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themusicplayedherlife · 3 years

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Missy’s Lesson Plan

Lesson #1 Listen to Her Worries

pairing: marcus moreno x f!teacher!reader characters: f!reader, marcus word count: 3.6k+ warnings: fluff, awkwardness, bonding, summary: dating is hard; dating after losing a significant other is even harder, but Missy is sure she has a foolproof plan that will help her dad and her teacher finally confess their feelings and get the happily ever after that they deserve! a/n: sorry for the wait! since so many people liked it i wanted to make sure everything about this chapter was decent to post, so ya’ll have @forevans to thank or else this would’ve been stuck in limbo for a long time lol--also, im about to dub reader and marcus the thank-you-couple lmfao--you’ll see why

There are three things you are absolutely sure about in your life.

1. Your name. 2. You love your family. And 3. Missy Moreno is your favorite student.

“Turns out she was just testing us!” She moves around your classroom, picking up scraps of paper and throwing them into the black, durable trash bag she’s hauling around with her, recounting her heroic tale of saving her dad and the other Heroics with her new super powered friends. “A transfer of power or something. Can you believe it?”

Yes and no.

Your heart had literally jumped out of your throat and blood turned cold when Missy was plucked from school during recess—“taken somewhere safer,” the principal had informed you after you stormed into her office wanting to know where your student was and why you weren’t informed.

School was released an hour after that, a way to prepare citizens for the inevitable destruction the Heroics tend to cause in the heavily, populated metropolitan areas, and after making sure every single one of your students had been picked up by a family member, you hurriedly headed home.

You had sat yourself down in front of the television with your mom, worried for Mr. Moreno and the rest of the Heroics (more so for Missy’s dad), feeling completely and utterly helpless.

It only got worse when agents suited in black and white showed up at your doorstep, demanding to know where Missy Moreno and the other super powered children were hiding.

“You lost them?” You had balked—your worry rising to new heights—first Mr. Moreno and now Missy? You didn’t know what to do other than demand how a bunch of agents could have lost a group of untrained children during an alien invasion!

None of them answered you, remaining stoic, and if it weren’t for your mom, you would’ve pounced and clawed the closest agent out of desperation.

The agents only left after turning your house upside down in their search for the children.

And then, after hours of waiting, the news showed the Heroics, Anita Moreno, and the children landing in front of the White House, safe and sound. You almost cried from relief in your mother’s arms.

So, no, you can’t believe it; but seeing her here, this special girl, that has somehow worked her way into your heart from the moment she walked into your life, safe and sound in your classroom, you do believe it.

But you can’t tell Missy all of that when she’s practically bouncing on the heels of her feet, beaming up at you every few seconds to watch your reactions to her story. Instead, you widen your eyes for good measure and your mouth hangs open. It’s a little exaggerated, but you really are impressed with Missy—very much worried, but impressed. “Woah! I’m so proud of you!”

Her grin is so bright and proud, it makes you chuckle under your breath, your shoulders finally relaxing at the rare, childlike mirth dancing in her eyes.

“Are you going to write about it for your report?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

Now that stops you from sorting through the craft supplies, eyebrow raising in surprise. “Maybe?”

“It’s stupid,” she murmurs, focusing a little too much on one area.

“Missy,” you start, patient, “why do you think it’s stupid?”

“It’s just—” she shuffles on her feet and then sighs heavily, looking up at you with dark eyes full of doubt—“what if no one believes me?”

It takes you no time to close the distance between you. You coax the bag out of her hands and set it down on the floor, motioning for her to sit at the desk she had just been pretending to clean. “Why do you think no one would believe you?”

“Because I don’t have super powers.” Her nose wrinkles, looking away from you and to the whiteboard.

“Missy…”

“I know, I know!” she exasperates, having heard this spiel from you many times before. “It doesn’t matter, it’s never mattered, I get it!” You stare at her incredulously, and she is quick to assure you, leaning forward on the edge of the chair. “I do, really! But I—it would be useful, you know?” She slumps back, finger rubbing at a spot on the table. “Proof, I guess.”

“Powers could always be useful,” you agree with a soft laugh. “But not always necessary.” She still doesn’t look at you, and you sigh softly, a small amused smile forming on your lips. “I know you know some of the most amazing, most brave people are the ones without powers.”

She looks up at you, head tilting and waiting for you to elaborate.

“You once told me that aside from your dad, your mom was your absolute favorite hero, remember that?”

She nods, a smile finally appearing on her cherubic face.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Missy.” You crouch down to her level. “You not having powers doesn’t mean the rest of the class won’t believe you. They know you’re a leader, they look to you not just because you’re Marcus Moreno’s kid but because they believe in you.”

“I knew it was stupid,” she murmurs bashfully, tanned skin brightening as she huffs and folds her arms over her chest.

“Hey, no, none of that. Having doubts or being scared or even jealous is never stupid. It’s perfectly human,” you assure her, her brown eyes searching yours. “In fact, I sometimes feel that way too!”

“Really?” She drops her arms and her pout softens. “You?”

“Of course! Just because I’m an adult doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes doubt myself or feel a little insecure.”

“Like what?” she asks, dark eyes curious and wide.

“Oof, a lot!” Your eyes roll to the ceiling as you think. “I think… one of my biggest doubts and fears is not being a good enough teacher.”

“What?” She gasps, jumping in her seat and eyes narrowing with scary determination to get you to believe that: “You’re an amazing teacher!”

Warmth fills your chest at the sincerity in her voice and eyes. “See!” You cross your arms over your knees, but Missy takes your hand in hers, and you let her, squeezing her smaller hand in yours. “Sometimes, we don’t see ourselves in the same light as others do, and that’s okay. We just need a little reminder every once in a while.”

“Yeah,” she drawls, playing with one of your fingers, “I guess you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.” You nudge her nose gently with a hooked finger and she wrinkles her nose in response. “And this is my reminder for you today: I truly believe you’re capable of doing extraordinary things, Missy. Powers or no powers.”

She grins, nudging your nose just as you had. “And I truly believe you’re the most amazing teacher ever.”

Yeah. Missy Moreno is definitely your favorite student.

“I know.” You ruffle her hair and she grabs your wrist to push you away, laughing.

A loud thud by the entrance of the class brings you to your feet, spinning in place and firmly placing yourself in front of Missy and the sudden intruder—only to find a sheepish Marcus Moreno mid trip and hand raised sheepishly.

“I—ah—sorry, I was going to knock, but the door was opened—” he says, quickly crouching down to pick up the empty rack you set up for the kids to place their backpacks and lunch on. “Sorry.”

Missy lets out an exasperated, “Dad!” while your form relaxes (replaced by a new tension squeezing your chest).

Clearing his throat, he straightens up, raising a hand in greeting and an apology. “Sorry,” he murmurs again.

“It’s fine, Mr. Moreno.” You offer him a warm smile, ignoring the little butterflies in your tummy. Turning to Missy, you catch a very much exasperated eye roll that only makes you stifle your laughter behind your hand. “Come on, Missy, get your things.”

She eyes her dad for a moment longer before nodding and hurrying to her table shared with Karina at the front of the classroom, a table away from your desk.

“Thanks for letting Missy stay.” He scratches the back of his head, his other hand resting on his hip as he shifts his weight. “Paperwork took me longer than I would have liked.”

“A hero’s work is never done, huh?” you joke, keeping your voice light.

He cracks a charming smile, the one that always seems to melt your insides into a pile of goo. “Unfortunately.”

Your eyes move to Missy, who is slowly putting her things away, organizing them and reorganizing. Her head tilts slightly when the conversation between you and Marcus pauses, dark eyes trying to inconspicuously look over her shoulder to get a glimpse of you and her father. Her eyes catch yours and widen in surprise before she snaps her head forward, pretending to be busy but not hurrying her movements, either—much to your amusement. What is she doing?

Shaking your head and returning your gaze to Marcus, you’re met by brown eyes full of exasperated fondness, an apologetic smile on his handsome features.

“I heard about what happened,” he suddenly says. “About some of our agents raiding your home.”

“Oh!” You blink owlishly, embarrassment crawling under your skin—what else did he know? “You heard about that?”

“Read about it in the report, actually.” He tilts his head, scratching the stubble on his cheek, and you press your lips together to keep from questioning what else he read in case they didn’t add the part about you losing your cool. “I have agents on their way to help clean up any mess they might’ve made and to replace anything they might’ve broken.”

This man is truly a god sent, isn’t he? “Mr. Moreno, I appreciate it, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he assures you, firm and kind. “It’s our fault you got caught in the cross hairs.” His eyes fall away from yours, and again, he shifts his weight on his feet as he pushes his glasses back up over the bridge of his nose.

You wait for a moment, but when he doesn’t look back up at you, you let out a little defeated sigh, disappointed that the conversation is over. Not that you want to keep talking about agents ruining your home, but you like listening to Mr. Moreno speak. He has the softest, most reassuring voice that makes you feel safe in his presence; like he trusts you.

“Well, again, thank you,” you start as you make your way over to the plastic bin full of craft supplies on your desk and are about to take them to the closet you store them in when warm fingers brush against yours, taking the box from your hands. “Oh!”

“Let me help you with that,” he says, soft and rich, warm eyes full of kindness staring into yours.

“Thank you,” you murmur—and he’s close, not like when he was sitting across from you as you introduced yourself to him and showed him the first progress report of the year, but close enough that you can see the glints of black and umber in his eyes, tips of his shoes barely touching yours, and a small box keeping your chests from brushing against each other.

“It’s no trouble. Least I could do.” He flashes another smile, and again, your heart melts and you have to physically keep yourself from biting your lips by swiping your twitching fingers over your mouth, eyes darting away from him.

Clearing your throat, you say, “Let me show you where I need them.”

He nods and follows after you, keeping a fair distance even after you point at the empty space the bin was in earlier that day.

“Thank you,” you say—again! all you do is thank the man!—as he puts away the bin and closes the closet doors for you.

“Of course.”

“Okay, I’m finally ready!” Missy announces, a little too loud for it to not to be intentional.

“We should start heading out, then.” His hand settles on Missy’s head, steering her towards the door. “Again, thank you for letting Missy stay—really saved me.”

“It was no trouble at all.” You wave him away, following after them to walk them out.

“That was painful to watch,” you swear you hear her whisper to her dad, and he shushes her.

Did you imagine it?

“Ah, actually, Mr. Moreno, may I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course!” He pats Missy’s shoulder. “Go on ahead, I’ll meet you down the hall.”

She narrows her eyes at him, as if trying to communicate something to him before nodding and walking off. “See you Monday, teach!”

“Bye, Missy! Have a good weekend!” You wait until she’s completely out of ear shot, or at least on the other side of the hall to address your worries to Mr. Moreno. “Missy told me about what happened on that spaceship and I—I’m worried. I know what Missy is capable of, trust me, I know. She’s—extraordinary. A good kid.” You bite your lip, wrapping your cardigan tighter around your frame, the cold wind brushing against your exposed skin. “But I—I can’t help but worry either way. I know it’s not my place—”

“No, no!” He steps forward and a little to the side, blocking the wind from hitting you. “Thank you for caring so much about Missy. I—I always feel grateful knowing you care about her and that she’s in capable hands at school.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, a huge weight off your shoulder now that you know you’re not stepping on his toes.

“I’m worried too, if I’m being honest.” His eyes slide to Missy waiting for him at the end of the hall where she’s rocking on her feet, and you follow his gaze, both of you smiling when she glances up and waves. “She’s headstrong. Once her mind is made up, you can’t stop her.” He chuckles, the sound low and a little self-deprecating.

“I would never ask you to change her mind,” you affirm gently. “All I ask, is that you look after her—not that you don’t already do, because I know you do, but it’s… different out there.”

He nods resolutely. “I promise.”

“You need to stay safe out there, too, Mr. Moreno. I can’t keep having two heart attacks in one day,” you tease, leaning against the metal doorframe.

“I promise you, we’ll stay safe,” he says it so seriously, eyes locked on yours that it practically steals your breath away. “Missy and I—we’ll protect each other.”

“Like you always do,” you hum into the space between you.

“Like we always do,” he reaffirms, just as soft.

“Good.” You stare at one another for a beat longer than necessary, but you look away first, straightening up. “Have a good evening, Mr. Moreno. Drive safe.”

“You too.”

You watch him walk away, waving each time he looks back until he reaches Missy. They wrap an arm around each other and with one final wave, they disappear into the stairwell.

Smiling, you head back inside to get your things.

“So,” Missy starts as they climb down the stairs, “did you ask?”

“No.” He sighs, bracing himself for the ten year old judgement (he can’t wait to see what her pre-teen and teenage judgement looks like, probably even more brutal).

“What?” She pulls away from him as they reach the final step. “No? What do you mean ‘no’? That was the perfect timing!”

He knows it was perfect timing! There were many perfect moments that he could’ve asked if you were doing anything this Saturday, but no! He just had to get distracted by the curves of your lashes and the way your eyes glinted under the setting sun and how your nose wrinkled when the cold air kissed your nose and—“Next time.”

“A deal is a deal, dad!” She reminds him, staring up at him with those eyes that used to remind him so much of her mother, but now they’re becoming less and less like hers and more her own. “You said you would!”

“I know, I know,” he whines in mock defeat. “I just… what if she doesn’t like me?” It’s a legitimate worry, one that has only grown since Missy started encouraging him to ask you out.

“Seriously, dad?” Her hand connects with her forehead. “It’s so obvious! And besides, how will you ever know if you don’t ask?”

“I guess you’re right. Any ideas?”

She cups her chin, thinking. Her eyes brighten. “I do have a plan!”

“And what exactly is this plan?” he asks, a little wary of what his precocious ten year old could possibly come up with.

“Just trust me!” She grins up at him and wraps her arm around his waist, tugging him along with her towards the car. “With my plan we’ll win her over completely!”

#Marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x y/n #marcus moreno #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal character #reader #reader insert

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maydaymadier · 3 years

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Time

[Disclaimer: I’m currently slightly more than halfway through the c2 finale and I’m going to try and avoid spoilers since well, there’s still like 3hrs of content to get spoiled on. Will likely crosspost to my ao3]

“Time, it takes time, not days or weeks or years. Time.”

Caleb Widogast was right, though to be precise it takes 100 consecutive days of inscribing a teleportation circle in the same place to make it permanent. Nicodranas was the first teleportation circle Essek Thelyss finished. 100 days of pounding sun and coastal heat felt fitting to start his time. He had his trepidations about better acquainting himself with Yussa, less so with Ms. Lavorre. The Nein asked why he needed to make a teleportation circle in Nicodranas, they already had access to Tidepeak Tower’s. ‘Yes, however, we will not have to give anyone advance notice to use our own.’

Jester made something of a habit of bringing him a new parasol or sunhat each time she visited, even brought him tinted glasses she found once. If he knew she was coming he’d make sure to wear one of them.

Each time he ran out of chalk he’d wrap himself in illusion and teleport himself to Zadash. Meanwhile, the stores in his towers grew dust-laden, his absence from the Dynasty more suspicious, and he bought his chalk from Enchanter Sol. The Mighty Nein were a family, regardless of any distance, and he had the means to make distance mean nothing. So Essek Thelyss carried on. And on the hundredth day, he stepped into a circle in Nicodranas and stepped out in the Blooming Grove.

He was invited in for tea, as expected, and accepted as was polite. The next day he found the spot behind the temple where the grass had been flattened by the circle delivering him and started his next hundred days. He ‘compensated’ for his intrusion with his floating meditative guard each night. Caduceus seemed to pick up on what he was doing faster than Jester had, by a thin margin. The remaining Clay children would poke their noses in once and a while, curious about their drow visitor they’d only met briefly before but they remembered him helping garden after Ikithon set the temple ablaze. They would offer him a plate at meals, he insisted on using his own rations in a strange dance of hospitality and being a polite guest.

At one point, after finishing the day’s circle he considered venturing through the Savalirwood to Glory Run Road, find Mollymauk’s grave. But it felt disrespectful to Kingsley somehow in a way he couldn’t articulate. If he were to be more dramatic it felt like an invasion of privacy to the rest of the Nein as a whole, intruding on a moment on a place where they were unknowing adversaries. So he kept inscribing circles in the grass and sometimes he found fresh chalk in his component pouch. On occasion, Caduceus found saplings and cuttings of Xorhasian plants on his windowsill.

On the hundredth day he stepped into the circle in the Blooming Grove and came out under Caduceus’s tree in the Xorhaus. He was far more careful with this one. The Xorhaus was sparsely used, bordering on abandoned at this point, more than ready for the Nein to inhabit it once again. Beauregard, oft accompanied by Yasha, used it the most for when they visited Rosohna on Cobalt Soul business. The Bright Queen had been more than amenable to working with the Soul once she knew they were dismantling the organization that had stolen the beacons.

Though it took three days before Beau realized he was working on making a circle on the roof, pruning away his extra time by trying to tame the garden, clad in his rose-patterned gardening gloves, what with his lackluster previous experience. She offered to go bring him chalk from his towers, anything else he might need that he’d left behind when he was posted in Eiselcross. He accepted the offer, to eschew suspicion, asking for some simple components that filled any wizard’s pouch. Sooner than later, soon enough Beau couldn’t knock the truth out of him (not that she needed to do that or would, he was growing increasingly susceptible to disappointed stares from his friends) he stepped into the circle in Rosohna and stepped out in Rexxentrum.

His skin crawled and felt like it would slough off with each passing day. He wasn’t so bold at this point to attempt and make a circle on Soltryce’s grounds but he did take pleasure in chipping away the next hundred days in the courtyard of Trent Ikithon’s now abandoned tower. It was a joy, absolutely cathartic tearing apart what little remained hidden away of the bastard’s stores. The most valuable and precious artifacts and components were hidden in ways only an archmage would even know about or know how to unlock. Malicious clumsiness might have gotten him to break an important, now inert, magical tool or two as he rummaged through the tower for chalk.

Though one day, he noticed an owl perched in a tree, watch him for an hour, disappear for a few minutes, reappear, so on and so forth for the whole day. He had a good idea who the owl was but she never watched him again after that. If she wanted to know what he was doing here, fine. It wasn’t like either could rat out the other without drawing unwanted attention to them both. So on the hundredth day, what little remained of Trent Ikithon’s personal study even more thoroughly destroyed, he stepped into the circle in Rosohna and stepped out.

Essek chipped away at the for now final circle under the watchful light of Pelor. Passively, the part of him that absorbed every ounce of knowledge, regardless if he cared or not, wondered what the connection may be between whatever the Luxon is and the Dawnfather. Just a fun little thought experiment to occupy him while he worked through the next hundred days.

By the end of Brussendar, with Highsummer fast approaching, he’d decided that he ought to have brought at least one of Jester’s hats. Though more importantly he’d decided that the thought was silly and any connection between the two deities must be entirely aesthetic. Nothing he didn’t already know but what else can a wizard do but overthink?

It wasn’t the same level of festivities he’d heard about with Harvest’s Close but Highsummer seemed to be the close second in Blumenthal. He sat, disguised in the shade of an oak probably as old as he was and simply watched from afar. Somewhere in the crowd, he saw a flash of copper. Tried not to think to much of it. Red hair seemed slightly more common in this corner of the empire. He caught the sweeping arc of a long, striped scarf being tossed over a shoulder. A leather coat dusting at the ground (though he had looked so good in purple).

Caleb Widogast stepped out of the crowd and sat under the oak with him, “I suppose a criminal always returns to the scene of the crime.” “I suppose I have,” Essek stared at his feet. Caleb offered him some sort of sweet roll wrapped in paper, “I was not talking about you.” He ignored the comment, “How long has it been? Since we last spoke.” “Four hundred and eighty-six days. About a year and a half to be informal,” he just set down the roll next to his hand when he didn’t move to take it. “I keep thinking one day it will have been enough time.” “Looking for the specific number will drive you mad. Are you just going to keep making circles across Wildemount until you feel that you’ve atoned?” Essek took the roll but only held it, “I know that I cannot make up for everything. What are you doing here, anyways?” “I have been trying to convince myself to visit. Maybe try to pay my respects if I can stomach it. The others had already told me what you were doing, but Astrid told me where you were going. Figured now was good a time as any,” his expression darkened, the reality beyond the afterglow of a hard-won victory whispering into both their ears. “I-,” Essek started. “Did you know I was from here before you picked it or did you just want to taunt Rexxentrum by hiding in their breadbasket for a while?” Caleb stared him down. “I knew.” “Alright then.” “I hope I have not intruded in some way by coming here.” “I suppose we were both curious about the echo. It’s right up your alley, prodigious dunamancer and whatnot,” Caleb glanced back up at the revelers before turning his attention back to him “I would not discount your own skill, you’ve picked up dunamancy quite quickly and with a level of skill I have rarely seen.” Maybe they can just talk about magic. “Danke.” There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation.

“When do you think-?” Essek tried asking. “I don’t. I will not pretend to know when enough time will have passed for the past not to hurt us anymore, Essek. And counting it in teleportation circles will not make it go any faster,” he said, though with the crushing sadness to his eyes of a man who wished he were wrong. “I am trying to make it easier for us to see each other,” he said with easy authority. “It is much easier to see each other when we don’t run off to the four corners,” Caleb added on with a tired chuckle. “What are you implying?” Something caught between excitement and unease hit him. “I can stay. Help you finish the circle here, we can leave, make another. As many circles as we want. We can have the continent at our fingertips. Maybe even go back to what remains of Aeor in Eiselcross. Devexian couldn’t have been the only mechanical inhabitant. For all we know there is a city of automatons underneath the ice now,” Caleb got more excited and dreamy as he went on, the unbridled excitement of a mage faced with knowledge. “That sounds...nice...,” Essek trailed off, trying to sound as neutral as he could manage. “Do you want that, Essek?”

