.8K words
Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo
AO3 version available here.
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Her vision was blurry from the water flooding in her eyes, her hearing by the sobs she was trying to keep inside, her thoughts from the swirling concerns and confusion hitting it at once. Her head ached, so did her heart, and her stomach was hardly able to keep up with the nauseating worry she was finding herself to be the victim of.
Yet, and it only hurt further to admit it, even the best training in the world couldn’t have prevented this, so all she could do was not let herself get eaten away by her sorrow, as looking like a mourning widow would do nothing to improve the absolutely abhorrent situation that was unfolding right before her helpless eyes.
 It wasn’t like it was her fault, she knew that. She couldn’t have prevented it even if she had tried her hardest: in a way, this was bound to happen, but that train of thought only made it worse. What, was she supposed to just stay here and do nothing because this was always going to end in some tragedy one way or the other? Was she supposed to believe there was fate above all of their heads menacingly staring at them and waiting for the first opportunity to cause them misery to happen?
As it stood, Ingrid hated being unable to do anything, always wanted to do something and be of some use whenever things turned sour; yet reality was forcing itself on her, itself and its terrible sides and toll. It was telling her that no matter what she did, no matter what she was trying to do, no matter where she went, no matter how or why, it was a superior face on her soul bound to its realm by her flesh and blood.
If reality wanted to pain her again and make someone die on her for a second time, it could, and it wanted very desperately to show her this without any possible contestation on her part.
 Perhaps it hurt her even more to know this would eventually happen, no matter what she said or did. Ingrid had always watched over Sylvain ever since they had known each other, had gotten to know every side of his personality to the point she could predict every single thing he was about to go through with. He was a free spirit, someone who took his life lightly, a true skirt-chaser, someone who listened to her and stared into her eyes without ever considering if her words could have an impact on his life.
Ingrid had always found him to take his existence too much on the light side of things, and Glenn’s demise had only enforced his feeling, but she could only confirm that to a whole new extent she had never wished to behold today.
 They were fighting alongside on the battlefield, the two of them, against the enemy forces. She was the prideful knight, he was the free-thinking monk, and they worked better than she’d have expected coming him and his seemingly lack of seriousness about anything that involved life-or-death stakes. Both on the battlefield, sharing a portion of land as decided by their strategist, weapons out and senses sharp, focus undefeatable as she defeated her foes one by one on her fierce mount.
At least, it was in her case, because Ingrid couldn’t stop spotting in the corner of her how sloppy her battle partner was. Usually, and that was one of the qualities she could give him, he was more than competent when fighting, He’d usually slipped in a couple teases and flirtatious lines of banter between two battles, yet all she heard are pants and wheezes coming from his side, her moves slow and unprecise, the absolute opposite of what a warrior was supposed to be standing for in her eyes.
 But the battle was raging on, so she ignored it at first and just made it out to be a minor thing. Must have been because he had been chasing skirts all night again, without thinking of tomorrow’s battle (even if that seemed too easy of an explanation). It was a day like any other, even if the taste of blood wasn’t as strong as it’d have usually been. Nothing wrong to report on, truly, or so she thought (or tried convincing herself of? It wasn’t clear, not even in the heat of the moment where lucidity of the mind was key). And, in her point of view, it all looked fine and usual until she noticed she was alone killing off the last of the enemy’s forces.
As it stood, meddling with the dried leaves of the early autumn metamorphosis, crimson poking out from the light browns and oranges, was the unconscious body of a childhood friend.
 The assault had stopped for them, in the far-end part of the battlefield; yet the feeling of dread wetting her back in cold sweats didn’t give in, nourishing itself from the misery plaguing her mind. Ingrid got off her mount, her stallion’s reins firmly enclosed between her fingers, approaching the suddenly shapeless form of who could have only been Sylvain if she squinted enough with heavy steps and a heavier breath.
She slowly crouched, feet trying to avoid stepping on the leftovers of the battle, until her available hand could touch him, the other gripping harder on the reins as soon she realized what was wrong. A clump formed in her throat, her stomach twirled, she felt like she was about to get sick from the sudden rush of worry nausea taking a hold of her system like a demon possessing her body. Without uttering a word, she put him on his back, finally able to see his dirtied face and harsh breathing, skin paler than the corpses around them, red splattered across his cheeks like blood on a soldier’s attire.
 Ingrid didn’t waste words trying to wake him up, but her hands burned when she let go of the rein to put him on her mount and escort him back to safety, back to their base while she walked, in silent, with a troubling vision and sobs threatening to exit her chest if she wasn’t careful to them even for a moment. Her feet crushing the dirt and leaves, three breathes of different intensities and faraway cries were the only things she accepted hearing for the time being, careful that none of these breathings stopped all of a sudden and forever.
She was sniffling worry in. This was happening, under her eyes, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She was no healer, no priestess of any kind. She didn’t know how to beg a deity for someone’s wellbeing, all she knew was fighting and court codes, in the end. Despite the toll of the battle on the enemy’s forces and her army’s victory, her heart couldn’t scream any cry of war, couldn’t sing a hymn, because it was busy crying while her mind was busy not to let herself do the same.
 And, in this time of great mental distress, sorrowful Ingrid realized something: for the first time in her life, no matter what had happened before since they had been children, no matter what she could say or even think of uttering, she couldn’t do anything for Sylvain.
 The rest of things was a blur from then on. She brought her horse back to the base, couldn’t explain what had happened aside from the idea that he had collapsed while she was looking elsewhere to fend against the enemy, and watched events unfold while her hands went unoccupied and her legs restless. Her entire body turned into lead jelly, stiff like metal yet tender from her weaknesses striking at once. Healers tried their best, but only words of apology came out from them: they had spells for injuries, not illnesses, and they were as helpless as she was.
When she was invited to see him after a more formal exam, shortly before the battle ended with her army’s flawless and stainless victory, Ingrid turned down the offer. She wasn’t ready to face the situation, not at first at last, and went for a walk outside instead to calm down the nausea and stop her thoughts from becoming a tornado inside her skull.
 The air had gone cold since the battle had ended, the warmth of her companions and blood pouring on the floor having given stead to night’s silence and comfortable judgement. Nobody could see her now, all inside either celebrating or getting concerned, maybe both; but even her hunger had gone missing, buried under the thick layers of concern she kept putting on because of her own uselessness.
Her hands rubbed against her arms, her breath emitted clear smoke against the black backdrop of the night embracing her, her feverish skin finally calming down to a point where she felt like she could face her friend again, even if this entire fiasco made her doubt her own feelings’ nature. Perhaps staying for too long in the dark quietness of the deserted paths only accelerated her uncertainties, so she went back inside, the warmth of a group reaching back to her right as her skin was shivering.
 Her heart was wavering with the intensity of a typhoon, even as her footsteps echoed in the corridors as she made her way to the infirmary. She knocked once and entered without waiting for a reply, not expecting any considering it was already fairly late in the evening. The silence of the room reminded her of the outsides, which eased her heart into entering the room, even if immediately the sight of Sylvain in this bed, left to devilish devices, stung her deeper than she’d have thought.
Her hands were fiddling together by themselves as she sat on the chair that was already there, eyes unable to face it. She wanted to weep at last, let her sorrow run free; but that’d have been disgracing Sylvain, disgracing all the cautious words she had ever told him and all the messages she had tried to drill through his skull as much as possible so he wouldn’t ridicule himself again, so she wouldn’t suffer second-hand embarrassment from him.
 Her heart was pounding. In truth, she wasn’t confused about her feelings, more than she wanted to deny them: really, falling for her childhood friend wasn’t something she wanted. It was even worse if she considered how he was such a skirt-chaser, flirting with everything that moved or had a pulse, from her grandmother to their female colleagues: it was going to end badly for her if she truly stopped lying to herself about it, if something made her stop rejecting what she shouldn’t have felt in the first place.
The problem was that this something had already come around. No matter how much she told herself this, seeing Sylvain in this bed was like watching herself lose Glenn all over again: it started small, it always ended terribly, this much she had been taught and she had learnt over the years, throughout her experiences and connections with people. She was afraid of losing someone else, so she denied their value to her and tried keeping her tears inside, even if she knew it was all a lie, even if she was fully aware it had been nothing but a charade of refusal and unhealthy denial.
 Yet, even with all of her efforts, Ingrid was crying, tears rolling down her face and sorrow finally making its way out of her airways, pouring in thoughts and tears. How ungraceful, how weak coming from the woman who had wanted to become Dimitri’s most fellow knight, the one who grief and death shouldn’t have scared like a little girl whom the world had deemed to forever be lost in the eternal penumbra whose last beacon of light had been engulfed by the shadows.
At least, she was alone, unseen from the world, with the only witness being an unconscious man. It was the only consolation she had, the one thing fate had decided to keep her away from being shame and dishonour, but it was minor compared to the pain raging in her chest.
 Until she felt a trembling finger stroking her cheek, stealing a tear away.
 With her vision now restored, Ingrid saw the impossible: Sylvain, awake, the faintest smile he had given her on his face, whose finger was indeed against her cheek despite the weakness she could tell came from it. For a moment, a short moment, time stopped, until he broke down coughing and her heart started stinging again.
“’nice to see you, Ing,” he slurred as he looked at her, breathing still as heavy as it used to, glass-eyed and disgraceful all around. Yet, even in this moment of vulnerability on his part…
“…nice to see you too, Sylvain,” she tried to ignore that fact and hide her relief to see him conscious enough.
 It meant that, in another sense, she could finally do the one thing she should have done all along.
“Never, ever do that again. I don’t want to escort you out of the battlefield after harvesting your body like rotting wealth.”
“That’s not a… nice thing to say…”
“Do you think worrying me was a nice thing to do?”
If she couldn’t have hidden the tears forever, she surely couldn’t have pretended like she wasn’t blushing from embarrassment after dropping such a line. In fact, like a foolush beginner, she had stolen her own speech away from herself. Talk about a bad move on her part.
 “I… I made you worry…?” His voice was unnaturally groggy and low, as if gravel had infected his airways. It was like speaking to someone else altogether if she didn’t focus on his face.
“…of course you did. We’re friends.”
“Ah…” His expression was genuine, this much she could tell, but his sudden solemnity weirded out in some measure. “Sorry… I thought it’d do the opposite, but…” He coughed, yet smiled, and it confused her even further. “’was wrong.”
“You sure were…”
 They fell into some kind of constantly broken silence, wordless moments interrupted by coughing fits she had never wanted to hear and desired to see gone for the rest of their existences. Her heart continued aching against her bones, fatigue never truly coming to her senses, until Sylvain put her hand away from her face and she missed his undesired hotness.
“Y’know, I’ve always l’ved you, Ing…” He slurred, his face’s flushing making her unable to tell if it was genuine, just a delirium kind of side effect, or a plain joke. Considering the context, she scratched the last theory out on her quick mental list.
Not like she’d have possibly had the wittiness to reply to that in her usual fashion, not when she had feared for his life merely an hour ago all evening.
  “I…”
He’d forget that by the time morning rolled around, right? Someone like him wouldn’t have normally laid down his feelings like that. She could, maybe just this once, maybe because he was alive and she was more than happy about this fact, allow herself a confession of her own.
“It may have been reciprocal for a longer time that I thought.”
 Her response must have rendered him speechless, because all she saw him do was blush even further and almost faint on her.
“Hey, are you alright?!” She yelled without really realizing about it. “You should rest, that’s the only way you’ll win against this thing.”
She still didn’t know what the nature of the illness was exactly, but for now, she’d do without that piece of information. It wasn’t like she had dared asking or even thinking about it, it could have sent her into another wave of choked sobs if she had.
