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raichijin · 4 years

Text

⋆͛♡⋆͛ the hangover; mirio edition. ❥ a one-shot.

━━━━━ 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. (tba)

preface; writing this was honestly so painful. a testatment to why i should never 1.) do collabs ever 2.) write long things. i am drained.

word count; 5k words.

starring; mirio, mina, shinsou, denki, unnamed boyfriend.

summary; after your boyfriend forgets about your anniversary, you spend some time with friends to forgive and forget about what happened. then it gets worse.

warnings; reader gets called some nasty names towards the end of the fic. watch out for that.

you were supposed to be spending this weekend with your boyfriend. at a resort, poolside, on vacation, or on a beach, or where ever he’d fancy peeling off the nice (read: expensive) swimsuit he’d gotten you for your five year anniversary.

he was kind, is kind, but not as committed to your relationship as he was to his job. not even a call as the clock struck midnight, almost an hour past your reservation, but a text the morning after with a short apology, and the sudden announcement that he’d be working late. again. you didn’t cry. wouldn’t, because shedding tears would cause a mess and a headache, and self-doubt is what’s tucking you in at night, telling you that maybe for tonight, tomorrow and the day after your feelings don’t matter.

cause his job is the one keeping you afloat. (your interest in the arts is cute, to him; like a hobby. nothing you could stay afloat with. it’s too risky, he insists, so to you, it became nothing. to others? it became offhand remarks at his high-end office parties. a joke to your in-laws. a breathed sigh of relief from your parents.) so more time is what’s best for the both of you.

that has to be it.

your friends figure out something might be wrong when you go ghost for days, bordering on a week.

you mention how it’s easy to lose track of time when you’re by yourself as you are, but they don’t buy it. say you need to loosen up, take a vacation of your own even when you say you don’t need it because you’re not working, give you sharp glares whenever you object. you don’t know why you thought you had a choice in the matter — especially when mina’s sugar mommy gives her enough money to afford 2 full suites at one of the most expensive hotels in the area.

denki also tags along, just cause, and brings his boyfriend; shinsou, with him.

if they know what’s going on, they never mention it.

and it’s a little easier to cope that way.

you dip your toes, ease yourself into the night, before you’re being pulled into the deep end and your mind’s been left at the door, but your body is having a field day.

you should’ve blacked out two margaritas ago.

you think you did.

you’re too drunk to recall all of the rash decisions you made, or whether or not you maxed your credit card, but you’ve must’ve gotten separated from your friends somewhere along the way, because when you wake up, you are distinctly not in your bed, not in a tastefully decorated room, not in a hotel.

and mina, shinsou, denki? unless they’re in the adjacent room, they’re not here with you either. you’re still in your clothes from last night. your shirt is missing a button and you don’t have your shoes on, but beyond that, you’re perfectly fine.

a scraggly bed head lies next to you, who is, notably, more nude than you are.

he has no shirt. no shoes. no pants. his blonde hair is unruly and you’re so shocked you actually start to wake up. your eyes widen and you’re sitting up so fast you’re a bit dizzy from the sudden motion.

the room is spinning and you feel sick, the headache behind your eyes making you want to grind your molars into dust. and just as quickly as you sat up, you lay back down; shaking the bed with the force. the guy next to you isn’t as heavy of a sleeper as you hoped, though. he blinks open tired eyes, showing you the most exquisite navy blue, and the little bit of drool dripping down his chin might’ve been cute if he wasn’t a complete stranger.

though you can’t stave off the creeping anxiety, the silence as he comes to his senses doesn’t feel wrong, and you’re more confused than scared.

he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm, and gives you a criminally bright smile, and though his voice is wrecked when he says “...g’morning, sunshine.”, you doubt yours sounds much better.

the nickname makes you feel fuzzy, if only for a second.

“i, uh … good morning?” you sound awkward, but the guy manages to find humor in your predicament when he chuckles gently, sitting up without so much as a second thought. you can see more of his body when he does so, and when his hand comes up to ruffle his hair, you can catch the glint of a silver band, resting on his ring finger.

then everything clicks into place.

did you cheat? was he cheating?

all of the things you’d been beating yourself up over settle thick over top like smoke clouds and a raging fire. you feel like you’re suffocating, and don’t realize you’re freaking out until a strong hand is wrapping around yours, which, in your panic, you squeeze.

you spot a matching ring on your hand, that you know for a fact wasn’t there before,

and you think that’s when you pass out.

you wake up (again) to a room with tacky but charming decor, the smell of breakfast, and considerably less of a headache than what you started with. now more lucid, with the strength in your body to walk and think, your first priority is finding your phone. you tap your pockets, check the bedside drawer and tables, under your pillow, in the cracks of the bed, under the bed.

no cigar. you’re digging through miscellaneous memorabilia, trinkets and clothes that aren’t yours for at least a minute before the guy you were laid up in bed with comes back to just to see you picking through the corners of his bedroom, banana in hand.

he stands in the doorway and clears his throat. he has clothes on this time, pants. “you’re awake? are you feeling any better?”

you startle, straighten your back and stand upright, your arms falling to your sides. “um, kind of. i — have you seen my phone?”

he shakes his head, offers you the banana. “you should have this though! it’ll fix that hangover, i think.”

“i … thanks.” standing and eating a banana in someone else’s bedroom is certainly … a time.

“i made some breakfast,” he says when you’re halfway finished, “if you want some.” he ends with a smile, and you feel those 3 shots of serotonin go straight to your brain.

granted, you shouldn’t be that happy.

he takes the lead and turns around, leading you down a narrow hallway into a quaint kitchenette with a lovely beach view and all the good summer vibes condensed into a single, small room. it makes your heart hurt even more when you realize you have someone home, someone expecting you to come back.

to a hollow apartment, a cold bed, a lukewarm welcome.

you have to force your brain to be quiet to even hear a fraction of what blondie is saying.

“alcohol basically just dehydrates you. the potassium stops that, gets you all your minerals and stuff back. i heard it works with beer, so i was thinking it works for other stuff too!” he sounds so chipper that it brings your mood up just to hear his voice.

so bold and sure, warm and kind.

“but if it doesn’t clear up in 30 minutes, i have some advil i can give you! don’t want you having a headache all day now.” he’s sitting you down at his small table and sliding some pancakes in front of you, some orange juice. eating feels like a chore, but you know you have to, or that you should try at least.

while you push around your food, blondie chatters away, and even if you just met, he has you entranced by the way he speaks. smooth like the butter on his toast as his stories flow effortlessly into one another, how easily he can chat you up is amazing; getting you from gentle chuckles to full blown belly laughter before you can get your first bite in.

there’s lulls in the conversation if you count the moments he takes to actually eat, but he keeps you on your toes with his personal anecdotes, and questions about yourself, forcing you out of your shell, little by little.

the thought of your boyfriend pushed back into the depths of your mind.

until you broach the topic of your friends.

you learn quickly that he’s a good listener, completely silent unless prompted, asking questions or making jokes only when you’re finished speaking. when he asks, you tell him about the ones that got you here, shinsou, denki and mina.

his eyes flash momentarily, a look of recognition, or maybe understanding, passing over him. he hums gently, head swaying as he does so.

“they’re a little rough around the edges but they’re like family, you know?”

“i get what you mean. they were very nice when i met them. especially at our wedding!” he sips his coffee.

“i — are you alright? you’re choking!” that you are. the guilt you felt when you first woke up and the rising panic ram into your gut like a freight train, and suddenly, you don’t want to eat anymore.

"what do you mean we're married?" you rub small circles into your forehead as this idyllic morning goes right back to being cruel hell.

"yesterday, at the chapel," he twists his wedding ring with warm familiarity that makes your stomach churn. "i can't really believe it myself, like maybe we were meant to be? i know the universe works in strange ways like that."

you're sorry to burst his bubble, but you save the happily ever afters for fairy tales, not real life.

you pinch your forehead and heave an exasperated sigh.

"i have a boyfriend." you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to seek lost comfort. "and we don't know each other to begin with. can't even remember your name, i was so drunk."

you cradle your face in your palms, feel his stare bore into the top of your head.

"togata." you perk up.

“what?”

“my name. it’s togata. mirio togata.”

“oh.” you rub your cheeks, pull them back with the heels of your palms.

“that’s a nice name.” an uncomfortable silence washes over you both before someone speaks up. mirio.

“so what do you want to do?”

you answer a little bit too fast in response. “i don’t know. i … i should call my friends. i still need to find my phone—” you stand up, ignore the onslaught of nausea, and look around the kitchen.

“help me look? and then … and then we can figure out all the other details later.” mirio carries both your plates to the sink, and busies himself with dishes for a brief moment, allowing you to find the bathroom nook and reorient yourself. you fix yourself up a bit, straighten out your shirt and fix your hair up. no time to take a shower.

you cup a hand in front of your mouth, breathe and sniff. eugh.

“hey, uh, togata; got an extra toothbrush?” his heart might’ve lept when you called him by his given name.

“um! yeah!” rushing water obscures his voice a bit, but if he shouts he’s loud enough to hear. “check under the sink? i should have some there.”

“thanks.”

you rummage around in his cabinets, and in that time he’s managed to clean up the leftover food and put a shirt on.

your phone having gotten lost or being stolen becomes more of a possibility the longer you think about it. you doubt you came back to his house to do anything but sleep. how many places could you have dropped it? you come out of the bathroom to mirio sitting back at the kitchenette table, holding his phone in his hand.

“hey togata … do you think you can call me?”

“i mean, sure, but i don’t know if i have your number...”

your anxiety makes you a bit snippy even when you don’t mean to be rude, but you can apologize when you get your phone back. ”just give it to me then. i’ll do it.”

it rings a few times before someone picks up, which is a step up from going to voicemail, and the situation goes from okay to great when the croaky voice of shinsou answers, worn out and tired, but awake enough to make a greeting.

he says you’re not here to pick up the phone right now, you interrupt and say that this is you, and that you just borrowed togata’s phone to figure out where yours was.

“togata? who?”

“my, my um. husband.” gingerly said, you can see mirio tense up in the corner of your eye.

“oh,” someone’s snickering away from the mic. denki probably. you can’t help but roll your eyes. “mirio?” you’re upset that he can remember his name but you couldn’t. “how is he?” you shoot mirio a look, he gives you a thumbs up.

“good. so, uh, where are you guys?”

two hours away. they’re two hours away by car and mirio’s pickup truck is exactly what you’d expect from him. it’s big, beat up, it’s blue, and it’s his pride and joy, even if it’s slow to start up. if anything, it feels a bit humbling to hear the low hum of the buzzing engine. brings you back down to reality, out of the lap of luxury.

reminds you of the way mirio laughs with his whole chest. that gentle, rumbling purr.

you’re sinking into the crunchy leather seat with a groan, then a laugh from togata; to which you swat at him. you give him the address so he can set it up with his gps, and get going. he messes it up a bit and then it’s your turn to laugh, much to his displeasure. he blushes from the embarrassment, and you pat his shoulder, still chuckling. it feels natural. waking up together. having breakfast together. unofficial road trip to meet back up with your friends because you got blackout drunk and are 100 miles away.

oh, right. you sigh softly and mirio looks over, thinking to comfort you by turning on the radio, greeted by soft pop and slow guitars.

the silence carries.

fifteen minutes into the drive, he thinks to ask about your boyfriend.

“what’s he like?” togata drums his fingers on the wheel with an air of anxiety almost, though you can’t imagine why he would be — unless he thinks you won’t react well to his question. you don’t mind however, and sate his curiosity without as much as a glance.

“oh, he’s nice,” your statement lacks the enthusiasm you’d expect when someone talks about their significant other. it seems sincere, yet exhausted.

“buys me whatever i want, when i want it, loves his job to death, and … we were supposed to be celebrating our anniversary this week.” dejection is visible in the way you slouch your shoulders, interest waning. mirio can’t help but exercise a little concern, filling in the gaps while he’s at it..

“and you couldn’t, because you came here?” you shake your head.

“what? no. i came here because he was too busy, and my friends thought i could still have some fun on my own. his job is important to him.”

“and your relationship isn’t?” your eyes narrow, glaring at him from the passenger's seat.

“the fuck’s that supposed to mean mirio?”

“well, an anniversary is supposed to be more important than some job— don’t you think he should just take a day off? it wouldn’t hurt.” you lean against the car door, shoulder propping your head up as you peer out the window.

“i mean, i guess. but he’s keeping us afloat, so i can’t really complain.” togata’s eyebrows shoot up.

his tone is incredulous. “what, you don’t work?”

seeing you cringe away out of the corner of his eye is what makes him back track almost immediately.

“i’m so sorry! i’m — wow, that was completely out of line,” your embarrassment lessens when he apologizes, and you inhale sharply.

“don’t worry. it’s, it’s fine.” you can’t help the way your fingers dig into the flesh of your arm, gnawing the inside of your cheeks, afraid of getting laughed at. mirio wouldn’t laugh at you, would he?

“i, i used to make music. i was in a band in highschool, actually.” though mirio’s forced to keep his eyes on the road lest you two crash, you can see the way his smile reaches his ears, the silent ‘wow’ of awe making your cheeks heat up. high brow company doesn’t have much use for your talents unless it’s the violin, or something else that fits their lame-ass agenda. your bass chills in the back of your closet, a relic of the past, but a neat decoration.

you shake your head, too caught up in your own train of thought that you didn’t realize togata was speaking.

“i’m sorry, what’d you say?”

“oh! i was just curious, i asked if you sing?” you snort, then full on laugh, though mirio doesn’t seem to get the joke.

“oh, hell no. i don’t have the voice for it, nor the patience to do vocal training. i just played bass! thought it was easier than guitar because it only had 4 strings. i was wrong. maybe i could … show you sometime? i mean, it’s been a while, but i think i remember a few songs: have you heard of seven nation army?”

you talk with mirio about music at length, and learn that he’s a pretty big enthusiast himself and while he’s never played an instrument, he’s been interested in learning guitar. he brings up your band, and the memories of your senior year come flooding back; mina and denki convincing you to audition, your stage fright, recruitment later in spite of it.

mirio can see the stars in your eyes when you speak, speaking so animatedly with clear adoration at the topic at hand, and he starts getting a creeping suspicion that back where you’re from, you don’t get to talk about this as nearly as much as you like. he realizes in the same breath that he doesn’t mind indulging you. he participates enough so you don’t feel like you’re chatting his ear off, but quiet enough to hear you fill in the empty space.

the way your hands move as you tell stories is adorable and so is your enthusiasm, he could hear you ramble for hours and never get bored. and he nearly does, it’s been an hour and you’re still talking — but then you take a breath, and apologize for no good reason.

he squints at you, confused.