It felt like the word was tearing its way out of him, “Yes.”

#my post #critical role #mighty nein #cr fic #cr fanfic #essek thelyss #shadowgast #just a sprinkling of shadowgast there at the end #post-canon #Essek is Coping

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alumort · 3 years

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@lotus-baby @depressedhatakekakashi

Today I offer you, the fix-it au of sorts i have regarding shippuden/boruto and that, because i keep forgetting to write it down:

- this is kinda self indulgent and is the general canon(?) of some of my fics so this is for reference, too xd (though i don't focus on more detailed aspects so this is for that). i can't focus on all characters but there's mostly stuff for; naruto, hinata, sakura, team gai and kakashi.

long post ahead:

Naruto

(trans, bi & poly)

he always wanted to be hokage, but it was more about the respect the hokage gets– few people treated him well. but if he became the leader of the village, he would be finally respected by civilians and ninjas alike.

they would stop being so mean with him without apparent reason. and after the pain arc, he becomes a hero and they all finally start treating him with the respect he had wanted for so long. so i think he would be satisfied with that and become a jounin instead. maybe even an anbu.

he still gets married with hinata and the last happens, though neither of them feel like it's... genuine. they're friends and all, they still have himawari and boruto– but they're not really happy?

naruto still likes sasuke, and had been hanging out with gaara since he came back from his trip with jiraiya. hinata realizes that the kind of love he feels with sasuke is stronger than the one they both have.

the next time sasuke comes to the village, naruto and hinata separate– but they're both alright with that. Neither naruto nor sasuke have many ties with the village and naruto started kinda crushing on gaara after a while, so they both move to Suna with him and are very happy together(sasuke sometimes goes nomadic for his missions but always sends letters to his boyfriends).

without the responsibilities of naruto being hokage, he in turn becomes a more present dad with himawari and boruto and they're very happy :) they see each other on weekends and naruto doesn't miss any important dates anymore.

gaara still adopts shinki, who loves his siblings very much and is very protective of them.

Hinata

(non binary, grayro & bi)

They're known for doing very good medicinal balms since the first Chunin exam. i think she could just.. Straight up sell some, if she needs to. i think they like gardening so maybe she grows her own herbs and plants, and starts a mini store of natural remedies that are very good. and shampoos and soaps and they becomes actually popular with their crafts.

this started becoming more occurrent when she and naruto were about to go on their own ways. They move back to the hyuga compound with her kids for a while and works more on that, with boruto helping her on this and him finding out that's actually very relaxing. it becomes their shared hobby and they bond with that, too. himawari just likes drawing but helps from time to time too.

Hinata became friends with tenten because she was interested on the spiritual side of the plants, as she likes fortune-telling. i think tenten does witchcraft too, more as a family tradition thing but still being very passionate about it.

after a while hinata kind of started having a crush on tenten because, well. naruto was someone that always did his best to get what he wanted, and tenten is like that too– with her weapons shop and that.

so they just... told her. but tenten didn't like her that way, or anyone. still holds hinata very closely in her heart, but not in a romantic/sexual way– they move together some months before boruto's seventh birthday, and they may not be dating but they still make it work.

later, when they have been together for years and years and people still wonder the nature of their relationship, they discover the term 'queerplatonic' and they feel like that's the word for what they have.

Tenten

(trans, non sam aro)

she is very happy with her weapons shop. started getting closer to hinata, though it wasn't romantic love what she felt– it was stronger than friendship, but. didn't had a name.

after hinata confesses, tenten is very confused and turns her down. she doesn't feel the same way, but... the thought of living with them was really nice. they end up moving together after a while, and enjoy each other's company a lot.

tenten still does her fortune-telling and ends up teaching hinata, boruto and himawari too. its a thing from her family, so it made sense for her to teach to her partner and kids.

Sakura

(demiromantic)

in part one, she was considered the best one out of her team. even sasuke said she was better than him, on genjutsu. she was smart until misogyny from kishimoto acted up, so we'll use the original concept without the misogyny.

smart, even better than an uchiha who even said to her that she was better... it's no wonder that she ended up being the hokage after kakashi. she was trained by a sannin, who was also hokage before kakashi... it makes sense if you really think of it!

well. she's the hokage and is living with ino, they have two kids- sarada, which sasuke helped conceive, and inojin. inojin was an orphan from the yamanaka clan that ino took in.

(sai is a father figure for him, and inojin even calls him dad– nobody minds, sai even smiles when that happens.)

back with sakura. she is a very strong and lovely woman, and is organized though she gets irritated easily so everyone knows to not mess stuff on purpose.

she has a long time as the leader of konoha, and is very loved and missed on the time of her retirement.

Kakashi

(trans, gay)

He pretty much spends most days with his husband after retirement– always made up excuses to cuddle with him instead of going to work when he was Hokage. Is more clingy than he lets show publicly.

He is very happy now than before. Takes a lot of photos as Suikea, and so far only Gai noticed it was him, but doesn't really mind.

Gai

(genderfluid, demisexual)

He moved in with kakashi after he recovered from the war. they were planning it since pain's invasion but life happens™ and they couldn't, then war started...

after everything is over, he makes sure to stay on contact with his team- they're his kids and he loves them with all his heart. makes sure to send them letters when they can't meet for a while for reasons. sometimes they all have dinner together and are very happy :)

Neji

(non binary, reciproro ace)

Neji almost dies in the war, but sakura managed to save him and that kind of started a friendship between the two. They get chronic pain because of all the injuries he suffered, but it's getting manageable with medicine and physical therapy. though sometimes its too bad to get up, but they go walking with hinata almost daily- she goes to his house and usually realizes something is wrong. either her, metal or lee realize and help him on the really bad days.

neji also has some birds and they all have silly names/names that rhyme– the older ones are called feather and heather, for example. they really love them.

Lee

(bi ace, sometime i write him as trans too)

He's still a jounin here and is very good at it. Sometimes he has to leave the village for entire months, but he always send his family and team stuff so they know he's alright.

Neji and him at first weren't going to have kids at all, but lee just saw metal and grew attached to him. They end up adopting him and the three are really happy, even if at first its complicated to adapt™ the two love their kid with all of their heart.

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grim-faux · 3 years

Text

2 _ 31 _ Reflections

First

The rain slapped against the windowsill, the wood soaked entirely and coming apart by slivers as he shifted. For once, he was working at his fingers and not the soft timber. A particularly stubborn splinter between his fingers refused to emerge, so he sat for the time chewing off callouses.

Far below in the alley, a pack of children skittered through the gray mist racing boats in a gutter. It’s a group of what might be four, it's difficult to take full stock from the angle and how indistinguishable the shapes are. He knows they are pack because they play a game together and appear mostly organized. Games help children figure out cooperation and interdependence, it’d let them get a grip on skills, and other important things. Playing a small game could also pull them from the hostile world they inhabited, and… he didn’t know how to put it into speek. Reset their heads. Lessened the fatigue of struggle for survive, distanced them from the uncertainties they dealt with constantly. Such as food and safe shelter. It was free and light.

It would be fun to go out there and meet with the other children. See how they did speek, possibly learn where they came from - if they came from beyond the city or knew nothing but the Pale City. Maybe find out where they planned to go next. Could learn about new dangers or unseen threats. Sometimes kids share foods, but not always, it depended on the situation and how plentiful rations were. He wondered who was winning the game. The boats worked well, bobbing along the deep rapids of the gulley and staying afloat despite the turbulent weather.

Trying to meet other kids wouldn’t be safe. The Thin Man might frighten the child pack or hurt them. Worst could happen, what if chase and turned them into sad little shadows? True, that didn't always happen, but it did happen to Her. And they were not Mono. Not same. The tall thin man was unpredictable, did without reason, does without knowing the why. In all the time he chased the man in the hat, Mono didn't learn much of his ways or whims. Even for him the game was dangerous. Though the tall thin man usually seemed calm and indifferent, it was always very obvious when someone something irritated him. The Thin Man did give fair warning.

He shouldn’t be sitting here watching, but he can’t help it. Even if he can’t pack, he still longed for the together. Share foods and speek, watch for someone and then do sleep. Huddle close when it’s cold, and the weather was punishing. Call for friend, work through a hard puzzle. Trick monsters. The sort of stuff kids did.

The Thin Man keeps Mono, but that is all. The tall thin man is not child, he is the adult. Maybe once a long-long time ago, the man in the hat was child and did hide, flee from danger, and searched for food, or played games. He might’ve had a pack, or not. All of that means nothing, the Thin Man is adult now, and does not understand cardinal laws about the world. He goes where he wants, does whatever he wants, whenever he wants. The man in the hat has no fears. It’s possible he likes keeping Mono because Mono is a strange child with no friends, and Mono couldn't help but chase the Thin Man.

Or could be the Thin Man thought Mono was funny child. Not a good kind of funny, but a mean kind. Like with the feather. Mono was funny and sometimes that made the Thin Man happy, but that didn't make Mono happy. The man in the hat liked the few things about Mono that were same, but that was the extent of Mono's frail grasp. So little about company he could get the knack of, the Thin Man always changed the rules. Then again, the Thin Man didn't quite want Mono to begin with; he barely seemed to accept that Mono was.

The thought was always there, like needing to find foods. Ever present in his mind, nagging when he lost sight of the tall thin man. When the man in the hat left for the fabled "danger-ouse places". This wasn't going to last, and Mono was always nervous when the Thin Man became displeased with his doings.

“Don’t go there.” “You need sleep.” “Not there, child.” “Where are you?” “How did you manage that?” “Spit that out." "No.” “That is a danger.” “I don’t need that.” “No.” “Stop!” “Stay.” “C̷̥͠o̶̜͑m̷̥͗ë̴̬́ ̴͙̂H̶̞͠ȅ̴͓r̵̲̃ḙ̵̓,̸̳̃ ̶͎̅B̴̠̀o̶͈̾y̶͖͘.̸̯̓”

Adults. They get mad at the weirdest things. Like now, Mono was uncertain where the Thin Man was inside the whole building they were exploring. The tall thin man was put off about... something or another, and before Mono could collect his wits (after the bad fall) the man in the hat had already faded in a flashy crackle. No sign or indication where he went. As such, Mono began wandering through the twisting corridors, and sneaking around the rundown rooms barely holding together; mind set on food things while his senses remained on full alert.

The Thin Man seemed more broody than the adults normal, and inclined the quiet, dark glare onto Mono a few times. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, what the tall thin man searched for. It had been some while since Mono saw a smile; not while they strolled through the dismal roads, or broken walls into washed out building interiors. They wandered some long while, the tall thin man might be tired like Mono was. Even if lie and said he wasn't to rest, Mono knew better. The dream haunts got the better of him, despite Mono's best efforts. The Thin Man did not do a good job of look after himself.

If he could find something interesting, the Thin Man would tell him about it. Maybe. Some things he didn’t like to tell Mono about, but other times Mono could find him a new thing. An interesting thing, which the Thin Man would just tell him all about. Sometimes use the big speek, and Mono would be lost in the rumbling buzz. But it was a good sort of lost.

That task was hard yet. Not much interested the Thin Man. He liked his game, and Mono was glad not to be alone. They both got something from the company. A win.

Dull vibrations pulsed in the back of his thoughts, demanding Mono pry his focus from the window, with the children so far away. He dropped off the sill and hurried across the decrepit room, aimed for one doorway wherein the already challenged radiance flashed and dimmed. In short time he reached the portal, right when the figure bent shuffled into the room.

“Did you get to eat?” The man in the hat stood straight and rubbed at his back.

Mono rubbed at his own back. When the Thin Man gave him a look, he stopped the motion and shook his head. He showed his empty hands and frowned. If there had been food, the Thin Man would’ve gotten something too.

With a rustling sigh, the Thin Man resumed his listless stride. To his relief, the man in the hat dismissed the window, and in a distorted flicker, abandoned the room entirely. Before the bulbs winked out in the ceiling, Mono made haste to reach the connecting passage. Soon, he would only have the delicate rap of the Thin Man's heels to offer direction. If the wiring didn't work or fizzled out completely due to the Thin Man's presence, he really had to rely on his hearing and the feel of the air. Mono fancied he was becoming pro at that, regardless the frequent bump or stumble over obscure junk.

The prolonged search resulted in no meaningful results, nothing worthwhile - aside from more of the same rot, the typical invasion of insects chewing through whatever couldn't crawl away. Mono plucked at the edge of his choice hat, trying to pretend his stomach wasn't growling about the injustice of all this. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what it was that he last ate. Let alone when. It wasn't important, but it annoyed him thinking he'd gone so long without something.

Probably why he couldn't stop chewing on his fingers.

"Don't do that. Get your hand away from your mouth."

When the Thin Man leaned through the next doorway, Mono stalled long enough to stick his tongue at the hunched figure. He didn't want to chew on the bandage, the wrapping was set cozy and right, and neat. A good sum of time elapsed since his last incident, best not to get the Thin Man all riled up over minor hurts. Mono wanted to avoid another episode.

By the ground level of the building, the two returned to the endless storms via a collapsed portion of wall. Thankfully, the Thin Man ventured through roads that lay open and mostly whole, fluttering as a wispy shadow among chunks of ruble evicted off the warped high-rises. The man in the hat's travel was never restricted, not like Mono was. A chasm wasn’t a frightening void to the tall thin man; he could blink out and appear on the other side. For Mono in his unrefined capacity, he always had to search out a way across. And FAST. The tall thin man wasn't prone to wait or call.

Sometimes, the man in the hat did offer to carry Mono, but Mono was frightened by the idea and shied away from the offered hand. What if he was dropped or fell, or any number of things? Mono liked to have something solid under his feet, or in his grasp. The Thin Man was always dissatisfied with the response, but it was a rare time when he didn’t grab Mono. They could always search for another way. The city sprawling held no shortage of paths or crevices, ladders or suspicious braided blanket ropes dangling. Mono was a crafty boy - if he was permitted the time, he would find a clever route. All while ignoring the Thin Man's baleful glower. Like the tall thin man, Mono didn't need anybody. He could go anywhere on his own.

It is a very long excursion of the city roads, twisted alleys, roving within the buckling walls of splintered skyscrapers crumbling brick by brick. None of the rooms of the many locations offered anything, aside from maybe a new child's hat or intriguing artifact. The rain prattled constantly, sometimes low roads are swamped by the converging 'rivers'. In some durations the travel is intense, but Mono is never dissuaded. Nothing would stop him. The Thin Man sought cached passages through the ruble of buildings, or utilized the televisions to reach a whole other section of the city. The Thin Man was always first, only because he isn’t a television serial murderer.

Mono tried to catch himself when he flew out. The television is atop a low table and he tumbled, nearly breaking his wrist. The Thin Man is already moving, and Mono doesn't waste a second to catch up. The building isn’t in that bad of shape, compared to those they passed through from the other side of the screen. The walls at least look whole in this room, and it’s much warmer, not so damp or drafty. Maybe shelter here? The man in the hat always decided.

The Thin Man opened a door, which led into a large corridor with branching archways and impervious shade beyond each. Flashing and glitching the tall figure reappeared, bypassing the first two entries. In his wake, Mono emerged from the doorway, straying near the wall. When he didn't follow immediately, the Thin Man stopped and looked back.

Mono idled along the wall trailing the peeling wallpaper with his hand, ever cautious when peering into the first open portal he passed. As suspected, perpetual depths greeted his eyes. He angled his gaze up and up at the stony silhouette, his current hat hiding most of his face. With barely a click in his step, the Thin Man pivoted and resumed his elected course. While Mono ducked into the next doorway, down a flight of steps and toward another corridor barely perceivable, if not for the bulb framing the walls with a gray haze. Not long, he would be back. The man in the hat wouldn't miss him.

The jingle from televisions carried along the enclosed stairwell, all the while Mono stumbled. Beyond the depressed gleam of radiance, more doors and maybe another passage further along. An intermix jabber of voices stacked in conversation, rambling speek with no meaning, and other melodies crooned out. Among the cacophony of swirled sounds, a Viewer burbled at the television it gaped at.

Most the doors he couldn't bother with, even if he was confident to shift through the wood panel, Mono still preferred to conserve his energy. He couldn't be certain if he would have the vigor to pop back through, given how famished he was. It limited his search, but the scout wouldn't go far if he got stranded somewhere. Much of his searching was reserved for bare-open dwellings, and likely areas long abandoned and long looted of worthwhile treats. If a residency appeared quiet and the door could be opened, he’d invite himself in. Foremost, he kept a lookout for foods, but he didn’t want to get distracted.

The self-imposed quest was mostly focused in the rooms with beds and dressers, not the kitchens - not yet. The rooms would harbor castoff things from a world abandoned, a world detached from the one he knew so well. On top of dressers or on nightstands, he might locate something he’d never seen before. However, many of the trinkets couldn’t hold his interest or didn’t reveal enough upon first examination, to really spur the risk to haul it to the Thin Man. He wanted to find another one of the bulb things with the toy inside, since that seemed interesting for a try.

In the big living room of one residence, he did find a remote! Something he’d searched for endlessly, especially now since lone televisions seemed prone to shut off while the Thin Man was around. The Thin Man didn’t like Mono looking at the devices, unless he was watched. Bleh.

Also lingering around was a Viewer, plastered to the television and gurgling. Needing a break from all the pointless wandering, Mono perched on a tall desk table and hit the switch, causing the television to blink out. This of course, annoyed the Viewer. With a shriek it swung around and searched for the source of this outrage. How DARE! Before it could lock onto him, near invisible in the shadows, Mono would give it back its stupid television. He just wanted to have a little fun for a bit, no harm.

This went on and on, the Viewer wailing each time the television powered off, Mono seeing how far he was willing to let it get without the willies getting to him. The nice thing about Viewers was the predictability, despite how obsessed they were. And creepy. As long as he had the remote, everything would be fine-

Unless the controller switch stopped… working. Right when he shut the thing off, and the Viewer had gotten a few paces too many away from its precious entertainment box.

Yeah it was a really dumb game, but he’d not had fun like that in a while. At least he had a head start, racing out of the room and shooting down into a crawlspace beneath the floorboards of one room. He really mourned the loss of the remote, he could have used that later.

The lower floors still held together mostly, which meant he should be extra careful while exploring around. There wouldn’t be openings or breaks he could dive into if trouble reared up, but he wasn’t seeing too many of the Viewers either, despite the singing televisions. He was also a little lost, creeping from one dwelling to the next, all the corridors felt the same despite erosion in the surface and carpet. He was thinking it would be a good time to try retracing his steps, before he became too lost. He was sure the upper floors could be reached, even without the stairwell – planks of wood in the crumbling wall or anything, if he searched hard enough.

In one of the smaller rooms he did a last search of, he encountered some child standing off to the side. Their presence startled him so much, and they looked just about as terrified by his intrusion, he back peddled and floundered over his own feet. He snatched up his hat and managed to lurch into a run, shooting through the break in the lower portion of the door and fleeing down the winding hall.

Only to freeze up when the Thin Man dipped under the threshold leading into the very corridor he was in. For lack of direction, Mono swayed back and forth.

“Hey.”

The Thin Man gave him a look, intense eyes glittering beneath the bill of his hat. He was chewing on one of those burn sticks.

“What is it? Stumble onto a hazard?” he posed.

Mono tipped his head, unsure how to go about this. “N’t good. No safe.” And then he stood there like a dolt, trying to hide his eyes a bit beneath the lip of his hat. “Foods?” He began to panic internally, when the Thin Man approached. Not looking at him, but glaring at the broken door just behind him.

“No! NoNoNoNo!” He tried to get in the tall figures way, but the man in the hat just stepped over him. A soured ache formed in his gut, he wanted to stop the Thin Man but also could see himself getting knocked aside or hurt if he was more careless. “No! No!”

“For the last time, there is nothing to fear while in my presence,” he grumbled. “I won't tolerate this. Wait there!” With a snap of his wrist the door creaked open, and in a deep bow the man in the hat vanished, winking out in a distorted shadow. A long and eerie pause followed.

Mono pressed his hands over his eyes and backed away. What did he do to children that were not Mono? Some sleeps the phantom screech She made woke him up. He never heard her do speek like that. A sad little shadow. He didn’t want to hear anyone else scream like that. He wanted to stop the Thin Man, but he was afraid! A cowered! He kept backing away from the void that now existed beyond the doorway. Sorry! He was sorry! He ran away! He tried....

“Mono.” The Thin Man called, from within. Sounding distant and haunting. “Come here.”

“What!” he challenged, without a thought. What did the Thin Man want to show him? Did he plan to make an example of the child? Or, did they escape? He hoped they got out.

Once more, the Thin Man beckoned. “Come here. Now.” When Mono failed to inspire his legs into moving, the Thin Man provided ample motivation. “Î̸̪̜̐̚ ̶͎̲̘̊̆̈́̎̊̊W̶̨̙͓͂̓̽͝i̵͓͖̖̰̞̒͛́̽͜͝l̶͎͚̼͙̐̋̅̿͝l̶̩͇̯̱̋ ̴͈̰̺̑̈́͜Ṅ̷̛̬̜͑̾̕͠o̷̫̭͗̃̅͆̕͝t̷̗͎͖̏̿̉ ̷̱̫̜̠̎̇̈̂̕Č̵͍͚̒̏̌̋a̴̦̤̙̹͌̔̆̆͒͝l̷̩͖͈̈́̐͒l̸͙͚͖̤̫̮̈̍͒͠ ̴͕̗̩͓̳̟̕ Ȁ̸͎̜̫͍̫̠̆̽g̷͇̙͋a̶̢̯̻̋̉i̴̗̣̭̩̒͊́̚ṅ̴̮͉̿̓͘͠.”