“I… s’pose you’re right… See ya later, Ing…”
“See you. Take care.”
 She waited for him to completely fall asleep before leaving the room, her heart still heavy from the concern, exhaustion of the day and sudden revelations that had showered on her out of the blue. It really hadn’t been the right moment to have those, this much was for sure.
Yet, tomorrow seemed a bit more promising now. She still felt helpless, useless on the surface, and her chest ached from seeing such a dear friend (this, she couldn’t deny anymore) in such a pitiful condition. Nonetheless, she left his room before she could give him the one thing he didn’t quite want in her opinion, her pity, and thought sleep would clear everyone’s minds out of whatever had bothered them during the day and made them endlessly stir.
Yeah, she just needed a good night of sleep and for him to be alright. It was a lot to ask for, but she’d be caught red-handed trying to get that to happen nonetheless.
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By the time day rolled around, even if the fever was still clogging his brain, Sylvain hadn’t forgotten about their conversation.
Ingrid didn’t quite know what to make out of that realization.
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jokes on everyone (that includes me, a clown) I know very little about the game, it was just to make my good friend Azure smile and write even more angst
As such, I want to formally apologize if anyone is OOC beyond recognition.
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Something I wrote for SoKai Week, that I don’t think I ever actually posted here. Shoutouts to the awesome @bluerosesburnblue for betaing it for me.
When Sora and Kairi reunite again in KHIV, the first thing they do is go on a date to see the floating lanterns.
Sora stood under the lanterns in Corona, not quite knowing what to think. He was finally meeting with Kairi again after a year—and in doing so on this dream date that was everything he'd ever hoped it would be—but now that Sora was waiting for her to show up, he was beginning to fear… how was he ever going to make this everything it was destined to be? Everything he needed it to be for her?
“Sora!” Kairi exclaimed—much like she had as a young girl when he’d first fallen in love with her— “…You’re sure lost in thought during what’s supposed to be a happy occasion! C’mon! Let’s get rid of those feelings!”
She was certainly right…. And if Kairi had given Sora a moment to get himself together instead of diving right into the heart of the issue, he might have been able to please her more… but she hadn’t.
But Since Sora was someone who had learned to not take things for granted, he decided to let his apprehensiveness—and Kairi discovering he was apprehensive—go.
If it was for Kairi, Sora would do anything. Especially since his heart still felt like his days with her were numbered. Not exactly a sobering thought.
…But if there was anything that now got Sora to where Kairi already was, it was her look! Kairi’s hair was longer again—even lengthier than it had been in the first year she’d waited for him—which was kind of surprising, because Sora had thought for sure that she’d keep it short…
Sora had even thought he preferred it that way… but since some of their best memories were of when she had lengthy tresses, Sora found himself falling more and more in love with this look. Maybe it was for the best.
Kairi’s outfit, however, was a lot like what she’d worn in their time together before Destiny Islands fell: a white tank top—or was tube top more correct here?—and a brown skort!
It made Sora happy to see the brown… Because even though Sora knew Kairi could sometimes get out of the pink that she now adored, she’d always stay close to it: and this was almost touching the salmon or rose color that she loved.
But it was also close to the violet from back in the day: the near violet he’d seen of her heart for the world to see, when Xehanort had- when Xehanort had struck her down.
And as painful as it was for Sora to see that shade again, it also reminded him of a time before they had left home and become world-traveling heroes.
…But now he was here with her once again.
That truth had really hit him just then—when it had seemed to Kairi from the get-go on this night—and as it did, it was all Sora could do to not throw himself at her feet and apologize for not taking the moment seriously enough.
But Kairi just chuckled when he seemed about to fret, and pointed with her hand to where they could go get food during the festival.
And it seemed to Sora that Kairi definitely had the right idea about this, when she grabbed onto his arm and pulled him along with her. He nearly tripped, with how flustered he was.
And it didn’t escape Sora’s notice that she made certain that their sides were flush against each other as they walked.
…It felt good. And how Sora missed the years with Kairi he could have had like this, if things had been different.
Since the booth for food was stationed right in front of the ocean, it meant that Sora and Kairi’s toes had to rest in the surf on this dark, beautiful night as they waited in line.
As the waves rushed up against his feet, it reminded Sora not only of memories of their time together on Destiny Islands…
But how they’d been waiting for each other like this before.
Sora was certain Kairi must have had her shoes buried in the sea many a time as she’d counted the days. And Sora had done the same when he’d first recalled her at Castle Oblivion’s version of Destiny Islands, and when he had hoped for a miracle at the Dark Margin… and even in some more moments since then.
And having had this sudden epiphany, Sora had to tell it to Kairi.
He twisted in her arms, and then maneuvered them so he was holding Kairi and had his chin on her head. “So, what do you think? The sea and sky have finally found a way to be together? …And sorry for being cold before, Kairi. My heart’s just… a mess after everything that’s happened. But I love you. And I’m so glad you’re here.”
This seemed to appease Kairi. And she bonked Sora on the head with a fan he assumed she must have gotten from Rapunzel when she first got here. Then she spoke softly with a tinge of seriousness. “Just take me to see the lights, like you once dreamed about… And we can talk about engagements after that.”
Sora smirked: oh, how he got where Kairi was going with that. He would’ve been a fool not to.
Kairi was actually pretty casual, Sora knew, and despite the fact that her father was mayor of Destiny Islands… she hated attending big parties. So she really did mean some normal engagements they could attend together.
But to Sora? It seemed she was also hinting that he should propose to her, or that maybe she would to him! And maybe- maybe he would, if he could get over his qualms now. Sora certainly thought it was time, and he wanted to be with Kairi.
So just gently pressing at Kairi’s back, to hint to her that she should be walking forward, Sora led her towards the dock that would take them to the boats.
This was no big deal at all, because it was the kind of thing they’d done on their Island time after time.
But what did take Sora aback, was when Kairi put the fan in her pocket: it gave Sora a strange vision in his head, of Kairi even whipping it out from there—fast—and using it to fight, the way Mulan once had.
She had certainly become a warrior princess alright, and certainly could do that if she wanted to. It just made him adore her all the more.
…Which was probably why he pulled her onto his lap before he could think better of it, and kissed her like he’d been dreaming of doing for years now. Until it bruised Kairi’s lips and probably his own, but he was too full of endorphins to be able to tell.
But even while they were behaving this way—and making up for lost time—they remembered that there were other boats nearby, too, so made sure to not get too crazy.
More than anything, Sora ran his hands through Kairi’s hair as she laid atop his chest and he lazily locked his lips with hers.
And Kairi? She kept her hands above Sora’s heart—that he thought probably spoke well of all she was feeling and thinking—and once while they were still making out, she nudged her cheek against his lovingly.
Finally, Sora pulled away, not wanting all of their precious time together to be ruled by their hormones. But he made sure to keep Kairi’s face cradled between his hands, and his forehead against hers when he did.
“Kairi, I know every hot-blooded male around would be glad to get kissy with their partner more than anything… But I’m not them. And more than anything, I just want to spend time with you… Kairi, I’ve missed you so much.”
The last time Sora had seen Kairi… well, she’d been more demure than he’d ever seen her before. So, with that, Sora half-expected her to be blushing up a storm here. Again.
But instead, she chuckled rather loudly and embarrassingly—like she’d been known to do on the paopu tree—and then she lost her balance, and fell so that her face was on his lap.
And just like that, she was humiliated.
Sora was quick to try and reassure her—maybe she felt awful about this, since she was supposed to be so much more graceful now that she was a Keyblade wielder? And Sora tried to tell Kairi that wasn’t the case, since he himself could still be quite klutzy—but Kairi interrupted him before he could.
“We’re supposed to be having a cute date—I’m supposed to be enjoying the show!—and here I am falling. Just what kind of person am I?”
And now that Kairi mentioned it, Sora finally took note of all the lights above him and could see that it was a much more impressive show than it had been the previous year.
This time, the lanterns were more than just gold: there were a lot of pinks and purples in there, to hint at Rapunzel’s love for the dress she’d worn all throughout her first adventure. Or so Sora guessed.
And since those were also Kairi’s colors, Sora didn’t doubt she was getting much delight out of seeing them all play out in front of her now.
This was a view that, until a few years ago, neither of them could have ever even dreamed was possible since the Destiny Islands were still pretty rural in a lot of ways.
Also, there were fireworks—Sora thought that was the name he’d heard for them in The Land of Dragons?—gracefully waving through the air, so that they missed the lanterns but painted the stars in fluorescence.
And with the navy-blue sky backdrop, that was much like a dark canvas and everything else beside it the paints… Sora didn’t think he’d seen a more gorgeous sight in his life. Not even the Final World compared anymore.
“In your defense,” Sora laughed, looking down at Kairi and continuing their conversation about her clumsy maneuver from a moment ago. “That firecracker almost did hit our boat, and jostled you!”
And after Kairi had peered into his eyes to see if he meant it, Sora grabbed ahold of her hands and helped her get back into her seat.
“That’s true. And since it somehow did even worse than knocking me over—it made me bored with the show, too! I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on myself, when the firecracker is the real culprit here...”
…Well, this turn of events was a bit shocking, and Sora supposed the he should’ve been surprised, but in all honesty Kairi’s lack of interest made too much sense to him. After all, he had lost interest in boating many times himself, when he’d capsize a dingy at home.
And truth be told, the show was winding down now anyway as Rapunzel’s parents motioned for everyone to come back to shore and to meet the princess.
Not needing to be told twice, Sora began rowing them in.
…Or at least he would have, if Kairi didn’t take the oars from him and hit him slightly on his noggin: hinting that she didn’t want to be coddled and wanted to do this for them both. And so she did.
Satisfied that with how hard he’d worked to get back to Kairi, he hadn’t had to do any more work at the moment, Sora helped Kairi to her feet when he eventually got onto the docks first. And then they began walking back towards the city hand-in-hand.
On the way there, Kairi picked up some seashells in the way that Xion had done the last time Sora had seen her. It made Sora grin:Kairi deserved to feel what he, Xion, Riku, and everyone else had felt on their own journeys. It was why he hadn’t protested when he’d learned she was training with Merlin.
“I’m thinking of trying to find a teacher here, who can give me something of this world,” Kairi said out of the blue, enough so that Sora somewhat squeezed her arm in worry.
But then, he thought she must have followed where his thoughts had taken him, thinking of all of the adventures they’d had to go on on the worlds… So, this type of conversation did make sense, then.
And Sora thought he could already guess where she was headed with it, as memories of keychains he’d gotten on the various planets began playing in his head.
“When you and Riku went out and did things, you always learned something from the world you were in and it bettered you in your fighting. I don’t see why it can’t be the same for me.”
Sora was about to say that this was a good idea, and that if Kairi was really sold on this, she should also try and learn a fighting technique from someone before they just handed her a keychain. Sora’s best memory to go along with this was when he’d fought Sephiroth—and then watched Cloud do the same, and even Tifa—and Tifa had given him Fenrir afterwards…
But Sora bit his tongue, when he suddenly got the sense that if Kairi were to take his advice here… she’d probably learn something from Eugene.
And Sora had nothing against Eugene—quite the opposite, really—but there was just something about the idea of him being around Kairi that strangely irked Sora. He thought he must have been jealous….
And then he found himself realizing how Kairi might have been the same, if she’d seen him and Rapunzel before.
It wasn’t like Kairi and Sora had been dating then—they’d thought they were just friends—and Sora had only been friendly with Rapunzel… but still. The part of Sora that didn’t want to beat around the bush with Kairi any longer thought that maybe he owed her an apology about a few things.