“what’re you apologizing for?”

“i’ve been talking waaaaay too much. i’ve barely heard a word out of you for the last thirty minutes!”

“i thought you were having fun! i know i liked listening. besides, it looks like that you don’t get to talk enough about the stuff you enjoy. i’m willing to listen, so talk all you want!” the assumption makes you furrow your brow, and you hate that you feel like he’s right.

your boyfriend either talks about his job, your friends, his parents, or nothing at all. no interest in music. no time for it. your friends enjoy reminiscing on occasion, but you don’t speak enough to them to get all nostalgic.

it’s … nice that he takes your feelings into consideration. you smile to yourself, saying nothing in response.

“we’re getting closer to the hotel — it’s 30 minutes away now.” it gets quiet again, before all the sounds you hear are the other cards and the slow hum of low volume music you’d forgotten about, coming from the radio. you turn towards the window to take in the scenery while mirio catches glimpses of you in his periphery, surprised at how adorable you look, doing even the most mundane of things.

mirio couldn’t remember much from the night before, well, can’t remember anything that wasn’t you. you weren’t completely out of it when you met him, but he could’ve misjudged, considering he wasn’t quite in his right mind either. didn’t know if it was the alcohol that made you so bold, but everything about you was so charming.

from something as simple as your smile to how easily you chatted him up, despite his tendency to be a tad overbearing, you would take him and his attitude in stride. running around town, dipping in and out of nightclubs with your friends close behind, getting kicked out of said clubs, dancing and laughing together in another—

he huffs, pouting to himself. your boyfriend was so damn lucky.

he steps on the gas and starts going a little faster. you don’t seem to mind.

the rest of the trip was silence, and it wasn’t until he parked and stepped out of the car and said something.

“wow.” he whistles, low and long, until you pinch his arm to stop from attract the stares of passerby. “you guys could afford this? gosh. that’s like, three of my paychecks, maybe.” you chortled as he helped you out, quick to clear up any confusion.

“not me,” you walked in the lobby with him, going straight to the elevators after checking in with the front desk. “i could barely afford it! mina’s … uhm, girlfriend, paid for a room for all of us.” he arches a brow at the emphasis on girlfriend, but if he has any objections, he holds his peace.

“mmh. wonder what it’s like to be rich.”

you laugh as you’re carried up a few floors, specifically to the more expensive suites, at least 12 floors up. “me too dude! mina is lucky.”

you’re barely knocking on the room door before denki is throwing it open and screeching, ushering you both in. they remember mirio from last night, which is upsetting, considering they don’t remember anything else: not how you got to mirio’s house, not how they got back home. not how they found your phone in the bathroom either, apparently.

“speaking of bathrooms, i’m gonna take a shower. keep mirio company, i guess."

you have to look through your luggage for a change of clothes, and find your phone on your bed in your room, charging and you don’t think about going through it until after you’re clean.

coming back to nearly forty notifications from your boyfriend wasn’t on the agenda, and quite frankly, might’ve been a sign. some were calls but most were all lower case texts, each more foreboding than the last. holding your towel up with one hand, you scroll through your messages with the other.

what the fuck is wrong with you?

who the hell is this guy?

beneath it, a video of you and togata. your pupils dilate, and a deeply rooted sense of dread clutches your heart. it looks like a screen recording off of denki’s instagram account, of you two dancing. not overtly scandalous, but too close for comfort.

have you been cheating on me?

for how long

how desperate are you? i say i have a business trip and you take it as an excuse to slut it up somewhere else?

you’re fucking pathetic.

heart slowly sinking, threatening to beat out of your chest, you can’t find it in you to scroll through the rest. you barely have pants on before you’re calling him up, frenzied and feeling out of breath. the phone barely rings twice before you’re going to voicemail and hearing the beeping tone.

fuck. fuck fuck fuck.

you hang up, and try again.

this time, he picks up on the first dial tone.

“baby?” you nearly yell into the microphone, while the other end remains silent.

“what is it.” his voice is hollow, not even asking a question; rather making a statement. you choke on your words, are quiet for a few seconds at most before he’s barking at you. “i don’t have all day. i’m busy.”

“t-that video. it wasn’t, it wasn’t anything—” something slams in the background that makes you flinch, and he takes it as a good opportunity to cut you off.

“so the wedding wasn’t shit either? the way he was holding you, looking at you like that, like some lovesick fucking puppy?”

“w-what? what’re you talking about honey? it’s nothing like that—”

“don’t get fucking cute with me. i’ve seen the photos. that girl mina doesn’t know how to not publicize your life.” you feel like dying.

“i knew i should’ve never settled for you.”

“you don’t mean that—”

“shut the fuck up.” there’s more shuffling on his end, a deep sigh. you’re too shaken to speak. “i wasted so much on you. gave you a house, a home, just for you to repay the favor by being a two-bit whore, sit on your ass all day and complain, and waste my time with those stupid fucking hobbies of yours.” what’s more terrifying is that his voice doesn’t wane or waver. he means it.

“... honey, please. please just let me explain!” you hadn’t even noticed the tears until you’re wiping them off your cheeks, your sniffling getting louder until you’re full on sobbing.

“there’s nothing left to explain. get your shit out by tuesday. we’re done.”

the line goes dead after that.

you don’t realize how much time has passed since you went to go shower initially, only that it’s been a while, considering how urgently mina starts knocking on the door.

“baby, are you alright? you’ve been in there for half an hour!” you can’t find it in you to respond. all it results in is choking on your own words, coughing and sobbing and tears and this fucking headache.

you don’t want to be seen.

mina announces that she’s coming in, and conversation behind the door quiets down until you can’t hear it anymore. just your own thoughts. she opens it and finds you in the corner, your knees to your chest while you’re just barely dressed, hair soaking wet. crying feebly until she rushes over and asks what happened.

you show her your phone. the texts.

she wraps her arm around your back and helps you up. hands you a towel so you can finish drying yourself off, and picks out some clothes for you to wear. when she turns around, she’s greeted by the concerned faces of your friends. mirio.

her face morphs from a look of concern to pure rage.

“what the fuck!?” she all but snatches your phone away from you, to which you pull your hands back and cradle you legs again. “who the fuck does this asshole think he is?” she looks down at you just then, and sees the red in your eyes, the tear tracks that stain your cheeks and a few drops dripping off your chin. you need your help more than you need her rage and half hearted insults.

“you yelled.” shinsou states plainly. “is everything alright?” mina approaches them and ushers everyone out, closing the door, presumably to give you some privacy.

you dress slowly, the few minutes feeling like an eternity before you’re reaching for the door handle, clean and feeling like shit, for different reasons other than a hangover.

when you emerge from your room, mirio gives you a hug.

a hug that you melt into. one that you weren’t expecting but squeeze him back just as hard, tears that didn’t quite make it out seeping into the spot where you press into his shirt. his arms are comforting and strong, rubbing and patting your back gently, until the room is silent beyond your heartbeat and your sniffles, your friends milling about in the background.

“he said i have to move out.” your fingers dig into togata’s shirt. “pack up all my stuff and leave but i don’t know where i’m supposed to go—”

there’s a smaller hand patting your back when mina speaks up.

“d-don’t worry.” you can feel her hugging you too, a special warmth blooming in your chest.

“we’ll figure something out.”

while you’re leaving the hotel, mina makes a call to her girlfriend camie to explain the situation, and by the time you’re back in mirio’s pick up, she said that camie offered to rent you an apartment in her name. the earliest she can get it was by monday, so she offered to let you spend the night for a couple days as well. denki says that he and shinsou could help you with things around the house: shopping, redecorating, etc.

togata is the one who offers to help you get your stuff. you arrange the date for monday, actually exchange phone numbers, and meet up at 8.

it makes sense; his car has enough space in the back, you don’t have much of your own stuff, but you nearly regret accepting the offer in the first place. something about moving out with your … husband in tow doesn’t sit well with you. almost seems like it’s too soon.

but mirio’s charming enough to make the whole ordeal seem less like a fever dream. you’re beaming at him by the time you’re all done, laughing and smiling and so infectiously happy. by the time you both wind down you’re out of breath, wheezing in the front seats of the car.

he smiles fondly at you.

you can feel your cheeks heat as you return the sentiment.

then both of you are back on the road. the musics louder this time, and you get to show him how shitty you sing; which he insists isn’t so bad after all. it’s after twenty minutes of this that you’re suddenly struck by the irony of it all.

“i can’t believe our first date with you was me moving out of my exes apartment.” mirio chokes on his spit, cheeks bleeding red as he does a double take, eyes flitting from the road, back to you, back to the road.

“wait.”

“that was our date?”

𝔱 𝔞 𝔤 𝔩 𝔦 𝔰 𝔱 ; @mitsusuri @okayshin @tamasoft

#mirio togata x reader #bnha x reader #togata mirio x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #togata mirio #mirio togata #bnha pocuties collab #mirio x you #togata x you #mirio x reader #togata x reader

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thefandomlesbian · 4 years

Note

Congrats on 1000 followers! What are some of your a) favorite and b) most cursed Hotch/Reid headcanons?

Thank you so much!

A.) Favorite Hotch/Reid headcanons?:

(Please note that some of these are mutually exclusive; these do not all necessarily exist in the same universe and therefor may contradict one another at times.)

-Both Aaron and Spencer are secretly touch-starved cuddlesluts. When in public, they remain entirely professional, but in private, they thrive on physical feedback.

-Spencer, having basically raised himself, is not a very good cook, but Aaron teaches him his way around the kitchen and regularly cooks meals with him. Cooking together becomes some of their favorite time where it’s just them or them and Jack.

-Spencer has his foibles, including a special pillow he prefers to sleep with and a weighted blanket that mitigates his anxiety. After too many nights during which he wakes up to Aaron having rolled to the other side of the bed with his weighted blanket, he buys them a much larger one to share.

-Spencer lives with a chronic fear of Aaron developing heart disease, coronary artery disease, cardiac arrhythmias, or anything else in that vein, given that his father died of a heart attack and he lost both parents before they were fifty-five. Spencer nudges Aaron in the direction of more heart-healthy foods and convinces him to see a cardiologist yearly to ensure everything is in working order.

-Aaron is insecure about his upper body from the scars Foyet left on him. He has sex with his shirt on almost exclusively unless they’re completely in the dark. Spencer, however, only has to catch a glimpse once to memorize the scars forever, and with that in mind, he designs a beautiful mural tattoo dedicated to Haley’s and Jack’s lives. Spencer is afraid to share this with him outright, feeling he betrayed Aaron’s trust by seeing his body without permission, but Aaron stumbles across it one day on Spencer’s desk and is incredibly moved by his thoughtfulness. They go together as Aaron gets the tattoo piece by piece, gradually covering every mark the monster left behind and replacing it with a memory.

-After Maeve’s death, Aaron doesn’t let Spencer leave through the front of the building with the cops and the flashing lights and the journalists waiting like vultures. Instead, he takes Spencer through the back of the building, avoiding the crowds and the rest of the team on his way to the Suburban. When someone asks him where he’s going, Aaron says, “All of this? This is not what he needs right now.” Aaron is the only one who has been through it, who has seen someone he loved dearly murdered because of a stalker he failed to eradicate in time, and is the only one who understands. He takes Spencer home and stays with him for days, making sure he eats and bathes and not-so-subtly checking to see if he may relapse under the stress.

-Spencer loves piano concertos and solos. On their days off, he gets up early in the mornings and brews Aaron’s favorite coffee in the kitchen while he cooks breakfast and puts on a CD of piano solos to play in the background. Though it is hackneyed, his favorite is Moonlight Sonata, specifically the first movement. Aaron will lie in bed and smell the food cooking and listen to the piano music, and then he’ll roll out of bed and watch Spencer cook.

-Eventually, when Aaron thinks they have reached that point in their relationship, he secretly begins to take piano lessons. He times it very specifically where Spencer won’t notice his absence and he practices at Rossi’s house and at church while Spencer is out with Jack. About two years into this practice, he makes plans to see a piano soloist at a local heater with Spencer, but just an hour before, he texts Spencer that he’s running late, but he’ll be there soon. At the theater, Rossi escorts him in and leads him into an otherwise empty theater, nothing but a grand piano on stage and the rest of the BAU sitting in the balcony with Jack. Spencer sits in the front row, right in the middle, very confused and concerned, until Aaron walks on stage from behind the mahogany curtains wearing a three-piece suit. He sits at the piano and he plays the first movement of Moonlight Sonata. Then, he gets down on one knee and holds out a diamond ring and asks, “Spencer, will you marry me?” and Spencer is crying too hard to say anything, but he jumps onto the stage and kisses him again and again.

B.) Cursed Hotch/Reid headcanons?:

-Aaron is worried about Spencer not necessarily having physical prowess in hand-to-hand combat and encourages him to get more physically fit. Spencer reluctantly agrees to exercise with him in exchange for one thing: Aaron works one exercising his mind and makes more of an effort to learn new things. It seems well and good; Spencer holds up his end of the bargain with working out. Aaron tries with learning new things, but Spencer starts with math, and not even with easy introductory level math to remind him how he did math when he was in school, but higher level math (which to Spencer does not exist but to Aaron is mind boggling). Aaron spends one day pinching his temples over a worksheet, going, “Imaginary numbers? What the hell is an imaginary number? Numbers are real! What’s next, fucking unicorns?”

-Jack is learning about fractions in school. He raises his hand and says, “Miss Teacher, why are there lines between the numbers? What’s next? Fucking unicorns?”

-After the very aggravated phone call home, Spencer concedes defeat in the way of math. He allows Aaron to settle with chemistry instead, citing, “Because math is quite literally ruining your life.”