He shuffled towards the doorway, gut tightening the closer he moved to the gaping entry. What was waiting? Would the Thin Man have the child in his grip, struggling and terrified by his uncertain fate? Or would the other kid be cringing in a corner, white with terror? If the man in the hat wanted him to do... something, he would flee. He would!

When Mono finally inched his way hrough the threshold, his eyes locked immediately on the towering figure standing by the wall. A little flutter of relief swirled in his chest, upon spying both of the long arms crossed over the narrow chest. That relief almost popped, when the Thin Man settled his gaze on him. He tugged the sides of his hat down around his face.

“There’s no need to be frightened,” he crackled. “It was only your reflection.”

Baffled, Mono shifted his gaze aside and searched. Reflection? He nearly jolted backwards when he spied the child again, instead, this time he stumbled. What was that! The other child appeared flabbergasted as well as lost. What was this?! No, wait… they were wearing his hat. That was His HAT!

He kept his distance, glaring. The other child followed his lead. Perfectly mimed. This was very confusing and disconcerting, to have a someone imitate him so perfectly. Something was wrong here.

“You’ve never seen a real mirror before, have you?” He felt like the Thin Man was mocking him again. Before he realized anything is afoot, he’s being pressed forward by a hand. “It won’t hurt you. Have a look.”

“No….” Mono tugged the hat down fully over his face, but couldn’t get away from the grasp insisting he address this other fake Mono. He dug his toes into the dirty carpet trying to press back, until the forceful hand withdrew. He collected himself and tugged his hat up, fully prepared to retreat… but he was nearly at the doppelganger. Could make out the color of his coat, the details of his hat, his very dour and annoyed expression.

It was like staring into a window, and someone you’ve never seen before looked back. But he knew them from somewhere. The surface was a bit dusty, the edges tinged with corrosion, but for the most part the window was intact. They were separated. He crept in closer and closer, teetering on the fringe of flight. The closer he moved, the more defined and clear the outlines of the other child became in the dull light.

Reaching out cautiously, his palm slapped the cold barrier. Solid. He gazed at the other face gawking back, and very slowly reached up. The copy mimicked faithfully, as he pushed the hat off his head. He tried to recall a time when he had viewed himself in such utter clarity, but had nothing. Unless to check for an injury or something, seeking a reflective surface was redundant. Finding a surface that offered anything but distorted complexions, was something else entirely. He never really stopped to look at himself, take in the face the world hated.

“It’s you,” the Thin Man rumbled.

“T’s me. Aam Mono,” he hummed. Tentatively, he reached up and touched at his hair, pushed it one way then parted it the other, ruffled the clumpy strands. He tugged at his ears, studying the curls and overall form. Then, mushed at his cheeks and tugged at his lips, made some faces. So that’s what those looked like. He had to look at his teeth, see the crazy gap the missing tooth made. Neat! The spot in his gum looked ugly but didn't hurt. He twirled around, admiring the fantastic coat and all its stitch work. The collar was bent, so he fixed that. Overall, he was a very good looking Mono.

A little higher in the window surface, he could observe the Thin Man. Smiling.

“Come? Look.” He leaned away from the glossy pane, peering up at the man in the hat. Who was no longer smiling.

“No. I’d rather not… tarnish the reflection.”

Mono returned his attention to the mirror Mono and looked aside. This didn’t count as anything that would make the Thin Man happy. He sat for a moment and nibbled his fingers, having a think. He was… already bored with the mirror, too. The novelty wore off before he knew it. He was still Mono, the world still hated him. The mirror couldn't tell him why. But....

“Same,” he murmured. Touching his cheek. “N’same.” He turned to the Thin Man and curled his fingers around his eyes. He offered a smile.

“That we do.”

The response kind of caught Mono. But the man in the hat knew everything already, and then didn’t say. “Reason?”

The Thin Man exhaled a thread of smoke. And shrugged. Otherwise, no explanation or insight was given. Not even an excuse.

“See… n’me you?”

Another sigh, but the Thin Man sighed wouldn’t look at Mono. “Saw some of me, in you.”

“Oh.” He was glad there wasn’t a child in this room. This wasn’t much better, but at least no one else got hurt. He tugged at a thread in the roll of his pant leg. “Tell story?” He is a little disappointed when the Thin Man turned away and bent under the doorframe.

“No, this is not the time nor place for silly stories.”

Mono snapped up his hat and climbed to his feet, rushing after the gradually retreating figure. “But story?” He hastened his pace to stay beside the Thin Man, bouncing or skipping between every two or three steps.

“You won’t like the story, I can tell you that. One day though, it will be your story, and it will hurt.” A trail of smoke left his lips.

Hurt? So many queries blossomed within his thoughts. Was there a fix? A way to stop hurt? The Thin Man knew, but couldn't fix. Though maybe....

“But… same, be'fer t'hide. And t'flee. Then you, w’th me. Do t's together....” The Thin Man ceased walking and gave him a full on glare. Mono staggered sideways, halting his panicked speek. This wasn’t good. Asking questions wouldn’t work, and the Thin Man didn’t like repeating himself.

“M’sorry,” Mono mumbled, smothering his words. The man in the hat didn't like the S speek. “Rr’sad? N’yu not say, f'hurt?” He inched closer to the Thin Man’s shoes and raised his arms. If he wanted to, the Thin Man could hold him. Getting snared or clutched frightened him, the mood of the tall thin man was always strange and mystery, Mono never really knew what might happen. But it might make the man in the hat feel better. That too was an unknown.

Instead, the Thin Man bent over and ruffled his hair. “Never mind that. Let’s move along, I do not believe there will be much food in this place.”

Mono is still put off by the dismissiveness, but he shouldn’t have pushed. He wanted answers, but the Thin Man wasn’t happy in speek about those sort of tricky topics. He liked explaining other boring trivial pieces, but not when it came to the important questions. Her. The Tower. Other children. Sad little shadows. The bits and pieces of a different world, with different pictures, and different meanings. It could be like dream haunts, it was taboo to ask friends about them. That seemed like a valid reason, despite how it burned up in Mono to know more, anything. So much same in Mono, but wouldn't utter why. Could other children... be....

The tall figure renewed his fluid stride, exhaling a stream of vapor as he went. Mono plopped his hat on and followed, as usual. In silence, as typical. Questions hovered in his mind but for now he would stash them aside, until a safer time. Perhaps when they settled in a calm and good area, then the tall thin man would want to do share speek. Could be interested if Mono copied picture speek from a book, and made a different sort of book? That seemed like a fun idea, and then, he could show the Thin Man how to make it work. Even if the Thin Man knew everything already, it would be happy to pretend he found something new for the Thin Man.

The Thin Man maybe only kept Mono because of all the same. Too much of the same, or maybe not enough. He couldn’t really figure out anything of why, the man in the hat did what he did. All of anything he did, was for himself. Yet, he made Mono a part of that, and that was okay. No one else wanted Mono.

He thought though, that the Thin Man’s lip twitched. He wasn’t sure what he did, but it faded the more he persisted with queries. Mono asked the hard questions, the ones that made the man in the hat dig for something... else. A place where the answers lay, beneath the questions, shrouded by the purpose of doing a something. The Thin Man didn't like giving answers or reasons, because like dream haunts, he had to find where the answers came from. The Thin Man was a strange and troubled adult, brimming with dark thoughts alongside the difficult unknowns. Adults would always be hostile and angered by anything that didn't belong, but the Thin Man wasn't like that. He was mostly just grumpy.

#little nightmares #mono #the thin man #thin dad #little nightmares fanfic #little nightmares fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #mono nearly failed the mirror test #hes never see an HD mono before

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obviouslyelementary · 4 years

Text

Talent Show - DS9 fanfic

Ships: Jake/Nog; Kira/Jadzia; Julian/Garak; Quark/Odo

Tags: Romance, first kisses, confessions over music, teen love, adults being there to have fun.

Word count: 4k+

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

Nights like these were rather on DS9. Clam, gentle, uneventful nights, where they could arrange some sort of gathering for the people who were interested. The idea came from Keiko, as she allowed the children to express themselves in a variety of ways, including acting, dancing and singing, which lead to the event they were having. All parents and friends and all the station's personal had been invited for the presentation the kids had organized, some of them doing bajoran traditional dances, and others reading poems and reciting stories.

The parents were excited, and due to a little blackmailing, Sisko was able to get Quark's bar to be the gathering point. They made a stage and organized the chairs so that everyone would fit, and despite Quark's first hesitation, he realized he could make at least a bit of profit by giving off food and soft drinks for the guests.

In the end, they were all gathered up for the event to begin, and Benjamin couldn't help but lean closer to Jake as Keiko called the first group of children to the stage.

"I hope you have prepared something good" he said, and Jake looked at him, giving his father a nervous smile.

"Me too. I'm sure you will like it" he said, making Ben confused and even more curious.

"Are you really not going to tell me what it is? And to whom? Because clearly it isn't for me" he teased, nudging Jake, but the boy seemed to get even more uncomfortable, letting out a weak chuckle and sipping on his drink. "Alright I wont bug you with it. But I bet she will like it."

Jake looked at him, even more unsure, and nodded weakly while looking down at his glass. The bajoran music began, and Benjamin lifted his glance to look at the stage, where three little bajoran girls were beginning to dance. It was quite adorable, but his mind didn't leave him alone. He was always curious about what Jake would do.

"Can you believe Keiko came for me to help?" Kira asked, chuckling as she shook her head, sipping on her juice and leaning against Jadzia, who was sitting just behind her. "As if I knew any traditional bajoran dancing."

"I mean, I would have asked you too" Julian said from the other side of the table, smiling over his big lizard boyfriend's shoulder from where, very much like Kira, Garak rested against the doctor's chest.

"Are you two going to appreciate this moment?" Garak asked, his soft voice always against his cardassian nature, making Kira giving him a glance while Jadzia squeezed her girlfriend tighter and kissed her cheek.

"He's right" she sang into her ear, kissing it and making Kira immediately lean back against her. "The girls are doing a marvelous job."

"Yeah... they are cute" Kira admitted, holding Jadzia's hand over her own stomach and watching as the girls danced and jumped around the stage, following the song's rhythm. They seemed to have practiced quite a lot. "I remember some girls at my camp that danced like that. There weren’t many of them, but their mothers insisted on keeping the culture alive. It was quite... enchanting."

"Any sort of hope is enchanting" Julian added, laying his head on Garak's almost protectively, while Garak kept his attention on the stage, humming along with the song. Kira didn't seem to mind his company anymore, drawing patterns on Jadzia's hand, smiling whenever one of the girls pulled off a tricky move. They were very good, and she was glad a Cardassian could enjoy a little bit of Bajoran culture without feeling offended.

But then again, Garak wasn't any cardassian. She knew it by the way he treated Julian, most of all. And she wasn't a simple bajoran either.

It was no time to think about that, however.

Once the girls were finished, the crowd clapped and were given a few seconds to ask for food and drinks while the next group got together on stage. Quark groaned as once again Rom came back with a full platter, flicking his ear.

"You are a disgrace Rom! I said table six not sixteen! Take it to them before it grows cold!" he complained, shaking his head and fixing some more drinks for the costumers, in a rush. During presentations he did nothing but watch, and during breaks he would have to run so all costumers were satisfied. He didn't like that one bit.

"Looking quite busy, Quark" he heard someone say, and oh boy his night couldn't get better. He turned around to face Odo, his eyes narrowed in annoyance as he poured another drink without looking at it before his waiter took it away.

"If you wouldn't mind helping, I could very much use your assistance" he said, getting another meal from the replicator and putting it on a tray. "If not, I would rather have you leaving me alone. After all with all this work, you can't possibly suspect of any scheme!"

"I'm suspecting of schemes ever since you accepted this... event to happen at your bar, Quark" he said, leaning over the bar and squinting his eyes at the bartender. "If I find you are doing anything to ruin this presentation..."

"Odo, why would I? These are every day clients that will be here more often if I offer them good service, specially around their children" Quark said, honestly already exhausted, and it had only been the first set of children. For all he knew, there were still ten performances left, and then it would be open to the public. This night would never end. "Please, Odo? Leave me alone?"

That sounded quite defeated, but he didn't have time to care about his dignity at the moment.

He turned around to serve another waiter with a set of drinks and food, but when he turned to reach for the replicator, the food was gone. Another look, and a freakishly long arm was placing it on the tray, together with other six tentacle-things serving the drinks accordingly to the requests. When Quark looked over, Odo's face couldn't be read, and yet, he felt extremely thankful.

"Next performance will be of our dear student Tarsk, who will be reading her poem" Keiko said, and Quark sighed, shaking his head and knowing he would have another short break. He walked closer to where Odo was sitting, and leaned over the bar, looking at the stage.

"I don't think Nog will be doing anything. At least I hope not" he whispered as the little kid got ready. Odo humphred at him, and Quark raised his cartilage. "Why are you so moody?"

"I was expecting so spend some... quality time with you. I did not know you would be controlling the food and drinks" he said, quite hesitant and also quietly, but Quark heard it and he felt the happiness of being wanted tingling in his ears.

"Oh really? You know, we have the time during the performances" Quark said, and Odo turned to face him, his face unreadable. "I'm free now."

Odo shook his head and let out a huff through his nose before leaning closer to Quark and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Once he pulled away, his attention returned to the stage, but Quark was already too happy to care.

That would be a good night.

As the little girl read her poem, quite long for a simple child's mind, Garak leaned further against Julian, and the doctor nodded something akin to fatigue getting over his wonderful partner. He knew Garak had been tired the last few days, although he wasn’t sure why, and he knew he wouldn't get it from him either, but holding him closer and kissing his scaly neck seemed to make the cardassian a little more comfortable.

"Sometimes I... forget... the beauty of the Bajoran culture" he whispered, to no one really, and surely too quiet for their table sharers to listen, but Julian heard and leaned closer to him, nuzzling gently behind his pointy ear.

"They can be quite mesmerizing, can't they? The children?" he asked, intertwining their fingers together, while Garak let out one of his gentle chuckles, nodding to himself and to the doctor.

"Indeed... they hold the same spirituality that allowed their parents and grandparents to survive" he whispered, and sighed softly, squeezing Julian's hands. "In moments like this I wonder the true destruction Cardassia brought to these people."

"You never talk about the invasion like this" Julian noted, perhaps finding one more layer of Garak he didn’t know, one of those he kept buried inside many lies and secrets. But the cardassian just chuckled and closed his eyes, paying attention to the poem again, and Julian knew he had lost him.

Sometimes he just spoke too much.

But luckily, Garak didn't seem to mind.

"Did you see Rom or Nog at all?" Jadzia asked after the little girl finished her poem, a new round of drinks and foods being served to the guests. Kira turned to face her, a small frown showing in her pretty nose's cartilages.

"I think Rom is being useless to Quark as he always is... and I don't know about Nog. Why?" she asked, taking a sip from her drink and offering it to Jadzia, who easily accepted.

"Nothing. Just curious" she said, and Kira rolled her eyes while laying her head on her girlfriend's shoulder.

"Only you to care about the ferengis while having a nice little talent show" she whispered, and hummed happily. Jadzia knew the alcohol (which was not supposed to be served and yet, here they were) was beginning to affect Kira, letting her softer and sweeter, and maybe a bit clingier, but she didn’t mind, only bringing her bajoran major closer and kissing her head.

"I care about all the performances, but there is one in particular I would not like to miss" she said, and Kira looked at her curiously, barely opening her eye.

"Is the baby troll going to show off some hidden skills?" she teased, smiling, and Jadzia chuckled softly.

"Don't talk like that about Nog, he is a child still" she said, kissing her head and then her lips when Kira pouted. "No, I don't think Nog will be presenting anything. But it is important that he is here, so he sees Jake's."

"Jake's? Oh, what is that going to be?" Kira asked, suddenly interested, smiling at Jadzia. "Is it like a prank? A loooooove declaration?"

"I don't know. All I know is that Jake is nervous and he wants Nog to see it" she smiled, and kissed Kira again to make her forget the subject.

After all, she didn't want to ruin it for Jake.

"Thank you so much, thank you! Now, our next performer will be Jake Sisko! Get your food and drinks and get ready!" Keiko announced, before nodding for Jake to hop up on the stage. Jake sighed and looked at his dad, unsure, before rushing up with her and taking the old fashioned microphone. "Hey Jake! Ready?"

"I-I guess" he mumbled nervously, looking at her. "Did,.. did Nog show up? Is he going to do anything?"

"He didn't come to check on me, no, but I believe he must be around. His family is" she said, and smiled at him, tapping his shoulder. "Don't worry. I don't think he would lose seeing you perform."

"Thank you, miss O'Brien" he whispered, sighing and getting on stage, before scanning the room as the ferengi served the guests. He could see his father sitting alone a few feet away from the stage. A few tables behind, he saw Jadzia, Kira, Julian and Garak sharing a table, the two couples clearly quite content with their arms around each other. He felt his cheeks warming up as he looked away, only to see Odo serving drinks with four tentacle-like arms while kissing Quark on the side. He couldn't help but frown, that was gross.

He kept looking around, trying to find Nog in the middle of the tables or maybe serving, but he just couldn't find him. Of course, the crowd didn't make it any easier, but he was growing nervous and he hoped Nog would be there to hear him.

Nog came rushing downstairs as quickly as he could when he heard Jake's name. he made his way through the crowd towards the bar, panting as he reached his uncle, unable to stop his disgust from showing when he saw him and Odo in a somewhat weird make out section. Still, didn't weird him out enough to stop him.

"Uncle! Uncle Quark!" he called, and they pulled away, Odo turning to face him while Quark looked annoyedly at him.

"What?!" he growled, and Nog winced. Odo did not seem to appreciate Quark's reaction. "Shouldn't you be counting the gold upstairs?!"

"I know uncle I know, but you said I could hear Jake!" he said, biting his lip. He had promised him he wouldn't miss it. "I know I did wrong by stealing your liquor, but-but... I learned my lesson! I won't do it again!"

"Quaark" Odo growled and Quark shook his head angrily.

"You are putting me in a bad spot boy!" he complained and Nog pouted. "I should not allow you to listen to the Sisko boy!"

"You promised!" he whined, looking over at the stage. Jake was getting ready. "Please?"

"Yes" Odo answered for Quark, and made a face when the bartender tried to intervene. "Go and find somewhere to seat. You are free for the rest of the evening."

Nog grinned widely and didn't even wait to hear his uncle's complaints, rushing into the crowd and sitting down on a vacant seat with a bajoran group, looking up at the stage as Jake tapped on the weird thing he had on his hand and cleaned his throat.

"H-hi" he started, and Nog grinned to himself. "My name is Jake Sisko, I believe you all... know me" he continued, clearly nervous. "For today's performance I prepared a song... one that is very old, from earth. The 19 hundreds. It is dedicated to my best friend... if you're there, t-this song is for you."

Nog's eyes widened and he looked forward at the stage with even more attention, his ears twitching with excitement. Jake cleaned his throat again and the music started, slow and somewhat dancing, and Jake swayed from one side to the other as he breathed, getting the timing.

"Take it easy with me, please. Touch me gently, like a summer evening breeze. Take your time, make it slow... andante andante, just let the feeling grow.

"Make your fingers soft and light, let your body be the velvet of the night... touch my soul, you know how. Andante andante, go slowly with me now..."

The song was melodic, hypnotic, and Nog couldn't let his eyes drift away from Jake at any second. He wasn't the best singer he had ever heard, in fact Ferengi had quite the ears for music, but the lyrics and the soft, gentle way he sung made Nog's heart skip a beat. And everyone in the bar seemed frozen, watching amazed by Jake's feelings.

"I'm your music, I'm your song! Play me time and time again, and make me strong. Make me sing, make me sound... andante andante, tread lightly on my ground... andante andante, oh please don't let me down.

"Make me sing, make me sound. Andante andante, tread lightly on my ground... andante andante, oh please don't let me down... andante andante... oh please, don' let me... down..."

The song came to a slow, sweet end, and Jake put the microphone down, looking around at the crowd as it burst into cheers. His father stood up and clapped hard, whistling suddenly, and he could see all his friends in the crowd, waving and whistling and cheering even while Keiko came over to get his microphone back.

"That was incredible Jake! Beautiful!" she whispered, smiling at him, and he smiled back at her nervously before handing her the microphone. He rushed down the stairs and looked around before sitting next to his dad, still confused and looking for Nog.

"Jake that was beautiful" Ben said, holding his son's hand, and he looked at him with a small smile.

"Thanks dad, I... I practiced a lot" he said, but his attention was on his surroundings. "You didn't see-"

"I believe, if I may" he heard Garak from behind them, and turned to face the cardassian, who was giving Jake a smile "that I saw your little friend coming downstairs right before you sang. Maybe you should speak to his uncle, to see where he is" he winked, and Jake felt himself warm up again but smiled.

"Yeah, thanks Garak. Dad I'll be right back" he said, pulling away and rushing off into the crowd. Ben watched him leave, knowing very well he would not be coming back any time soon.

"Being young and in love. It's the sweetest thing, even though he is in love with a baby troll" Kira said, smiling to herself, and Ben shook his head while Jadzia and Julian grinned to one another.

"Major, be nicer to your youngsters" Garak said, and she groaned at him while their partners pulled them closer to avoid any fights. Ben just chuckled and shook his head, looking back at the stage.

After having a quite short talk with Quark (who seemed more concerned in sucking the life out of Odo's face than actually helping Jake at all), he was able to get some information about Nog's whereabouts. He looked through the back crowd, with no luck, and it wasn't until he looked up that he saw Nog on the second floor, looking down, waving his legs around.

Jake rushed to the stairs and made his way up as quickly as he could, sitting down next to Nog and looking at him expectantly.