So to maybe make up for things a bit, he decided to try and strike something in her arts and crafts side--since he’d always been amazed by her creativity… a creativity that had carried on into Naminé and Xion.
“You’re good at making things yourself, Kairi. And your girl friends have only strengthened that skill in you, as you’ve all worked on your own art... You ever think about making your own keychains?”
And Sora made sure to stop where they were walking, and to pull Kairi in for a quick kiss after he’d posed the question. Because Kairi, after all, was looking for the strength others could give her. But Sora had often thought she didn’t see her own ability enough.
Kairi blushed beet red at this—as she would; and as Sora was pretty sure he himself was doing… public displays of affection, and all.
And yet Sora had found he couldn’t keep himself from kissing her at all. She just… she just needed to know how much she meant to him, and much more.
Though Sora made sure to keep it chaste—something Kairi seemed to appreciate, even if she was the one trying to kiss him longer when he backed up—but when a ton of people erupted into applause around them, their self-conscious feelings disappeared.
With a quick sleight of hand, Sora pulled out Kairi’s fan from her pocket—she must have really loved this thing—and put a ring he’d synthesized with help from the Moogles in it, before he slipped it back.
Kairi had earlier talked about engagements, after all.
Thankfully, Kairi didn’t notice. Instead, she seemed more focused on the fact that Sora’s hands were still on the lower part of her back. Oops.
“Why’d you do that, Sora?” Kairi demanded playfully, hand on her hips as she saucily demanded an answer from him.
And he knew what she must have been imagining with this question: all the times he’d seemed nervous about, or with, her in the past… but those days were over and done with now.
“Because you doubt yourself so much, Kairi. I needed you to see that there’s so much of worth in you.”
Young Kairi would have probably snarked at Sora for this.
The Kairi falling in love for the first time, who had saved him from death, would have flushed at his sudden forwardness.
But this Kairi—who was sure of herself, in some respects, and their role in each other’s lives—jumped onto Sora for a piggyback ride, and whispered into his ear: “Really? Do you think that, even when I’m making life hard for you like this?”
“Exactly. This moment is so light and playful… and that’s what I need in my life… and probably why you’re my Light.”
They were getting to the part of the ocean right outside Corona, and Kairi got off of him, pulled him aside, and questioned: "Sora… I fell into your trap from earlier. Why are you focusing on the big things—or at least I assumeyou’re focusing on that—when we should be focusing on each other?”
Sora grinned at that, because she was right. So right. They’d come full-circle, but in other ways done a one-eighty. Sora pulled Kairi into his arms again, and simply held her as Rapunzel came walking their way.
Yeah… as happy as they were now, they still had some kinks to work out: such as how this new relationship with them would work… or when was an appropriate time to think of all the bad that had happened, and to maybe worry about the future, and when wasn’t… But Sora knew as he doodled a ring on the palm of Kairi’s hand—in a way that was very much her and that would hopefully get her to finally notice the gift he’d given her in her cherished fan when they were ready—that this was a good place to start.
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curestardust · 5 years
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if you want: (copy-pasting from my previous review cause it didn’t change) well, it’s BNHA lmao / amazing animation / amazing music / shounen / superpowers and heroes / to have a good fucking time
BNHA S1 (x) BNHA S2 (x)
Going to keep this very short as I’ve said most of what I wanted in my previous 2 reviews. 
This season specifically, felt a tiny bit less satisfactory as the other 2. Not by much, and considering how much I liked the first 2 seasons it’s difficult to live up to that quality anyway.
My main problem stems from how the 2 arcs, this season shows us, are the polar opposites of each other. The first half of season 3 literally gave me about 30 heart attacks. It was really wild, full of twists and turns and despite the pressure it put on my already deteriorating mental health, it was enjoyable in a way a wild roller coaster is. As opposed to this, the second arc had basically no stakes, or at least, they paled in comparison to the arc beforehand. We also get introduced to a buttload of people who we don’t know when they will show up again or how much relevancy they’ll have in the future. As opposed to (2), the first arc, where we also got introduced to quite a lot of new characters, however we knew why they were there and how much importance they have to the story.
Well, anyway. I really enjoyed this season depsite its disjointed nature and am looking forward to season 4! WhoHOOO [8/10] (x)
Recommend: HELL Yeah! | Yes | Eh??? | Nope | This anime killed my parents
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if you want: Dark Fantasy / you like Fantasy but want something a bit different
Goblin Slayer was last year’s Fall Season’s second most popular original anime (according to MAL ratings at least). 
I’m going to be honest...I don’t watch isekai or medieval fantasy stuff. The tropes bore me to absolute deah: an OP and basically undefeatable main character, the same exact fantasy characters with the same exact characterizations (elves, dwarves), the same class systems etc. Every single anime in these genres look the exact same with different characters. So, I was gonna pass by Goblin Slayer as well as usual however everyone was saying how DIFFERENT it was and that you NEED to watch the first episode.
So, I gave in. Was it worth it? No. You know what makes this anime so DIFFERENT? Scroll down to the anime information. Rated: R - 17+. That’s all you need to understand what’s different about this. Still, if you wanna watch the first episode without spoilers then leave now.
Goblin Slayer is a Dark Fantasy. Dark, because it has a lot of blood, bones crunching, gore and, of course, rape. Everything dark needs rape! Oh, whatever would we do without including women getting their bodies used by ugly creatures!
So yes, that’s literally why everyone likes Goblin Slayer, cause it’s edgy. There, I said it. The first episode starts out quite normal; a group of young, inexperienced adventurers decide to go into a cave and slay some goblins. Their team consist of a male warrior, a female mage, a female priest and a female melee fighter. About halfway through is where we’re hit with the EDGE. Goblins ambush them, steal one of the girls, rape another one and tear the guy to pieces. The priestess tries to escape and then runs into some guy decked out in armour: the Goblin Slayer. 
After the ordeal is over, the Priestess joins Goblin Slayer in his adventures. Later on we’re joined by 3 new characters: a High Elf, a Dwarf and a Lizard. They say they’re some kind of ambassadors or something...but that’s never brought up again.
If you’re wondering why I’m calling them by their classes and races, that’s because they don’t have names. And I legit didn’t even notice until I just checked Wikipedia like 2 seconds ago. I guess it’s fitting cause not only do they lack names but also a personality.
The anime shows us a few nice fight scenes that usually take up 1 and a half episode. They aren’t really anything special but nice enough to watch and they keep your attention. However, between every fight there’s 1 episode of filler. Filler! In a 12 episode anime! And they’re fucking boring!
The art isn’t anything to write home about, the fight scenes are usually nice enough but everything else is painfully average. The music would be the only thing that I liked. While quite generic, they work really well with the scenes. The OP and the ED are especially nice.
And that’s the problem! The OP and the first episode are the ONLY good things about this, everything else is just dull. This anime was a solid 3/10 for almost the whole runtime but it managed to save its butt in the finale which is why my current rating is a bit higher.
If you like Dark Fantasy or are intrigued I’d suggest watching the first episode. None of the eps after come even close to that and the way it was structured it works as an OVA by itself. [4/10] (x)
Recommend: HELL Yeah! | Yes | Eh??? | Nope | This anime killed my parents
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if you want: supernatural background story / mild horror due to some deaths / a nice mystery with a lot of plot twists that keeps you on your toes
“Another” is a 12 episode supernatural horror mystery that aired in 2012.
Our story starts with a guy named Sakakibara who has to move to Yamamiya, the town his parents grew up in. Due to some health problems, we start out with him in the hospital where he meets a girl with an eyepatch who introduces herself as Misaki Mei. After starting his 9th year in high school a month late, he once again runs into this girl in class but no one seems to react to her presence. As time goes on, Sakakibara’s classmates’ weird behaviour makes him confused and he wonders what’s going on. “Another” follows Class 3-3′s supernatural happenings and the story surrounding it.
“Another” is a really difficult anime to talk about and I’ll get to why in a second. But first, I will delve into the 3 genres I listed above and how the anime executes them.
The supernatural element was handled in a way that I found quite refreshing. The whole anime is enveloped by supernatural happenings and a strange atmosphere. However, instead of focusing on finding out the source of the weird events and trying to stop it at its core, “Another” handles it if it’s just a fact of life in the town and for our characters. While it can be said that the supernatural elements are simply lazy tropes to create a story without having to explain it deeper, I didn’t feel the need for it to be further expanded upon.
There isn’t much to say about the horror in “Another”. I guess the creepy atmosphere would be listed under this category but besides that the only horror-ish things happening are somewhat gruesome deaths. Even then, while the ways characters die is...not pretty, there’s mostly just a shitton of blood but nothing in particular made me too uncomfortable.
Lastly, is the meat of the story and the whole reason I ended up enjoying “Another” as much as I did despite my initial thoughts. The anime starts out a bit slow with a lot of silent scenes and long drawn-out shots for the sake of the atmoshpere. I don’t like slow anime so I was worried that I’ll be bored out of my mind but thankfully the mystery saved it. I know that opinions on this plot device are a bit divided but I thoroughly enjoy plot twists. The kind that I couldn’t see coming. Not to toot my own horn or anything but a lot of media usually builds upon one, singular huge plot twist and I figure them out pretty early on so they aren’t that enjoyable when they actually happen. 
Well, “Another” very smartly leads you on with MULTIPLE plot twists. And these don’t come out of left field either. The anime drops slight hints for a lot of things and you need to follow everything and everyone pretty closely to catch all the small details.
My only problem would be with the ending which was a bit...well. It clashed with the established tone of the anime and felt a bit rushed. I understood the intention behind what happens however I think it could’ve been handled better. Some plot holes also remain by the end but the final plot twist was so HUGE, I really didn’t care at the time.
To wrap up, the technical stuff. The animation is well done with a few wonky shots and angles but nothing major. The OST itself is also pretty good, serves as a good backdrop for the scenes and does its job. The OP and the ED are probably the most disappointing musically. The OP doesn’t really fit the tone of the anime (although you get weirdly fond of it by the end) and the ED is a very generic ballad.
All in all, I enjoyed “Another” much more than I thought I would and was an intriguing ride all the way through. If you enjoy stories with uncovering mysteries, and aren’t bothered by blood and supernatural involvements, I’d suggest watching this. [8/10] (x)
Recommend: HELL Yeah! | Yes | Eh??? | Nope | This anime killed my parents
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watusichris · 6 years
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“Desolation Center“: Joy at Sea
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Tonight I’ll be attending a cast and crew screening of “Desolation Center,” Stuart Swezey’s new documentary about the unusual alfresco punk shows he promoted in the early ‘80s. I am a talking head in the picture. Lo and behold, while doing a little poking around on the web, I discovered that 34 years ago to the day today, I attended the event I talk about in the film, aboard a whale-watching boat in San Pedro Harbor. Here’s what I wrote about for the event in the Los Angeles Reader. **********
         The biggest problem with rock ‘n’ roll performances is the wall socket. The music runs on electricity; hence it must be played in basements, garages, dives, and concert halls in which juice can readily be run. Over the years, the rock ‘n’ roll imagination has become hamstrung by a familiar proscenium-arch setting. It’s a thing of the stage and, no matter how much a band gussies things up with flash pots, fog machines, backdrops, and other theatrical gimcracks, we still know that we’ve been looking at a stage at the end of a forty-five minute set.