-Jack will ask Spencer if he can do something if Aaron already said no. Spencer knows this and always says no. Emily, however, does not know this, and when Jack and Henry play together, she’s usually fairly dismissive and says, “Sure, boys, do whatever sounds fun.” When Jack and Henry are stuck in a tree, Aaron turns a furious eye to Spencer, who holds up his hands in surrender and says emphatically, “I told them no.”

-Aaron loves to go on bike rides and buys them a tandem bike to ride together, since Spencer isn’t the best at cycling. Jack rides with them on his boy’s bike. Spencer waits until he thinks Aaron won’t notice and stops pedaling. Once, Aaron gets annoyed with this, and they ride home with Jack on the back of the tandem bike and Spencer pedaling on the little boy’s bike, his knees almost touching the handlebars and his face as red as the sunset.

-Spencer will do almost anything Jack asks. This culminates when Jack asks to go horseback riding in Rock Creek Park. Spencer does it, but the Reid effect kicks in, the horse bolts out from under him, and Spencer gets tossed and dislocates his bad knee again, putting him on crutches for another six months. Aaron and Jack are both incredibly apologetic and spend weeks doting on him.

-Jack loves to learn things from Spencer. He’s several years ahead of his classmates in every subject. Unfortunately, this means he’s bored in school, and it starts to cause trouble with class disruptions. Eventually, Aaron sends Spencer to straighten it out, stating, “You’re the one who did this, so you can sleep in the bed you made.” This works out better than Aaron intends, since Spencer applies to have Jack skip a grade and join older students who are of his echelon. Aaron is infuriated by this, that he wasn’t consulted on the matter, but Spencer shrugs and says, “You told me to take care of it, so I did.” Aaron and Spencer agree they don’t want Jack to lead the life of a child prodigy, but as long as he loves learning, Spencer continues to teach him.

-Neither Spencer nor Aaron had very normal childhoods. With Jack, they learn how to be the kids they never got to be. When it storms, Jack is afraid, so they flip all the furniture over to make a massive blanket tent in the living room and pretend they’re camping out in the wilderness, listening to the rain.

#aaron hotchner #spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #thomas gibson #hotchreid #hotch/reid #rotch #criminal minds #my writing #my headcanons

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rune-writes · 3 years

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I'll Come Visit

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

@zerith-week » Day 2: Promise

Word Count: 2344

Rating: G

Summary: All Zack ever gave Aerith were promises: promises of a date, to see the sky, and to come visit after he returns from Nibelheim.

Chapter 2 of Of Wishes and Promises: Zerith Week 2021

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

All Zack ever gave Aerith were promises. The first was the promise of a date, the first time he met her when he dropped out of the sky and onto her flowerbed. The second was to show her the sky, because it wasn’t as scary as she thought, and he wanted her to see it. Then he bought her a ribbon and said they should make fun, little promises for when they next met.

“For example, when we meet, you always have to dress in pink.”

Aerith giggled and said that was silly, and it was, but it’d be fun. So she nodded and said okay and wondered what kind of pink dress she had that she could wear.

Then just before he left for Nibelheim, they went to the Sector 6 playground to sell flowers. Operation: Midgar Full of Flowers, Wallet Full of Money seemed to have a good start. The blooms were a big hit. One woman wished she could see them grow all around the slums.

“Yeah, that’s me and Aerith’s dream,” Zack said. “Not just the slums, either. We want to fill the whole of Midgar with flowers!”

Only a dream then, one he hoped would come true once he returned to Midgar, when he could finally take her to the city above and sell flowers under the sky together.

***

Zack sighed at the heavens above as he lay on his back. Thin wisps of cotton-soft clouds drifted past; though, did anyone really know whether clouds were cotton-soft? An age-old imagery that originated from how it looked from the ground, made by people who had too much time on their hands with too little thoughts in their minds.

Zack had too much time on his hands now. With Sephiroth having locked himself in the mansion’s library and still no lead on their investigation, there had been nothing to do but check on the reactor every day. Everything stayed the same. The monsters still slept in their pods, no more reactor malfunctioning, no more signs of Genesis—or any other intruders for that matter.

Cloud would grab any chance he could get to accompany Zack. Probably to escape the town and its people. Probably to be near their ebony-haired guide. He couldn’t blame the guy, and he had no intention to interfere, but sometimes, Zack would look at his stubborn younger friend and wish Cloud would let loose and show them who he really was. Not a SOLDIER, but still a proud member of Shinra’s infantrymen. They’d understand.

When the time came to return to town, he let the two kids go on ahead, saying he wanted to explore more of the mountain. Tifa offered to come with him, but Zack refused. It was still light out. If he’d gotten lost, his SOLDIER pride would be at stake.

Zack had expected a chuckle at the very least, but his guide only stared at him and said, “Okay.” Then she looked at the grunt and nodded her head down the mountain path. “Shall we, then?”

Grunt Cloud jerked, and for a fraction of a second, his wild, panicked eyes met Zack’s through his helmet visor. Zack waited until Tifa had turned and walked away before he slapped Cloud on the back and whispered, “You got this.”

“I got this.” A self-reassuring nod; Cloud gripped his rifle tighter before following Tifa down the mountain. They walked with a little distance between them, but never too far apart. Zack watched, a little grin playing across his lips.

He’d set off in another direction then: a greener, more life-abundant direction; a contrast to the barren, jagged mountain he’d left behind. He’d found the clearing shortly after, with trees on one side and a sheer drop on the other. It overlooked the Nibel plains and the small town below with the clear blue sky stretching far into the horizon.

Fragments of a cloud broke away into little dots, collecting in places that, somehow, reminded him of the yellow blossoms he’d find growing under the shades of a dilapidated church. Thoughts of the blossoms led to thoughts of the flower girl, and Zack couldn’t help but draw another long breath.

It’d been a week since he arrived in Nibelheim, longer still since he last saw Aerith. The closest interaction he'd gotten was the phone call mere days after reaching the mountain village. His PHS had rung when he’d been about to go to the mansion, and it had taken him by surprise when her voice came out of the receiver. But he’d been too busy then, so he’d told her that he’d call later.

“No, no, you don’t have to.” There had been a slight drop to her tone.

He'd pressed his lips together. “Okay, then I’ll come visit.”

“I’ll be here.”

Zack hadn't missed the momentary pause or the wistful sigh, hadn't forgotten her downcast eyes when he told her he would leave Midgar for a job. There had been nothing else he could say but: “I’ll see you, I promise.” He could almost see her smile as he hung up, hoping it had been enough until he returned to her side.

The drifting clouds offered a brief respite from the sun's harsh glare. Summer had long since gone and autumn was well on its way, but Zack still felt hot. Hot and restless and sweaty and wishing he was back under the cover of the church, where a ray of pleasant sunlight slanted in through the broken rooftop right onto her flowerbed. He’d doze on her lap, and Aerith would weave a flower crown to put around his head, and when he opened his eyes, he would see the brightest smile he had ever seen.

Zack reached for his PHS in his pocket. He had half a mind to go to his mails before he realized Aerith didn’t have a PHS. She’d borrowed Tseng’s when she called him before. Zack didn't want to call Tseng. The last time he did, the Turk had chuckled and said that he was at work, that he had one of his men watching her and that she was safe. He would, however, send her Zack’s regards the next time he saw her. Zack's mouth twitched at the memory.

What if he called her house? Elmyra probably wouldn't mind. The last time he met her, she had acted like he was already part of the family. It made him smile and miss her homemade stew, miss the warmth of the kitchen and the vibrant colors in her garden, miss that motherly touch.

But as good as the idea sounded, it was still daylight and Aerith was probably not home. He stared at the open mail draft on his PHS screen, then typed in Kunsel's name.

‘What are you doing?’

The reply came shortly after: ‘If you resorted to mail me in the middle of a mission, I can only imagine how bored you must be feeling right now. So let me tell you some good news, friend. I visited that church your Aerith frequented and I gotta say, she is such a lively fella. You have no idea all the little details she’d asked me of you.’

Zack jumped, glaring into his PHS screen as those last few words hammered their way into his head. He dialed Kunsel’s number. Kunsel immediately picked up.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

On the other side of the line, Kunsel cackled—a shoulder-shaking, back-bending, stomach-hurting cackle. “Gods, I can’t believe you fell for that one.”

Zack blinked, too mortified to catch up with the joke.

“I’m on a mission, if you remember—or maybe you don’t. Different from the one when you left for Nibelheim. With our Firsts out on a mission on the other side of the Planet, it seems the top brass has decided to have the rest of us—meaning us, Second-Class—take the lead on the remaining jobs. So I’ve been away, again. Far away from your lovely girl. So you have nothing to worry about.”

Another blink. Right.

“How’s the job anyway?”

A short pause, and maybe it was the easy-going tone of his voice that made Zack's tongue loosen up and tell Kunsel about the current state of his investigation, the current state of Sephiroth, the current state of his restlessness. Then at the end of it, Kunsel chuckled.

“Even in the middle of a mission, you still got time to worry about your girl.” Zack heard a scoff, soft and amused. “She’s fine. Aren’t the Turks watching her?”

“They are…” But even knowing that, there was a disquiet in his heart that he couldn’t quite figure where it was coming from.

“Well, if it’s any help at all, I promised to check up on her, didn’t I? Once I get back from my assignment, I’ll see how she is. Does that ease you?”

It did, even if only a little.

“So just focus on your assignment right now and make sure you get your ass back in Midgar. Quick.” Then he added, “You know I have a whole folder of you sneezing out snot, right?”

“Kuns—!”

The line was cut. The last thing Zack heard was his friend's laughter. It still echoed even when Zack had put his PHS down and stared at the screen, when he laid back on the sunny grass and covered his eyes with an arm. Maybe it was a bad idea to have Kunsel check on Aerith. Who knew what the guy would show her? All the embarrassing details of Zack's life! But Kunsel was the only person Zack could trust in SOLDIER right now…

Zack let out another quiet exhale. He lifted his arm. The clouds drifting past looked uncannily like the girl with the brightest smile.

***

He called a little after dusk. Zack was alone in his room; Sephiroth was still not back; Cloud and the other grunt stood watch somewhere. A few moments passed with only the dial tone filling his ears. And then:

“Hello?”

The smile came unbidden. Like a dam about to burst, his lips wavered at the intensity of the emotions overcoming him—overwhelming him.

“Aerith?”

“Zack?” Her surprise was almost palpable. He could imagine her wide-eyed stare as she stood beneath the warm lights of her home. “This is a surprise. You're not busy?”

“Aw, don’t you miss me?”

She giggled, and it was the most beautiful sound in the entire world. “Silly.”

They talked about everything and anything: what she was doing, how her days had been. "Same old, same old," she said. Tending to her flowers, running errands around the slum, then just as she’d headed for the church, the Leaf House kids had crowded around her and asked where Zack was.

Zack chuckled. “And what’d you tell them?”

“That Zack is on a very important job right now, but he’ll be back very soon and give everyone presents.” Her laugh made him smile, and he imagined her sitting next to the pots and vases, swaying her feet and twirling her hair. He closed his eyes, committing it to memory.

“Hey, Aerith.”

“Yeah?”

When he made that promise to visit, Zack had thought they would finish their mission soon and he'd be back by Aerith's side before she knew it. But it had been a week since then, and he was still stuck in a small mountain town with nothing to do but look for missing persons who refused to be found and wait on a stubborn comrade who refused to leave.

“Think I’d have to take a rain check on that promise. I don’t think I can come back soon.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Okay.” Then, because maybe she’d noticed the hesitancy in his voice: “Is there something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing wrong.” He was quick to answer, quick to ease her worry, even as his mind went to the mansion sitting on the town's outskirts, where Sephiroth was still perusing the many thick volumes stored in the basement. The last time Zack had checked on him, he'd been unaware of Zack’s presence. It’d been like talking to a statue, if statues could walk and talk. Ceaseless mutterings; unending strides; then at times, Sephiroth would stop and look up, and Zack would sigh and thought, finally! Because the meal the townspeople had prepared still lay untouched on the table, and all of Zack’s attempts to tell him to rest had flown over his head. But like a man possessed, Sephiroth had only walked past without truly seeing him, then discarded the book in favor of another.

“Zack?”

Zack blinked, then said again, “Nothing’s wrong.” It was less convincing. “Anyway,” he went on, brightening his voice. “Did you really tell the kids I’d bring them presents?”

“Of course,” she said, her voice too chirpy, as though she’d noticed his unease and opted to play along with his act. “Well, you have to give them something , after all their efforts to learn your combat moves. They’re really taking this Protection Squad business seriously, you know.” She giggled, and he chuckled too.

The kids had been hounding him every time he took the trip beneath the plate. What was supposed to be a quality time with Aerith always ended up as sword-fighting lessons with a bunch of children. Not that he minded them. The more time Zack spent with them, the more endearing they all seemed to him.

“Then I’d better get them something really good.” He wondered if the store next door sold souvenirs. He could ask Cloud for advice. Or Tifa. “But don’t tell them yet. It’ll be a surprise.”

He could feel her smile as she said, “Sure thing.” In the distance, he heard Elmyra’s call. Aerith had to hang up. “Do you think we can talk again tomorrow?”

“Of course. I’ll call you. Or you can call me too, if you want.”

“Really? Then maybe I’ll do that.”

Zack’s lips parted into the slightest grin. “I’ll be here.” Another promise. Her goodbye was the last thing he heard before Aerith ended the call.

~ END ~

#zerith #zerithweek #zerithweek2021 #aerith gainsborough #zack fair #final fantasy #final fantasy vii #ff7 #ffvii #ff7r #ff7 crisis core #fanfiction #ff fanfic #ff7 fanfic

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squinoas · 4 years

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Final Fantasy VII: Remake is both a blessing and a curse, to newcomers and series veterans alike - a (kinda) in-depth review of Final Fantasy VII: Remake.

Final Fantasy VII: Remake is both a blessing and a curse, to newcomers and series veterans alike.

As the latter, and someone who has played and enjoyed (and watched, in the case of Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children), most of the compilation that followed the original, I feel confident in saying this game is a worthy remake of the standout hit that put Final Fantasy on the radar of the Western audience. The blessing is an imaginative and fleshed out retelling of a fraction of an original thirty-hour story – stretching it out and giving backstory to returning characters, while introducing some fresh (and welcome) faces along the way. The Midgar section in the beginning of the original Final Fantasy VII clocks in at around 3-4 hours of a player’s overall journey.