Nog, however, seemed quite calm.

"Hey" Jake said, and Nog looked at him. "Did you see my performance? Did you like it?"

"I saw it, but I don't understand human music a lot. Specially old music" Nog said, smiling at Jake. "Also, good call calling her your 'best friend'. I bet she enjoyed it."

"Her? Her who?" Jake asked, confused, and Nog chuckled with a nudge on his arm.

"The girl you sang for! Come on Jake I don't understand human music but I know how to listen to lyrics! It's about love, and it's clear it was for some girl you like! Now, who is she? Maybe I can get you on a date!"

"Nog, there's no girl."

"What do you mean there's no girl? You said it, the song was for your best friend and the song is about love or touching or whatever you humans liked to do in your 19 hundreds!" he said, lifting his hands and hitting them on the rails again. Jake sighed.

"Yeah, it is a love song and it was a love confession. But there's no girl."

"Then... a boy?" Nog asked, eyes widening. "You have a best male friend that isn't me?! How come I never heard of him? Also your taste in partners is quite... unappealing-"

"I don't have any other best friend! Not boy or girl or non binary!" Jake exclaimed, loudly, and stood up angry and humiliated. Oh, that hurt. "The song was a love confession to my best friend. You. But clearly you don't care."

Jake made his way down the second floor as quickly as he could, feeling the tears rise up in his eyes. Clearly that had been an awful idea, and he would never be anything but a hooman friend to Nog. He ran as quickly as his legs allowed him to go, he knew he shouldn't cry like this, but he felt like it because his chest was hurting and he had never felt anything like this before.

It was frustrating.

It took Nog almost an hour to find Jake again. After the human had not only yelled at him, but also confessed, he felt like an idiot and wanted to talk to him further. Of course he would have never suspected Jake would be singing to him, no one had ever liked him before! No one had ever expressed any type of romantic love towards him at all, and rarely he got any platonic or fraternal love either by how crude and rude the ferengis were, so he didn't quite understand what Jake meant until he spelled it out.

And even worst, he would never expect his feelings to be reciprocated. To him, Jake was far beyond his reach since day one. Somehow he got lucky Jake decided to be his friend, and now, he seemed to want more even though Nog would have never expected anything like that from him. Nog was, well, crude and rude as any ferengi, but he was also stupid, he didn't know math or how to read, he didn't understand biology or history, he didn't have the lobes for business... he never believed or even hoped Jake would ever like him!

But now that he knew he did, he was afraid his stupidity would once again ruin whatever they had.

However, he did learn some things with his ferengi relatives, and he also knew Jake wasn't all that smart either. Well, he was, but not when it came to every day stuff. So, he hid in the most obvious place he could: in the observation tower, where they liked spending evenings watching the stars. Nog approached the room silently, looking around and finding Jake like a shadow in the middle of the room, illuminated only by the stars. He approached, his ears capturing the sound of soft sniffles, and felt even worst for making Jake cry.

If he couldn’t fix it, he would never forgive himself.

Knowing a surprise would not be appropriate, he gently pushed a box nearby to make a sound, and Jake jumped and turned around, wiping his tears to look at him.

"W-who is... Nog?" he asked, his voice softening at his name, and Nog nodded slowly. Jake then turned back around, wiping his eyes. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"Jake I-"

"You don't have to say it. I get it. I understood the moment I told you that you didn't like me the same way. It's obvious now, why would you like anyone like me? I'm a male, I'm a human, I don't care about profit or whatever else you Ferengis care about..."

"Jake, that is not-"

"You don't have to make me feel worst Nog! I already feel well ashamed and upset!" he said, and even though Nog sat down next to him, he didn’t move. "I just... hope I didn't ruin our friendship."

"You didn't" Nog assured, tapping his shoulder, and Jake looked at him with tears glistening in his dark eyes. "Jake, I... I didn't mean to make you feel upset, or-or ashamed! I just... never expected-"

"Me to like you... yeah, I know" he whispered and wiped his tears. "I never expected you to like me back. I guess one of us was right."

"Jake, no-"

"I don't wanna hear it, I'm fine with this rejection as it is" Jake said, sighing and looking up at the stars. Nog frowned, frustrated that Jake wouldn't listen to him.

"Jake I-"

"No Nog."

"But-"

"Nog I don't want to listen!"

"J-"

"Nog!"

That was it. Nog held Jake's face and turned his head around to face him, and Jake looked at him surprised, but it was a look that soon disappeared when Nog leaned in and pressed their lips together. He closed his eyes tightly and just waited for a response, since he was aware he was not good at kissing, but eventually the shock wore out and Jake responded, moving his lips ever so slightly and tilting his head. His hands came to rest on Nog's shoulders while Nog's remained on his cheeks, until they both pulled away and looked at each other, surprised and also radiant.

"You should have let me finish" Nog said, and Jake smiled brightly at him.

"And miss that? Not at all" he giggled, and Nog giggled right back before they met up again, kissing once more now that they knew how each other felt.

And they remained the rest of the event (and even longer after that) in the observation toward, kissing and giggling and getting acquainted with this new relationship that had blossomed.

By the end of the talent show, Ben had joined his two favorite couples for a round of food and drinks, on the house. The parents and children had already left, and Quark brought up something for them to chew on, sitting with Odo and the rest of the officers. Kira was basically asleep on Jadzia's chest, while the others talked and drank in the quiet of the night.

It was Odo who brought the subject up.

"Your son, commander. I have not seen him since his performance" he said, making Ben share a knowing look with Jadzia. Before he could answer, Garak interrupted.

"I'm sure he is well taken for, Odo. He was looking for Nog when he left" he said, and Odo nodded.

"Yes I know. That is what worries me" he explained, receiving a flick on the arm from Quark.

"Don't be like that! My nephew is one of the few good ferengis I know, and I'm not counting myself" he said, and shook his head while Julian chuckled.

"Hopefully the two of them are... discussing some issues that need to be resolved" he said, winking to Dax who smiled and nodded.

"Hopefully."

"Could we join you?" they heard Miles saying, and pulled their chairs around to fit another two while Kira complained and found a way of climbing on Jadzia's lap, falling asleep tangled on her girlfriend. No one seemed to mind, and Keiko and Miles joined the group after closing off all the necessary equipment for the event.

They spent the rest of the evening talking, laughing and enjoying each other's company without thinking much about the problems that could come ahead. After all, it was rare to have such a calm night to enjoy.

And sure, they didn’t see Nog or Jake until the next morning, but Keiko knew the night had been productive when she saw the two boys walking into her classroom with their hands tangled together.

She decided then she should make those events more often.

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

Text

Bad Vegetarian | Feeding Habits #1

Hey People of Earth!

As you can see from the title, not only do we have a new series of writing updates, we have a new series of writing updates for a whole new novel that was! not! supposed! to! happen!

For any of my friends who miss Moth Work (aka myself), guess who started writing a sequel literally no one asked. :)

I’ve had ideas for spinoff stories for Moth Work (as if MW wasn’t enough of a spinoff) and was peer pressured into starting this novel by @sarahkelsiwrites and I’m really happy about it! I have yet to come up with a title, but the moment I do, shall inform you, but for now, we’re calling this MW2!

This book (if it even ends up being a book) starts with chapter one, Bad Vegetarian. Unlike MW, MW2 starts in Lonan’s POV (not sure I’ll switch but I’m sure it’ll be inevitable), and I’m here for it!

I’ve been wanting to explore Lonan and Eliza’s relationship in more detail since having them come together in MW by complete fluke, and oh! is the tea piping!

This chapter really illustrates how truly dysfunctional this relationship is on both sides. Here’s a break down by scene:

Scene A:

Lonan is paint shopping with Eliza who has just gone vegetarian (which is the def the most normal thing she’s spontaneously done lately). Eliza feels like celebrating by painting their entire kitchen red.

Lonan particularly is drawn to blues, but since this ain’t what Eliza wants, they go with a brilliant red.

Scene B:

Lonan lines the kitchen with painter’s tape as Eliza bothers their neighbours for paint rollers, while trying to convince himself this relationship is still somewhat okay.

While doing this, he gets his weekly call from Unknown Woman who he’s been in contact with for the last few weeks. What for? We don’t know! They talk in code, and he realizes Unknown Woman’s situation is getting worse, and impromptu, tries to do something about it.

Scene C:

Lonan and Eliza bump into each other as he’s exiting the apartment and she’s entering, and have a short, strained conversation about why he’s leaving (she’s not aware of top secret phone calls that make this book feel lowkey like the old dystopians!)

Scene D:

Lonan attempts to drive to Unknown Woman but only knows she lives in Arizona (not great for directions lol). While in the car, he realizes it’s essentially impossible to get there without knowing where he’s going, and eventually gives up and heads home.

Scene E:

TW: blood

Lonan re-enters the apartment only to find Eliza “bleeding” in the kitchen. She’s actually just being wild and this “blood” is wall paint.

Scene F:

If we haven’t already seen the dysfunction, oh does it get worse! As Lonan and Eliza try to have a *moment* Eliza has a conversation by herself and gets a lil gaslighty.

Halfway through this, Lonan gets a phone call from Unknown Woman who we finally find out is his ex-girlfriend Glenne. Sounds like tea but he’s genuinely only helping her out of her toxic situation (which will be clarified later) though Eliza’s skeptical.

This chapter was a lot of fun to write! I wrote a majority of it today, and am really happy to have a *chill* project. While I love my other books (the three I am apparently now working on at once), it’s nice to have a place to dump my ideas with characters I know very well in situations I’m comfortable in whenever I feel like writing but don’t have tons of time/ideas/energy.

Excerpts:

Here are the opening three paragraphs! The first sentence sets up the POV a little weirdly, but I think it works with a later sentence that sort of mimics this “reminder” kind of style:

There are no rules, just remember, Eliza is vegetarian. She’s into earth tones, neutral tones, leafy greens, root vegetables. It’s all new. The day she announced her diet change, she also announced a desire to repaint the kitchen, to fit the new aura, to fit the new ethics, but she wants to paint the kitchen blood red, and Lonan is still a meat-eater. He reminds himself: there are no rules, just remember, Eliza is vegetarian.

In the hardware store he thumbs paint chips. They’re set up in an array, almost like checkers, dissolving in a gradient from reds to purples. Eliza wants red, “Not necessarily earthy, but the root of organism, of life,” so Lonan looks at the blues. They’re all a variant of a seaside theme—Sea Breeze, a cloud-like blue, Beach Umbrella, a wispy aqua, Seafoam Serenade, muted like the soft side of a turquoise. Repainting the kitchen matters little to him, and so do the blues, but the red section, devilish, makes him shuffle his blue deck faster.

Radio from the store’s intercom tins through the speakers, dampened by the hustle of carts, the thud of bodies against the concrete flooring. He holds many cards up to the light, Secret Getaway and Parisian Summer almost the exact shade, but still he flicks through, until half the pile is indistinguishable, and the other half are blues he likes and not reds, like Eliza’s asked.

The next excerpt sort of highlights the last six months of Lonan’s life as he’s been on this whirlwind of keeping up with all the things Eliza has tried. I have added kudzu pudding and other kudzu food just for my pals @sarahkelsiwrites and @shaelinwrites (rlly want kudzu pudding):

Her sudden vegetarianism is not confusing to him. Eliza tries new things all the time, something he’s learned after living with her for half a year. One time, she brought home four different kinds of dried beans to make into tea, and together they drank it atop the balcony, the Vegas strip across them somehow tasting better. One time, they ate a variety of kudzu foods for a week because Eliza said invasive species had to be killed somehow, and so they spooned kudzu pudding into their mouths, kudzu root powder into their water, kudzu salads with salted almonds. One time, she put them on a warmth ban, and they ate only frozen peas, potatoes, raspberries, turned the thermostat down until every surface crackled. She liked the feeling of subtle frost on the countertops, how it jolted her when she touched it accidentally in the morning. He found her many mornings awake before him, transfixed to the table with both palms soldered to its surface, like she’d forgotten she wasn’t a part of it. One time, she paid to have the furniture in the house rearranged, not good enough for her spirit, and then reverted it two days later. “The couch doesn’t like being so close to the refrigerator,” and he could’ve asked “did you ask it?” but said, “Understandable. It shouldn’t be forced to catch a draft.” So her vegetarianism is normal. Already, she’s switched their meat supply to beetroots, chickpeas, tofu she rips apart bare-handed. For the last three mornings, they’ve both taken a shot of spinach and gingerroot, a liquid that burns to make you feel alive, as if you weren’t already.

The next excerpts kind of surprised me with their amount of humour! Not something I expect from Lonan, but I’m glad he has some sass back lol (CW: some upsetting animal imagery):

There is nothing wrong in this relationship. Everything is Eliza’s new favourite adjective—stunning. Everything is scrubbed with kitchen bleach, glittering like a plasticky pool float in the shallow end, stunning. Everything is planned, put in a calendar, a notebook, a flitter of receipts, but always planned, stunning. Everything is better, even better than better, a better that can only be described as stunning.

Lonan uses this word frequently now, rolling out a strip of blue painter’s tape and trying to find different ways it stuns. Sticks when he sticks, peels when he peels, keeps its edge when it needs to keep its edge, so it’s stunning. The bubble television is turned onto a channel about sheep, and as he lines the baseboards, outlets, catches glances of a sheer buzzing against skin, sometimes a hunting knife slicing until there’s blood.

Eliza is asking a neighbour for paint rollers because they bought four cans of wall paint, two paint trays, a box of garbage bags, three rolls of painter’s tape, and a small paintbrush each for both of them but forgot the rollers. Stunning.

The following excerpt highlights that Lonan has a cellphone! Is Fostered just a bizarre alternate reality of a time period that doesn’t exist? Perhaps! (CW: some upsetting animal imagery):

Today, they’ll prime the cabinets, the walls, and tomorrow, scroll a coat of red onto both. The kitchen will look more like the inside of an anatomical heart, the sinks and drawers like ventricles, but this is Eliza’s vision—her tastes come alive.

The sheep are being herded by a collie. As Lonan rips another strip of tape with his teeth, he stares at the screen mounted in the corner, at the almost-naked sheep dashing across a field. How many will be slaughtered, he doesn’t know. The narrator must’ve said that, but there is no plan, really, for death. Even for sheep.

He kneels toward the kitchen vent, the tape roll linked around his wrist, and smooths a line of tape down. Eliza doesn’t want to paint the vent—it wouldn’t complete her vision—and so it will remain the original wall colour, a square of cream so worn, it’s almost grey.

Here we have some hints at Eliza’s weirdness:

He straightens and looks at her. She’s bundled in her fur coat even though she has always insisted she’s good at even Vegas’ warm winter. Since going vegetarian, she’s insisted it’s fake, even though he’s read the lining tag—100% mink. He doesn’t know why she’s needed her coat when she’s only walked up a few flights of stairs but doesn’t care to ask.

She approaches him with her thumb out, and when that thumb presses into his eye socket, he flinches.

“What happened here?” she smooths the dip of his under eyes, her fingertips cold. He smells her perfume, different today, always different, a smell like cloves and lavender. “Are you sleeping?” She presses onto her toes, examines the other side, and her frown deepens. “This doesn’t look like eight hours.”

“I’m sleeping,” he says, though they both know this is a lie. It’s taken her two weeks to notice.

“I can run to the pharmacy,” she says. “If you need a refill.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“I didn’t notice this morning—I would’ve given you another energy shot.”

Here’s a line I like because of a) skin and b) sun:

Lonan goes nowhere. This is not his plan. Asphalt whips under the skin of each tire, the setting sun wringing him blind.

Fully sharing this for the verb zags (and also because I accidentally roast cities tho I love them I am one of these blink-less people):

He doesn’t know where he’s going. Arizona is the only thing he knows about her, doesn’t know if she lives in an apartment, a duplex, a house—fully detached, semi-detached. As he pulls into a residential neighbourhood somewhere along the vague line he’s drawn on the map from Las Vegas to Arizona, he watches for all these options. In the distance, a jogger zags across the street with her golden retriever, children play basketball on a driveway, still in their school uniforms, another woman clips the wilted stems off a magnolia bush.

It’s when he gets closer to the apartments that the sameness is noticeable. High-rises with pearlescent windows that go pinkish in the sunset—all of them identical. Each building evenly spaced, more like a board game than a place to live. Even the space around each building is the same—the same rose hedges, the same iron fence, the same people bustling in and out, all wearing some variation of the same pantsuit, all holding some other hand—child, partner, lover. The same haircuts, smiles, eyes like marbles, as if there’s a store somewhere that sells copies, a catalogue for eyes that don’t blink. He’s been looking into the sun for too long, there must be a difference, but the longer he looks, the more indistinguishable they become.

To get out of explaining where he wants to go when he and Eliza bump into each other, Lonan says he’s visiting his sister (Reeve), and because she’s iconic and must make an appearance, here’s a line ft. our queen:

He could make the lie true. Reeve is somewhere in the country, he imagines, dancing in a faceless city, living in a motel room, tipping everyone well.

(^^ all true)

Here we have Lonan identifying with the animals more than anything else for the second time in one chapter (TW for more blood imagery):

Lonan hooks the car keys onto the lanyard by the front door and slings his coat across the couch. The television is set to the same channel as before, though the program has switched from sheep slaughter to birdwatching. On screen, a heron perches by a riverbed, opalescent in the sunshine.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asks, the heron now frisking up the white bark of a tree. He glances at the fluorescent red dripping between her fingers, pattering against the tile.

“I was opening the paint cans.”

“With a kitchen knife?”

He gestures to the blade on the counter, blood-free, newly sharpened.

“It’s all I had on hand.” She pulls her wrist closer to her, runs her index finger along the injured area.

“It’s clean.”

“I washed it, Lonan.”

This next one has some blood imagery so TW for that!

The heron has moved closer to the riverbed. It watches the water knowingly, its subtle simmer of movement, and after a moment of watching, strikes its beak down so it spears a trout. He misses the part where it eats. Eliza’s clicked off the TV from behind him.

She slams the remote onto the counter so hard, its back clatters off and onto the tile. “I cut my arm with a kitchen knife while opening paint cans. It happens.”

“I don’t see a cut.”

“Why would I make that up?”

“I don’t see a cut.”

She walks toward him. He expects her to shove her wrist in his face, but she doesn’t. She just holds it, some of the blood fluorescing pink, splashes onto her toes.

“You got to see your sister?” she asks.

“She cancelled.”

Eliza clucks her tongue, examining her wrist, and then she extends her arm, revealing the full patch of pale skin gone red.

Lonan takes it, and with his fingernail carves a line through the red to reveal the healthy patch of skin, painted, uncut.

And finally, here’s the last line of this excerpt that essentially explains where the title comes from ft. predator VS prey symbolism:

He’s reminded once more of the heron, how it plunged into the riverbed with ease, and the trout dangling in its beak, its commitment to life most fervent the moment before being consumed.

So that’s going to be it for this update! I don’t know how frequently I’ll be writing this, but it’s been a lot of fun so far. I’m excited to explore more relationships I haven’t turned over in a while as a little side project while I do other things! Hope y’all enjoyed!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #mothwork #fostered #feedinghabits

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nobodies-png · 4 years

Note

I see some poor anon lost their best friend and I lost my mother just recently. May I request some hc's of how the organization members would (at least try to) comfort someone who has lost someone dear? It's okay tho if you don't want to ^^ - M

awe, sorry to hear that, nonnie ! and sorry for replying to this one so late too, hope 2020 brings you a lotta joy and happiness !

Xemnas :

A part of him can relate to that feeling, even if he doesn’t understand exactly why or how. Nonetheless, Xemnas would simply listen to every word you had to get out of your chest - but if none come out, he’ll gladly stay by your side in absolute comforting silence. Sometimes, peace and quiet to calm the mind can do more than endless words of encouragement. And he’d be too awkward to just go and give you a hug, so the only thing he can do is offer you his company, along with time and a safe space to get your thoughts and feelings in order.

Xigbar :

One would expect Xigbar to take you to some whacky adventures so you can distract yourself from those negative thoughts and feelings - but he’s also dealt with his fair share of loss and he’s found that facing the facts and coming to terms with them helps more than idle and mindless fun. Of course, it takes time to gather the courage and stability to do so - but if you ever need a reality check and some down to earth advice for something this serious, Xigbar’s your guy. Honor the past and cherish the good memories, but dont dwell so much on them. Don’t let them hold you back !

Xaldin :

Hands down, Xaldin s u c k s at comforting people, specially as a Nobody and his complex relationship with f e e l i n g s. What is he supposed to say in these situations ? Hell, even giving you a pat on the back is hard for him. Like, is it okay for him to do so ? What if you start crying ? ? Because of this, he can only say he’s a good listener, maybe give you some general words of advice here and there. However, he wouldn’t be against cooking something for you - a nice warm meal followed by a good rest is usually what he does whenever he has a bad day. You’re even welcome to steal from the cookie jar and brag about it to Demyx and Axel.

Vexen :

As a scientist, it’s very easy for Vexen to detach himself from emotional situations and come up with a straightforward and cold reply to your loss. It’s the way he deals with things that require a heart, after all. Brain = good. Heart = confusing. Easy peasy. Of course, when he realizes that this method clearly doesn’t work and that you’re about to smack him, Vexen would feel a b i t guilty and offer to help in a different way. It’s very easy to let yourself go after losing someone and accidentally adapt some unhealthy habits - this is where he comes in, helping you make a schedule so you don’t end up oversleeping, skipping meals or avoid being active.