           Not everybody in the world is happy with this set-up. Take the folks at the Desolation Center. For the last couple of years, mastermind Bruce Licher (the guiding light of Savage Republic and the most artful of local record packagers) and his cohorts have schlepped people out into the middle of the desert by the busload to witness rock ‘n’ roll in its most radical state, played in its most radical environment. Although I never made the Death Valley trek (must have something to do with having seen Erich von Stroheim’s Greed at an early age), I’ve always admired the idea of a rock ‘n’ roll outing – it limbers up the brain by providing a new imaginative context for the performance.
           Last week, the Desolation Center hit on another original idea for taking rock ‘n’ roll out of the nightclub and into the real world: “Joy at Sea,” a three-hour “sea-going musical expedition” held on board a cruise vessel meandering in a circle from San Pedro to Long Beach through the Port of Los Angeles harbor. Since drowning has always been a more appealing way of dying than expiring of thirst as far as I am concerned, I signed on for the tour.
           I approached the journey with some trepidation. Hell, I thought, this could be some kind of punk Pequod. I envisioned myself floating around San Pedro Harbor on the back of a coffin, as my capsized ship was sucked into a whirlpool and Robert Lloyd*, strapped by harpoon lines to the back of a great white whale, screamed, “Springsteen! Springsteen!” as he was carried to his watery doom. Call me Maurice.
           This fantasy proved to be a case of too much Melville. The boat, the S.S. Cormorant, proved to be a sturdy-looking two-tiered cruise vessel; at the stern of the upper deck, a small stage had been erected. Lights and a PA system had been lashed to the sides of the stage. The good-sized boat sat comfortably in the dark, serene water. At the neighboring dock, a group of teenagers sang a loud, drunken rendition of “Happy Birthday” from the back of a small pleasure boat. My nerves calmed, I boarded merrily, washing down two Dramamine with a tap beer, and waited for us to cast off.
           Shortly after 9:30 p.m., the Cormorant glided away from the dock. After a brief interval that allowed the 200-odd passengers to get their sea legs, the South Bay quartet Lawndale started cranking up below decks. They attracted a small group, since most of the assembled crew was jammed together up top, waiting for the Meat Puppets to begin their set. A pity, for Lawndale (in yachting caps and deck shoes) proved to be a completely entertaining neo-surf combo, who tore into their all-instrumental set with a vigor evidently born of the ocean-going setting.
           After Lawndale wound up their brief but refreshing set, I moved upstairs and wedged my way next to the stage. The Meat Puppets were experiencing some technical difficulties, so I had a chance to take in the harbor as we coasted by. The notion of the cruise was plainly anti-romantic: The Port of Los Angeles is the home of heavy industry. One experienced a new sense of scale as the Cormorant sailed past docked oil tankers some three city blocks long; the petroleum refineries glowed an angry yellow in the distance.
          After much fussing and fiddling with their equipment, the Puppets finally got under way again. The set progressed in fits and starts as the overamped trio repeatedly blew out the circuit breakers on the overtaxed vessel, but it proved to be an impressive showing, heightened by the shifting open-air backdrop of the harbor.
           The Meat Puppets are a trio from Arizona fronted by two long-haired, somewhat retarded-looking siblings, guitarist/vocalist Curt Kirkwood and bassist Cris Kirkwood. With drummer Derrick Bostrom, the brothers stir up a fantastic amount of noise; Curt pushed his old gold Les Paul into overdrive. The Puppets have a rep as an on-and-off band, but last Friday they turned in a performance as sharp and bracing as the ocean air.
          The group played a set that alternated between their own microcephalic country material (such as “Split Myself in Two” and the strange Grateful Dead-style instrumental “I’m a Mindless Idiot”) to some bizarre cover tunes. In a wobbly voice that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a sob, Curt Kirkwood essayed Elvis Presley’s “Trouble” and “Good Rockin’ Tonight,” Tony Joe White’s “Polk Salad Annie,” and the Foghat arrangement of “I Just Want to Make Love to You.”
           The musical and visual high point of the evening occurred in the middle of the Puppets’ set. The band launched into a ferocious jam announced as “Enchanted Fortress.” As the music reached its peak, with Bostrom slamming his kit and Curt Kirkwood drawing gnarled, agonized lines from his Gibson, the Cormorant passed under the enormous bridge that links the two sides of the harbor. The structure is so high that the cars crossing it looked like planes flying low over the water. The force of the music and the feeling of motion and immense scale all fused to produce a unique sensation – a moment of joy, just as advertised.
           Somebody on the top deck whooped and set off a signal flare in celebration.
          After the Meat Puppets’ set came to a loud and triumphant close, some of the partiers ventured downstairs to score another beer and check out the “psychoactive sound/visuals” of Points of Friction, which proved to be a minimally interesting low-rent light show projected on a sheet/screen. If it had been a normal concert, this would have been the time to hit the lobby for a cigarette; instead, you could head for the outside areas fore and aft, to gaze at the darkened yachts or yell drunkenly at the diners aboard the sea-going restaurant the Princess Louise. The ennui that is so often a given at a rock concert disappeared, blown away in the mild harbor wind.
          By the time the evening’s headliners, the Minutemen, were ready to play, the top deck resembled a seaworthy version of the Cathay de Grande’s basement, with the audience members shoehorned together in a tight, motionless pack. The little stage looked too small and the lighting buttresses too fragile for the peripatetic Minutemen; I wondered to myself if Dennes Boon, the leaping, bounding mountain who plays guitar for the group, wouldn’t send the whole kaboodle over the side with his elephantine dancing.
           My fears again proved boundless; although bassist Mike Watt stood (somewhat nervously, I thought) behind one of the PA columns to give Boon more room, the gargantuan guitarist didn’t jar the stage loose with his galloping. San Pedro’s greatest contribution to Western Civilization played their customarily brilliant set, featuring crowd-pleasing oldies (including the appropriately nautical “The Anchor”), a devilish 20-second cover of Van Halen’s “Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love,” a moving slow version of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Don’t Look Now, It Ain’t You Or Me,” and a generous helping of the new, forty-five song two-record set Double Nickels On the Dime.
          Another grand visual moment came late in the evening. As the Minutemen surged through their lightning-like songs, the Cormorant reached the point where the harbor joined the ocean; as the boat made a wide turn to head back into port, a vast expanse of the Pacific loomed up behind the trio as they steamed through a clipped, thrashing tune. The almost-full moon made the water dance into infinity. For a landlocked rock ‘n’ roller, it was a sight and sound to behold.
           The Cormorant nudged up against the dock while the Minutemen were still playing. The show broke up quickly and I weaved down the gangplank, more than a little drunk and thoroughly exhilarated. It had been a surprisingly perfect evening – no fights, no hassles, no boredom. No seasickness. The combination of the fine music and the shifting seascapes had opened a new window in my head by taking rock ‘n’ roll out of dry-dock and into fresh performance terrain.
           Sign me up for the Desolation Center’s 1990 moon shot. It should be worth the long haul.
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*Lloyd, now a TV critic at the Los Angeles Times, was the Springsteen-loving music editor of the LA Weekly. (photos: Ann Summa)
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agrestenoir · 6 years
Text
brand new eyes (a cholya fic)
Title: brand new eyes Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Pairing/Characters: Alya/Chloe Summary: Chloe didn’t mean to fall in love with Alya. It happens anyway. Notes: commission for the wonderful kaligulas Word Count: 1990 words
READ ON AO3 
i.
Chloe doesn’t remember falling in love with Alya.
If anything, there’s just a moment when they’re sitting next to each other, and Chloe looks up, catching sight of Alya against the backdrop of the Parisian sunset, and suddenly the world turns quiet. I love you, she thinks as she stares at her, all wind-kissed cheeks and wide eyes from their race through the city. I love you, and I always have.
ii.
It starts with photography, of all things.
Managing the Ladyblog has turned into more of a chore than a hobby, and even as she fights to write about her experiences or vlog about the latest events, Alya just can’t seem to meet the demands of her fan following. Chloe should know, as she stalks the blog on the regular to learn more about her favorite superheroes and has browsed through the hundreds of comments left on every post. For as good as she is, Alya’s only talent comes from writing. Her videos and poor quality of pictures do not appease the fans, and Chloe is tired of waiting for the light to click on for the journalist.
“I’ve gotta do everything myself,” Chloe grumbles as she perches on the corner of the rooftop of the Le Grand Paris. With the downward trend Alya’s been going on, Chloe knows the blog might be at risk for deletion, and Chloe Bourgeois will absolutely not stand to see her favorite blog be taken down; where else would she get her primetime Ladybug content?
It’s clear Alya needs her.
Camera in hand, she scans the Paris skyline until she locks on two forms in the distance, whipping around buildings on a yo-yo string and vaulting over chimneys with a baton. She waits until they’re in view, the image sharp and in focus, and she snaps a quick photo. Before Ladybug and Chat Noir can disappear, she takes a dozen or so more pictures, and once satisfied, she uploads them to a flash drive.
The next day, Chloe hands Alya the flash drive without a word of explanation. “Thought you could use this,” she tells the blogger. “You need all the help you can get honestly. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long without me.”
For the next week, Alya displays the photographs on the front page of the Ladyblog. Once she’s run out of photographs, Alya asks Chloe for some more, and for some odd reason, the blonde agrees and submits more pictures the next morning.
They never speak more than a few murmurs of Alya’s gratitude and Chloe’s quiet appreciation for the Ladyblog.
And so it continues until the tagline at the bottom of the front page of the Ladyblog reads “© 2017 Alya Cesaire & Chloe Bourgeois”.
iii.
Chloe takes on the reign of Queen Bee when the call for help arises, joining Ladybug and Chat Noir on the city rooftops as they defend Paris from evil and the rest of the melodrama that comes with being a teenage superhero. When Rena Rouge joins up, it gives her someone to rely on. Both are new, fumbling through the steps of a dance that Ladybug and Chat Noir have long since mastered. They spend long nights on the Paris streets, learning their powers and each other, because if Ladybug and Chat Noir are partners, then they need to be too.
If she must provide a concrete answer as to why she accepted the job, Chloe chooses to blame duty. So here she stands, duty-bound and driven, just like her father to mayor Paris, just like Ladybug and Chat Noir to protect people, just like Alya to run the Ladyblog…
If there’s one thing she’s learned over the past few months helping Alya run the Ladyblog, it’s that sometimes she really is the only one who can do it. People depend on people like her, and who is she to turn away when they need her? She is the only reason Paris remains standing half the time anyway.
The only downside of spending so much time as Queen Bee is that she can’t provide pictures of the heroes for Alya as frequently as before.
It hurts her, more deeply than it should have, when Alya corners her after class one day and asks hesitantly, almost unsure, “Are you going to send me anymore pictures?”
What is Chloe supposed to say? I became a superhero and don’t have the time. Sorry, loser, but you’re on your own?
The Ladyblog is Alya’s reason, her lifeblood—something she’s spent hours and days and months crafting to perfection. Chloe knows this, and somehow through matters she hadn’t meant to spur into play, Alya has given her a piece of it too.
© 2017 Alya Cesaire & Chloe Bourgeois
“No, of course not,” Chloe tells her, waving her hand in a flippant gesture in front of Alya’s face. “My camera broke, I’m getting a new one. You don’t need to be so demanding.”
Alya bits her bottom lip. “Thank you.”
Chloe freezes, and a soft smile slowly stretches across her face. “What’re friends for, Cesaire?”