Not this time.

But is that also the aforementioned curse of this game? That those players who have enjoyed the original many, many times know of what it still to come? Throughout my play through of the game this felt like it was going to be its main detractor, when actually the ending completely throws this into the air.

Only time will tell if this is a good decision that will pay off, or if it will backfire. Nevetheless, I’m optimistic that the best is yet to come.

How long will we have to wait for more? That’s anyone’s guess at this point, especially with the Coronavirus situation. Safety comes first, and any delays to the second and third parts of this episodic epic (and I hope it continues to be epic) will be understandable – and hopefully, much like this first part, well worth the wait.

GAMEPLAY (COMBAT, MATERIA, WEAPONS)

Much furore has been made about the series ditching a turn-based system – one still employed by Dragon Quest (another Square-Enix property, and the most recent instalment, Dragon Quest XI: Echoes of an Elusive Age, one of, if not my favourite, recent JRPGs).

Final Fantasy now employs an action-based model, more akin to another property, Kingdom Hearts.

Sometimes erratic and frenzied in 2016’s Final Fantasy XV, I’m happy to say that Square-Enix appeared to fine tune most of the aspects I disliked about that game’s playstyle and the result is Final Fantasy VII: Remake’s fun gameplay.

Keeping the ATB gauge involved was a good move, and gave the game a familiarity. The oscillating difficulties mean that there is a playstyle for everyone to find. I managed the entire game on normal mode (even my first time fighting the Whispers), until the Sephiroth boss battle. I have my own narrative issues with us fighting Sephiroth in the first part of this game anyway, but the difficulty spike in this battle on Normal mode felt unreal. I’d managed the slog that was the Hell House boss battle, and the annoyance of the escape from Shinra section, including that boss battle, but this was another level, and the only boss I had to change to easy mode for (which meant redoing the Whispers fight on that mode too).

On the other hand, there were bosses where, understanding their attack patterns and developing a strategy meant that winning the fight felt genuinely rewarding, as opposed to just time and energy-draining. An example of this was the Ghoul fought in the Train Graveyard – a new inclusion, and a whole strand of story that I enjoyed immensely. That battle really made use of switching between party members – Cloud and Tifa taking the lead in physical attacks and Aerith using her magic whenever necessary.

Materia has been updated, but not massively. Rather than a huge overhaul of the system, it still works largely how it did before. It’s been adapted for an action-JRPG but still comes down to strategy. However, an option to change materia mid-fight might have been prudent, considering the variety of enemy weaknesses. I found myself having to restart more than one fight because a batch of enemy scrolled through at least three different weaknesses and I was never adequately prepared for them at first. But at least restarting these fights was easy and hassle-free.

I liked the additions of new materia; such as Synergy which is another way to control what your other party members do in a fight, and the Magnify materia which works like the All materia of the original game. It made finding new materia fun and fresh, and meant I was constantly changing up my strategies to see what worked best.

The weapons system has been changed significantly, however. The upgrade screen looks stylistically like the crystarium from Final Fantasy XIII and the Historia Crux from Final Fantasy XIII-2. Therefore, it looks interesting, but is actually kind of boring when it comes to upgrading weapons. I ended up letting the computer upgrade my weapons with the balanced option, and this was a cool feature for people like me who found the task of upgrading tedious; especially when having to click out of each character’s weapons to only click into another one.

But the abilities that came with the weapons and having to develop a proficiency for these abilities was a nice addition. The only time I felt hindered by this was when Barret had to learn an ability on a close combat weapon. I like the fidelity to the original, but at the same time it was a handicap. Of course this is probably my own problem as I could have chosen not to use those weapons, something I may not do in a second playthrough.

Nonetheless, I felt like it encouraged me to play as every party member, and some were just downright cool. Special mention has to go out to Aerith’s Ray of Judgement, and Barret’s Maximum Fury which are so OP it isn’t even funny.

STORY (CHARACTERS, PLOT, ADDITIONS)

The original Final Fantasy VII is well known for the infamous ship wars. Clerith vs Cloti has been the ongoing debate for the past twenty years, and I don’t think this game is going to convince anyone that their side is right or wrong. It’s still left open to interpretation, at least in my opinion, and perhaps this was the best way to keep everyone satisfied. However, the game adds the additional element of having Aerith confirm that she did indeed love Zack Fair, the main protagonist and her love interest in Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core. As a ‘Zerith’ and ‘Cloti’ shipper myself, this game gave me plenty of moments to love for both couples. As someone who does have a liking for Clerith and Aerti, it kept me more than fed.

I have to give kudos to those involved with the game that they stayed true to the very canon interpretation that Aerith and Tifa are friends, and always were. True, they both expressed some small mote of jealously in the original game (and, at times, in this one too), but it quickly becomes obvious that they are both strong-willed young women who admire each other greatly. There are great examples of their burgeoning friendship but my favourites have to be kicking the lecherous asses of Don Corneo’s lackeys, and discussing a shopping trip for stuff for the bar.

All in all, the characters are kept true to their original incarnations. If anything, they – as with everything else in this game – are given to breath and work through things organically. They are fleshed out, and given further backstories, motivations and plot. I think this was best done with the doomed member of AVALANCHE, Jessie. She’s given a last name which, to begin with, makes her feel less like an ancillary plot device and more a character in her own right. To add to this, we meet her mother and father; which absolutely tugged at my heartstrings, what with her father’s tragic accident leaving him in a comatose state. We find out Jessie wanted to be an actress and was working at the Gold Saucer (this also works as a nice nod to places we know exist in-universe but will not visit until a later instalment).

Marle, Leslie, Madam M, Andrea Rhodes – every Chocobo Sam – are all fantastic additions, and I hope we see them again. In particular I would love to see Leslie reunited with his lost love in a future game.

Now, in terms of the story, I have played the original inside and out for many years, and always thought I would be against changes made to the story. Throughout most of the game most of these additions are simply changes that just make things more interesting for someone like me who’s played the original before. Towards the end, however, things take a drastic turn, and turn everything we’ve known on its head. As I said before, I have no idea where this is going to go in the next part, and there were some aspects that left me scratching my head.

The main of these being Zack. As far as anyone who has played the original or Crisis Core will know, Zack died in a last stand against the Shinra corps sent after him and Cloud after their break out from Nibelheim. However, the ending raises some interesting questions. At first I thought us defeating the Whispers had rewritten Zack’s fate, but maybe that’s not the case. Nevertheless, it will be interesting to see where they take it (one change I did not like was Zack’s voice actor. I know all the English VAs were changed – which I wasn’t a big fan of in the first place – but the new voice actor does not sound good compared to Rick Gomez).

Overall, our characters end the game in more or less the same position as the end of the Midgar section of the original, but after the events of the battles with the Whispers it appears that certain events that would have been due to happen (the original ending with Red XIII, Aerith’s death, etc) may not happen at all – or at least, not in the way we think.

#GUESS WHO FINISHED THE GAME THIS MORNING SUCKAS #this girl #this post contains spoilers so do not go any further if you haven't finished the game #it's not really that in-depth but i was trying something new #it got kinda long tho #and a lot of this was written before i finished the game #if you guys want to know my opinion on anything i've missed out just send me a message #and yes this means the hiatus is OVER #gifs are incoming #everything will be tagged #ffviir spoilers #for at least the next few months #text post

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kareofbears · 4 years

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day 28: as a weapon

The door to Leblanc chimes as Akira's cooking curry. After finishing Maruki's palace with no problems whatsoever, Ryuji enthusiastically texted him saying that they should celebrate, just the two of them.

"Go away, Ryuji, I'm not done yet. How did you get here so fast?"

"Trains are very efficient."

Akira pauses. Turning off the stove, he grabs a dish towel and wipes his hands before rounding the corner.

"Didn't expect you to be here."

In front of him, Akechi sits in the booth, a coy smile on his face. "Of course you didn't. I figure I'd say farewell before I take my leave."

Grabbing two mugs from underneath the counter, Akira grabs the coffee pot. "No, you didn't."

"No, of course I didn't," he confirms as Akira rounds the counter to slide Akechi one of the mugs. "Thank you."

Shooting a quick text to Ryuji telling him not to come over for now, he pockets his phone and turns his attention to Akechi. "So, to what do I owe the please?"

"I'll make this quick." He leans forward. "Maruki's offer."

Akira considers feigning ignorance, to pretend he doesn't know what on earth Akechi could be talking about. But tricking Akechi once had been impossible enough. It would take a miracle to do it again.

"I thought about it," he says, stirring his coffee. "Accepting it, I mean."

Akechi quirks a brow. "I thought so. I'm a little surprised. I always thought that the one thing we have in common is our tenacity. In the face of the most ruthless situation, neither of us would back down first. To think that you even considered it is...unexpected."

"That's true. At first, when he proposed to us that he'd give a week to make us change our minds, i immediately thought, 'hell no.' And yeah, seeing the rest of the enjoy themselves really shook me" he smiles, albeit bitterly. "Seeing Ryuji smile like that almost did it for me, actually."

Akechi rolls his eyes. "Your point?"

"Right." He takes a sip of his coffee before continuing. "Even after all that, i still knew what we had to do. Maruki's reality has to be stopped, there's no doubt about it. But then I thought about it, as I'm sure you must've, as well."

Akechi's eyes squint infinitesimally. "What are you getting at?"

"Why you, me, and Sumire weren't affected," Akira leans back. "I mean, why us? You and me, I could understand. Wielding multiple Personas could be a key factor in our immunity. But there's no real way to justify Sumire. So I thought about it."

Propping his head on his hand, Akechi looks at Akira. "And your conclusion?"

"Sumire was easy. She didn't have a wish because hers was already granted: to be Kasumi. She didn't want anything else, or have a desire to change the past since she already has what she wants the most. So, she stays unaffected."

"Obviously."

"I already knew why I wasn't affected ever since he explained the premise," he tugs on his bangs. "'Grant any wish,' was it? But by that point, you have to understand, I just saved the world with my friends, my family at my side. I found a place to belong, a place where not only have people accepted me, but I've come to accept myself. I came to terms to accept what had happened to me, my situation," his smile this time was much softer, much more delicate. "I didn't have anything to wish for, so it makes sense that my reality wasn't changed."

Akechi barks a laugh. "You're much more sentimental than you look."

He shrugs. "Can't argue with that."

"And for me?"

Akira stares at him. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Of course I do. But despite everything, you still prove to have an interesting mind. I'd like to hear what you think."

"This one is more of a theory than anything," he taps on the table absentmindedly. "I really had to think about everything you've told me about yourself. Your past, your mother, your father. Everything you worked towards. Every crime you've committed, every sin you've done. I'll only ever know a fraction of it."

Akira looks down at his coffee. "You've worked for everything you have. You've fought tooth and nail, bled for what you have. Life had never budged an inch for you, and so you never expected it now. And that's why you were untouched by Maruki's idea of granting wishes," he looks up, gray eyes boring into red ones. "Because you never, not once in your entire life, let yourself wish for anything."

For a moment, Akechi doesn't say anything. And then he laughs. "You never cease to surprise me, Joker. You're right, as much as I hate to admit it. My theory is the same as well." His finger idly traces the rim of his coffee.. "Though to think that you'd be foolish enough to even consider his offer for something so juvenile."

"Would it have been foolish?" Akira asks, genuinely curious. "To want to see you happy, I mean."

Akechi rolls his eyes. "Do you really need me to answer that?"

"I guess not. But there was a part of me that just wanted you to let yourself wish, even for a second," Akira's eyes shift to the painting of Sayuri in the corner of the cafe. "To let yourself find peace, for once in your life."

"Oh, Kurusu," Akechi scoffs. "That's the difference between you and I. Your willingness to subject yourself to sentimentality is a weakness I refuse to let myself succumb to. Unfortunately, in the end, it became your strength as well."

"So it really never interested you? The idea of Maruki's peace."

Akechi stares at Akira, seeing only honesty in his eyes. "If the peace was not created by my own two hands, then it will only once again be taken away from me by some way; whether it's through someone like my father, or some other criminal out there, or perhaps even a group like the Phantom Thieves. Either way, the cycle continues. So no—if peace is simply handed to me, I will not accept it. I will never accept it."

Pushing his sleeve up, Akechi peers at his watch. "It's getting late, I should leave." He gets up, putting on his coat.

"Where will you go?"

Akechi turns to see Akira looking at him with that same expression. "There's truly nothing more in the world than seeing how damn earnest you are. It pisses me off."

"Where will you go?" Akira repeats, insistent.

Akechi barks out a laugh. "What, are you gonna offer me a room? Hope that I can eventually see the way your little group works and melt my ice-cold heart, is that it?"

Akira stays silent, while Akechi walks towards the door.

"Telling you what I do afterwards was never part of the deal," Akechi places a hand on the doorknob, and stops. "I'll only say this once." he turns. "You could be doing more, Akira,. You don't have to stay in this tiny, shitty cafe just because some people showed you mercy and comfort."

Akira smiles, small and soft and a little sad. "I found my peace here, Akechi. All I want is for you to find yours."

Akechi shakes his head before wrenching the door open.

For a brief moment, it seems like he wants to say something else. Like the words are on the tip of his tongue, ready to admit what's on his mind. Akira waits on baited breath, waiting, hoping. And then Akechi shakes his head once more, and walks out without another word.

Sighing, Akira leans back against the cushion, looking up at the wooden ceiling for a few minutes, collecting himself. That may be the last time he'll ever see Akechi, and he failed, once again, to save him. But in the depths of his heart, he knows that Akechi would never want to be saved by someone else, would never accept salvation from anyone's hands other than his own. Instead, Akira thinks about how he found his own peace. How, despite the odds, he found his own salvation in the walls of a run-down cafe and countless people. And when that all got threatened to be taken away, how hard he fought to keep all of it.

Bzzt, bzzt.

Akira looks down, and sees that he got a text from Ryuji.

you okay?

For a second, Akira understands what Akechi means by never wanting to wish for anything at all; if what he has now got taken away, he doesn't think he'd be able to survive.

He texts back.

Yeah, I really am.