Lexaeus :

Lexaeus is also a silent listener, it’s just kinda how he rolls. But unlike Xaldin who struggles with it, Lexaeus is good at comforting others without the need of words. Definitely one of the very few people in the organization that would hug and hold you for as long as you need, not caring if you stain his coat with tears. His aura and willingness to protect others can make anyone feel safe with him, so you’re in good hands. Lexaeus would even give you one of his little puzzle toys, in case he can’t be around. They might be small, but they sure help a lot to distract you for a while and remember that he’s got your back.

Zexion :

Zexion might be emotionally constipated due to his status as a Nobody, but he’s no stranger to the negative emotions of the human psyche. If you reach out to him, he’d be willing to help - but you gotta keep in mind that he’s still a kid at heart and hasn’t found the proper way to cope and deal with his own feelings. Still, Zexion makes up for his lack of knowledge when it comes to comforting with his extense collection of books ! He’d recommend you things to read, both literature you two could discuss as a past time and articles about dealing with loss and grief. He’d also make use of his powers to create illusions you might enjoy if you’ve had a particulary rough day.

Saix :

Saix doesn’t comfort, at least not so openly like other members. His approach is pretty much the aftermath of Vexen’s idea to give you a schedule - so long story short, Saix is the one who’d enforce and make sure you follow it. Which means he’s gonna be on your ass most of the time and as annoying as that might sound (Demyx feels so bad for you because of this) if you squint really really hard, you’ll notice that he does care about your wellbeing. “You have to keep on moving” he’d say, while sending you into your 6th mission of the day, which simply consists on taking care of a few heartless and some general recon. You’ll also find that most of your reports have been already filled out, but hey, don’t ask him.

Axel :

Another awkward guy - Axel has trouble comforting friends, but damn if he’s not going to try. The way he speaks is more than enough to cheer you up, or at the very least give you back that passion you had prior your loss, it’s like he sparks a fire in you ! You just gotta go all out, ride all of this out and. Cry, scream, feel everything you gotta feel and then kick back with people you can trust, eat some ice cream with them. Allow yourself to be vulnerable and held. Axel would totally invite you to join him, Xion and Roxas to their whacky adventures around Twilight Town.

Demyx :

Very obvious, but Demyx would encourage you write a song about it. It’s what he does to sort his feelings out, figure out what feels right in the end. And besides, learning how to play an instrument is always fun - you also got the best (and only) music teacher in the organization ! If that’s not your cup of tea, then you can try any other artistic outlet. Dancing, writing, etc etc. Demyx is fully aware that fortnite dancing at 3 am is not going to fix his problems, but it sure helps him stay grounded and remember that life is not as serious as we make it out to be.

Luxord :

Luxord is very polite, so he won’t pry into your business - but the second he notices little changes in you like that permanent tired expression or the way you sigh a little too much on a daily basis, he’d invite you over for tea, subtly give you an excuse to talk to him and vent should you need it without being too invasive or forward. If you still can’t or refuse to open up, Luxord would take you for a walk around Wonderland or another colorful and fun world, giving you some advice in the form of his cryptid ramblings. When a door closes, another opens - and if there aren’t any, then you just have to open a window, get some fresh air and a new perspective.

Marluxia :

Marluxia can also relate to that. Surprisingly, he’d be very gentle, asking if you’d like to share some happy memories you have with that someone. Maybe even set up a small makeshift “shrine” in their honour, of course covered with their favorite flowers. He’s just happy to help you, listening to you reminisce and remember them with a smile on your face. It’s very shocking to see this side of him, given how flamboyant and eccentric he can be - but those passing encouraging smiles Marluxia gives you whenever he sees you are a great comfort.

Larxene :

Larxene is… Not the best choice if you want to be comforted. Her method is an extreme version of Xigbar’s, she’ll simply offer a quick “deal with it” and a hard “grow up and accept it”. While she might be impulsive and very emotional Larxene is actually a very logical person with a good understanding of her own feelings. What you can learn from her is that everyone needs to ultimately find their own way of coping and dealing with grief, no one else can tell you how or when to feel a certain way no matter how good their intentions might be. Take the good advice, but don’t depend on others for everything. Your way might be unconventional, but as long as it’s not hamrful for yourself and you’re aware of your limits, it’s good enough.

Roxas :

Roxas doesn’t know what to do, at all. So he’d simply ask about what YOU want to do now. How would you like to deal with these feelings and such. He’ll be there right next to you, even if you just wanna cry and sleep it off or if you want to distract yourself and never speak about it. Roxas is there, holding your hand all the way and making sure you know you’re not alone. Like Marluxia, he might also ask about the person you lost, just out of curiosity. And then maybe internally facepalm because oh shit, what if you don’t want to talk about it. The way Roxas worries about you, stuttering apologies and awkwardly explaining that he simply wants to make you feel better is so endearing that you can’t help but feel safe and sound.

Xion :

Xion would simply take you to Destiny Islands, to watch the waves, feel the sand and the sun on your skin. She wouldn’t ask at all, instead explaining that this is the place she goes to whenever she’s feeling confused, lost or just a little under the weather - and now, she wants to share this with you. You don’t have to say a thing, Xion doesn’t need to know your pain to realize that you just need a friend and a shoulder to cry on. Someone to rely on. The two of you would just spend the afternoon picking up seashells, exploring the island and relaxing. She’ll gladly listen if you have anything to say, but it’s okay, you’ve done enough. Let her take care of you now.

#kh headcanons #reader insert #organization xiii #xemnas #xigbar #xaldin #vexen #lexaeus #zexion #saix #axel #demyx #luxord #marluxia #larxene #roxas #xion #Anonymous

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mediaeval-muse · 3 years

Text

Book Review

The Rook. By Daniel O’Malley. New York: Back Bay Books, 2012.

Rating: 3/5 stars

Genre: urban fantasy, paranormal

Part of a Series? Yes, The Chequy Files #1

Summary: "The body you are wearing used to be mine." So begins the letter Myfanwy Thomas is holding when she awakes in a London park surrounded by bodies all wearing latex gloves. With no recollection of who she is, Myfanwy must follow the instructions her former self left behind to discover her identity and track down the agents who want to destroy her. She soon learns that she is a Rook, a high-ranking member of a secret organization called the Chequy that battles the many supernatural forces at work in Britain. She also discovers that she possesses a rare, potentially deadly supernatural ability of her own. In her quest to uncover which member of the Chequy betrayed her and why, Myfanwy encounters a person with four bodies, an aristocratic woman who can enter her dreams, a secret training facility where children are transformed into deadly fighters, and a conspiracy more vast than she ever could have imagined.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content/Trigger Warnings: violence, blood, body horror

Overview: I can’t quite remember how this book fell under my radar, but it seemed like an interesting premise, so I gave it a go. Initially, it started out as a 4 star read for me - I liked the humor, the worldbuilding, and the dynamics between the main character’s pre- and post-amnesia self. Over time, however, this dropped to a three star, mostly because I felt like the tone never changed to fit the gravity of the situation, and the mystery in general was somewhat of a letdown. Still, I think that anyone who liked more light-hearted fantasy or dark humor might enjoy this book, so I recommend reading it for yourself if you’re not into grimdark supernatural worlds.

Writing: O’Malley’s prose is fitting for the type of book he’s trying to write. It’s fairly economical, and focuses more on evoking a humorous, snarky tone than an eerie atmosphere. While some may enjoy the humor and snark, I personally found it to be a double edged sword: I liked that O’Malley kept the mood light and avoided reveling in the darker aspects of his fantasy world, but I also don’t think emotionally heavy moments were given enough weight. Characters would crack jokes or be snarky at inappropriate times, often in ways that sabotaged their own goals, and it seemed like O’Malley was trying to make scenes more awkward or funny than was plausible.

I also think there were some throw-away lines or scenes that really showcased that this book was a man writing about a woman. It wasn’t so bad that it made me want to put the book down (I don’t think O’Malley was being sexist or anything, more like he was trying to be funny and the joke just didn’t land for me), it was annoying to read about Myfanwy thinking about her breasts, or about an invasive gynocological exam (even if one made sense in context, I didn’t need to be reminded that doctors were poking around in Myfanwy’s vagina).

I do think that O’Malley made a good decision by having a lot of his infodumps take the form of a letter or “encyclopedia entry.” Pre-amnesia Myfanwy writes letters and explanations of her job, her colleagues, etc. to help post-amnesia Myfanwy make sense of the supernatural world around her. Though I sometimes found reading all these texts to be exhausting, I do think that if an author is going to provide so much background information, he/she/they should do so in an interesting way that makes sense in context. The letters and entries, in my opinion, made sense in the context of the narrative, and O’Malley also made the task of writing all those things feel like something pre-amnesia Myfanwy would do.

Plot: The main plot follows Myfanwy Thomas, an administrator of sorts who loses her memory while investigating the return of her employer’s major supernatural enemy and its infiltration into their ranks. I really liked the idea of a post-amnesiac trying to pick up the pieces of her old life while keeping her amnesia under wraps just in case those closest to her are traitors, and I liked that readers able to learn about the world along with the main character.

However, I do think that not enough suspense or urgency was placed on the plot. Myfanwy didn’t seem to be in a rush to find out who had erased her memories and who tried to kill her, and scenes didn’t necessarily build on one another in a way that felt like a mystery was unfolding. For example, Myfanwy uncovers one traitor seemingly by accident, and doesn’t really bother to press them for more information when they let slip that there’s more to uncover. I wanted to follow Myfanwy as she uncovered more and more clues, but it seemed like a lot of things were happening at random until the end, when she solves the mystery and we get several pages of monologue that explains how everything happened behind the scenes (rather than on the page). I was kind of let down, to be honest, because I didn’t feel like I was being given the opportunity to guess what was going on myself.

I also wish a little more had been done with the letters past-Myfanwy wrote to present-Myfanwy. There was a sweetness to them, as past-Myfanwy seems to have great sympathy for her future self and expresses a lot of fear regarding what’s going to happen. But mostly, the letters served as infodumps, and I wish they had been used - at least sometimes - to spur some emotional growth in present-Myfanwy, or had mirrored what was going on in the present day more closely.

I also wish there had been a little more drama at the Chequy - the supernatural organization where Myfanwy works. Post-amnesia Myfanwy seems to be able to walk in and play her part with no one the wiser, which was a little implausible given that her personality is drastically different from before her amnesia and she’s so awkward that it was a wonder no one suspected something was amiss. I wanted to be a little more concerned that someone would figure out that Myfanwy was without her memory, and that it posed a threat to Myfanwy’s life. Instead, that never seemed to be an issue, just a pretense for a lot of awkwardness.

Characters: Myfanwy, our heroine, is essentially two different people before and after her amnesia. Pre-amnesia Myfanwy is shy, quiet, and something of a Type A personality who never uses her supernatural abilities unless it’s an emergency. Post-amnesia Myfanwy is assertive, snarky, and uses her abilities more liberally. Both, however, are extremely good at managing teams and keeping track of mountains of administrative paperwork. I liked that O’Malley turned “administration” into a useful skill - I feel like too often, female characters are only seen as useful if they can fight, and while Myfanwy does some of that, she also makes clear that it is her administrative abilities that make the difference in all kinds of situations. I do wish Myfanwy’s wisecracking was turned down a little, though, as it seemed to be inappropriate at times. I also wish Myfanwy had undergone more character development; she doesn’t change much over the course of the novel, except to realize that she likes her job. I wanted a little more out of her, not just a wisecracking boss who can take charge of a situation before stumbling her way through a fairly simple investigation.

The most interesting characters, at least for me, were the other members of the Chequy. The Chequy is run by a “Court,” which is made up of highly ranked officials with supernatural powers. I liked the creativity that O’Malley showed when designing them - Gestalt is a single consciousness in 4 bodies, Aldrich is a vampire, Eckhart is a chain-smoking military veteran who can control metal, etc. I do wish more was done with these characters to make their motivations more clear or more important to the overall narrative, and I wish they were a little more intelligent (they never suspect anything is amiss with Myfanwy, and even they can’t figure out anything useful about their enemy, despite Myfanwy practically stumbling onto information at random).

Myfanwy does have some female friends that I think could have been more interesting. Ingrid, her personal assistant, is something of a confidant, and I wish more had been done with that relationship to explore things like the tension between powered and non-powered people in the Chequy. Shantay, an official from the American branch of the Chequy, also had a lot of potential, and I liked that she and Myfanwy became fast friends (though I do think they dropped their professionalism a little too quickly). I wish Shantay had stuck around longer, perhaps to balance out Myfanwy’s flaws and shortcomings. Bronwyn, Myfanwy’s sister, should have been more important than she was. Bronwyn tracks down her sister after living her entire life knowing that the government took her away, and I think there’s a devotedness in that that wasn’t fully taken advantage of. The sisters’ reunion wasn’t very emotional, and Bronwyn mainly acted as a liability for when Myfanwy was threatened by her enemies.

Speaking of which, the big bad of the book - a group called the Grafters - were hardly impressive. While I liked the idea of the Chequy going up against people who could alter bodies and create monsters that resisted supernatural powers, the Grafters seemed to be invisible for most of the book, never showing themselves but sending agents to do their dirty work. I never really understood what the Grafters wanted or why they were doing things, so they felt less like a threat and more like a simple bad group of people that does bad things.

TL;DR: The Rook has an interesting premise and some creative worldbuilding, but ultimately suffers from a lack of a driving plot and too much concern with its own cleverness.

#book reviews

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radioromantic-moved · 4 years

Text

a study in semantics

(hey, does this look familiar? it should! because i fucked up and it got deleted for a little while. things are okay now)

i came up with the headcanon that frank calls me a ray of sunshine initially sarcastically before it evolves into an actual affectionate nickname. and yeah, that’s what this is.

word count: 1650

They say in the business world that first impressions are everything.

Nyx probably didn’t get the memo. Actually, they probably got the memo and promptly chose to purposefully ignore it.

They show up to interview for a position at Toy Zone wearing all black, with a close-cropped mess of blond hair as the main splash of color in a wardrobe that would probably camouflage them in a dark room. The way they cross their arms over their chest and stare across the desk they’re sitting in front of, Frаnk feels vaguely like he’s the one being interviewed.

“Aren’t you a little ray of sunshine,” he mutters to himself.

They level a bright green stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying, I’m guessing ‘cheerful’ isn’t one of the reasons you’re going to list as to why I should hire you.”

“I’ll have you know, my close friends find me delightful.”

He can’t tell if they’re joking. They deliver everything in the same sort of dry, vaguely amused sounding tone, as if they’re watching a somewhat-interesting movie.

“We have a uniform here, you know,” he says. “It might clash with your aesthetic a little.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that from what you’ve got going on.”

They gesture at his bright red polo, name tag dangling conspicuously from it. “I can handle the shirt,” they shrug, “as long as I can still wear this coat. I feel like I’d have a case to sue if you guys didn’t let me wear this coat.”

It is a cool coat.

“There isn’t anything in our rulebook about letting you wear a coat over the shirt. Just don’t let it cover your nametag. But back on track, we still have to figure out if we’re hiring you at all. Do you work well in a team?”

---

It’s been a few weeks.

And yes, he hired them.

People aren’t exactly clamoring to work at Hatchetfield’s one toy store smack in the middle of a shopping mall, but he wasn’t going to tell them that.

Supply and demand notwithstanding, Nyx is on the team now. They get along surprisingly well with Leх (actually, not that surprising. They seem to be someone who never grew out of their edgy teen phase anyway), and whenever they’re on break the two of them engage in spirited discussions about--

“No, I’m serious. You’ve got the vibe.”

“Dude, I’m a high school dropout. Aren’t they all, like, cheerleaders or prom queens or something?”

“What? No! Don’t you know your lore? In the real kitschy ones, cheerleaders and prom queens die first.”

Frаnk stops dead in his tracks. “What in the world are you two talking about?”

“Leх would be the final girl in a horror movie,” says Nyx. “She doesn’t believe me.”

“Have you met me?” protests the younger of the two cashiers. “I’d probably run right into the middle of some shitstorm of a situation and get myself decapitated or something because it was a panic response.”

Frank shrugs. “I’m with her on that one.”

Nyx scoffs. “You’re just petty because you’d be the first one to die, Frаnk. Actually, scratch that--” they stare at him for a few seconds with that weirdly intense gaze of theirs-- “second. Final response. You’d die second in a horror movie.”

“Man,” he says, shaking his head, “you really are a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

Leх pats Nyx on the back. “Damn straight.”

---

bossdude: Can I ask you for a favor?

me: okay shoot

bossdude: Something came up. I’m not gonna be able to open on Sunday. You’re the oldest staff member I have, so consider yourself officially temporarily promoted.

me: whoa whoa whoa

dude

you want ME to open

on SUNDAY

bossdude: It’s one day. You can handle it.

me: alright but don’t blame me if people are dissatisfied with my subpar customer service and lackluster welcoming skills

so dissatisfied that it translates into anger

and eventually a boycott

and eventually you won’t need to find sunday replacements

because our store will be only a fading memory in the greater hatchetfield consciousness

why did you let me open on sunday?!? why?!?

bossdude: For the love of--

Always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you.

I’ll see if Leх or Alice can help out.

You type fast.

me: awwww, thanks

---

Nyx groans, resting their head on the counter. “I did not get enough sleep last night. I’m dead tired.”

“Well, you better snap out of it,” he says. “We’re already down one pair of hands today because you insisted you’d work overtime if Leх took the day off to watch her sister.”

Nyx lifts their head. “Of course I did. Her sister’s got a fever. I may be weird and creepy and kind of mean sometimes, but I’m not a monster. Workers have to assist one another when the corporate millstone attempts to grind away our humanity.”

“Still a ray of sunshine, I see.” He sets down two coffee cups next to them on the counter. “Maybe this’ll help wake you up. I went across the street before you came in and picked them up. The one on the left’s yours.”

They take a tentative sip. “Hey, a white chocolate mocha. How’d you know?”

“You were talking about getting one after work last week. I remember it since it seemed like a weird order for you--you know, with your everything.”

Nyx grins. It’s a small one, but somehow, it seems to light up the whole store. “What? I think it’s a perfectly reasonable drink for a ray of sunshine such as myself.”

With that smile, he thinks, they could almost live up to that nickname for real.

He doesn’t say that out loud.

“Oh, and, um, thanks. For the drink, I mean. It was surprisingly generous of you.”

“No problem.”

---

“Now that was what I call a successful day.” Frаnk places a hand over his heart in faux-affection. “I love rich kids’ birthdays.”

Nyx looks up from rearranging the cash register. “Little Jonathan is sure gonna be occupied for...uh, maybe two days, before he gets bored and starts asking for more stuff.”

“Nice to see you’re as much of a ray of sunshine as ever,” he says, and there’s something suspiciously like fondness tinging his voice.

“Well, it’s not that I’m not grateful for the bonus.” They slide the cash register shut. “I can finally treat myself to a ticket to that alien invasion movie I’ve been wanting to see.”

“Aliens. Why am I not surprised?”

“Oh, and I’m sure your taste in movies is so highbrow.”

“I never said that. I like alien movies. You know, I was also planning to go see that at some point. And, you know, I guess today is as good a day as any.”

He didn’t think that. He has no idea why he said that.

They raise their eyebrows. “Are you asking me on a date?”

WHAT.

“What?! No, I was just, you know, bringing up the fact that I like alien movies and I might see that one on my own time. Maybe today, maybe some other day--still vague. Still working out the details. You know how it is.”

“Ah. Now everything is much clearer,” deadpans Nyx.

“But you know, and I’m speaking from a business perspective here--seeing as we both want to see the same movie, and we both have free time and the means to see it today, it would be convenient for both of us if we...in a strictly platonic sense, here--if we saw it...together? Assuming we’d be paying for our own refreshments.”

“Well, how can I say no to such a captivating offer?” says Nyx with a shrug. “You’re paying for your own ticket, too, though.”

“Aww. Can I suggest--?”

“You cannot.”

---

Frаnk enters the supply closet and confirms a long standing hypothesis of his.

“If it weren’t for the hair, I wouldn’t have known you were in here.”

“The dark is my natural habitat. One day I will return there for good,” says Nyx without turning around.

“Sometimes I think you’re just screwing with me.”

“Yeah, that one was a joke,” they admit. They swivel around to face him. They’re sitting on a box.

“Any particular reason why you’re in here and not, you know, doing your job?”

“Mrs. Monroe’s in again--she wanted me to check the back for one of those dinosaur puzzles. The longer I’m in here, the more time she thinks I’m dedicating to her request. And I just needed to take a breather.”

“I could issue a write up for that, you know.”

“Well, I could be looking for a puzzle and be taking a breather at the same time.”

“We don’t have any of those puzzles.”

They place a hand on their cheek in mock-surprise. “Oh, really? I wonder what I was taking so long for! I was sure a sold-out item would magically appear in the back once she asked about it!”

“I see you’re a ray of sunshine as usual today.”

They scoff. “Oh, you could have used that earlier. A single sarcastic comment is a waste of ‘ray of sunshine’ compared to the ‘I will return to the dark’ thing.”

“Didn’t you say that was a joke?”

“Well, yeah, but a purposeful one. I gave you the setup and everything. C’mon.”

“I’ll--I’ll do better next time?”

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Nyx remarks.

---

He calls Leх a ray of sunshine once and never again.

It feels wrong coming out and only more wrong when Leх looks at him sideways. “Don’t call me that. It feels creepy.”

“Yeah, I’m...not doing that again.”

“You’re lucky Nyx wasn’t here to hear that,” says Leх as she organizes stuffed animals. “Might have made the whole thing lose its meaning.”

“What--there’s no meaning to it, and it’s not a whole thing.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” says Leх with a rare smile.

It’s more of a smirk, really.