Chloe brings her camera to the next patrol, much to Ladybug’s protest, but she doesn’t care. After becoming Queen Bee, Ladybug has lost her charm as an idol, and is now resigned to a teammate, an ally, a somewhat annoying friend that Chloe’s grown to care for. After they finish patrol, Chloe begs the rest of her team to stick around so that she could gather a few snapshots for “a friend”. Rena Rouge is more than happy to help, Ladybug a bit begrudgingly agrees, and Chat Noir laughs and asks who the “lucky lady” is.
Chloe kicks him off the top of the Eiffel Tower.
“So a ‘lucky lady?’” Rena Rouge teases, nudging Chloe with her elbow. “You in love, Bee?”
“Something like that,” Chloe tells her honestly. After snapping a few more shows, she sits down on a metal beam, legs hooking around one of the struts, and clicks through the images, letting out an appreciate hum.
Rena Rouge swings down beside her, grasping the metal strut to keep her balance on the beam. “Can I see them?” she asks, referring to Chloe’s pictures.
Chloe pauses, camera clasped tight in her hands, and tries to form a proper response. Her photography, unlike much of what she does, isn’t something she broadcasts to the rest of the world. What she gives Alya for the Ladyblog is pieces she’s critically gone over and edited to the best of her ability. She’s never let anyone see the raw footage before.
But the look on Rena Rouge’s face, like she actually cares about what Chloe does, seals the deal.
“Knock yourself out,” she says, handing Rena Rouge her camera. Shoulders tense, she watches warily for the other hero’s reaction because Chloe Bourgeois refuses to sit idly by if she’s just going to be torn down. “I already know they’re good though.”
Rena Rouge accepts the camera with a murmur of thanks, an eager smile stretching across her face. Chloe watches the smile slowly fade, lips dropping in a small oh of surprise, as Rena Rouge studies the picture, a stupid sunset full of purples and pinks. It’s something Chloe could’ve taken in her sleep, just a boring old scenic shot that anyone with a camera could capture, and it cries mournfully into the late evening air.
A laugh falls from Rena Rouge. “These are… unbelievable.” By now, Ladybug and Chat Noir have joined them, perched on either side as they stare at Chloe’s pictures. “These are… You’re really talented.”
“I know,” Chloe says because she feels like she has to, but inside something burns deep. She hopes Alya feels the same way.
Rena Rouge rests a soft hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “These are really good. Trust me, I know a photographer who’d say the same thing. Your friend is going to love these.”
Numbly, Chloe takes the camera back from Rena Rouge. “I hope so,” she murmurs, voice low and rough. “I hope so.”
She just wants Alya to like them.
(She just wants Alya to like her).
iv.
When she presents the photographs to Alya the next day, the other girl wastes no time in hooking them up to her laptop and uploading them to the Ladyblog. “Thanks, girl. People have been asking for these all week.”
“People can wait for perfection,” Chloe says, not unkindly, and sits on the edge of the desk, waiting for Alya’s reaction. It’s the first time she snapped photos up close, and she’s eager to hear what the other girl has to say. “They’re a little different…”
There’s silence as Alya looks at the pictures. Her eyes flicker between the laptop screen and Chloe as she struggles to form a sentence. “Do you know… I mean, how did you…”
“Are they that bad?” Chloe asks, cocking her head.
Alya stares at her then, really stares at her. “Are you….” Voice lowering into a whisper, she asks, “Are you Queen Bee?”
There’s silence once more, and the only sound is each other’s heart beats, banging in their chests from the shock and revelations. “W-What?” Chloe laughs. “That’s a stupid thing to say. What makes you think I’d be a superhero?”
“Because I’ve seen these before,” Alya hisses. “I saw them last night when Queen Bee was taking them.”
Chloe’s breath catches in her throat. “You’re Rena—”
“I’m the friend,” Alya says with growing horror. “I’m the friend you were taking the pictures for, your lucky lady, oh god, oh god, you like me—” Hysteria is slowly setting in, and Chloe can hear it in the growing panic of Alya’s voice.
She acts on the first thought that enters her mind.
She reaches forward, cups Alya’s jaw, and kisses her to shut her up.
It works.
Alya’s lips are warm, and after the shock, she begins to kiss back and that is not what Chloe’s intention was, but who is she to argue? After a few moments of silence, of kisses and revelations, they pull away and sit back in their seats in the empty classroom.
“You’re Queen Bee,” Alya repeats in awe, shock still filtering through her. “You like me.”
Chloe can only shrug. “Yes,” she says. “To all of the above.”
v.
Back on the Eiffel Tower, donning the masks and camera, Alya leans against Chloe’s chest as they stare out over the slumbering city. “What made you like me anyway?” she asks curiously. “We used to hate each other.”
Chloe shrugs against the cool metal pressing into her back. “I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “I guess, in the beginning, you needed me, and… somewhere along the lines, I realized I needed you too. You sort of gave me… a reason, I guess? I actually wouldn’t have agreed to be Queen Bee if it wasn’t for you.”
Alya perks up, gaze resting on Chloe. “Really?”
Chloe smiles because she know shoe easy it had been for Alya to slip on the mask. “Yeah,” she tells her, “You taught me a few things about duty. I couldn’t say no after that.”
“Well I’m glad,” Alya says, resting her head in the crook of Chloe’s neck, pressing her nose against the warm skin. “It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
“Yeah,” Chloe echoes. “It wouldn’t.”
Together, they watch the lights blink out in the city as people turn in for the night, but they choose to stay on the Eiffel Tower, long after patrol. Pressed against each other, together at last, Chloe tries to imagine her life without Alya. The truth is, though, she can’t. And somehow that’s the most important thing.
I love you, she thinks. You changed my life, and I love you for that.
Someday, she knows she’ll tell Alya, but for now, she’s content to just to hold onto the other girl.
She has all the time in the world.
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sindrafalcone · 7 years
Text
The Mom Ch. 12
Fandom: BIGBANG/ Choi Seung Hyun
Synopsis: First Birthday
Warnings: Fluff… as per usual.
Author’s Note: Well, here we are. We’ve reached the end of The Mom as a regular series. *sigh* Don’t worry though! I’ll still be writing occasional bits & pieces set in the “Nannyverse”. I could never stay away from it for too long <3
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This story contains fictional representations of real people. None of the events are true. This is from an American standpoint, so some of the situations may not happen the same way they might in Korea. I make no money from the writing of this fictional work.
Masterlist
You could hear the sounds of your phone notification going off from your bedside table. The first three came in rapid succession. Then there was a few minutes pause before it started up again. Four this time. Then another pause, followed by two more.
With a groan, you gave up on getting any more sleep and rolled over to grab your phone. Swiping to unlock it, you were greeted by what you had suspected for causing the noise all along. A slew of Instagram notifications... all of them from Seung Hyun. Unsurprisingly, only two pictures remained. Apparently, your husband had gone on one of his infamous uploading and immediately deleting sprees. You assumed these two were the last ones. In one selca, he and the twins were both smiling at the camera & in the other they were kissing his cheeks while he had one of the biggest smiles you had ever seen. Accompanying each picture was a sweet caption about today being the twins Doljanchi, or first birthday party.
“Oh, you're awake.” you heard him say from the doorway.
“Yeah... thanks to your Instagram spam.” you laughed, rolling over to face him.
He walked into the room, each hand holding one of the twins as they toddled into the bedroom.
“I couldn't help it!” he whined. “I went to get them up and ready for breakfast and they were just being so cute!”
“Yes.” you agreed helping Seung Min up onto the bed. “It was adorable.”
You settled in to feed your son. Both children were still clinging to one feed per day. Luckily for you, Seung Ja liked hers in the evening and Seung Min in the morning. You knew it wouldn't be long before they would finally be done though, and the thought made you a little sad.
“I'll take Thing 1 downstairs and get her some breakfast.” Seung Hyun told you, leaning over to drop a quick kiss to your forehead before picking up his daughter. You smiled as Sung Ja giggled when he swung her easily up into his arms.
“Okay. We'll be down soon.”
In the time it took you to feed Seung Min, your phone had gone off an additional five times. All of them pictures of Sung Ja happily eating her breakfast of cereal and fruit.
With a shake of your head and a smile, you wondered how long it would take before Seung Hyun deleted them all.
“You... you decorated for the party in Mondrian?” Seung Hyun exclaimed as he came to an abrupt stop, stunned by what he saw.
Everywhere he looked, the colors of red, yellow, blue and black hung from anything and everything that could possibly support it. Streamers, paper lanterns, lights and balloons of varying shapes and sizes... all adorned a backdrop of pure white. It was like walking into a life size series of Mondrian artworks.
It was so surreal and at the same time touching in a way.
“Seung Hyun-a, because of you the twins have grown up adoring art, you know that.” you reminded him, kissing him sweetly on the cheek. “Would you have preferred they had a Bigbang birthday party instead?”
Your husband visibly grimaced with the very thought of his own children having that theme for their first birthday party. Images of the fancy banquet hall awash in nothing but yellow and black with crowns made him internally shudder. Not that he was opposed to the idea if they wanted to choose it later... just not for their Doljanchi.
“Hell no.” he growled. “It’s perfect just the way it is.”
“I thought you might agree.” you grinned.
Looking to his left, Seung Hyun froze, his frown suddenly reappearing with a vengeance. “Really?” he asked in disbelief, a little annoyed. “A piñata?”
“I'm pretty sure that was Yeon Jun's idea.” you thoughtfully replied, looking up at the giant, multicolored star. “He said it was so the children at the party could have something fun to do.”
Seung Hyun harrumphed with the revelation. “You do realize that you’re supposed to beat the crap out of a piñata with a stick in order to get the candy inside, right?”
“Yes…and?”
Staring at the confusion etched on your beautiful face, he couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at the corners of his lips. “I'm pretty sure that your brothers are going to be the biggest children at the party then.”
“Like you're not going to try it for yourself?” you teased him with a chuckle, knowing how child-like he could be at times. “You should take plenty of pictures then. Blackmail for later.”
The twins both began to squeal loudly with delight at the sight of all the decorations, the multicolored balloons, the streamers and lights, the large piñata dangling from a beam in the ceiling.
Seung Hyun couldn’t contain the smirk of pride or the sudden flood of warmth that inundated his heart knowing how much his children shared his passion for art. It brought about a sense of pure elation that was beyond imagination or description.
“Appa!” Sung Ja continued to cry excitedly, her bright brown eyes wide in absolute wonder as she tried to take it all in, pointing and yelling her father’s name over and over.
You chuckled at your daughter's reaction to the decorations, setting Seung Min down on the floor so he could explore it all. “I think they like the party already.” you said, amused by him.
Seung Hyun did the same & the twins toddled around the room, pointing and jabbering endlessly to everyone and no one. Suddenly Youngbae and Daesung appeared, kneeling down to pick up the twins, who greeted their uncles enthusiastically. They walked with the children around the room to the various decorations as well as the large table already filled with presents. Seung Min swiftly leaned forward in an effort to reach his presents, almost toppling out of Youngbae's arms in a desperate need to get to them.
“Whoa there, Thing 2.” Youngbae laughed, pulling him more firmly into his arms. “I hope the others arrive soon. Seung Min's getting anxious to open his presents.”
“I know what you mean.” Daesung laughed as he tried to contain a squirming Sung Ja.
“Who is ready to party?” Seungri suddenly hollered as he entered the festively decorated banquet hall, a life-sized stuffed panda in his arms.
“I think I’ve just been dropped into a new level of hell.” Seung Hyun groaned, his frustration escalating as he rubbed his face with his hands.
“Where’s the birthday girl?” Jiyong yelled. “Uncle Ji is here! It’s time to get this party started right!”
A half hour later and you felt like the party was beginning to fall apart. Both the photographer and the caterer had been late in setting up, causing you to freak out.