#escapril #escapril2020 #mine #fanfic #p5 #persona 5 #p5r #persona 5 royal #time is flying and we are all dying #fic tag

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vvirgils · 4 years

Text

Chronicles of Straith #2-The Witch’s Dragon:Chapter 6

Chronicles of Straith #1-Fate’s Door///Chapter 5/Chapter 7//Masterpost

“What do you mean Roman’s missing?” Virgil asked the king’s chief advisor, frustration bleeding into her voice. She was eye-to-eye with the short man, teenage defiance matching his bored, professional air. Laurus curled protectively around her shoulders, slitted pupils giving the advisor the stink eye.

The advisor appeared unfazed by Virgil, but kept looking at Laurus like the dragon didn’t belong in the castle. “King Roman is nowhere to be seen. We have sent out people to search for him, and with any hope he will be found soon. Of course, the king’s orders in case of absence must be obeyed, so there has been no searching of his private quarters, the Head Sorcerer’s rooms, or any of the servant’s areas. I would suggest that you, Apprentice Sorcerer, focus on your duties and not the king.”

“Listen, I don’t care about the particulars of your search, sir. I need to know where my friend is, because there’s something of an emergency happening right now, which requires—three guesses—Roman. Also, they’re my friend and I’m a little worried. So, do you have any actual information regarding the royal’s whereabouts?” She could feel the anger pulsing inside her, begging to be released in a wave of magic, but she stamped her emotions down.

“That is information privy to the king’s cabinet. I’m sorry, miss, but I have other things to attend to.” He turned and strolled down the hall away from Virgil, leaving her fuming where she stood. Laurus slid off of her shoulders and flapped his wings twice to land next to her, trying to avoid the purple strands of energy flitting out from the very angry sorcerer.

A tap on her arm made Virgil flinch, but it was just Patton. “Hey, it’s going to be ok. Logan and I thought we’d ask the staff some questions, see where Roman was before they left. You saw them last, do you have any ideas who we could ask first?”

Virgil let her anger die within her, sighing as she faced Patton. They’d gotten to know each other a little in the months since the quest, although neither was really sure how to approach a conversation together. Regardless, Virgil trusted Patton, and his calm in the face of stress was a welcome relief from her own anxious mind.

“We had lunch in the library, right before the explosion. Maybe have Logan ask the librarian, he’s been dying to know more about the castle library for ages anyways,” Virgil said, pulling her hood over her hair. “I think I’m going to ask Rafaela about it, because she’s been keeping awfully quiet.” Laurus perked up at Rafaela’s name, and immediately started running in tiny circles around her feet, claws clacking on the tile floor.

“Logan already went to the library. I’m not sure if he’s after the librarian or the books.” Patton sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know who some of Roman’s friends in the castle are, so I’ll ask around. Sorry the guards didn’t have any information.”

“It’s ok, we’ll find something soon enough,” Virgil said, trying to keep up hope. The explosions of the last few days were nerve-wracking, and she’d reverted back into some of her old habits of worrying. A little positivity was the most she could hope for when her stomach felt like a wrung washcloth.

“You’re going to talk to Rafaela, right? I know she’s been off lately, but maybe see if she has a spell that could find Roman?” Patton looked around at the now-empty corridor, as if uncertain that his suggestion would be taken seriously.

Laurus stopped running, deciding to sit on Virgil’s feet. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” Virgil said, knowing that she’d rather talk to her trusted mentor than a near-stranger. Unlike Patton, she had difficulty befriending the palace staff, as she could never find the right place to slide into their conversations. “Let’s meet at the gates before sundown, ok? So we can tell each other what we found.”

Patton smiled. “Sounds like a plan. Good luck.” He waved back at Virgil.

“Same to you.” Virgil let her feet carry her to Rafaela’s rooms, Laurus on her heels, knowing that when the Head Sorcerer was in such a state, she could usually be found in her private quarters. They were the same as the ones she’d inhabited over a century ago, when there were more members of the royal family who needed rooms.

Virgil knocked on the door, and took Rafaela’s distant “come in” as her opportunity to enter. She opened the door to find Rafaela sitting at her desk, creating a sphere of water over her fingers only to let it evaporate, then forming it again.

Lost in thought, Rafaela didn’t look up as Virgil entered. Something about the way she sat almost perfectly gave Virgil a bad gut feeling. Laurus slunk behind her, as if afraid.

“Roman’s missing,” Virgil said, trying to say something that would clear the air, or at least get the Dragon Witch’s attention.

“That’s unfortunate.” The water in her hand turned to a snowflake, then an ice cube. Virgil watched, puzzled.

“Do you know a tracking spell? Something that could help us find him?” She didn’t understand why her mentor was acting like this. It was common for Rafaela to be stoic, or reserved, but not frozen like a statue.

“Only if they were a sorcerer. What a pity.” Her head tilted a fraction of an inch, and the snowflake reformed. “Snow is so pretty in the winter, isn’t it? I hadn’t seen it for decades.”

“Rafaela. What’s wrong? Why—why are you acting like this?” Virgil tried to keep her tone polite, formal, but her nerves were fraying after the day she’d had. Last night, she’d barely been able to sleep.

“I’ve made some bad decisions in my life, Virgil. Spur-of-the-moment things. I had too much power, and nothing good to do with it. I’m very sorry.” Nothing moved except for her mouth. The water turned to blue flames, casting a ghastly glow on the Dragon Witch’s face.

Virgil let herself marinate in the silence, hoping that Rafaela would continue, explain. But it was the door opening that punctuated their conversation.

“You guys need to come quick. There’s been another accident. This time, it’s worse.” Logan was out of breath and panting, and he leaned against the doorframe as he took in Virgil’s shocked expression and Rafaela’s passive one. “What’s with her?”

“I don’t know. What happened?” Virgil looked from her mentor to Logan, not sure what to do.

“I’m sick. Continue without me.” She allowed the flames to melt, dripping down her hand.

“Come on,” Logan said, waving Virgil through the door. She followed him, tightening her cloak around her shoulders, but not before shooting one last glance over her shoulder at Rafaela. Laurus jumped up onto her shoulders, making Virgil stumble for a second.

“So, Rafaela aside, what’s going on?” Virgil asked, hurrying after Logan. He must have really been in a state, because usually he never moved fast unless books were involved.

“There’s been a fire on the outskirts of town, near the forest. Right around where the source of our problem is.” He took a sharp left. “People are really freaking out, because nobody has any idea how to put it out.”

Virgil drummed her fingers along the wall to release her nerves as they walked. “Is the fire department there?”

“Yeah, and that’s part of the problem. They think it’s magical, and nothing scares the daylights out of a rule-abiding citizen of Straith like sorcery,” Logan said, sighing as he pushed open a door to the outside. A large crowd was gathered at the castle gates.

“Anything unusual about it beyond not being able to put it out? Does it spread abnormally fast, or is it a weird color, or does it burn things weird? Does it smell weird, or something?” Virgil made a quick mental list of all the spells she knew that could extinguish fire.

“No, it’s an ordinary fire in every aspect except that water is not putting it out,” Logan said, pacing impatiently towards the small gate in the wall that would let them through.

“That’s not good. I think I’ve read a spell like that somewhere.” She wracked her brain for the information on how to put it out, following Logan through the gate.

They were invisible in the thick crowd, the panicked voices unmistakable. Everyone wanted something done about the problem in the woods, whatever the hell it was, and the fear was palpable. Virgil sensed the undercurrents to the panic: after so quick of a power transfer, was their country ready to face this threat? Would the young king be able to handle it?

While Roman was nowhere in sight, Virgil supposed she could make do in his place. As Logan led her to the fire, she tried to take note of easy-to-fix problems on the streets of Archdale. When they got back, Roman would have a lot to deal with. She could only hope that they were doing something that could help the country, even if it wasn’t in the castle where the king belonged.

She smelled the fire before she saw it, and the familiarity of it almost knocked her over. It was one of Rafaela’s favorite spells, the one that was burning the torches of her bedroom right now. Next to her, Logan’s face was a mirror of her own confusion.

“I didn’t think Rafaela would be involved in this,” Logan said as the building came into sight. A simple farmhouse was on fire, the blue flames consuming everything. The handiwork was so familiar, Virgil knew exactly when it would flicker.

“At least I know how to stop it,” Virgil said, pointing her hand at the house. It was an odd gesture, but the people milling around the fire didn’t even notice her. The black and purple of her cloak allowed Virgil to fade to the background, and Laurus was invisible on her shoulders, scales transparent.

She ignored the twang in her heart as the fire splintered like glass, the light blue shards catching the winter sun until Virgil floated them out of the house and stacked them next to her in a neat pile. What had Rafaela done?

Heads turned, following the glossy blue shapes, a wall of astonishment facing Virgil. After an awkward pause of silence, Logan said, “She’s the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Kind of cool, right?”

Before any of the gawkers had a chance to respond, a woman broke away from the crowd to stand before Virgil. “Thank you so much,” she said. Logan and Virgil took in her haggard expression. Her eyes were red, but from smoke or crying it was impossible to tell.

“It’s—it’s what I do,” Virgil replied, dropping her gaze to the snowy ground.

“It’s miraculous. You just saved—that house has been in my family for generations. I’m not sure what happened to it, but there was a boom—like the explosions recently, then before I knew it, the house was in flames and we had to escape. I thought I’d watch the place where I grew up burn to the ground.” She sobbed, a fresh tear running down her right cheek. “I know it might be too much to ask, but do you know what happened to set it on fire? I can’t thank you enough.”

Virgil’s eyes went wide, tears of her own on the edge of spilling over. “I don’t know what happened, sorry. I’m happy I could help, I know how it feels to think you’ll lose the only place you’ve ever lived.” Uncertain of what to do next, she swallowed her sobs and embraced the woman, closing her eyes so that the tears wouldn’t help.

She felt Logan’s hand on her shoulder, a comfort. When she broke away from her hug with this total stranger—what was she doing?—the crowd was applauding her. A standing ovation. Virgil froze where she stood, panic rushing through her as she realized what had just happened.

“Thank you, I have to go tell my wife,” the woman said, leaving Virgil to disappear into the crowd, just as quickly as she’d come.

Logan led her away from the crowd, before the situation could freak her out any more. She wanted to thank him, but Virgil couldn’t seem to find the words for the life of her. They walked down the familiar streets of Virgil’s home until they were at the doorway of Food for the Mind. Virgil felt some of her anxiety fade away as she stepped into the bookstore.

“Are you alright?” Logan asked, inviting her to sit next to him on a beanbag in the kids section. “I thought you might just want to get away from the situation, if that’s fine.”

She sank into the small yellow beanbag. “I’m better, thanks. Thank you for taking me here, too. I’d rather be here than the palace, or that house, or anywhere, really,” Virgil said, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “Crowds. Crowds watching me do magic are…fun. So much fun. Full sarcasm. And strangers who approach me to thank me for solving a problem my mentor may have created in the first place.”

“Sorry about that, do you want anything?” Logan was still worried about her, but Virgil couldn’t focus on that for long.

“If you could tell me why I just saw Rafaela’s fire destroying someone’s house, that would be great. No one else makes fire like that, mine’s always pink or purple. And it doesn’t look like the lovechild of ice and fire.” She leaned forward to put her chin on her hand, already brainstorming.

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azureparanoia · 4 years

Text

[THE PAINFUL LIFE OF A DELUSIONAL GIRL AT CROSSROADS OF AESTHETICS]

They say imagination is one of the greatest gifts a human can receive from the God and like every blessing it is nothing but a double edge sword. The whimsical nature of what modern day youths love to abuse, an artist, is a gift of sorts. Do you feel an artist just because you create something? Or are you one simply because you jump off the border of mundane normality? Who is to judge if you are an artist or can you even claim to be one? What is the line between an artist and a decent human normie? Some of those questions hunted me since I was very young. Feeling some kind of disjunction from the rest of my peers, from the adults and youngers I walked fairly boring path of what I wish to become. I drew a lot, I wrote even more and in the feeling of being unusual, I found myself wondering is me feeling different so unique.

Nowadays when what once was minority and unusualness is what’s hyped and mainstream hurts to those who walked down that road for many years before it became popular. For instance, I am great believer and lover of 90s aesthetics, some modernised touch to it is not bad, but rather than parroting Pinterest, I chose the bits and parts of actual 90s I grew up in and incorporate it into my own image. Funny enough, the conscious choices I make over my own style would be called something along the lines of cowardice and indecisiveness. Because I don’t fully dive into the kitsch of those completely misunderstood years of my youth. In my attempt to redefine myself by the means of picking bits and pieces of certain aesthetics, I am called fake by the mases who cannot come up with their own original approach and only follow the trends blindly.

Does that mean I am unique? Perhaps, but perhaps also this lack of commitment as it can be identified from bystanders’ point of view is what specifies what kind of aesthetics I crave to create with my own looks. Am I boring? Quite frankly yes, I might not have full confidence due to lack of appropriate figure and perhaps I do hold back in those attempts to showcase my own style. However, for one reason or another, I would rather hold back and slowly discover myself and the road I decide to take rather than blindly and with no understanding follow masses. It is much nicer for my eyes to see more grunge or old school designs all around, sadly, knowing the modern society I feel like these have no deeper meaning behind it and it is nothing but façade to match up with the background.

How does it correspond to arts? I have been writing for about 20 years now, I took breaks more often than created, leave alone published something and by publish, I mean online of course. I hated and still hate all of my work, but gaining slightly more confidence, or simply learning to care less, I chose to share with the world how much of a crap I can create. I, by no means, am not an artist although I do share one’s extremely self-satisfactory and needy attitude towards life. In short, I need people to see my creation and whether they crave more of it or reject it completely, I simply cannot stop. It also corresponds to me writing whenever I feel like it, not when I see demand for it. The gift to move someone with my own words is undoubtfully a fruitless dream that even massive authors struggle with. Just because your text sells, does not mean you are worth the title and just because you’re unknown to anyone does not mean you cannot hold one.