#sorry to subject all of you to this again but. uh. you know. it's here again #the most unrealistic part of this is that none of them try to kill each other #ship: your annual entrepreneur #nyx writes #lex tag

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chemicalmagecraft · 4 years

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Foresight is 20/20 Chapter 2

I don't know how long I was out for. When I first came to, my head felt even fuzzier than it normally does when I wake up. "He's up," a voice said when my eyes opened a bit. I saw that I was probably in a hospital, then groaned and went back to sleep.

kukukuku~

I groaned again. Did I mention how much I hate mornings? Because I hate mornings. "Kouki-kun," some old guy said.

"Ten more minutes," I mumbled, my eyes still closed.

"I'm not surprised he's exhausted," someone else said. His voice sounded familiar. "Multiple C-class wind jutsu, one borderline A-class jutsu, and using an unknown dojutsu for an unknown period of time... how does he have those kinds of reserves at his age? Even with the enhanced reserves that a Kekkei Genkai usually grants, that's still absurd. He must have done some serious training."

I cracked my eyes open. "Hokage-sama, Hyuuga-sama," I greeted the two men on the side of my bed, then closed my eyes again.

Wait.

I bolted upright. "Hokage-sama! Hyuuga-sama!" I understood what Hiashi was doing here, considering the fact that I saved his daughter, but what was the Hokage doing here? I gripped the sheets. "Why are you here?"

Sarutobi laughed. "I mean, you did single-handedly stop an international incident. Plus, I do believe that Hyuuga-san here might want to thank you for how you saved his daughter."

"Yes," Hiashi agreed, then bowed. "I am in your debt. Not only for saving my daughter, but we heard from Kumogakure that the ninja you stopped had a backup plan in case of his death that would have led to exactly what you described, so I owe you my life as well. Oh, and don't worry. The conspirators who organized the whole thing weren't planning on you to meddle, so the Raikage was able to find and defuse the ruse rather easily." Huh, so he was just a high-ranking Kumo nin or something. "I'm still going to be upping security at my clan compound, but you should probably be safe."

"Speaking of that," the Hokage butted in, "the Raikage retroactively declared the jonin you fought to be a missing-nin, and asked me to give his bounty to the person who stopped him, the one the missing-nin called the 'demon child.' That's you, Kouki-kun." He handed me a storage scroll that I assumed held the money.

"Demon child," I said, then licked my lips in a purposefully creepy manner, which caused Sarutobi to shudder. Right, Orochimaru. "I like the ring of that." I inspected the scroll and opened it. As I suspected, there was a seal on it, but I didn't know how to use it...

"That's a storage scroll. Shinobi use it to carry things that they don't have space for. Put a light amount of chakra into and you'll be able to feel and take out its contents or put things in if you have any," Sarutobi told me.

I did as he said and took out a large wad of money. I held it out to Hiashi. "He probably would've killed me if you showed up when you did, even though I hurt him."

He shook his head and gently pushed my hand back to the scroll I took the money from. "I am the head of a rich clan and you're an orphan. Not to mention, I did say that I owe you. I actually put some money of my own in there."

I sealed the money back in the scroll, then paused as I remembered the splatter of blood. "I chopped off a man's leg," I said in horror.

"The man was trying to kidnap a young girl and would have had her father executed," the Hokage said. "You did nothing wrong."

"Actually, it's Hyuga-san's twin brother who would have been executed in his place, so it was his fate that I averted," I said. Well, if it was already established I had some sort of foresight, I might as well use it to push my agenda. "Your father would have used the Caged Bird Seal as an excuse to send him instead because that way the Byakugan wouldn't fall into their hands." I glared at Hiashi and he flinched. "It makes you wonder why it would be used to protect the Byakugan if all of the important family members don't have it."

Sarutobi cleared his throat. "Moving on... You have an ability called a dojutsu. It's a very special eye power passed down from parent to child, like the Byakugan. However, we have no records of any eyes like yours and, because we don't know who your parents were, no way of knowing where it came from. All we really know is that it seemed to grant you knowledge of future events." Well I knew that author me gave it to me so I'd have an excuse for knowing the future, but it's not like I could say that. "We will have to do some tests on it, but there's a high possibility that this will be an S-rank village secret." Hiashi stared at him. "He exhibited precognition far enough into the future to know the repercussions of you killing a man before it happened, and with enough time to understand what was happening and prevent it. We don't know the extent of it, but we do know that it could be very dangerous in the wrong hands, but even more advantageous in the right hands. Do I have to worry about your shinobi telling others about it?"

Hiashi shook his head. "I doubt they'll have said anything, and I can tell them to keep quiet. Really, we only have to worry about if anyone saw Kouki-kun's eyes on the way to my compound." I thought about it for a moment, licked my lips, and channeled a small amount of chakra into my eyes. I felt the same fuzzy feeling in them as before and my vision suddenly doubled, brightened, and... turned a little green for some reason. Weird. "Remarkable," one of the Hiashis said. "Remarkable," the other Hiashi agreed.

I heard a sigh and my own voice said, "This is going to take some getting used to." I sighed and said, "This is going to take some getting used to." I closed my eyes (then closed my eyes) and focused on three particular events, just to see if I could see them. Three scenes flashed in my head one by one. Naruto confronting Mizuki. Sarutobi's final fight with Orochimaru. Naruto telling Kakashi about his talk with his father. I cut off the chakra flow to my eyes and opened them to see only one of each person in the room.

"Only two people would have really been able to get a good look at my eyes," I said, "and I wouldn't worry about either of them. One is my friend and the other is the jonin who I... stopped. Obviously, the jonin telling people about me having freaky eyes will be taken with a grain of salt, and he might even end up deciding he doesn't remember the fight right because of the pain. As for my friend, nobody but me will talk to him, so it shouldn't be too bad." I then turned to glare at Sarutobi. "Speaking of which, I'd like to ask when you were planning on telling him, Hokage-sama." You know how sometimes people say things like honorifics and titles like they're actually horrible, horrible insults? I said the "-sama" like that.

"What are you talking about?" Sarutobi asked me.

I steepled my fingers and did the... I think it was called the Gendo Ikari pose? "I'm not sure exactly how your law works, so I don't know what I am and am not allowed to say, but let's just say... I know exactly what the Fourth did to his son."

He paled.

"The fourth Hokage didn't-" Hiashi began to say, but was interrupted when Sarutobi raised his hand.

"How do you-" I flashed my eyes and he sighed (and he sighed). "Right. I was planning on telling Naruto about the Kyuubi when he became a ninja, or on his thirteenth birthday if he wasn't yet a ninja. As for his father, I was planning on telling him either when he reached chunin or when he turned sixteen, which is also when Minato's will stated he'd get his inheritance."

"That's... actually a great plan," I told him, and relaxed back into my bed, "except for the part where a traitor told him the first bit... or will tell him the first bit after using him to get that one forbidden scroll thing. The second bit he'll learn when a failsafe on his seal trips after the Kyuubi almost comes out due to an S-class missing-nin turning Konoha literally into a crater that he could've prevented had some traitor cough Danzo cough not stabbed a frog." I actually said the word cough there, by the way. "Yes, you couldn't have predicted either of those events," I clenched my fists, "but could you at least have made sure that his deadbeat godfather-who, by the way, I'm eventually going to have to have a long, hard talk involving lots of jutsu exploding in his face sometime in the future-sit him down for a little chat in the eventuality of your not-untimely death, perhaps in the invasion that happens during his first chunin exam."

I sneered at how his face grew progressively more horrified as I talked. "Now, I am planning on doing my best to stop those horrible things from happening, which I'm going to just assume that I have your full cooperation for, but that's not even all that happens to Naruto, believe it or not, or has happened for that matter. None of the children at the orphanage who aren't me will play with him or even go near him because some of the adults keep telling us he's a monster." I paused, then, with a laugh, I said, "I think it's a little hypocritical but what do I know, except several village secrets and future events? I'm also pretty sure that pretty much every parent keeps telling their kids how EEEEEEEVIIIIIIIL Naruto is, which probably won't be good for him." As I spoke, Sarutobi slumped further in his chair.

"Well shit," Hiashi muttered, absolutely floored.

Sarutobi just stared at me for a bit. "...Your dojutsu is about as powerful as I thought, perhaps even more so," he said after a while. "While it will not be an official position, I would like you to be my advisor. You shall be allowed to speak to me at any time without question. Now, I believe we should think of a name for your dojutsu."

I thought about it for a moment with closed eyes, then said, "Shoraigan."

"Tomorrow eye," Hiashi said. "A fitting name. It's funny, I was going to suggest that exact same name." He paused. "Unless you took my suggestion before I could say it." I smiled cheekily at him and very slowly licked my lips. The face he made at that was so funny you guys. You should've seen it. I could almost hear the gears in his head working overtime. He opened his mouth a few times as if trying to think of something to say to that, then sighed and said, "So what was that jutsu that you used on the jonin? I heard you say 'wind release,' but how could a child use wind release? For that matter, how do you know how to use chakra so well?"

"I actually don't remember how or when I first learned how to use chakra. I just remember a leaf falling on my forehead and using chakra on it." Technically true... "I managed to learn about a few different chakra exercises and did them until I got really good at them. One of those was a wind chakra exercise or something, and I just made two jutsu from that. My skill's probably got at least something to do with my eyes, now that I think about it."

"You... made two jutsu?" Sarutobi asked.

"Actually, I made three. The first one, which I call Cat Claws Jutsu, is just something I made so I could mark my progress with the tree walking." I demonstrated my Cat Claws Jutsu, my fingernails sheathing themselves in the blue glow of chakra. "Then I added wind chakra to it, which I call Wind Release: Dragon Claws Jutsu." I added the wind chakra, making absolutely sure that my greatly elongated claws weren't anywhere close to their bodies. I let it dissolve after they were able to get a good look at it. "The other one I was hoping to make a ranged attack. It worked, but it didn't have as much power as I was hoping. I called it Wind Release: Mini Air Slash. I'm hoping to make a bigger variant in the future and call that one Wind Release: Air Slash."

"That's a remarkable amount of skill for someone as young as you," Sarutobi said. "I certainly think that you'll make a great ninja. Well, I suppose that that's all the two of us really need to talk to you about. Is there anything else you'd like to say?"

"Do your other advisors, Utatane-san and Mitokado-san, know of me?" I asked him.

He winced. "Not yet, no."

"Could you please keep it that way? They aren't actively traitorous, or at least I don't think they are with what I know of them, but they still follow Danzo's teachings too much for my comfort."

"Yes..." he said. "I've noticed that they've been getting worse for a while. I really should do something about them. Rest assured, it won't get to them unless you want it to."

"Thanks, I would also going to ask what my eyes looked like because I would need a mirror to see them, but it might not be safe for me to use them near a mirror, what with the whole S-class secret thing."

"They are very distinctive," Hiashi told me. "First there's the markings under your eyes."

"I actually already know about the markings under my eyes unless using the Shoraigan changed them."

"They didn't seem to change when you used your Shoraigan, so you should be fine there. As for the eyes themselves, the sclera-that's the part of your eye that's normally white-turns pitch black!" Wow, he was actually giving me this really excited smile. Guess he really likes eyes. "And the other two parts? They actually glow! The iris, which is the colorful part of your eye, turns from hazel to a shining emerald! And your pupils! Those-by the way, pupils are the black part you actually see out of-those turn white and glow even brighter! You could probably even use them to see in the dark!"

"Okay, thanks," I said. "I'm pretty sure I have a good picture of what it looks like now. I think we're done here now, could you just tell Naruto I'm here so I can deal with him?"

"Actually, you're probably going to get discharged soon, so you might as well meet him at the orphanage," Sarutobi said. "Make sure to tell him that your eyes are a secret. You can tell him what you can do, though. He might as well know." With that, he and Hiashi got up and left.

kukukuku~

"So yeah, that's what happened," I told Naruto the next day. We were hiding behind the orphanage and I had made absolutely sure that nobody would notice us.

"So that's why your eyes were-mmph!" He started to shout before I clamped my hand over his mouth.

"It's a secret to everyone!" I whisper-shouted, and then was tempted to hand him some money for some reason. "Yes, it's why my eyes were weird. Please don't tell anyone about my weird eyes without my permission. Make totally, completely sure that you don't. Tell. Anyone. There's a guy in the village who likes getting people with abnormal powers in his secret army and he's not above killing people so he can remove their eyeballs."

Naruto gaped at that. "Shouldn't you tell Hokage-jiji that?"

While he was doing that, I tilted my head to the side as, if on cue, someone called my name. "I have to go now. Remember not to use that on a person unless they're already attacking you, and be especially careful with it. I cut off that guy's leg, remember?" He nodded, still focusing on his claws. I think I saw a flicker of wind chakra before I left. When I made my way to where I heard my name being called, I saw Hiashi standing next to one of the caretakers of the orphanage that I never bothered to learn the name of. "Why did you need me?" I asked him.

"What the hell'd you do to get Hyuuga frickin' Hiashi to ask to adopt you specifically, kid?" the caretaker said.

"I saved his daughter," I boasted.

"What?"

"He saved my daughter," Hiashi said. "Plus, he displayed exceptional potential with ninjutsu that I would like to have developed. Honestly, it would be a crime for me not to adopt him." He ever-so-subtly smirked at me.

"Okay, sir. Whatever you say. The kid's a little odd and he only ever talks to that demon brat, but if you wanna be his dad and he wants to be your kid, then whatever."

Hiashi turned to me. "What do you say, Kouki-kun? Would you like to be my son?"

I made a show of thinking about it, then said, "You don't have any problems with me hanging out with Naruto-kun, do you?"

"If you keep him from being too disruptive, I'll even let you bring him over to the clan compound."

I gave an exaggerated bow. "Then I would be honored to become part of your family. Do you mind if I have a little talk with you alone?"

"Not at all. Just take me to somewhere private we can talk."

I led us to my room, which was empty. I looked at Hiashi, then pointed at my eyes. He got the memo, activated his Byakugan for a few seconds, then nodded. I activated my Shoraigan, looked to make sure nothing bad would happen, then deactivated it. I then jumped onto my bed, looked roughly to where the Fourth Wall was, and said, "Getting adopted by the leader of an influential clan in the second chapter. That's pretty convenient, Me."

"Why are you talking to nobody?" Hiashi asked me with a bit of worry.

"Who said I was talking to nobody?" I licked my lips.

Again, he just opened his mouth as if trying to think of something to say, and then just changed the subject to, "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Was that stuff that you said the real reason?" I asked, and shifted up to sitting cross-legged.

"Officially it is, but..."

"Unofficially?" He nodded and was about to say something when I sat up and said, "Wait! Sorry, but could I have a go at that first?"

He nodded again. "If you want to."

"What you said was true, but there's also the fact that Hokage-sama doesn't want me unguarded on account of my eyes and it'd raise too much suspicion to have people randomly start tailing me if I'm an orphan, even if I'm close to the Kyuubi Jinchuriki. But nobody would bat an eye at the clan leader whose daughter was just the target of an attempted kidnapping upping security at his clan compound, even if he also adopted an orphan recently and especially if that orphan was the one who saved his daughter's life and could therefore possibly be part of security. Furthermore, Hokage-sama would prefer I get trained so I can better defend myself in the event of someone trying to kidnap me, which being adopted into a ninja clan would easily facilitate. Also, I have a dojutsu so the both of you decided that it'd be good to have me have ready access to an experienced dojutsu user that knows about my eyes so I can ask any questions I can think of, which would be you or maybe another Hyuuga in the know."

He chuckled. "That... was exactly it. You don't mind pretending to secretly be one of Hinata-chan's bodyguards when not in school, do you?"

"Nyahahaha~!" I laughed. Yes, I laugh weird sometimes. Shut up. "That'd be pretty cool, actually! It's gonna be like a disguise within a disguise!"

"It is a disguise within a disguise. Our hope is that it just looks like I'm being paranoid over how my daughter was just kidnapped."

"Children getting kidnapped isn't a bad thing to be paranoid about, especially for a father." I thought for a moment. "If I'm going to be Hinata-chan's 'bodyguard,' I should probably get some proper training in ninjutsu, maybe some genjutsu, and some sort of chakra-sensing jutsu if that's possible. Chakra sensing just seems like a bodyguard sort of power, y'know?"

"I can see why that'd be useful to a bodyguard. I know for a fact that most Hyuuga have the aptitude to learn sensory jutsu and many Uchiha do as well, so you might thanks to your Shoraigan. You do realize that you're going to have to actually learn all of these skills, though."

"Ah, but that's my master plan!" I joked. "This way you have to teach me jutsu! Nyahahaha~! Also, maybe I could learn some medical ninjutsu? That seems like a really good thing for a bodyguard to know. I mean, I'd certainly like my hypothetical bodyguard to be able to heal me."

"Again, you're going to have to actually learn how to do it, but I could arrange that. There have actually been a few good Hyuuga surgeons in recent years. Our eyes are very good for the work."

"Neat," I said. "Alright, I should probably pack my stuff up or something, shouldn't I?"

"That seems like a good idea, yes. Would you like some help?"

I smiled. "Sure."

#fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #naruto #Foresight is 20/20 #F20 CH2

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bookmawkish · 6 years

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Just a patient, part 2

I wasn’t sure I had it in me to continue but apparently there was at least this XD

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

All my fanfictions (includes more Loki)

@nikora3010 and oh gosh I’m sure there were others who wanted to be tagged in Loki fics I’m so sorry

You do sign it. You hate yourself for it in some ways, because almost everything about this feels wrong. It feels. You feel. It is not a benefit in your line of work to feel too deeply. There’s a long section in training which is designed to quash that, in fact. They give you false bodies, half torn apart, with real guts from slaughtered animals so that the smell of shit and the reek of gore isn‘t a surprise. And the others - stage makeup, but real person, real screaming. It desensitises you, so that when the time comes, you can push the severed limbs out of the way, kneel in the blood, and save lives.

And yet today, you feel.

The paperwork is important, you’ve done it every day of your professional life, so you do it. And it will take the fallen villain out of your life, remove your confusion, return you to normality.

Or it should.

There’s the bit halfway down the sheet where you record all the injuries in detail (show me on the doll where you got beaten to a pulp, Mister Loki): your pen moves over the anonymous, cartoonish line drawn human figures on the page, checking off the wound sites. Torso, stomach. Then the annotations. You write automatically, noting down the symptoms. Loki’s breathing, remembering the sounds the air made in his crushed throat, rattling in his flattened lungs. The cold, dirty sweat on his skin and the edged, inhuman smell of his blood in the air. He’d smelt exhausted. Yes, exhaustion has a scent. It’s bitter and acrid and unmistakable to anyone who’s ever been in a truck with twenty other exhausted people, on their way home from a war zone with filth on their bodies and a tarnish on their souls that no shower will remove.

Every fucking busted fingernail, as requested, Director.

You sign at the bottom of the page. One of those grim-faced men takes the clipboard away from you, and the room immediately empties with startling speed and precision. You’re suddenly alone with a bloodstained, empty crater in the floor and the damning memory of Loki’s weight leant so trustingly against your shoulder. The silence is huge and unnatural and it’s only at this moment that you feel as if you could cry. Cry for every damn thing that’s happened out there and every damn thing that the killer of New York made you feel by just lying there in his own blood and trusting you - you - when everybody else would have nailed his heart to a wall and smiled while they did it. But you don’t.

“Shit.”

You haven’t cried for over ten years. It’s possible you’ll never cry again.

So instead you rise, your kit gathered close to you like a shield between you and the world, and you walk out of the ruined tower. There’s no longer anyone trying to guard it. It’s empty and broken and there’s nothing left of value in it. You rather think you know how it feels.

And then the world starts trying to go back to normal. Not the next day, or even the next perhaps, but slowly, insidiously, like the way ivy pushes itself under the tough skin of a young tree and starts its stranglehold. People start calling it “The Incident”, like it’s too awful to describe properly - or maybe it’s just that everyone needs a convenient shorthand for “massive unexpected alien invasion which almost destroyed New York, and, by extension, the world.” The cleanup is going to take years, despite what Fox News is saying. Everybody who works in one of the right kinds of agencies is deployed, regardless of their rank, status or previous assignment. The army are shovelling rubble right alongside the air force, and what remains of your unit is out there picking through the detritus for bodies.

Tiring, depressing work: but normal work. Aside from the special boxes into which you are instructed to place anything which has that distinctive, organic alien look and feel, this could be any war zone. Anywhere in the world. Rubble and bodies and long, long days. It’s all very familiar and something in you takes comfort in the repetitive work, the feeling of physical weariness at the end of each day, the ability to sleep like the dead, without dreams. Because after all these years at S.H.I.E.L.D, your dreams are never good.

But that ghost feeling, that memory of Loki’s body leaning weakly, trustingly against yours doesn’t go away, and that definitely isn’t normal. Sometimes you wake in the morning with that phantom weight at our side, real enough to make you jolt upright with your heart hammering. And once or twice you actually attack the phantom, because in that ephemeral moment between sleep and wakefulness the feeling is so incredibly real that you can hear the strained breathing, hear that broken whistle of air. In and out, the push of a half-ruined ribcage against your back. The alien tang of Loki’s sweat, ingrained in the fabric of your pillow. So you slam your arm out, to silence and drive out the interloper in your bed, only to hit the empty mattress (it’s always been empty. There’s never been a trusted, shared weight here, never anyone to lie with you) and leave you in blinking, uncomfortable bewilderment.

You don’t like it. It’s a piece of vulnerability, a loophole to be exploited, and maybe - just maybe - a chink in your armour which may one day prove to be the death of you.

Months pass, and it’s every morning now you wake with Loki at your side, the sensations getting stronger. Once you almost start to choke, a strand of his long dirty hair across your face, breathed into your mouth as you slept and gone as if it had never been once you are fully awake. Still you pretend it isn’t happening. It’s not as if anyone ever asks you how you are. You don’t have friends anymore. The only people you could even vaguely consider companions are all dead.