“Hey.” Seung Hyun softly said, his finger beneath your chin forcing you to look at him. “It’ll be alright, gongju-nim.”
“Everything just seems like such a mess.” you whispered as you fought back tears, your bottom lip trembling as you looked into his piercing brown eyes full of love and concern.
“It’s perfect.” he reassured you, leaning in and kissing you softly. “And so are you.”
You returned his kiss, a tear slipping free. He quickly captured it with his lips as he gently rubbed your back in an attempt to comfort you. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” you murmured.
“Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out.” Seung Hyun teased as he kissed you again.
“Ok you two...” Seungri loudly said. “Get a room!”
Your husband growled under his breath, useful methods for throwing an annoying friend out of a party flitting through his mind as you took his hand in yours, interlacing your fingers with his. “Just ignore him.” you gently instructed him. “It’ll be over soon and then you can have me all to yourself tonight.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to wait that long.” he admitted. “Someone please just shoot me now.” Seung Hyun pleaded with a groan as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands.
Wiping your eyes, you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, wrapping your arm securely around his. “No way.” you whispered in his ear. “There’s no way that I’m living without you, Seung Hyun. I did not give up my nanny job just to have you leave me.”
“Don’t worry, princess.” he said with a sigh, looking up just in time to see a caterer finally enter pushing a cart loaded with trays of food.
The woman did a double take at the sight of the gigantic panda that Seungri had his arm around as if it were a real person. The caterer rolled her eyes and shook her head in obvious disbelief before resuming her journey to the buffet table.
Several more people arrived at that moment, their birthday presents in hand, your boss being one of them. “Nice doll, Seungri.” Dong Wook said with an incredulous shake of his head.
“Hey, I had this specially made.” your brother spouted in indignation. “Nothing but the absolute best for my favorite godchildren.”
“They're your only godchildren, maknae.” Jiyong said with an irritated sigh as he bounced Sung Ja on his hip.
The sudden feel of familiar fingers caressing your cheek tore you from your thoughts. Looking over, you found your handsome husband now kneeling down before you, a tender smile on his face. “Having a rough day?” he softly asked.
“Just a lot going on.” you admitted as you leaned into his hand.
His smile turned into a worried frown. “Do you want to go outside for a little bit & get some fresh air?” he offered. “I can come get you when the twins are ready to open their presents.”
“No…no, I’m fine.” you reassured him, tilting your head to kiss the palm of his hand still on your cheek. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Seung Hyun suddenly got a very mischievous look on his face, his smile returning. “Want me to kidnap you and take you home?”
“Definitely not.” you insisted, doing your best to keep an annoyed look on your face but it was next to impossible with how absolutely adorable he looked at that moment. He was so playful, so happy…so free from the countless burdens that had weighed down his heart for so very long.
“Do you know how sexy you look right now?” he murmured, something husky in his voice causing your eyebrow to quirk in amusement.
“Alright you two.” your mother in law said as she approached with her plate in hand, settling into a chair next to you. “You’ve already given me two more grandchildren. Let’s wait for number three until after we finish the Doljanchi, shall we?”
“I think that is my cue to leave.” Seung Hyun said as he got to his feet, noting the blush that rose to his wife’s cheeks. “I’ll go get you something to eat, ________-ah.”
Seung Hyun's mother watched with you as he walked away. Your heart felt full of a love that was only written about in fairy tales and movies, and hers filled with growing respect and admiration for you that she never would have expected a few years ago.
The older woman watched her son as he paused to check on Seung Min who was currently sitting on Youngbae's lap eating his lunch. It was obvious how much her grandson loved his uncle, but it was even more obvious how much he absolutely idolized his father.
“I can hardly believe that is the same man you married.” she thoughtfully commented. “He's changed so much.”
“It’s the same man that I saw brief glimpses of hidden beneath years of heartbreaking pain and countless fears.” you replied. “I just get to see him much more frequently now.”
“He’s a very good man, angel.” she told you. “He did well. It’s quite apparent how deeply he loves you.”
“I don’t think I could possibly love him more.” you wistfully agreed with a smile.
After the meal, it was finally time for the Doljabi. You had felt a little strange about dressing in traditional Korean clothes, but after reassurances from both your husband and mother in law that you looked beautiful, you'd just decided to go with it. So after eating, your small family of four went into an adjoining room to change clothes for the ceremony.
When you came back into the banquet hall holding Sung Ja, there were so many camera flashes that you felt temporarily blinded. This section of the party was the only one that the press would have access to, and they were taking full advantage of it. You politely dealt with it until both children began to get impatient, then Seung Hyun moved forward towards the place where the Doljabi itself would take place.
Spread out on the floor was a large rectangle of white satin, with an assortment of things for the twins to choose from. There were the traditional items, of course... string, rice, money and things like that. But you'd put a personal twist on the ceremony as well. Each of your brothers had chosen something to place with the rest of the things. There was a small piggy bank from Seungri and a toy drum from Daesung. Youngbae had added a bible and Jiyong a microphone. Lastly, there was a paint palette to represent Seung Hyun's passion for art and a toy camera for your photography.
You carefully set your daughter down on the floor & Seung Hyun did the same for your son. Both of you watched, nervously holding hands as you waited for the twins to choose an object to predict their future.
The twins crawled cautiously over to the toys, looking over them carefully while babbling to each other in a language only they could understand. After only a few moments, you watched as Sung Ja leaned over her brother to get what she wanted... the microphone. Jiyong could barely contain his excitement, & you heard his whispered, “Yes!” even as Seung Hyun groaned at the thought of his precious little girl becoming an idol like him.
Seung Min, as usual, took a little longer to decide which thing he wanted to pick up. As his sister played with the microphone, singing nonsense into the wrong end, he stared quietly at his choices. Finally he leaned forward, his chubby little fingers coming to rest on the palette. He turned around with it in his hands, proudly displaying the toy for his father's approval.
Looking over you could see the tears of happiness trailing down Seung Hyun's cheeks as he watched his son.
You watched as the twins opened the last of their presents, a toy convertible large enough for them to sit in and peddle around. The gift had elicited the loudest and longest squeal of delight from the one year olds who couldn’t stop touching it and patting it with their hands, completely in awe over it.
You didn’t think that their smile could get any bigger than it was at that moment. “Can you two give Uncle Ji a hug and a kiss for the birthday gift he gave you?” you asked the twins, laughing as they all but ran over to him to hug him.
“I think Jiyong should be banned for a month for spoiling them.” Seung Hyun grunted, his eyes betraying his chiding tone.
“That is what godfathers are supposed to do.” Jiyong proudly proclaimed in mock indignation. “Spoil them rotten and then unleash them on their parents to deal with.”
“You’re exactly right.” Daesung agreed with a nod.
“You weren’t much better, Daesung.” your husband pointed out. “A whole toy medical kit?”
“Just showing them some options for their future.” he said with a proud grin.
“Hey, nobody said anything about my gift.” Seungri pouted.
“I’m sure your gift will keep them up all night with nightmares.” Youngbae told him with a smirk.
“That’s not true!” Seungri maintained. “It’s a great gift.”
“Yes, it is, goofball.” you placated the younger man, patting his knee. “I’m sure Sung Ja especially adores it.”
Seungri grinned smugly, pleased with the attention he was finally receiving. “Anything for my little brat.”
“Who is ready for birthday cake?” Seung Hyun's mother announced as she returned pushing a cart with a huge, tiered cake, complete with decorations keeping in the Mondrian theme.
Both of your children's faces lit up at the sight of the cake, instantly abandoning the new car for the sweet treat that their grandmother had just brought out.
“Halmeoni.” Seung Min babbled, reaching up his hands towards her and the cake. “Cake!"
She laughed as she looked down at the little boy. “This one is for everyone else, Seung Min.” she informed him. “I have a very special cake set aside especially for you.”
The little boys eyes got wide as Hye Yoon and Yeon Jun came out with two smaller cakes, both of them similar to the big one, but only one layer.
“Appa!” he excitedly cried at the sight of his cake.
Picking him up, Seung Hyun sat him down on his lap as you did the same with Sung Ja. Your sister in law set the cake down on a table in front of him & Yeon Jun put his cousins cake down in front of you. Before they could light the single candle on top the cakes, the photographer was already snapping pictures, much to your exasperation, as both of the twins hands immediately went for the cake.
Small fingers dug eagerly into the colorful designs representing one of their father's favorite artists, revealing chocolate cake hidden beneath the thick cover of icing. Seung Min quickly put his fingers into his mouth, sucking the sweet frosting off.
“Well that lasted a whole two seconds.” Seung Hyun frowned as his son turned around and patted his father’s face with his sticky hands. “Great. Thanks, Thing 2.”
You couldn’t hide your amusement at seeing your children and now your husband covered in cake and frosting as Seung Min continued to eat his cake with his fingers, sharing it with his father. You could barely contain your tears of happiness as you watched Seung Hyun trying to avoid being attacked by any more cake and failing miserably.
You could only imagine how the twins second birthday was going to turn out.
Seung Hyun was just returning from cleaning himself up in the restroom when he found his friends all standing in a cluster in the center of the room. As he approached, he saw them pointing and whispering excitedly, laughing about something. Suddenly, he felt a burning desire to find out what it was all about.
“Are you going to tell him?” Dong Wook asked with a laugh.
“I'm not telling him.” Daesung snorted. “I fixed the mess last time. It's someone else's turn.”
“Maybe we shouldn't say anything?” Jiyong offered. “See how long it takes him to figure it out.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Seung Hyun asked, checking under his fingernails yet again to see if he'd missed any bits of cake.
“Oh... um, hi hyung!” Seungri said a little too loudly, causing Youngbae to smack him on the arm.
The group of men all stared at their friend guiltily and he knew they were up to something.
“What's going on... spill!” Seung Hyun said impatiently.
“We don't have to spill.” Dong Wook said with a smirk.
“See for yourself.” Jiyong smiled widely, pointing over to a table in the far corner of the room.
Your husband turned in that direction, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. You were sitting at the table, enjoying dessert with your niece and nephew, laughing at something Yeon Jun had just said. Then Seung Hyun watched as you used your spoon to dig into the bowl in front of you... lifting a huge spoonful of vanilla ice cream to your mouth and taking a bite.
“Oh, shit...” Seung Hyun whispered, causing the men around him to erupt in laughter.
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peterposition-blog · 4 years
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Political Circus
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What a disappointing time we are living in. 
Following the acquittal, both President Donald Trump and Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi held their own press conferences. Both of them were absolutely ridiculous. Both of them full of fighting words. It’s just sad.
“It’s Bullshit!”
It’s funny how now that he was able to manipulate his Republican senators into voting that he was not guilty for the clear abuse of power he committed, Trump went on a barrage of words against the Democrats, the entire impeachment process, and specifically Nancy Pelosi and Mitt Romney.
His conference, which he deemed a ‘celebration,’ felt like a WWE promo. It’s so frustrating and depressing to see our President acting like this. 
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He held up a copy of The Washington Post with the words ‘acquitted’ as he said to First Lady Melania Trump, ‘Honey, maybe we'll frame it. The only good headline I've ever had on The Washington Post.’
To summarize the incredible speech that I would hope never to hear again from someone that is President of the United States, here are some of the most absurd quotes.
‘And we were treated unbelievably unfairly, and you have to understand we first went through Russia, Russia, Russia. It was all bullshit.‘
‘They made up facts. A corrupt politician named Adam Schiff made up my statement to the Ukrainian president. He brought it out of thin air. Just made it up. They say, he’s a screenwriter, a failed screenwriter.’