In the end, it comes down to how you wish to express yourself or more like, how you want to be seen by others. For me calling myself an artist would be nothing but pretentious flex, I would rather avoid. Then again, being faced with it and denying it would also make me sound pompous or even ego centrical, fishing for those “Oh no, you’re so talented” compliments. In either of those scenarios, I would not feel myself to be myself but something that my image demands of me. Then again, what am I even? That is something I still fail to define and with every line of each hated piece I create, I wonder. Writing, reading, writing more, rereading, editing, fixing, deleting, adding, moving on, going back, writing, reading, rewriting and so forth. My life contains of boring daily routines and those writer spikes that hit me like a fucking bolt form a blue, when I cannot live, breath or even function if I do not put those words down. Just like right now, I know it will flop and no one will pay attention to it, but oh damn, I could have not done it differently. This is what you could consider “an artist attitude”, while although it sounds all nice and edgy which I would love to go for, the very same edgy and stubborn attitude I showcase would never allow me to admit it.

Do I feel like an artist? Hell no. But would I love to be in position when I can openly say I am one? Definitely no. Thus, at the same time wanting to be something different than the rest of the masses and desire to keep this image I have craved into my skin over the years is making me unable to define myself still being very strict at how I want to express myself. At this point my toaster brains are already shredded into pieces of unreadable scrawls flying on the soft breeze of an easy choices I wish I was bright enough to make. This is just a pure ridiculousness of modern times. When I was younger because being different wasn’t cool or anything, I felt like fish in the water of my own loneliness and by no means it was a happy life, but I felt confident in what I was. Now, when it’s so popular to have depression, be sad bean that likes nerdy things, my emo side kicks in and almost screams that I cannot be like that anymore.

When I was growing up and slowly discovered my sexuality, not going one-way ticket only, but being totally interested in anyone that was human, despite genders, ages etc, was hell’s porch, because if felt like I was not supposed to be like this. Strangely enough, I felt better about it then as it worked well with my selfish self-proclaimed uniqueness rather than now when it is just as popular as watching anime. And I am not saying there is anything wrong about it, I just do not feel included in those openly open minor groups that are no longer minorities and stormed the social medias with their colourfulness. I no longer feel confident in my own skin, because of how something which once was so unusual you can now see around every corner. I feel like I’ve been stripped of my own integrity because of how popular pro-LGBTQ+ is right now and I watch those young people and whenever I wish to be happy with them over their pride and courage at the back of my head I keep wondering “Are you for real or is it just because it’s popular now?”

And here I sit alone in my room, completely hopeless, as I not only no longer have what defined me as unique human being, but also don’t feel welcomed into the minority I should feel so connected to. Because I’m not colourful enough? Because I’m not over the top enough? Because I’m too normal? I am just a boring girl, living my life, not hiding anymore in the closet, but not screaming at the world with “I AM BISEXUAL, HAIL TO MY UNIQUENESS!”. That way, I do not feel either part of stereotypical heterosexual society, nor part of the new rainbow movement. I feel like I am standing between those two fractions with no place of my own. I still remember that Queer was supposed to be “we do not label anyone”, but it’s the most labelling shit ever from my perspective as it completely cuts out people like myself. For instance, I am bisexual, but I do not feel queer because of how it is advocated.

Finally, I realise that I am not part of anything. I am not an artist, because claiming so would mess up my image and I’m not that talented either. I do not feel part of LGBTQ+ community because I am too normal for this. I do not feel part of geeks or nerds because I do not find all geeky/nerdy shit that interesting. If I think about it from outsider’s perspective, I could say that sure makes me quite unique in comparison to modern time young adults, but does it? Just like with my style, I chose bits and pieces of minorities and majorities that suit me and feel right with my aesthetics, but does that mean I am different or does it mean I am just fake and half-assed at everything? I will never know, but there is something both tormenting and fun about this crossroads I stand at and perhaps one day I will choose one way, one mass to follow or just sit here alone and watch it all burn. This is fine.

#rant #article #art #fashion #style #90s #lbgtq #yolo #hurt #feelings #emotions #not part of anything #not part of story #sad life #emo #lost in 90s #lost in modern day #modernity #real life #diary

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storylocke · 5 years

Text

CR Crossover Follow-up

C.C.:

I don’t quite remember how it happened. My mind was gone. I felt myself falling- free floating- I don’t know how to describe it, but what I do know was that I had a power beyond my comprehension flowing through me! I envisioned, which within that dark space of my mind, I could see the worlds within in my hands and I drew them together. I could SEE Xena, my Xena, there within reach as I held out my hand to pull her across the Void. And I believe… [he shakes his head a moment as it was really the only thing left to make sense] I believe in my attempts to pull her out of that hellscape, I instead brought everything else in too. [he starts laughing, a slightly broke and hollow laugh as he looks up at the ceiling before turning to the other two] They tried to tell me you were gone. Not that you were dead, but that those fully taken by the Glitches cannot leave that other world. It would take a miracle. … A miracle…

Xena:

…. That’s not true. [shifts uncomfortably] What about Abe? We… We tried to follow the same path as he did because that’s what was needed to beat The Game. So I could come home.

C.C.:

Except there is no game. And I found out through some of my research that he never did get to escape, even after doing all that They told him to do. It wasn’t until the barrier between the two worlds had corroded through fighting between gods and the spreading of Glitches, and the utter chaos that he and several others were able to cross through. He was freed at the expense that, to my understanding, another boy took his place in that world. [takes deep breath] What we were trying to do might have worked before you were so corrupted by those fiends, but people like you and Fifer, cannot exist properly on this side without becoming a demon yourself. So… so I brought the world to you, I guess.

Xena:

That doesn’t mean you should be ashamed about it. You didn’t know what would happen-

C.C.:

It doesn’t matter, I knew what I was doing.

Xena:

But you were manipulated-

C.C.:

So what?

Xena:

They brainwashed you-

C.C.:

So what?

Xena:

You just said so yourself you had no control as you were doing it.

C.C.:

So what? [shifts in his seat so he can stare her down directly] My reasons and my actions at the time doesn’t matter, just the fact that I did it. Johto and Kanto are now under an eternal winter, Kalos is wrecked beyond recognition. Hoenn now exists in two places at once with the barren wasteland version of our World having been taken over by theives and Glitches and becoming a literal shadow of itself. Time itself may even be in ruins as we’ve had reports of villains not seen since antiquity have sudden appeared in our present! And nothing you can say, nothing we can do, can change the fact that this is all. my. fault.

Hannah:

[arms crossed as she sits back in the chair, taking all this in] Sounds like there may have still been another way. You do realize that we need to share all this with the others since so far we’ve been trying to find out if there’s some Great Evil that caused this mess, and why, and if we can beat, and so forth. If it turns out it’s just you then-

C.C.:

[coldly cuts her off] There IS a Great Evil behind this, and it is THEM.

Hannah:

[Ugh, here we go again] The Voices are not evil, Cesar. They just do things for the sake of doing things, I don’t think they have any real good or bad intensions, they just exist. What happened to you really sucks, and the aftermath of it all sucks especially, but I don’t think they meant for any of this to happen any more than you did.

C.C.:

It’s easy enough for you to say, a fraction of your own power comes from Them but you were able to use it for good. Perhaps They liked you, or perhaps Their actions in Flora was merely setting the stage for later things to come. But you ask Xena, ask Fifer, ask Venus, just how badly their lives have been changed because of these so-called whims of fate you speak of.

Hannah:

…. [trying to come up with a counter, but doesn’t have one. Goes for the snark] What about Y?

Xena:

Never ask Y, he’s a good kid, but I think he enjoys all this just a little too much.

C.C.:

We don’t really know enough about him to know what he was like before we met. And that’s what bothers me. There are plenty of other forces out there right now ready to take advantage of the situation, but I am telling you, it’s only going to get worse. I still need to do more research, to find out what could happened for the seemingly benevolent Voices we heard of in our youth to suddenly appear again and bring pain and corruption to all those touched by Them. Someone is going to get hurt, if it hasn’t happened already. Perhaps I’m not even the only one to face the fate of being given a great power only to have it turn into such devastation. [Thoughtful as he slides off the bed to go up to Hannah] Didn’t you say that Flora has some ancient hidden library with information on the past?

Hannah:

That’s typically what libraries do. Stories and history and other boring stuff. Why?

C.C.:

I need you to take me there. I know you don’t like it, but there could be some valuable information there that could help us. I need to learn more about the Voices so next time I can be sure to be in full control.

Xena:

[Slightly alarmed] Next time?

C.C.:

Now that I have told you both, I am more than certain that my ability to channel that power was no mere fluke. I need to reclaim Their power so I can set the worlds right, but in order to do that I need to learn to bend reality to my will.

Hannah:

No. [crosses arms again as she glares him down] No, Cesar, you don’t. Trust me, you don’t want the power or the responsibility, especially seeing how badly broken you are from causing all this in the first place. [Now he’s glaring at her, but she keeps her stance to show she’s not intimidated by him] Yeah, I said it. You said so yourself you broke when it happened, and frankly I’d say you’re pretty broken still. Once that power left you, you’ve been released, okay? There’s plenty of others out there who’ve already tried the world manipulation route and it ended badly for them, don’t think you’ll be any different just because it happened before. Now I’m not saying we shouldn’t look into this. You’re right that we need you to look into this, because hell knows I can’t keep up that kind of focus and memorization; but I do know that the world has a way of fixing itself when it gets fucked up like this. We’ll do what we can. As a team. And right now the best thing you can do for the world is using your personal power to make sure this kind of shit never happens to anyone else.

C.C.:

[He’s listening to her, rather intently, but it’s also clear that the gears in his mind have already started racing] So you’ll take me there?

Hannah:

[Throws hands up in the air, but drops them as she can only shrug] Yeah, I can get you in there.

Xena:

We should probably tell the others what’s going on before you two leave though…

Hannah:

Well duh. We’re not just gonna leave in the middle of the night for another region without telling anyone.

C.C.:

Alright, but I need you both to listen. What I shared with you is very serious and a deep secret I’ve been keeping. What we’ve said here does not leave the room. You cannot tell any of the others.

Hannah:

What?

Xena:

Why?

C.C.:

I know finding out the cause behind the world collision is very important, but I don’t want my past and my actions to become a point of tension within our group. If they knew that I was the one behind all this, I’m not so sure they’d be so willing to help me get stronger if I’m now considered a threat. You two know my intention. Will you help me?

Both:

[Soft, somewhat reluctantly] Yes…

C.C.:

Thank you. [deep breath, that was a lot to get out, but it’s such a relief to know they took it better than he thought.] Alright, Hannah? Would you mind going to tell the others about our plans for Flora? I’d like a moment alone with Xena.

Hannah:

Really? Just gonna drop something this heavy on me and ask me to leave?

Xena:

Hannah…

Hannah:

Nah, nah, I get it. You two are family, got a lot of personal stuff to go over, it’s cool. I guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow. [turns back as she nears the door, flashing a weak grin as she tries to lighten the mood] Though if you waaant, we’ve got a party in the girls’ room, Xena.

Xena:

[Grin] I’ll be over in a minute then.

~~~~~

Continuation from my comic for the Crossover Contest

It's not part of the entry, but I did say I had an entire AU forming even before the contest came up and this just hit me this morning.

Taking place after all of the Season 5 runs, the idea of all of the Hosts getting together to figure out what is going on with these crazy place given we've been doing a lot of mods this season and into S6. Which is what this is hinting at is R. Colosseum, XG, and worst of all THE haven't happened yet, but the potential for extreme Voice shenanigans is at large. Burning Red in my timeline happened BEFORE Dual Red and Blue so while Kay isn't part of the group, I'm not sure if or when or how he'd show up either since he's potentially a time traveler and maaay have disappeared after BR events. But who knows. I'm not sure how many parts I'll actually write out for this thing if I decide to keep going, but there is at least one other scene I'd like to do.

#critical role #twitch plays pokemon #crossover #au #not sure what to call it really #C.C.#cesar #ceecee #CiCi #Xena #Hannah N. Vee #season 5 #S5 #aftermath

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allenmendezsr · 3 years

Text

Tearing It Up - Learn Heavy Metal Guitar

New Post has been published on http://autotraffixpro.app/allenmendezsr/tearing-it-up-learn-heavy-metal-guitar/

Tearing It Up - Learn Heavy Metal Guitar

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Yes, you can learn these later, but for now, you can get by with the main chords most of the top metal bands use.

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You proberly already know tablature? If not then no worries, I’ve got you covered because not only does this couse include tab explanation, most of it doesn’t even require an understanding of tablature to get started.

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Because I’ve been playing and teaching Heavy Metal and playing guitar since the age of 13 (I’m now 35). I’ve also played in many bands, enjoying some success with a UK Metal band called “Rough Justice”.

The method I use to teach is one that I used to teach my best friend who can now play faster than me. You see, a few years back I had a problem. I had a friend who wanted to play lead guitar in our band. We had a gig coming up at New Year’s Eve but he could barely play a few chords!

l thought I was doomed!

Now, I knew I couldn’t go through all the theory with him as that would take forever. But I noticed that when playing the majority of Heavy Metal songs there were certain chords that came up time and time again – with slight variations.

I also found that a lot of them could be simplified and still sound the same, especially when you added loads of distortion and volume. (In fact, the night of the gig, I made a few fluff-ups but somebody asked how I did the whole thing without a single mistake!!)

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All the stuff you need

I took all the essential chords which you need to play 90% of metal songs, simplified them in a way that they were easy to play but sounded the same and used these to learn enough songs to play a set list. And it worked! We did the gig using this method.

That New Year’s Eve we played to a packed-out hall of screaming metal fans! It’s a feeling you just can’t describe, although that feeling could be yours very soon.

(Oh yeah…I’ll never forget the look on the audience’s faces when our singer announced “Well, I’ve been asked not to swear tonight, and I think I’ve done pretty well, but unfortunately, the next song’s called F**king Hostile, but we’re gonna do it anyway!!!”)

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Step-by-Step Illustrations show exactly how to pick up essential Heavy Metal Chords fast.

Sample Images from Ebook

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Learning to play the electric guitar is not rocket-science. It’s easy and fun. When you start this fast-track course on Heavy Metal Guitar I’ll show you how to learn chords without reading music and you’ll be playing some cool covers in no time at all. It will still take some work and practice, but honestly, once you start to make progress, you won’t want to stop.

Wanna start a heavy metal band or just riff on your own? You can! It’s not that hard. If you’ve bought other guitar books and courses and given up, don’t let that discourage you. I’m here to show you how to play that axe like a rockstar.

In fact why not get all that old boring guitar lesson stuff out right now and have a barbecue with it in the backyard. Hang on to your guitar though – you’re gonna need it. You don’t have a guitar? Mate – run out and beg or borrow one right now!

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We have a Blog and an active Forum to go with it. I’ll give you a link to them with the course.

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Here’s Exactly What You’re Getting

But Wait – There’s More! I’ve now added 13 Video Tutorials to the Mix

You get over 30 minutes of Video in 13 Tutorials demonstrating the main parts of the course to make sure you pick this stuff up as quickly as possible. It’s like looking over my shoulder as I show you how to play the chords and techniques from the Ebook.

As well as chords, these videos will show you how to do alternate picking, play harmonics (very cool), hammer-ons, pull-offs, finger-tapping and more. These are all essential heavy metal guitar techniques and I show you them all in one hit.

(I was planning on releasing these videos as a separate product – but what the hell – go for it. )

Here – check out one of the videos yourself-

By the way – don’t miss my special technique for using the plectrum to make the chord sound heavier.

How much would you expect to pay for all that? Have you seen what the other online courses are charging? I’m not going to charge you anywhere near that. In fact, I want to blow them all out of the water with the tremendous value I bring with this.

So What’s the Deal?

Here’s the hard-sell ha ha: You too, can now teach yourself to be a heavy metal guitarist – right at home – in a fraction of the usual time. You can’t go wrong with my accelerated method which has already shown heaps of people how to play metal. Forget the idea that you need some sort of special “musical talent.” Just send me money – lots of it. Kidding.

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Grab Your Free “Essential Metal Chords and Progress Cheatsheets” With the Course

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We’ve done a lot of work on this product recently – made it better and better. And I’ve probably under-priced it at $17. Everyone tells me I’m just about giving the course away.

I’ve added heaps more content and a Blog and I’ll be giving you lots of bonuses (you should see what we’ve got in store for you – some killer deals on amps and guitars coming up for one thing). BUT: I can’t guarantee this course will stay at this price. Supply and demand and all that. So grab it now!

How Do I Get and Use This Course?

Upon purchase, you will be able to download the product immediately, even if you are up with the Vampires at 3 in the morning. You will also be given the opportunity to have the download links emailed to you, and the chance to revieve free life-time updates to the product.

The Ebook and worksheets are in pdf format, I will provide a free link to Adobe Reader which you will need to view them if you don’t already have it.

The videos are in WMV and MP4 format. Windows Media Player comes as standard with Windows, and I also provide a free download link to VLC Media Player if you’re not already able to view MP4s, so I’ve got you covered on all bases.

Depending on your Internet connection speed, you will be able to either download the entire product as one Zip file, or if you prefer, you can download each video and document individually. Simply use WinZip to unzip the files once they are on your computer.

By the way, I laughed recently when a customer of mine asked “why have I got those fake testimonials on my site”. I laughed because these are real testimonials from previous customers, yet when looked back at them myself I could see how other people might think they are made up. So, if customer reviews aren’t your thing, just skip past the next section.

LOOK at one of my customers below!

This is a YouTube clip one of my customers (Greg) uploaded. He came up with this riff himself, and listen how he really starts to get into it after the one minute mark. As I mention in my course, it’s not so much what you play, it’s HOW you play it. Give it some attitude!!!!

What about testimonials?

I have had great testimonials from previous customers, but I no longer print them here for a couple of reasons. Number one, it is probably hard to believe them as there is always that feeling I could have made them up right? Secondly and more importantly, the results you get will come down to one thing, how much effort you put into it and how much you practice. I can show you the path, but you have to put the work in too. However, if you are willing to do that and get over that initial hump, you will find playing the guitar VERY rewarding.

P.S. Don’t Give Up Your Day Job. I’m not gonna BS you here. My heavy metal guitar method won’t have you the giving up the day job anytime soon. It’ll have you playing some heavy stuff pretty quick but you’re gonna have to practice. Sorry about that chief. But at least you won’t be practising boring stuff from The Sound of Music. We’re gonna rip and slash some heavy metal guitar chords to begin with.

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So as you can see, you have absolutely no risk in ordering – all the risk is on me!

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wendynerdwrites · 7 years

Text

An Evening of Passion

Summary: The dragon queen, seeking to rekindle the passion between herself and the King in the North, decides to surprise him. It does not go as intended.

Daenerys Stormborn waits for Jon the White Wolf in his royal bedchamber, naked, hoping to rekindle whatever it was they found on the ship.

She’s been waiting for a while. And Daenerys Targaryen is not the sort of woman to be kept waiting. She reclines atop his bed, atop the silvery furs, staring up at the canopy of his four-poster, growing impatient.

It’s not that she expected this to be easy, given the row they’d had when he returned from Beyond the Wall. But she’s now confident that tonight will end the animosity. A good thing, too. It will make unifying the North and the South that much easier.

He had left dinner to take council with his cousin, Lady Stark, who served as his regent while he was gone. Of course Daenerys expected it to take a while, but it had been pitch-black outside for hours now, and they’d been meeting for over a week now. What else is there to go over?

At least his solar has some good wine stocked. Better vintage than she would have expected of his humble tastes, stored in a cabinet by the solar window. She’s poured them both cups. His sits on the bedside table.

If that wasn’t enough to convince her that Jon Snow is every bit as eager to rekindle their passion for each other as she was, there was the other thing she found in the cabinet. A velvet-lined box, in which sat a wreath of twinkling diamonds and moonstones set in white gold to look like snowflakes. A little on-the-nose, but if letting him think his fiery aunt could be tempered by snow, then she is more than happy to greet him in bed wearing only this impressive new gift.

Honestly, she’s surprised he’d indulge like this, with the war still not won. But she’s not one to turn down a fine gift.

He’s a good man, and, beneath that gruff, dour exterior, a romantic at heart. She may not love him yet, but she’s sure she can learn to.

At one point, she thinks she hears someone in the solar. But when she peers through the keyhole, she finds it’s some maids, giggling and assembling something. It seems Jon Snow has arranged a romantic night as well. She smirks and amuses herself with thoughts of him searching all of Winterfell for her, only to return to his chambers and find her here. She likes to keep men on their toes.

But it doesn’t take long for her to grow bored again. She’s almost ready to go searching for him herself. But no, she wants to surprise him, and not come off too eager. Daenerys is a queen, and a queen must have her dignity.

Finally, at long last, when she’s nearly fallen asleep herself, she’s jolted awake by the sound of the door opening. And…. yes! Unmistakable, that’s Jon’s voice. Eager, Daenerys arranges herself to her best advantage.

And she waits. Some more. And waits.

What in all the Seven Hells is he doing? At one point, she hears what sounds like…. Singing? Is he singing? And quick footsteps around the solar. Gods, she hopes he’s not like this normally. Apparently, he does odd things when alone. But with all this, she’s confused. Has he been planning a romantic evening or not? Was he waiting for her? Had he sent someone to her chambers?

He’d better bloody well do that thing with his tongue again. Twice, she thinks furiously as she slides beneath his furs. It’s too cold. She’ll slip out when she hears him approach. She almost thinks she hears a woman’s voice. One of the maids, perhaps?

Daenerys barely has time, as it turns out. Because she hears him cry out, “Seven Hells! It’s gone!” And she knows. But he hurries toward the bedchamber door so fast she barely has time to get out from under the furs, and no time to arrange herself in a particularly becoming position. Whatever, she’s naked, what does it matter?

As it turns out, a lot.

There was no way this situation was going to be anything less than utterly humiliating. But not having her legs spread and her arms awkwardly above her head, one hand desperately trying to keep her goblet of wine level, her chin tucked down against her neck, would have been slightly better?

No, she decides, as she takes in the wide eyes and gapes that greet her through the doorway, it wouldn’t have. A further, deliberate attempt at being seductive would have been more embarrassing in its own way.

There are no ways to improve upon this situation.

If the woman had been a maid, here to make sure everything was in place for a romantic evening her king planned for the dragon queen, this would be nothing. What does she care for a servant seeing her? Especially one who would be forewarned of the intended activities of the night?

But the woman is not a maid. The woman couldn’t be less of a maid if she were Daenerys herself.

Oh no, the woman standing behind Jon, mouth and eyes wide with shock, is the Lady of Winterfell herself, Sansa Stark. Wearing a gown of ivory and forget-me-not blue that is far, far more becoming than the dark, practical wools Daenerys has seen her wear thus far. Indeed, with its short sleeves, scooped neckline, and the blue satin roses, it looked like a summer gown. There was a blue rose tucked behind her ear as well.

That the Lady of Winterfell is a beauty is hardly a secret. There was never any question as to why Robert Baratheon wanted her to be the next queen. It was known that at the very first tourney at court that the Starks attended, the overblown Tourney of the Hand, that the champion, Loras Tyrell, honored her with his rose, though she was only a girl of three-and-ten at the time. People said Cersei Lannister especially hated the daughter of Winterfell because she feared that the girl’s looks rivaled her own. The fits of rage that the King in the North famously went in when approached about her hand still didn’t deter would-be suitors. And everyone knew that Petyr Baelish, so infamously calculating and ruthless that even Varys feared him, went mad with his desire for her.

She’s perhaps the only woman whose beauty Dany has heard about as much as her own. When the two women met, the Dragon Queen felt some relief, thinking that the Lady of Winterfell, though lovely, didn’t quite rival her.

Even in her drab dayclothes Sansa’s very striking, but at this moment, she’s downright stunning. Like a rosebud that has finally reached full bloom. Even with her mouth hanging open and her face going red. Daenerys sees it. She understands.

That’s just a fraction of all of this, though.

Certain aspects of Jon’s reaction to learning of his true origins suddenly make a devastating amount of sense.

Daenerys is naked in Jon’s bed, and he doesn’t want her here. He looks downright horrified at the sight of her naked. That’s never happened to her before.

More realization creeps in. Jon has certainly planned a romantic evening. But not for her. Not at all. None of tonight, or any of his nights, in fact, are for her. None of his days, perhaps, either.

But also…

Daenerys’s free hand flies to her neck. To the gems gleaming at her throat. The other hand, the one holding the wine, loses its grip and the cup tips. Ruby liquid spills atop the furs, some on her shoulder, a bit splashes in her hair. The cup clatters to the floor.

Not her cup. Not her wine. Not her necklace. Not her man.

The lady turns away, covering her face modestly. Jon’s eyes drop to the wood beneath his feet. He walks backward wordlessly and shuts the door.

Mortified, Daenerys scrambles off the bed, near tears. She throws on her robe.

How, how was this possible? It was weeks since she and Jon last coupled, yes, and sure, they’d had a vicious row. But… She is the Mother of Dragons! She is not so easily or quickly forgotten and replaced! She haunts the dreams of every man she meets! She always has! Men laid armies, sacked cities, showered her in gold for her favor. And this… this dour-faced bastard from a frozen hellhole, who came to her offering nothing, hand open, he… He goes from bedding her to romancing some frigid ginger?!

Men committed massacres to try to enjoy the very thing she’s freely offered this man. Only for her to somehow be humiliated. She’s the unwanted one. She can’t believe it.

What does Sansa Stark have, anyway? Beauty, yes, but so does Dany. And the woman is nearly as dull and dour as Jon, save for the fact that she seems a bit smug. And so bloody formal and practiced, not a hint of passion in her. Intelligent, sure, but in that uninspired, utilitarian way that made her indistinguishable from the castle’s maester. She clearly thinks well of herself, that one, but she’s withdrawn with all but her closest family. Not to mention, for all her fussing over grain and textiles and roads, Dany is certain she’d go to pieces in the face of true danger. A know-it-all, a martyr with a stick up her arse, Sansa Stark. A prig.

Her sister, at least, had character and true ferocity. Sansa was just cold. Like a limp fish.

What is this woman to the Mother of Dragons?

Daenerys realizes what it was she heard earlier. Jon wasn’t just singing, he was singing for Lady Stark. And those footsteps… They were dancing. Before tonight, Daenerys didn’t think the man capable of singing or dancing, let alone both simultaneously.