And that’s working out very well for you, until the one day in the canteen when you’re trying (and failing) to enjoy a sandwich, and a hand falls on your shoulder once again. It’s not Fury this time. It’s a much smaller man, with a slightly sad, distracted air, glasses, and a nervous habit of rubbing the back of his head as he talks.

Belatedly you recognise him, and you get to your feet in surprised, automatic deference. Everyone knows Bruce Banner, or at very least, knows what he’s capable of.

And he’s got that goddamned piece of paper with your signature on it in his hand.

“Yeah, so, this is awkward,” he says, as you come to a some sort of attention in front of him, and he makes a vague patting-down motion with his hands. “Don’t - don’t do that. I’m sorry that I even have to say this, but you need to come with me. Uh. Right now.”

#loki #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki x you #loki x reader #loki/reader #prompt fill #fanfiction prompt #avengers #medic!reader #bruce banner #shield agent reader #angst #Bonded #loki whump #loki dreams

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ifyouresure · 7 years

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for the girl who had everything

a little post-season add-on.

spoilers for the season 2 finale of supergirl.

AO3

—

A day after Lillian Luthor takes credit for saving the planet, the Tribune publishes an article that names Lena Luthor as Earth’s saviour.

An anonymous source lets slip to the press that it was really L-Corp that dispersed the lead that drove away the invaders – the DEO agrees that keeping that particular secret isn’t worth all the support and good press Cadmus would receive if the truth didn’t get out.

Kara pens the article, and conducts the interview with Lena. With the destruction of National City only barely avoided and everyone wanting to know exactly what happened, it ends up being the most desirable exclusive since Cat nabbed that interview with Supergirl all those years ago, when people didn’t even know who Supergirl was. When Lena Luthor was just a footnote in the stories about her brother Lex.

Cat is back—and wow, Kara will never get tired of saying that, Cat is back—and she probably wants to break the story herself, but with that little smile she gets on her face sometimes, and a brisk “chop, chop”, she sends Kara on her way. Kara would like to believe it’s because Cat thinks Kara is really coming into her own—to be fair, she is, and Cat does think that—but Kara is certain it’s actually because she’s the only one who’s been able to get Lena to agree to an interview.

In the morning, Kara had called the number she has for Lena’s office three times, and each time the line had been busy – publications clamouring for a quote, probably. Only when Jess had texted her with a Just call her personal number, had Kara finally given in and called Lena’s cellphone.

Lena picked up on the first ring. Her voice had been so soft, and kind, and it had been so much, too much, not enough. Kara still shivers, when she thinks about it, still gets that racing warmth up her spine, like curling up under a blanket at home after a long day away.

That’s how Kara feels now, with the article published, alone in her empty apartment after being shoo’d away from work, with nothing but the thought of what happened two days ago and the memory of her name in Lena’s voice for company.

J’onn warns Kara and Cat himself that the DEO is not to be mentioned in the paper, and Winn returns to L-Corp to tell Lena the same. Even still, when Kara asks Lena what everyone’s been wondering – how she did it, how she saved the world, Lena puts on a humble smile—she’s always so humble—and says in that tone that’s just a little self-deprecating: “I had a lot of help.

“You wouldn’t believe how many people are out there every day, trying to protect this city,” she tells Kara, all the while staring straight at her, leaning forward, her head tilted just so. “People who jump into the path of danger and face it head on, just so the rest of us can feel safe.” Lena, Kara notes, does not include herself in that group of people. “The citizens of National City also deserve praise for their enduring courage and strength. And of course,” she says, lightly now, but serious, “the Cat Grants out there who inspire the rest of us to be hopeful.”

Last Thanksgiving, Lena had saved the aliens in National City when she rendered the Medusa virus that was spread across the city inert; this time, with a weapon in her hands that could exile her brother’s greatest rival, that would drive Supergirl away, she chose to do what was best for the Earth instead. Kara thinks that’s sort of poetic, in a way she can’t really put into words; not in this article, at least.

Off the record, as if she knows what Kara’s thinking, Lena says, “My mother synthesized a virus that would have gone on to kill most of the aliens in the world. My brother created a weapon that would have rid it of the rest. Sometimes,” she confesses, “I worry I’m not so different.”

“You saved us,” Kara counters, before clearing the ache from her throat. “You saved all of us.” Lena had smiled oddly at that, and said nothing.

Fleetingly, Kara wondered, in spite of what Lillian had said, whether Lena knew. Whether, when she’d given Supergirl the remote that might decide the fate of the planet, she’d also given Kara the ability to choose her own personal happiness.

(“Did you know he was dating Kara Danvers?”)

If Lena had known … Kara didn’t know what to think of that. So she didn’t.

At the end of the interview, when Kara is just Kara, when she’s just Lena’s best friend, when Kara loves Lena—and she loves Lena, always—Kara tells her how sincerely proud of her she is, how she thinks Lena is absolutely incredible, how Lena is so unfailingly good.

Lena smiles again, and says, quietly, “Thank you, Kara.”

When the elevator to bring Kara back down to the lobby arrives on Lena’s floor with a ding, and only after the doors have shut behind her, she hears Lena whisper to herself, so softly that even Kara has to wonder whether she’s imagining it: “I’m selfish. I am so, so selfish.”

Along with the interview, Kara includes a little addendum wherein Supergirl enthusiastically praises Lena, just as Lena had been so eager to praise everyone but herself.

Lena is on the cover of CatCo magazine the very next day. The issue sells faster than any issue ever printed before it, second only to Supergirl’s debut.

There’s something poetic about that, too.

It’s funny, how the city only ever seems to sleep when Kara wishes it were awake.

National City is calm in the aftermath of the attempted alien invasion – it’s like somebody actually slipped law-abiding serum into the city’s water reservoir this time. That, or there’s just something about catastrophe and suffering that brings out the best in people. After Myriad, there had been a period of calm, too, one that had lasted for weeks and weeks, up until the celebration at Kara’s apartment, when the pod—

Kara is at a standstill. It’s like time has stopped, and nothing she does will ever make it move again.

L-Corp and CatCo band together to organize the downtown restoration effort. Between the popularity of Lena’s interview, Supergirl’s fight with Rhea, and Cat’s speech, the three of them manage to attract half the city to help. It’s something, at least, something that sits warm and alive in Kara's chest, when she arrives in her supersuit and watches the citizens of National City work together to rebuild it, humans and aliens alike, working side by side.

They carry on until the sun is purple and bruised in the sky. Cat does what she does best, directs people when they’re lost, tells them what to do when they aren’t sure. Kara gathers the other aliens with super strength to do the heavy lifting, brings people together like she does metal with her heat vision.

And Lena – Lena keeps everything in order, provides support whenever it’s needed, does absolutely everything within her power to help.

Kara doesn’t think Lena has ever done anything for herself, not once. Not when she betrayed her mother, or, Rao, when she pressed that key and sacrificed Jack to save Supergirl.

From a few yards away, Lena catches Kara’s eye as she’s talking to a group of volunteers. She smiles prettily, and Kara stares and stares, until she’s not sure if the sympathy she finds in Lena’s face is real or not. Kara can’t imagine what Lena could possibly mean when she calls herself selfish.

When the sun sets and everyone turns in for the day, after Kara watches Lena shake hands with as many people as she can, a car drives Lena back to her office. That’s where Kara finds her later, when she lands on her balcony: Lena at her desk, bent over her laptop with a mountain of paperwork. She gets up to let Kara in when she knocks.

“Isn’t the work ever done?” Kara teases after stepping inside.

“For a Luthor?” Lena grins, and she pauses just long enough for Kara to wonder. “I’m afraid not.” She sits back down at her desk and shuffles her papers. “There’s still so much to do, and National City won’t rebuild itself, Supergirl.”

“Not if you don’t rest, it won’t,” Kara replies gently. “You must be exhausted, Lena. You should get some sleep.”

Lena smiles, distracted. “I should,” she says, even as she scrolls through a document on her laptop. They don’t say anything for a while, and a companionable silence settles over them.

“Thank you, by the way,” Lena says after some time, holding up the latest issue of CatCo magazine, “you flatter me.” Kara tenses up, not at all expecting those words while wearing her supersuit. She only relaxes a little when she remembers the quotes.

“Of course,” Kara replies. “I was just telling the truth.”

“You were very generous. At any rate, I think this will go a long way toward regaining the city’s trust after I brought about the invasion,” Lena says dryly.

“None of that was your fault,” Kara interjects quickly. “Everything you’ve done has been to help others.”

“And yet, I always seem to be doing such a poor job of it,” Lena says, only half-joking.

“Don’t say that,” Kara insists. “All we can do is our best, and I know you’re doing everything you can. You’re a hero, Lena.”

Lena looks unconvinced, but she purses her lips uncertainly and nods, looking back down at the work on her desk.

“Can I ask you something?” Kara asks, after the rigid shape of Lena’s body has softened.

“Yes,” Lena answers.

“Why did you give me the remote?”

It’s about as close to asking Lena what she meant without asking her outright, and Lena seems to realize that – that Supergirl had somehow heard what Lena said to herself after Kara Danvers left her office. That, if she liked, she could take the out Kara’s given her. That this is about as close to a confession as she’ll get from Kara. For now, at least.

“Besides the very real possibility that my murderous mother would jump the gun?” Lena jokes weakly. Kara doesn’t say anything, and Lena stares for a moment, silent, before nodding slowly, like she had expected nothing less. Her watch clicks against the surface of her desk.

“You know,” Lena whispers quietly, as if the room would shatter if she spoke any louder, “I still think about that night last year. When you begged me not to turn the key my mother gave me. When the fate of the city rested in the palm of my hand.” She closes her eyes. “When you told me to be my own hero.”

Kara nods even though Lena can’t see, listening intently. Lena eases her laptop shut, and when she opens her eyes again, they’re almost black in the absence of light.

“Then, there was Jack, and you were dying, and you—you both kept calling my name.” Lena stands, stepping out from behind her desk and walking over to her bar so that Kara can only see her profile. She braces her hands against it, hunched over. Lena laughs bitterly. “And then, god, the remote.

“I never asked for any of this,” she says. “I never asked for all these choices and all this power. I’ve had the whole world in my hands more times than I can remember, and I don’t understand why.” The wood under her hands groans under her weight. Kara wishes, briefly, that she’d turn around. “Every time I try to do the right thing, it’s never enough. It’s like I’m being tested over and over again, and nothing I say or do will ever prove that I can be trusted. I’m so tired, Kara.”

Kara startles at the use of her name, then shudders as that familiar warmth prickles up her back. “Lena—” she begins, without really knowing what she’s going to say.

“And they’re right,” Lena goes on quietly, so that Kara almost doesn’t hear. She stops speaking immediately. “I can’t be trusted. Because it’s so tempting, each and every time, to make the choice that would bring me happiness, to do the selfish thing.” Lena grips the ends of the bar tightly, her frown heavy on her face, her shoulder blades protruding sharply from under her blouse; she’s still wearing the dirt-stained one she had on earlier. “To do what my mother wants so that she’ll finally love me,” she says, breathing harshly, “to let you die so that Jack and I could be together.” She turns away, so that Kara can only see the back of her head, her hair sweeping softly across her shoulders; even now, as sad and angry and despondent as Lena is—as sad and angry as Kara is—Kara can’t help thinking of how lovely that motion is, can’t help remembering the last time they’d hugged, hyperaware of her arm around Lena’s neck, Lena’s hair brushing against it.

Kara doesn’t know what to say; she can only think of how determined she had been, when she was fighting Superman, how determined she was to live, how tightly she’d held Alex in her arms when she flew the three of them to the Fortress of Solitude.

How Kara has not once in her life protected Kal-El the way her mother had wanted her to.

“And, worst of all, the remote,” Lena says again, her shoulders scrunched up around her ears.

“You wanted to kill us?” Kara guesses, voice kind and not at all accusatory. “Me and Superman?”

Lena laughs, loud and sudden. “No,” she says. “No. What I wanted …” She doesn’t move or speak for a minute.

“I couldn’t have that temptation in my hands again,” she says instead. “To click that button when there was another option. To click it too soon because I … because if he was gone, then maybe I …”

Without a single word of warning, Lena swipes her hand roughly across her bar. A decanter of scotch and several glasses fall in an earsplitting cascade of crashes against the floor, and Kara would jump, if she wasn’t frozen on her feet, as if, one by one, Lena’s words had pinned her to the spot.

Golden liquor splatters around the room, against the walls and Lena’s desk and even Kara’s boots. A million shards of glass skitter in every direction; a few jump back at Lena and scrape her legs, but she pays them no mind.

“Because when we touched,” she says finally, facing Kara again, and all of Lena is resigned – the droop in her shoulders, the tone of her voice, the sad little curl of her lips, “when we hugged, it was like the world was in my hands again, and the temptation was too much, and I could have it all, I could have it all, I could have it all.”

Kara swallows hard. She remembers the sparring session with Clark, before the fight. For a brief, shining moment, she’d had everything she ever wanted—family, friends, a job she enjoyed, people she loved—and she had been so afraid of losing it all.

Lena had already lost it all.

Blood trickles slowly from the cuts on Lena’s shins, and she looks at Kara, smiling ruefully. “I wouldn’t be able to bear the praise, if people knew. If I had clicked that button to save the Earth when, all the while, I would know I was also doing it for myself. So, I was selfish. I gave you the remote, so that I wouldn’t have to make that choice, so that I wouldn’t have to bear that burden. So that, when the time came,” Lena says, taking an unsteady breath, “you could bear it instead.”

An eternity passes before either of them moves again and, even then, it’s only Lena, who walks carefully back to the balcony door and leaves it ajar, glass tinkling beneath her feet on her way over. Then, she gathers her things at her desk, folds her jacket carefully over her arm, and slings her purse on. Lena passes Kara on her way out, and only when she’s halfway out the door to her office does she speak again.

“So, forgive me,” Lena says, her voice smooth and calm – beautiful, even, “if I don’t want to be called a hero.”

Kara doesn’t call Lena for five days. Lena doesn’t call at all.

Weeks and weeks pass, and Kara goes through the motions. She goes to work during the day, writes little puff-pieces about the new dog shelter on Parada, because National City is still in nearly crime-free stasis. At lunch, Kara walks past Cat’s glass office to eat on the sunlit terrace, and Cat throws her this look, this pinched grimace; it’s only a matter of time before she calls Kara into her office and asks her why she looks like someone ran over her four cats.

In the summer, the sun sets at about eight in the evening. Kara sits in her window to watch it every day. Five minutes after the sky goes dark, Kara texts Lena. She tells her about her day, tells her something funny Winn did at the DEO, relays one of Cat’s more impressive insults. Then, she asks Lena about her day, how she’s doing, how work on the transmat portal is going, because Kara hasn’t allowed herself to go see Lena, not when Lena so obviously doesn’t want to see her. She wishes Lena well, and doesn’t say anything else after that because, even though it’s late in the evening, Lena is probably still at her office, working.

At the end of the day, Kara goes to sleep. The sun rises at about six in the morning, and Kara lies in bed to watch the sky light up, and she repeats her routine all over again.

Every night, the sun sets a little earlier than it had the day before, and rises later the next. Some days, Winn is off in his own little world, grinning at a text from Lyra on his phone; on the days Carter visits the office, Cat’s words soften. Some days, all Kara says is good night.

Lena never texts back. It’s the single thing that never shifts in Kara’s life, the constant point around which everything else revolves.

“Kiera!”

“Yes, Ms. Grant?”

“Why does your face,” Cat says without looking up, her hand twirling in a vague circle, “look as if someone ran over your cats?”

Kara sighs. “I don’t have cats, Ms. Grant.” Cat waves her hand dismissively. “It’s, uhm, I’m just …”

“Surely you aren’t still moping about your boyfriend. From what I’ve heard, he’s not even worth your time.” Kara doesn’t say anything, and Cat looks up. “Well?” she says, gentler now.

“It’s …” Kara doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know how to explain to Cat how, the more Kara misses Lena, the less she seems to miss Mon-El. Like Lena’s absence has gradually replaced his. Like the hole he left in her heart has morphed and changed, and there’s only one thing that can fill it now.

And she misses Mon-El, she does, but she also doesn’t think he’s ever cared so much, felt as bad about something he did as Lena does. And Lena didn’t—Lena hasn’t done anything. She literally gave Kara the remote so that she couldn’t do anything. And if that’s Lena’s version of selfish, well, Kara has to wonder who raised her to think like that.

Then again, she really doesn’t.

But Lena doesn’t answer Kara’s calls, and Lena doesn’t reply to her texts, and Lena is just gone, where, before, she was everywhere, and Kara doesn’t think she was taking Lena for granted before—she’s not sure she will ever take anything for granted, not when it can all be gone in a second—but it’s different, now that Kara doesn’t have her.

The truth is, Kara has never had a friend quite like Lena before, either. Family, sure – in fact, Alex and Lena are startlingly similar in so many ways: so unwilling to see the best in themselves, never doing anything in their own self-interest, and always, always thinking of others, and thinking of Kara. But friends?

Kara has never had friends like Lena.

Cat has that look on her face now, the one that’s half concerned that Kara has been standing in her office and hasn’t said a word for an entire minute, and half irritated that Kara is still in her office and hasn’t said a word for an entire minute. Kara almost tells her that it’s nothing like that, but that would feel a little like a lie.

“It’s nothing,” Kara hastens to say instead, and that’s a lie, too, because this is everything. Cat raises one eyebrow. “It’s … it’s nothing.”

“Well, fix this … ‘nothing’ of yours. I don’t pay you to make sad puppy faces and to stand still. Move along.”

And, Rao, that’s … Cat is spot on, as usual.

The problem is, Kara doesn’t know where to go from here.

She’s standing at the centre of the world, with everything just beyond her reach, and it’s all spinning around her.

(Standing on the pile of her unanswered texts, maybe.)

Kara doesn’t know what she’s allowed, doesn’t know because she hasn’t felt this out of her depth before, not for a long time now. Even her daily messages feel like this gross intrusion, like Lena would ask if she wanted to know about Kara’s day. Like Kara wouldn’t have to read L-Corp’s press releases, because Lena would want to tell her about all of it in person over brunch.

“Just go talk to her,” Alex says.

Kara groans. “I can’t.” She grabs two drinks from her fridge and places one in front of Alex before sitting down.

“Why not? You’re great at talking yourself out of stuff.”

“This isn’t just some problem I can talk myself out of. This is …” Kara makes a frustrated noise, “this is my life, this is important.”

Alex nods slowly. Her nails catch against the label on her drink. “You know,” she says carefully, “before Maggie and I started dating, we had a lot of problems, too. We weren’t sure about what we wanted, and that led to a ton of misunderstandings, and, for this huge chunk of time, I felt like I’d never get anywhere. But then, on Thanksgiving, Maggie got shot, and she came over and she told me what she was thinking, and now we’re here.” Alex smiles brilliantly. “And we’re getting married. Not tomorrow, and maybe not even ten years from now. But I know that she’s the one for me, and I told her that. I told her that I was in it for the long run, and I told her what I wanted.”

“But we aren’t like—” Kara’s mouth clamps shut, her words sticking in her throat like they had talking to Cat. Alex leans forward to grab Kara’s hands, and Kara wants so desperately to squeeze back as hard as she can.

“Miscommunication is killer, Kara,” Alex tells her earnestly. “Do you know what you want?”

“I …” Kara thinks suddenly of Mon-El, and her first thought is of how she may never see her mother’s necklace again. Then, she thinks of Lena, and wonders if she also feels as if her happiness is hinging on this one thing.

But then, she must. That’s what she told Kara the last time they saw each other. It’s Kara who hasn’t been saying anything this entire time.

“Yeah,” Kara says. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Alex nods again. “Do you think Lena wants the same thing?”

“Yes,” Kara answers, and her certainty sits sweet and lovely in her chest, “I think so.”

“Does she know?” Kara shakes her head. “Maybe you should tell her,” Alex says gently.

Kara calls Lena only once. Lena does not answer.

“Lena’s phone. Please leave a message after the tone.”

She leaves her message. Life goes on.

There’s this new clarity with which Kara views and understands everything. Kara still watches the sun set, but now she texts Lena in the afternoon. She still watches the sun rise, but she flies up onto the roof of her building to do it, because she likes to let the warmth envelop her, thrives in the feeling of the entire city coming alive around her. Kara tells Lena about her day, about her herb garden, about how Lena would like how the basil has sprouted today, how the undersides of the sage in her garden are precisely the colour of Lena’s eyes.

Once, in a press release, L-Corp announces that they’re exploring new uses for the transmat portal, and the possibilities of interstellar travel. Kara suggests in a text that it could be used to help aliens seeking refuge on Earth. In her next public appearance, Lena hints at a new project L-Corp is working on in collaboration with President Marsdin herself, and says, “The inspiration for this project came from a very close friend of mine. I hope to share it with you soon.”

So, Kara doesn’t stop texting. The world spins a little slower around her.

Every few days, Kara has movie night with Alex; three or four times a month, she hosts game night with her friends. The crime rate starts to ramp up again in the city, which isn’t good, but Supergirl and Guardian are always there to save the day, and Snapper starts giving her more interesting stories.

Family, friends, job.

Unbidden, Kara thinks again of the events of last year, of Myriad; remembers how time had stopped, as it has now. She remembers how the pod landed in National City. How, only two days later, Kara met Lena Luthor. How time had started again.

At the end of the summer, someone knocks on Kara’s apartment door, just once. It’s eleven; Kara has already texted Lena good morning. She goes to answer the door.

Lena stands on the other side. She smiles awkwardly, holds up her phone, and says, “Good morning, Kara.”