‘We did a prayer breakfast this morning, *and I thought that was really good. In fact, that was so good it might wipe this out. But by the time we finish this, we’ll wipe that one out, those statements.* I had Nancy Pelosi sitting four seats away, and I’m saying things that a lot of people wouldn’t have said, but I meant every word, okay?’
*Note: All he cares about is headlines, headlines, headlines. He’s still the same reality television star he’s always been. Yuck. Back to his quotes.
‘Then you have some who used religion as a crutch. They never used it before. An article written today. Never heard him use it before. But today, you know, it’s one of those things. It’s a failed presidential candidate, so things can happen when you fail so badly running for president. Say hello to the people of Utah and tell them I’m sorry about Mitt Romney.‘
‘Adam Schiff is a vicious, horrible person. Nancy Pelosi is a horrible person. And she wanted to impeach a long time ago when she said, I pray for the president. She doesn’t pray. She may pray but she prays for the opposite. But I doubt she prays at all. These are vicious people.‘
‘People are very angry that Nancy Pelosi and all these guys — I mean, [Jerry] Nadler, I’ve known him much of my life. He’s fought me in New York for 25 years. I always beat him, and I had to beat him another time, and I’ll probably have to beat him again, because if they find that I happened to walk across the street and maybe go against the light or something, let’s impeach him. So I’ll probably have to do it again because these people have gone stone cold crazy. I’ve beat them all my life and I’ll beat them again if I have to.‘
‘Iowa. And he was talking about the fiasco. The Democrats can’t count some simple votes yet they want to take over your health care system. Think of that.‘
‘You could say it but this is sort of a day of celebration because we went through hell. And I’m sure that Pelosi and crying Chuck [Schumer] — the only time I ever saw him cry was when it was appropriate. I’ve known him for a long time, crying Chuck.‘
‘I want to apologize to my family for having them have to go through a phony, rotten deal by some very evil and sick people, and Ivanka is here and my sons and my whole family.‘
I can’t recall the last time we had a President that spoke like this. Unhinged. His ego really jumped out here. It’s so sad. This man is the one running the country. And he is here basically having a big old laugh at his political opponents like the typical bully he is - knowing damn well that he got away with abuse of power. He got away with it.
Pelosi Pokes Back
While I don’t think fighting words back-and-forth are what either the President or the Speaker of the House should be doing, I still think that Pelosi’s was a little more warranted. She was basically bad-mouthed by Trump all day, so it was human nature to speak out. 
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She had also been stomped on by some of the media and people on social media for ripping the State of the Union speech papers. (Something that I also found a little distasteful to be honest.)
In her speech, she said the following.
‘As required by the Constitution of the United States, the President is to submit in writing or in person, his statement of the State of the Union.  What happened instead was a President using the Congress of the United States as a backdrop for a reality show, presenting a state of mind that had no contact with reality whatsoever.’
‘It was quite appalling to hear the President say the [130], at least, million families in America that are faced with pre-existing medical conditions – a benefit that is afforded to them in the Affordable Care Act – that he was protecting that benefit, when, in fact, he has done everything to dismantle it.‘
‘So, it was, in my view, a manifesto of mistruths, of falsehoods, blatantly, really dangerous to the well-being of the American people if they believed what he said.  So, again we do not want the chamber of the House of Representatives to be used as a backdrop for one of his reality shows with unreality in his presentation.  And, by the way, a serious breach to start shouting ‘Four more years,’ on the Floor of the House, totally inappropriate.’
(NOTE: Yet she ripped the papers, c’mon Pelosi)
‘I don't know if the President understands about prayer or people who do pray, but we do pray for the United States of America.  I pray for him, President Bush still, President Obama.  It is a heavy responsibility.  I pray hard for him, because he is so off the track of our Constitution, our values, our country, the air our children breathe, the water they drink and the rest.  He really needs our prayers.  He can say whatever he wants, but I do pray for him, and I do so sincerely and without anguish.
‘I thought what he said about Senator Romney was particularly without class, when he said ‘Some people use faith as an excuse to do the wrong things.’  It’s so inappropriate at a prayer breakfast.  You want to go to a prayer breakfast, pray on the school vouchers, woman's right to choose, all the things that that is the right audience for, God bless you.  It is a prayer breakfast. That’s something about faith.  May not be something I agree with, but it’s appropriate.  But to go into the stock market and raising up his approval thing and he's mischaracterizing other peoples’ motivation – he’s talking about things he knows little about: faith and prayer.’
‘I tore up a manifesto of mistruths. It was necessary to get the attention of the American people to say, ‘This is not true, and this is how it affects you.’  And I don't need any lessons from anybody, especially the President of the United States, about dignity – dignity.  Is it okay to start saying ‘four more years’ in the House of Representatives?  It’s just unheard of. It is unheard of for the President to insult people there who don't share his views, as well as to misrepresent – present falsehoods.  Some would use the word lie – I don’t like to use the word lie – about what he is saying. So, no, I think it was completely, entirely appropriate.  And considering some of the other exuberances within me, the courteous thing to do.’
‘Now, all presidents have guests – constant guests – that was not a State of the Union.  That was a state – his state of mind.  We want a State of the Union.  Where are we, where are we going and the rest.  Not, ‘Let me just show you how many guests I can draw.  And let me say how I can give a medal of honor’ – do it in your own office.  We don’t come in your office and do Congressional business.  Why are you doing that here?   In any event I feel very liberated.  I feel very liberated.  I feel that I have extended every possible courtesy.  I have shown every level of respect.  I say to my Members all the time, there is no such thing as eternal animosity.  There are eternal friendships, but you never know on what cause you may come together with someone you may perceive as your foe right now.  Everybody is a possible ally in whatever comes next.  ‘E pluribus unum.’  From many, one.  We don't know how many we’d be or how different we’d be, but they want us always to remember that we were one.  And they, our Founders, had their differences, as do we. Again, I extended the hand of friendship to him, to welcome him as the President of the United States, to the People’s House.  It was also an act of kindness, because he looked to me like he was a little sedated.  He looked that way last year too, but he didn’t want to shake hands.  That was that.  That meant nothing to me.  It had nothing to do with my tearing it up.  That came much later. I’m a speed reader.  I just went right through that thing.  So, I knew what was coming when I saw the compilation of falsehoods, but when I heard the first quarter or third I started to think there has to be something that clearly indicates to the American people that this is not the truth.  And he has shredded the truth in his speech.  He’s shredding the Constitution in his conduct.  I shredded his state of his mind address.’
Yikes!
Dangerous Ego
It’s no question that our country is completely divided right now. Our government is completely broken. A clown is using our government to boost his ego, to be in the history books. At least, he will be in the history books as an impeached president. And if common sense and good prevails, as the worst president in history come November.
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One Truth One Lie
During his impeachment victory celebration speech, Trump said the following line.
‘We’ve gone through more than any president or administration, and really, I say for the most part, Republican congressmen, congresswomen and Republican senators, we’ve done more than any administration in the first few years.‘
There is definitely one lie there and one truth. Any guesses? Ha!
See at least I’ll give him that. No, that. That first part. Only the first part!
You can watch Speaker Pelosi’s speech by clicking here. You can watch President Trump’s speech by clicking here.
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a-fluffer-nutter · 7 years
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Window of Desire
A/N - Hey y’all, it’s Rose with another fic. This one is not a reader insert (praise) and it’s for @nhasablog since she prompted it! This little fic as a ton of parallels which I hope you all find and feel free to ask me about anything, comment on what you noticed. I hid a bunch of stuff in there and I like it, so I hope you do too. Here’s a Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them fic. Please, enjoy!
Word Count: 1,323
           The stars above were brighter than he had ever seen. They sparkled down on the Earth, watching over it as beautifully wicked events occurred alongside the hellishly wonderful. Wars were fought, love was won, babies were born, lives were lost. The stars never minded much, their places in the universe seemed to be much less trivial than those of humans.
           The air was cold, the smell of gasoline and asphalt intermixed on the short breeze. Shoes clicked on the sidewalks, hands intertwined after dinner. Rings exposed from small boxes, blood dripping from nostrils. The city was alive, a creature of passion and light, fire and rage, peace and calm.
           A boy stood before a storefront, gazing into the darkened glass of the window. A family of mannequins posing, ready for a spring picnic. Mother in floral sundress, vibrant orange like the burning sun. Father in a red polo, the ripest apple picked from the local orchard. Son wearing a collared shirt, white as the freshest of snow. Young daughter, wobbly on her feet, wearing a sunhat made of apple blossoms. The brightest of blue for the backdrop, a perfect scene. Even without expressions, faces, they all looked happy. It was all cliché, but that’s all the boy wanted.
           Two figures appeared in the window, dim reflections of themselves. The boy had heard them, their quiet footfalls on the concrete, their gaits memorized in his mind. Their presence was welcomed, the lighthouse guiding the lost ship through the storm. The duo comforted him, a feeling he knew little of.
           “I need a place to stay,” The boy uttered, staring at the faces in the window. Their warmth grew, two thin hands on his shoulders. A gentle touch, a small lean, a breath on his ear, a silvery voice.
           “You can stay with us,” Her voice consisted of hidden pain and lavender fields. “Come with us.”
           Her hand held his, a crackling fire melting away the sharp icicles. The streets emptied, the city curling up for its brief, nightly slumber. The moon illuminated the city, shadows watching the three from their nests, guiding them home. The road to their destination was slight, the stairs up to the flat a nuisance. The building dark and dreary. Door opening, guiding the boy into a new life full of life and beauty. The room was fragrant and bright. Cookies baked in the oven, bed freshly made.
           “Welcome, Credence,” Tina smiled as she guided the boy in, “to your new home.”
           He never realized what she meant by this, not until a while later. He thought he would only be of residence for a short while, but this flat quickly became much more than a temporary home.
           Newt followed them in, introducing the boy to Jacob and Queenie. They sat down for a late dinner, a daily occurrence after this day. Afterward, dessert arrived and so did a moment of bonding. Questions were asked, jokes were exchanged. Light flickering for the first time in years.
             “Credence?” There was a knock on his door, sunlight sneaking in through the curtains. A thick fog clouded his vision as the boy rolled over, sleepily glancing up at Tina as she stood in the doorway to his own room. “Wake up, dear.”
           “It’s too early,” Credence’s voice was rough as he glanced over at the clock on the wall. “Can’t I sleep some more?”
           “Unfortunately, not,” Tina let out a light laugh, her hair flowing perfectly. “We have somewhere to go.”
           “Where?” His interest piqued as a bright white shirt was thrown his way.
           “On a picnic,” She replied before stepping out, her dress flowing behind her as she spun around and left him alone to change. It had been almost a year since he came to stay with them and never once did Credence not enjoy a single second. He had done so much with the four of them and he never felt alone or excluded. All he ever felt was wanted.
           Newt greeted him as he entered the main room. The man held a basket, cleanly woven and radiating multiple fragrances. Taking Tina’s hand, the three of them left the flat, Queenie and Jacob ushering them a good day.
           The sky was the brightest of blue when they arrived at the little hill which overlooked the city. Setting out the blanket, the trio sat around and ate the small sandwiches and other delicacies previously prepared. The three of them ate and talked, staring out at the city and enjoying life.
           “Then, Tina screamed in terror,” Newt exclaimed, retelling a story Credence enjoyed.
           “Excuse me, but I remember it quite clearly that you were the one that screamed,” Tina scoffed, nibbling on her cookie.