Kara shivers, just a little, warm and familiar, and she moves.

#supergirl #supercorp #iys #fic #this is ... je ne sais pas #it's not even a pot #it's like it was supposed to be a pot but it didn't work out and it turned into a plate #but not even a good plate more like a flat non-circular disk

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hollywoodjuliorivas · 6 years

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JOURNAL REPORTS: RETIREMENT Why You Should Write a Memoir—Even if Nobody Will Read It Among the psychological benefits: It helps people make sense of their lives When a person sits down to write the story of his or her life, there can be unexpected benefits. Pencie Huneke, above, refers to writing her memoir as “an exercise of self-affirmation.” PHOTO: ZACK WITTMAN FOR THE WALL STREET JOURNAL By Lisa Ward Nov. 10, 2017 10:08 a.m. ET 4 COMMENTS Is it worth writing a memoir if no one will ever read it? Millions dream about spinning their life story into a best-seller. Most never get past the dreaming part, much less the first chapter. But there are potential rewards other than riches and fame for those who try. According to psychologists and researchers, writing a memoir—even just for personal consumption—can help the author review and make sense of his or her life, come to terms with traumatic events and foster personal growth. In fact, some of the therapeutic benefits may be lost if the writer thinks about too large an audience—or even a readership greater than one. The story can become less authentic. And there are other potential pitfalls to writing your life story. Writers can be thrown into despair if they have trouble reconciling past failures or placing traumatic events into a larger context. “It really depends on the type of stories people tell to make sense of their lives,” says Dan McAdams, a psychology professor at Northwestern University. People who can construct cohesive life narratives—where there are common threads and one event leads to the next—are likely to benefit from writing a memoir, he says, while those who view their lives as a series of random, unrelated events are not. His research has found that life narratives are especially beneficial if they focus on redemption and overcoming adversity. The Mental Mistakes We Make With Retirement Spending The mind-set and habits that work so well when people are building their nest egg can damage their quality of life—and investments—in retirement. CLICK TO READ STORY Love at First Sight: Retiring in Italy The bureaucracy and four-hour lunch break can be maddening. But the kindnesses, beauty, food—and price—can’t be beat. CLICK TO READ STORY When ‘Enough’ Doesn’t Have to Mean ‘More’ Essayist Robbie Shell writes about giving up the relentless pursuit for more and finding contentment in retirement. CLICK TO READ STORY New Procedure Looks Promising for Men With Enlarged Prostates The minimally invasive treatment uses steam to kill cells and shrink the prostate. CLICK TO READ STORY Is There Really a Retirement-Savings Crisis? Two experts look at the same data—and come to very different conclusions. CLICK TO READ STORY Recommended New Books for Those Who Are Grieving Sheryl Sandberg and other authors offer strategies on how to move forward after suffering a loss. CLICK TO READ STORY MORE IN ENCORE Positive light In a memoir by Pencie Huneke, two key themes are resilience and gratitude. Now 84 years old and living on a barrier island near Venice, Fla., Ms. Huneke raised her five daughters alone after her husband left. Her memoir describes the “blur of misery” she felt in the early days of their rupture. But her story, Ms. Huneke now says, ultimately puts the experience in a positive light: She made close friends, enrolled in a financial-management course and met the “love of her life.” She also forgave her ex. “He and I have actually become friends. How lucky for all of us,” she wrote, in one of the few extracts she shared with a reporter. The act of writing about traumatic or difficult events can reduce stress, lessen depression and improve cognitive functioning, according to researchers. Several studies have even shown such writing to improve the function of the immune system. Psychologists believe that by converting emotions and images into words, the author starts to organize and structure memories, particularly memories that may be difficult to comprehend and accept. “You can’t simply dump an entire experience on a piece of paper,” says Joshua Smyth, distinguished professor of biobehavioral health and medicine at Pennsylvania State University. Through writing, he says, the memory of the experience can be broken down into small parts, allowing the event to be more easily processed and then laid to rest. A hidden death Susan Mayall, now 84 and living in Livermore, Calif., says she tried for years to write about her childhood in Britain during World War II, years that included frequent German bombing raids on her neighborhood. Much of her struggle, she says, involved coming to terms with her mother’s behavior. Early in the war, in 1941, Ms. Mayall’s father, an interpreter in the Royal Navy, died at sea, but her mother never spoke of his death to the children or otherwise acknowledged it until the war ended. Ms. Mayall shared early drafts of her memoir with her brothers, who objected to her harsh evaluation of her mother. “I struggled all my life to understand my mother’s reactions,” Ms. Mayall says. What finally put things in perspective, she says, was writing about a particular memory: the moment her mother read the letter from the Royal Navy about her husband’s death. Ms. Mayall in her memoir describes seeing the letter, without explicitly knowing at the time what it said, and witnessing her mother’s reaction: “She tears [the letter] open, and starts to read. Then she leans forwards and her hands go up over her face. She’s shaking—I can feel her.” Ms. Mayall says she developed more empathy for her mother as she continued to work on the memoir over the years. In the final version, she acknowledges her mother’s bravery and describes in detail what it was like to raise four children on a meager income in wartime conditions. When writing about past traumas, the people who gain the most from the experience are those who tend to acknowledge their own problems but can also see other people’s points of view. Over the course of writing, their general perspectives about their topics evolve, says James W. Pennebaker, a psychology professor at the University of Texas at Austin. Making new connections between events in the writer’s life is key, he says. There are risks. Writing to uncover a deeper meaning in one’s life often requires brutal honesty or authenticity, a sort of self-disclosure that could either be hurtful to other people or cast the author in a negative light. If a writer starts repeating the same topic incessantly or becomes increasingly angry and bitter, it is best to stop, Dr. Pennebaker says. Some such feelings can’t be helped. “Writing about upsetting experiences can provoke negative emotions,” says Dr. Pennebaker. “It’s much like going to a sad movie. Most people report getting back to normal in an hour or so. If a person is living with a negative experience, they are probably feeling bad much of the time. The writing helps to get them out of that cycle.” Writing a memoir can also help authors re-evaluate how they want to live for their remaining years, says Susan Krauss Whitbourne, professor emerita of psychological and brain sciences at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. The exercise will sometimes reveal to the writer patterns of behavior that were—or are—harmful. Past battles When Paul Wortman, professor emeritus of psychology at Stony Brook University in New York, started analyzing and writing about his life and career, he says he discovered that he had a problem with authority figures. His short temper and past battles with department chairs, he says, were the product of his relationship with his father. Dr. Wortman swore to change his ways. He ended up revising his memoir at his wife’s request, after she read it and became uncomfortable with his idea of sharing it with an extended group of friends. Through careful editing, Dr. Wortman says, the message stayed the same, but some of the details were left out. Making changes based on who will read the finished product reveals another truth about memoirs: There is a huge difference between writing a memoir for yourself and writing it for an audience. By writing for others, the author may be tempted to omit details or even change the story, compromising the process for the final product. Also, it may be disappointing if very few people take the time to read the memoir. Still, sharing a memoir in limited circles can be therapeutic, especially if there is a receptive audience. Sharing can strengthen social ties and help friends and family members understand who the writer is and how he or she came to be that way. The process can also help validate the writer’s experiences and even break ageist stereotypes, says Susan Bluck, a psychology professor at the University of Florida. A child or grandchildren may be surprised to learn their grandparent hitchhiked across the country, Dr. Bluck says, adding, “It feels good when someone is excited about your story.” Ms. Huneke, in the introduction to her memoir, discusses why she chose to leave a written legacy for her immediate family. Her memoir, beyond a few excerpts, hasn’t been shared with anyone else: “Perhaps this is an exercise of self-affirmation, that one’s existence has been worthwhile and possibly even memorable,” she wrote. “Or does it have a higher purpose, to fill in gaps for future generations who, one hopes, might care and even enjoy it? Then again, maybe it is only a desire to explain to one’s children just why one is the way one is. It might even be interesting for them to identify characteristics in themselves they may have inherited!” Ms. Ward is a writer in Mendham, N.J. She can be reached at [email protected]

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playdohtoyshc95-blog · 7 years

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chemicalmagecraft · 5 years

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I Would Totally Kick Jiraiya’s Butt Chapter 2

A/N: I don't really know what a good length is, so hopefully I'm hitting that. Again, sorry for the delay, but play practice eats away at your soul even if you don't have any speaking lines.

kukukuku~

I groaned again. Did I mention how much I hate mornings? Because I hate mornings. "Kouki-kun," some old guy said.

"Ten more minutes," I mumbled, my eyes still closed.

"I'm not surprised he's tired," someone else said. His voice sounded familiar. "Multiple C-class wind jutsu, one A-class jutsu, and using an unknown dōjutsu for an unknown period of time... how does he have those kinds of reserves at his age? Even with the enhanced reserves that a Kekkei Genkai usually grants, that's still absurd. He must have done some serious training."

I cracked my eyes open. "Hello, Hokage-sama, Hyūga-sama," I told the two men on the side of my bed, then closed my eyes again.

Wait.

I bolted upright. "Hokage-sama! Hyūga-sama!" I understood what Hiashi was doing here, considering the fact that I saved his daughter, but what was the Hokage doing here? I gripped the sheets. "Why are you here?"

Sarutobi laughed. "I mean, you did single-handedly stop an international incident. Plus, I do believe that Hyuuga-san here might want to thank you for how you saved his daughter."

"Speaking of that," the Hokage butted in, "the Raikage retroactively declared the jōnin you fought to be a missing-nin, and asked me to give his bounty to the 'demon child' that the jōnin was ranting about. That's you, Kouki-kun." He handed me a storage scroll that I assumed held the money.

I did as he said and took out a large wad of ryō. I held it out to Hiashi. "He probably would've killed me if you showed up when you did, even though I hurt him."

I sealed the money back in the scroll, then paused as I remembered the splatter of blood. "I chopped off a man's leg," I said in horror.

"The man was trying to kidnap a young girl and would have had her father executed," the Hokage said. "You did nothing wrong."

"Actually, it's Hyūga-san's twin brother who would have been executed in his place, so it was his fate that I averted," I said. Well, if it was already established I had some sort of foresight, I might as well use it to push my agenda. "Your father would have used the Caged Bird Seal as an excuse to send him instead because that way the Byakugan wouldn't fall into their hands." I glared at Hiashi and he flinched. "It makes you wonder why it would be used to protect the Byakugan if all of the important family members don't have it."

Sarutobi cleared his throat. "Moving on... You have an ability called a dōjutsu. It's a very special eye power passed down from parent to child, like the Byakugan. However, we have no records of any eyes like yours and, because we don't know who your parents are, no way of knowing where it came from. All we really know is that it seemed to grant you knowledge of future events." Well I knew that author me gave it to me so I'd have an excuse for knowing the future, but it's not like I could say that. "We will have to do some tests on it, but there's a high possibility that this will be an S-rank village secret." Hiashi stared at him. "He exhibited precognition far enough into the future to know the repercussions of you killing a man before it happened, and with enough time to understand what was happening and prevent it. We don't know the extent of it, but we do know that it could be very dangerous in the wrong hands. Do I have to worry about your shinobi telling others about it?"

Hiashi shook his head. "I doubt they'll have said anything, and I can tell them to keep quiet. Really, we only have to worry about if anyone saw Kouki-kun's eyes on the way to my compound." I thought about it for a moment, licked my lips, and channeled a small amount of chakra into my eyes. I felt the same fuzzy feeling in them as before, and my vision suddenly doubled, brightened, and... turned a little green for some reason. Weird. "Remarkable," one of the Hiashis said. "Remarkable," the other Hiashi agreed.

I heard a sigh and my own voice said, "This is going to take some getting used to." I sighed and said, "This is going to take some getting used to." I closed my eyes (then closed my eyes) and focused on three particular events, just to see if I could see them. Three scenes flashed in my head one by one. Naruto confronting Mizuki. Sarutobi's fight with Orochimaru. Naruto telling Kakashi about his talk with his father. I cut off the chakra flow to my eyes and opened them to see only one of each person in the room.

"Only two people would have really been able to get a good look at my eyes, and I wouldn't worry about either of them. One is my friend and the other is the jōnin who I... stopped. Obviously, the jōnin telling people about me having freaky eyes will be taken with a grain of salt, and he'll probably end up deciding he doesn't remember the fight right because of the pain. As for my friend, nobody but me will talk to him, so it shouldn't be too bad." I then turned to glare at Sarutobi. "Speaking of which, I'd like to ask when you were planning on telling him, Hokage-sama." You know how sometimes people say things like honorifics and titles like they're actually horrible, horrible insults? I said the "-sama" like that.

"What are you talking about?" he asked me.

"The fourth Hokage didn't-" Hiashi began to say, but was interrupted when Sarutobi raised his hand.

"How do you-" I flashed my eyes and he sighed (and he sighed). "Right. I was planning on telling Naruto about the Kyuubi when he became a ninja, or on his thirteenth birthday if he wasn't yet a ninja. As for his father, I was planning on telling him either when he reached chūnin or when he turned sixteen, which is also when Minato's will stated he'd get his inheritance."

I actually said the word cough there, by the way.

"Yes, you couldn't have predicted either of those events," I clenched my fists, "but could you at least have had his godfather-who, by the way, I'm eventually going to have to have a long, hard talk involving lots of jutsu exploding in his face sometime in the future-sit him down for a little chat in the eventuality of your not-untimely death, perhaps in the invasion that happens during his first chūnin exam." I sneered at how his face grew progressively more horrified as I talked. "Now, I am planning on doing my best to stop those horrible things from happening, which I'm going to just assume that I have your full cooperation for, but that's not even all that happens to Naruto, believe it or not, or has happened, for that matter. None of the children at the orphanage who aren't me will play with him or even go near him because some of the adults keep telling us he's a monster." I paused, then, with a laugh, I said, "I think it's a little hypocritical, but what do I know. I'm also pretty sure that pretty much every adult keeps telling their kids how EEEEEEEVIIIIIIIL Naruto is, which probably won't be good for him." As I spoke, Sarutobi slumped further in his chair.

"Well shit," Hiashi muttered, absolutely floored.

"...Your dōjutsu is about as powerful as I thought," Sarutobi said after a while. "While it will not be an official position, I would like you to be my advisor. You shall be allowed to speak to me at any time without question. Now, I believe we should think of a name for your dōjutsu."

I thought about it for a moment, then said, "Shōraigan."

"Tomorrow eye," Hiashi said. "A fitting name. It's funny, I was going to suggest that exact same name." He paused. "Unless you took my suggestion before I could say it." I smiled cheekily at him and very slowly licked my lips. The face he made at that was so funny you guys. You should've seen it. I could almost hear the gears in his head working overtime. He opened his mouth a few times as if trying to think of something to say to that, then sighed and said, "So what was that jutsu that you used on the jōnin? I heard you say 'wind release,' but how could a child use wind release? For that matter, how do you know how to use chakra so well?"

"I actually don't remember how or when I first learned how to use chakra. I just remember a leaf falling on my forehead and using chakra on it." Technically true... "I managed to learn a few different chakra exercises and did them until I got really good at them. One of those was a wind chakra exercise or something, and I just made two jutsu from that. My skill's probably something to do with my eyes, now that I think about it."

"You... made two jutsu?" Sarutobi asked.

"Do your other advisors, Utatane-san and Mitokado-san, know of me?" I asked him.

He winced. "Not yet, no."

"Could you please keep it that way? They aren't actively traitorous, or at least I don't think they are with what I know of them, but they still follow Danzō's teachings too much for my comfort."

"Yes..." he said. "I've noticed that they've been getting worse for a while. I really should do something about them. Rest assured, it won't get to them unless you want it to."

"Thanks," I told him. I was about to say something else, but then I sneezed.

"Are you okay?" Hiashi asked me.

"Ugh." I sniffed. "I'm fine, I just randomly sneeze sometimes when I'm indoors."

"That sounds like a dust allergy."

I shrugged. "Probably? I was also going to ask what my eyes looked like because I would need a mirror to see them, but it might not be safe for me to use them near a mirror, what with the whole S-class secret thing."

"They are very distinctive," Hiashi told me. "First there's the markings under your eyes."

"I actually already know about the markings under my eyes unless using the Shōraigan changed them."

"They didn't seem to change when you used your Shōraigan, so you should be fine there. As for the eyes themselves, the sclera-that's the part of your eye that's normally white-turns pitch black!" Wow, he was actually giving me this really excited smile. Guess he really likes eyes. "And the other two parts? They actually glow! The iris, which is the colorful part of your eye, turns from hazel to glowing emerald! And your pupils! Those-by the way, pupils are the black part you actually see out of-those turn white and glow even brighter! You could probably even use them to see in the dark!"

"Okay, thanks," I said. "I'm pretty sure I have a good picture of what it looks like now. I think we're done here now, could you just tell Naruto I'm here so I can deal with him?"

kukuku~

"So yeah, that's what happened," I told Naruto the next day. We were hiding behind the orphanage and I had made absolutely sure that nobody would notice us.

"So that's why your eyes were-mmph!" He started to shout before I clamped my hand over his mouth.

Naruto gaped at that. "Shouldn't you tell Hokage-jiji that?"

"Hokage-sama knows, it's just that the guy is really good at covering his tracks, so he hasn't managed to nail him yet. Now, how's your wind release going?" He grinned and took a leaf cut cleanly in half out of his pocket, which caused me to lick my lips and grin as well. "I'll take that as 'good.' Try combining it with Cat Claws Jutsu now. When you can do Wind Release: Dragon Claws Jutsu, then I'll teach you Wind Release: Mini Air Slash. You're doing awesome, man." He beamed at me and started with the claws. While he was doing that, I tilted my head to the side as, if on cue, someone called my name. "I have to go now. Remember not to use that on a person unless they're already attacking you, and be especially careful with it. I cut off that guy's leg, remember?" He nodded, still focusing on his claws. I saw a flicker of wind chakra before I left. When I made my way to where I heard my name being called, I saw Hiashi standing next to one of the caretakers of the orphanage that I never bothered to learn the name of. "Why did you need me?" I asked him.

"What the hell'd you do to get Hyūga frickin' Hiashi to ask to adopt specifically you, kid?" the caretaker said.

"I saved his daughter," I boasted.

"What?"

"Okay, sir. Whatever you say. The kid's a little odd and he only ever talks to that demon brat, but if you wanna be his dad and he wants to be your kid, then whatever."

Hiashi turned to me. "What do you say, Kouki-kun? Would you like to be my son?"

I made a show of thinking about it, then said, "You don't have any problems with me hanging out with Naruto-kun, do you?"

"If you keep him from being too disruptive, I'll even let you bring him over to the clan compound."

I bowed. "Then I would be honored to become part of your family. Do you mind if I have a little talk with you alone?"

"Not at all. Just take me to somewhere private we can talk."

I led us to my room, which was empty. I looked at Hiashi, then pointed at my eyes. He got the memo, activated his Byakugan for a few seconds, then nodded. I activated my Shōraigan, looked to make sure nothing bad would happen, then deactivated it. I then jumped onto my bed, looked roughly to where the Fourth Wall was, and said, "Getting adopted by the leader of an influential clan in the second chapter. That's pretty convenient, Me."

"Why are you talking to nobody?" Hiashi asked me with a bit of worry.

"Who said I was talking to nobody?" I licked my lips.

Again, he just opened his mouth as if trying to think of something to say, and then just changed the subject to, "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Was that stuff that you said the real reason?" I asked, and shifted to a very "draw me like one of your French girls" pose.

"Officially it is, but..."

"Unofficially?" He nodded and was about to say something when I sat up and said, "Wait! Sorry, but could I have a go at that first?" He nodded again. "What you said was true, but there's also the fact that Hokage-sama doesn't want me unguarded on account of my eyes and it'd raise too much suspicion to have people randomly start tailing me if I'm an orphan, even if I'm close to the Kyuubi Jinchuriki. But nobody would bat an eye at the clan leader whose daughter was just the target of an attempted kidnapping upping security at his clan compound, even if he also adopted an orphan recently and especially if that orphan was the one who saved his daughter's life and could therefore possibly be part of security. Furthermore, Hokage-sama would prefer I get trained so I can better defend myself in the event of someone trying to kidnap me. Also, I have a dōjutsu so the both of you decided that it'd be good to have me have ready access to an experienced dōjutsu user that knows about my eyes so I can ask any questions I can think of."

"That... was exactly it. You don't mind pretending to secretly be one of Hinata-chan's bodyguards when not in school, do you?"

"Nyahahaha~!" I laughed. Yes, I laugh weird sometimes. Shut up. "That'd be pretty cool, actually! It's gonna be like a disguise within a disguise!"

"It is a disguise within a disguise. Our hope is that it just looks like I'm being paranoid over how my daughter was just kidnapped."

"I can see why that'd be useful to a bodyguard. I know for a fact that most Hyūga have the aptitude to learn sensory jutsu and many Uchiha do as well, so you might thanks to your Shōraigan. You do realize that you're going to have to actually learn all of these skills, though."

"Again, you're going to have to actually learn how to do it, but I could arrange that. There have actually been a few good Hyūga surgeons in recent years. Our eyes are very good for the work."

"Neat," I said. "Alright, I should probably pack my stuff up or something, shouldn't I?"

"That seems like a good idea, yes. Would you like some help?"

I smiled. "Sure."

kukukuku~

A/N: Alright, hopefully that isn't too unbelievable. Don't worry, this won't just be stuff going right for me all the time, but that was pretty much the only way I saw that going down. Remember, I'm always open to constructive criticism, so please criticize me constructively.

#I Would Totally Kick Jiraiya's Butt #fanfiction #IWTKJB CH2 #Naruto #Naruto Shippuden spoilers

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