           “I don’t scream,” Newt remarked, finishing the last of his sandwiches. “So, it must be you whose wrong.”
           “Oh, I can make you scream,” Tina laughed, jabbing him in the ribs. Newt let out a squeal before shifting back, batting his hands against hers.
           “Don’t you dare.”
           “Is that a challenge I hear?” Tina responded before pouncing. She dug into Newt’s sides, the letting out a stream of bubbly laughter often heard around the flat. Tickle fights were quite common with at least one occurring every day. It was usually Newt on the receiving end, but every one of the five who lived there had been tickled a few times.
           Tickling had been a new experience for Credence once he moved in, having had no prior experience before. They taught him, lovingly, and soon enough, he was as into the fights as everyone else. It was something he quite enjoyed, being tickled. It filled him with joy and was relaxing. It was also a moment of pure, unbreakable, bonding.
           No one quite remembers how, but Credence was wrapped into the fight as well during their little picnic. After a few rounds of the three of them being pinned and thrown into hysterics, they leaned into each other, staring out into the bustling city.
           “Credence?” Newt glanced over at the boy, his dark hair against Newt’s red sleeve. “You’ve been with us for a while now.”
           “Yes, I have,” Credence smiled, remembering everything that had happened in the last year.
           “You’ve enjoyed it, have you not?”
           “I’ve enjoyed it very much. More than anything in the world,” He replied, wondering where this was going. He enjoyed living with them incredibly. It was the best thing to have ever happened to him and he was sure nothing could ever be better.
           “Well,” Newt’s voice lingered, glancing at Tina who rested on the opposite side of Credence. “We were wondering if you would like to live with us indefinitely.”
           “What do you mean?” The boy asked, confused.
           “Newt and I have been thinking for a long time and we want to adopt you,” Tina responded, answering for Newt. Credence was taken aback by this, his mind buzzing. “Only if you would like, of course. But, we are very fond of you and frankly, I…I want you to be my son.”
           “There would be a lot of steps, but we’ll make it work,” Newt entered. “We both love you, Credence and we want to do what’s best for you.”
           “Thank you,” Credence felt tears forming, his face heating up. “Thank you so much,” He paused, wiping his eyes. “I would love to accept your offer. I didn’t think you thought the same way, to be honest. I have loved you both like family for a long time.”
           “And we feel the same,” Tina replied, biting back her quivering lip, her fingers playing with her orange floral gown which was a bit tight around her belly. “We love you so much.”
           “We simply do,” Newt added, leaning into the boy. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
           “Thank you all, so much,” Credence cried, the two hugging him. They sat there, embraced above the large bustling city, the happiest family in the world.
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biofunmy · 5 years
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Vegas as a Literary Hub? You Bet.
LAS VEGAS — On a recent very warm Saturday afternoon, just a few blocks northeast of a string of ramshackle chapels offering Elvis-themed weddings on Las Vegas Boulevard, the novelist Tommy Orange was discussing the critical reception given to “There There,” his polyphonic novel about contemporary Native Americans.
Orange was speaking at the third annual Believer Festival, three days of performances, panels and parties that are part of a burgeoning literary scene here. As high-low splits go, it is a tough scene to beat.
With irregular regularity, various places in the United States that are not the Big Obvious Centers start throwing off a more concentrated number of cultural sparks: Austin, Tex.; Seattle; Chapel Hill, N.C.; Atlanta. Las Vegas might not seem the most obvious place to join this list. The Strip is still, and ever shall be, as Joan Didion described it, “bizarre and beautiful in its venality and in its devotion to immediate gratification.” But a recent infusion of money, people and The Believer, a literary magazine, have kindled an already present bookish community into a steadier flame.
The hub of this resurgence (or, to coin a term, surgence) is the Black Mountain Institute, a literary center that operates out of the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. When Joshua Wolf Shenk was named the executive and artistic director of the institute in 2015 — after the retirement of Carol Harter, who founded B.M.I. in 2006 — he was not planning to also become the editor in chief of a magazine. But soon after beginning his tenure, Shenk talked to The Believer, then published by McSweeney’s and based in San Francisco, about cooperating on a live event in Vegas.
Those talks grew into discussions about B.M.I. buying the magazine, which was in a dormant phase as it tried to find a viable long-term financial model. A deal was finalized in early 2017.
Shenk said that defying what outsiders expect from Vegas was no longer what interested him most, but he and others continually admit that the juxtapositions can be hard to ignore. And one person’s very conscious fight against stereotypes has done much to fund the growth.
Beverly Rogers, a patron saint of the arts in Vegas, moved to the area from outside Philadelphia when she was 12. Now 68, and a serious book collector, she remains motivated by the view others have of her longtime home.
“Since I was a kid, I had been sick of going back to my family and friends and have them make some snide remarks about living in Las Vegas, how there’s nothing intellectual going on here,” Rogers said. “I can’t tell you how many insults I suffered over the years. So I’ve always had what I call a desire to raise the cultural barometer of Las Vegas.”
The Rogers Foundation, which focuses on arts and education, pledged $10 million to B.M.I. in 2013. Not long after Rogers’s husband, Jim, an attorney and television station owner, died in 2014, the foundation pledged another $20 million to the institute, which now officially bears Rogers’s and Harter’s names.
“Everyone’s head is so full with the stereotype that I don’t think there’s any room for anything else,” Shenk said of Vegas. “There’s no substitute for coming here. You have to move through the environment to get a sense of what it’s actually like.”
The festival heavily emphasizes environment, staging its events against backdrops that are away from the Strip but still quintessentially Vegas — in both artificial and natural senses. The opening night, with readings by Kiese Laymon, Hanif Abdurraqib, Natalie Diaz and others, was held at the Neon Museum’s Ne10 Studio, a dark warehouse space strewn with classic signs. Near the entrance, a larger-than-life reclining cowgirl kicked her blazing boot into the air. On Friday night, just outside the city, readers performed in Red Rock Canyon at sunset, holding their own in a contest for attention with the glowing mountains.
Both the lineup of talent and the crowds at the festival reflected a city that, it is often said, is what 21st-century America looks like.
“The stereotype of Vegas is all white dudes swinging into the Strip and treating the city as a plaything for their imaginations,” Shenk said. “But the real city is incredibly diverse.”
Talk to a dozen people in Vegas, and 13 of them will tell you that U.N.L.V. is the most ethnically diverse campus in the country, as ranked by U.S. News & World Report. (Some will quickly acknowledge that, technically, the school is tied with Rutgers.)
The journalist Amanda Fortini has spent the better part of four years in Vegas, as a visiting lecturer at U.N.L.V. and, for the past few months, a B.M.I. fellow.
“There’s one misperception that Las Vegas is the Strip, that they’re an equivalent thing,” Fortini said. “But another misperception is that there’s this organic, local community wholly separate from the Strip — that there’s no cross-pollination between the two.”
For Justin Favela, a Vegas-born artist who appeared at this year’s festival, the city’s outsize dimensions help to spur his vision. “Most of my work is inspired by Las Vegas,” he said. “The colors that I use; the scale. I’m not afraid to make giant, obnoxious things that take up space and draw attention.”
The Believer is not an outsize magazine — its average issue sells 6,000 copies, including paid subscribers and in bookstores — but it is an influential and well-branded one. Sara Ortiz, the program manager for the magazine and B.M.I., moved to Vegas not long after she had returned to her hometown, Austin, from New York. Certain she was back in Texas for good, she said she was lured away in large part by the “name recognition” of the magazine.
Now, in addition to planning the festival, Ortiz coordinates about 50 events year-round for B.M.I. and oversees the institute’s many fellowships, including its City of Asylum program, which hosts writers who face censorship, and sometimes violence directed at them, in their home countries. The Egyptian journalist and novelist Ahmed Naji recently began his term as the City of Asylum fellow, and will be in Vegas for at least two years.
The final day of this year’s festival featured a series of signings and talks, including the interview with Orange, at The Lucy, a recently opened mixed-use complex owned by the Rogers Foundation that serves as a home for the B.M.I. crowd.
On ground level at the complex is The Writer’s Block, a store that bumped its stock from about 5,000 books at a previous location to about 20,000 in the current one. On the upper floors are apartments for B.M.I. fellows and any Believer editors who live outside Vegas full-time but spend stretches there to work on the magazine.
When Scott Seeley and his husband, Drew Cohen, who own and run The Writer’s Block, were first thinking of where to relocate from New York in 2013, Vegas “was not even on the radar,” Seeley said.
Seeley is an artist who designed two visually distinctive stores for McSweeney’s in Park Slope. For 10 years, he also ran 826NYC, the nonprofit founded by Dave Eggers that offers free creative-writing programs to children. In Vegas, Seeley has started his own program, Codex, for students from ages 5 to 18.
It is an irony not lost on him that, having been at ground zero of the McSweeney’s-flavored Brooklyn moment at the start of this century, he moved to the desert for a change of pace — only to have The Believer move in upstairs.
But he is happy to have the magazine around, and the scene finding him again has helped his business in more ways than one. “Publishers had been reticent to send authors to Vegas because books never sold,” Seeley said. “The Believer coming here legitimized this city in the eyes of the machine out there.”
So far, any new attention from the machine has not changed the fundamental tone of the place.
When the comedian and musician Reggie Watts closed the Red Rock Canyon event with a riotous set that included him adopting the persona of a pretentious poet, there was a ripple of surprise and almost relief that someone was having such unabashed fun. The local participants and audience members at the festival betrayed few pretensions, but there was an unquestionably sincere vibe throughout the weekend.
“My theory is that everything attracts its shadow,” Shenk said, “and that quite unconsciously, people who live in Las Vegas have developed a way of being that is in 180-degree contrast to the stereotypes of their city. It’s a relentlessly earnest, authentic, sometimes painfully earnest place. It’s not an ironic place. People are not commenting on the comment.”
In this way, the city is a perfect match for The Believer. In a long essay, much talked about at the time, that anchored its debut issue in 2003, Heidi Julavits wrote: “Snark is a reflexive disorder, whether those who employ it realize it or not,” and that the real questions we need to ask are: “What do you believe in? What do you care about?” These are questions that permeated this year’s festival, which had the theme of “La Frontera,” or the border, and featured several readings and conversations revolving around issues of social justice and the history of oppressed peoples.
“Thank you, believers,” the author Lolita Hernandez said as she took the stage at Red Rock Canyon, “for keeping believing.”
So, how to keep on keeping the faith? “We’re in many ways still a baby festival,” Ortiz said. “We’ve learned that we really do well with an intimate crowd. I don’t ever want us to get on the scale of something crazy-large.”
Shenk said the festival was thinking about “how to expand without losing the thing that people want us to expand.”
The long-term future of the whole scene depends on not just artists, but on much more fundamental things — like water. “If Lake Mead holds up, we can all be here long term,” Fortini said, with a dark laugh.
Some of the parched city’s other potential drawbacks are less apocalyptic in scale. The author Lesley Nneka Arimah, a fellow at B.M.I. this spring, said she was trying to figure out where she would live next. And while she has enjoyed her time in Vegas, there are features she could do without. “Tarantula season is July,” she said. “I’ve been foolishly soliciting tarantula stories from people.”
But the overall sense is of a creative community with plenty of room left in its growth spurt. More than one person compared Vegas to the Wild West, not for its zaniness or licentiousness, but because its culture’s clay is still wet.
“The first Believer Festival, at the first activity, I started to cry,” Rogers said. “I realized it was because I didn’t know anyone. Everyone there was young. I’m in this crowd, I see the same people all the time. These were people who were really interested in what was going on, and I didn’t know them.”
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