But he is when Sansa Stark’s in the room, apparently. Daenerys has never been asked to dance by anyone, ever. Her encounters with Jon in particular had always been aggressive, wordless trysts. She’d taken that for unbridled passion. But perhaps not.

One of the things that attracted her to Jon Snow in the first place was that he didn’t fall to his feet and worship her like so many others. She thought him too much of a man to fall down and worship anyone.

Apparently, that’s not the case. It was just that he preferred another goddess the whole time.

How? How can this be?

She tightens the robe about herself, outraged, and storms out. When she enters the solar, that stupid woman actually curtseys. The King in the North has his arm about her waist.

Daenerys ignores them and holds her head high. She’s at the door when he speaks.

“Your Grace!”

“What?!” She spits, barely turning to face him.

He swallows nervously. “The… the jewels?”

Ready to burst into flame, Daenerys goes to unclasp it quickly, then flings it onto the floor. She slams the door as hard as she can behind her.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #dany fans don't read #unbeta'd

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lupin-bun · 7 years

Text

A Wing and a Prayer - Chapter 3 (A Yondu fic)

Yondu/El (Yondu/OC)

Warnings: Nudity, Implied rape mention

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

***

The woman was still lying on the cold floor of the cell, folded inside Yondu's coat. Io was getting bored and she could tell. He'd started swinging the gun absent-mindedly as he gazed around him, trying to occupy his thoughts with whatever he could see. Fool. He'd end up shooting himself if he wasn't careful.

“El.” Said the woman after some time of watching his distracted gun twirling. Io stopped and looked at her.

“I'm sorry?”

“El. That's my name. You asked me my name. So where am I?” El asked.

Io smiled benignly and opened his mouth, but before he had the chance to answer, Yondu and Kraglin walked up to the door of the cell.

“A'right, Io. Yer relieved.” Yondu announced.

Io scrambled to his feet, somewhat wonkily as his legs had gone to sleep. He'd been sitting there for a good few hours. Kraglin unlocked the cell door and Io walked-come-hobbled out. Yondu stood in the doorway for a moment, looking down at El, who simply scowled tiredly back at him.

“Comfy?” Yondu asked, tilting his head, patronisingly.

El snorted and used all her strength to lift her head a fraction to sneer at him.

“Practically a palace! Oh you're just too kind, good sir!” She gushed in mock gratitude. “Drop dead.” She spat in addition and let her head drop back to the floor.

Yondu smirked. He kinda liked this woman's pluck. He stood to one side, leaving the way free.

“C'mon.” He said, shortly.

El simply stared at him with a confused frown on her face.

“Captain, if I may,” Io said, stepping forwards, “She's too weak to even stand.”

“That ain't right, boy.” Yondu countered. “She could stand before. Hell, she was runnin' at me. She can stand just fine. Ain't that right?” He aimed the last question at El.

El said nothing to this. She was still baffled that she was being released (at least from the cell.)

“Why? Where are you taking me this time?” She asked, suspiciously, her eyes narrowing.

“Takin' ya? I ain't takin' ya anywhere. Ya can go wherever you want. Even got ya a nice bed. Food. How's that sound?” Yondu asked her.

El couldn't believe what she was hearing. No. This was too good. There had to be a catch somewhere. They had to want something from her. Everyone always did.

“What's in it for you?” She asked, not trusting Yondu an inch.

“Glad ya asked,” Yondu started.

El snorted and rolled her eyes. Here we go. She knew it was too good to be true.

“I want ya on my crew.” Yondu said. “Ya got tricks we can use, girl. Ain't a damn one of us can git inteh the places you can wi' that li'l shape-changin' trick o' yers. Ya up fer stealin' some stuff?”

Well, not anything like as bad as El was expecting.

“So.” El said, slowly, working it all out in her head. “What, you'll give me food and a place to sleep and free reign of... whatever this ship is, and all you want me to do for it is steal stuff from people. That's it? That's all you want of me?”

“Can ya do it?” Yondu asked, bluntly.

“Well... yeah, I can do it. But why-..”

“Enough o' the “why”, girl. Jus' come on!” Yondu snapped.

“Captain!” Io butted in again.

But El felt a surge through her body like an electrical current. Shakily, she heaved herself off the ground and got to her feet. She stood before them all with Yondu's coat draped around her shoulders. Io blinked at her.

“Well,” he said, quietly, more to himself than anyone else, “that was a remarkable recovery.”

Kraglin had been staring silently at El through this whole exchange. His gaze remained unbroken as El walked carefully out of the cell door. As she walked past him, she looked straight into his eyes. It was as though she'd looked into his heart. And she knew. She knew he'd figured out what she was.

***

Yondu walked El through the ship, not speaking and El, in turn, stayed silent. The ship was huge with mental gantries criss-crossing through huge hangers, long, wide corridors, and vents and pipes that seemed to go on forever. Everything about this ship looked busy. There wasn't an inch of it that didn't seem to be cluttered with junk of some description. Even the cabling in the ceiling was in disarray.

Yondu showed her to, what could only be described as a closet with a bed in it. The room was tiny. But, considering she was used to a cell and a mattress, El certainly wasn't going to turn her nose up at it.

“This is yers.” Yondu informed her, somewhat needlessly. “Had to gut a broom closet, but figured yeh'd want it more'n beddin' down wi' the crew.”

El still had no idea how to react to this. She'd been a captive for so long, suddenly being free felt a little... precarious.

“Um.. thanks.” She said, after a moment.

Yondu shrugged and cleared his throat.

“I'm gonna need my coat back, though.” He said.

El looked down at it a second before nodding and pulling it from her shoulders. When she held it out, though, she noticed her dark bloodstains on the inside and winced as Yondu took it and had a look, but he said nothing. He couldn't help but cast an appreciative eye over El. She was soft without being heavy, curves in all the right places, her breasts were full with dark blue nipples and her limbs were long and graceful.

Kraglin stepped forwards, avoiding El's gaze, and held out a red flight suit like those worn by the rest of the crew.

“That's for you. Might not fit right but it's the best we got.” He said. El took it without a word.

“Now listen up.” Yondu said, seriously, taking a step towards her. “Yer here under my say so. You cross me, you betray us, you try anythin' stupid, we'll kill you. Ya understand that?”

“Yes... Captain.” El said, nodding. It was odd. She'd never had a Captain before. Only keepers.

There was an awkward pause as El, Yondu and Kraglin all stood around the doorway to El's new quarters (if one could call it that). Yondu wanted to say something else but he didn't know what, El wanted to thank them but she didn't know how and Kraglin was suddenly very interested in a section of wall. It was Kraglin who spoke first.

“We'll uh... we'll leave ya to change an'... whatever.” He said.

El simply nodded again. She kept her eyes on Kraglin as they walked away, leaving the door open.

“Whatcha think, Cap? Think it's a good idea to have a woman around?” Kraglin was saying that evening (ship time) as he sat in the Captain's quarters in one of his armchairs. Yondu was pacing around with a drink in his hand as he often did of an evening.

“Ya worried she's gonna redecorate?” Yondu snorted, taking a swig.

Kraglin sniggered but composed himself again fairly quickly.

“It's not that. I mean the rest of the crew. They ain't had a woman on board before is all. They might get a little... enthusiastic.” Kraglin said, raising his eyebrows to emphasise his meaning.

Catching on, Yondu simply laughed.

“I don' think we gotta worry 'bout that. Reckon she can look after herself.” He said as he lowered himself into another armchair.

In truth, that had crossed his mind too. She was ballsy, it was true, but his crew were all hot-blooded men and a lone woman was bound to stir things up. Part of Yondu regretted leaving her in an isolated part of the ship but he took another swig of his drink and tried to put it out of his mind.

The stars outside were completely stationary. It was as though the ship wasn't moving at all. Yet, it was. It was moving fairly fast too, already heading for Knowhere and the Collector.

The Captain's quarters were about the cosiest place on the ship. It was full of stolen armchairs and stolen knick-knacks and stolen pretty-much-everything-else that Yondu had picked up from various places, that softened the overall heavy, metallic look that was the general theme of the whole ship. Light blue screens displaying readouts and flight routes blinked from every angle and two twin metal staircases at the end led up to the Captain's sleeping area with a huge bed that had a fur from some giant beast laid across it. All very lavish. Nothing like the bunk room where the rest of the crew slept.

There was a knock at the door that pulled Yondu and Kraglin out of their musings.

“What!?” Yondu bellowed, not bothering to get up. The door opened slowly to reveal Io. “Whatcha want, boy?”

“Captain,” Io began, with a salute, “I went to give Miss El food as you instructed, but, when I got there, she was gone.”

Yondu shrugged, shifting himself down further in his armchair.

“I said she could go wherever.” He said, offhandedly. “Prob'ly jus' explorin' is all.”

“But, Captain,” Io started again.

“What, boy!?” Yondu snapped, starting to get annoyed.

“She left her flight suit behind.”

Yondu thought about this. That meant that she had either changed shape, or she was wandering the ship naked. Yondu scratched his chin, Kraglin's words from earlier scratching at his brain as he attempted to keep his steely expression. She really might be at risk from the rest of the crew if she kept doing that. Dammit, she wasn't going to make this easy on him. There was only one of El and dozens of crew members. And the crew were like dogs. They worked in packs. Shape-shifted or not, if they wanted her...

Yondu gave his head a little shake. What did he care? She was a stranger. A stray. He'd kept her because she was useful (and something nice for him to look at, maybe). Nothing more. He shrugged again with an attempted indifference.

“Don't matter.” He said. “Maybe it jus' don't fit.” He drained his glass and set it down on the little central table (about the only piece of furniture in here that wasn't stolen). “Gonna check the flight deck.” He announced, abruptly, and got up.

“Me too, Cap'n?” Kraglin asked, starting to stand up, but Yondu shook his head.

“Nah. Ain't gonna be long.”

Yondu dismissed Io with a wave of his hand as he left and made his way up to the flight deck... the long way round.

#yondu #yondu udonta #yondu/el #yondu/oc #fanfic #fanfiction #Guardians of the Galaxy #guardians of the galaxy vol. 2

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aesarctic · 7 years

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The Raven Boys, by Maggie Stiefvater

I reread The Raven Boys, the first book in The Raven Cycle series, by Maggie Stiefvater.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Read on Goodreads

THE SUPER NON-SPOILERY REVIEW: This is one of my all-time favourite series. This start to the series is fantastic. I highly recommend reading it. Please note that the synopsis only gives a slight fraction of what actually goes on in the book. There's so much more, and it's so, very worth it. THE NON-SPOILERY REVIEW: The characters? Awesome. The plot? Amazing. The writing style? Incredible. Everything about the book? Fantastic. Everything I said up there? 100% true. I love this book. The writing style is so different, but it works. The characters feel like actual people rather than paper dolls. THE SPOILER REVIEW:

Disclaimer: This entire review was written after my first re-read of the book. I have read the rest of the series. I will include a section at the bottom that goes over things that may spoil the other three books.

We open with a prologue, and its first sentence: "Blue Sargent had forgotten how many times she'd been told that she would kill her true love." I don't like that line. I've come to terms with it because I've read the rest of the series, and there's so much more than that plot line, but I needed to say that. The church watch is one of my favourite scenes. It's one of the moments of the book that is so mysterious. There are ghost-phantoms walking in a line like grade-schoolers, each saying their name because Blue and Neeve need to write it down on a notebook for future psychic meetings. Because their family is a bunch of real psychics. This is the beginning that I love. We meet the Original Gang in a single-file line, organized with Maggie numbering them for us. I like it. Appreciation for: "'What's Ashley?'" "We're supposed to look nice for Ashley so it's a good thing I have a grease stain on my clothing now." --Richard Campbell Gansey III Gansey isn't my favourite character, but he's so human, I can't say I dislike him. Normal book characters make it easy, but Gansey feels like a real person, and I appreciate that too much. Especially when he says lines like, "'Ask me if I found something,'" and has self-doubt moments, like where he asks Adam, "'Why? Was I so awful?'" "Am I invited?" Adam. Another character I don't love, but I definitely don't hate. Lines like this make me feel for him. With every book, there are chapters you like and chapters you don't, but with this book, no matter how subtle, every chapter is used, and I appreciate that greatly. "'Ashley, this is Gansey. Dick Gansey.'" Bond. James Bond. Gansey has so much more courage than I do--I guess that's why Maggie put him in Gryffindor. When people ask about his hobbies and interests, he tells them. I do what I can to avoid talking about what I like, knowing it'll probably be boring for the other person. Adam and Gansey's relationship is weird for me to read about. Sometimes it feels completely real, and other times it feels really plastic. Adam talks about things that Gansey left out in his mini-rant--"He left out the part how it haunted him...the midnight calls to Adam when he couldn't sleep for obsessing about his search."--and that feels so real. Noah is my favourite character. Hands down. I love how straight-forward about being dead he is, and rereading the book, it's so obvious. He mentions it casually all the time, he references it, he does things that indicate he's dead. It's one of those things you don't expect, so you don't predict it, but it's really just right there. I love how he cares for his family and friends. He made a good relationship with Ronan and Blue. He asked Blue to talk to his family for him. I hate Whelk. Also, his chapters were sort of boring to read from. I hate him for other reasons, but that was something, too. Gansey considers Noah a close friend, but I find it strange how no one knows about Noah. I talk about all of my friends all the time. Gansey talks about Adam and Ronan, but never Noah? That seems to be stretching it. Everyone sees Gansey's friend group as three people total, and I have a hard time believing none of them ever mentioned Noah in a story. It wasn't as if he never did anything. Noah was there when Ronan was building the ramp to propel his car to the moon. He was using his fingers to visualize a measurement. He at least somewhat participates in things. I didn't catch this my first time around, but Blue was so against having Raven Boy friends. I almost laughed every time she mentioned how much she hated them. "'My socially inhibited friend Adam thinks you're cute, but he's unwilling to make a move. Over there. Not the smudgy one. Not the sulky one.'" ..."One was smudge, just as he said, with a rumpled faded look about his person, like his body had been laundered too many times." So, first, foreshadowing for Noah being dead. Sometimes I forget he did have some colour to him, as everyone thinks he's alive. I always imagine him as off-white and ghost-like. There must have been more. Second, I never saw Ronan as sulky. I had to reread that a few times. Poor Gansey, trying his best to be understanding and polite and failing miserably in almost every conversation that I can remember. I love the idea of Noah babysitting Ronan. No wonder Ronan and Noah have such a good relationship (another fact I love)--they're together so often because of Noah's unpaid babysitting rig (courtesy of Gansey). Ronan and Gansey's relationship is something I'll never quite get clear. They're friends. They both respect each other, I think. They both look out for each other. Maybe? I mean, on one hand, it's a definite yes, and on the other, sometimes Ronan's anger makes it confusing. I wish we could get a full on book on how all four boys (because Noah counts) became friends with each other. I'll include that the scene where Ronan is building that ramp to the moon with Noah's help is one of my favourite friendship scenes. Not to mention Ronan grieving for Noah when he find out he's dead. This has turned into a Ronan and Noah bullet point, but whatever. I'd also like a copy of Gansey's journal. It sounds like what my sketchbook looks like, but more. I'm not a romance person whatsoever, so shout-out to Blue's curse so she can't kiss anyone. You're doing great. I know it seems like this review has no order to it, I'm sure none of my reviews have any order, but I do actually go through my book as I write this points. I just hit the point where Malory calls, and I'm here to say that I dislike Malory. I have no respect for him. He's a side-ish character that I'm sure is beneficial to the story, but gods, I wish I could just not hear about him. He doesn't appeal to me. "Whenever Gansey talked to British people about America, they always seemed to think he meant Texas." This seems accurate, to my understanding. I'm American, so I wouldn't completely know, but my dad did not grow up in the States, so I have a small understanding. I appreciate this line. Shout-out to my notes. The book says, "It rang twice before Ronan's voicemail said merely, 'Ronan Lynch.'" The way I responded was, "I can't believe Ronan put that much care into his voicemail." "Whelk was not sleeping." Good. Calla. When I first read this series, I did not have the appreciation I should have for her. I love Calla, now. All of the comments Blue makes, things like, "Calla would have put her middle finger up at them" or whatever that line was. The way Calla is just kind of like, "Oh, hey, a secret killed you father, by the way. Is that enough proof for you?" Not to mention, "Blue, don't forget we're going through Neeve's stuff Friday night. Don't forget." Other lines include, "I got his license plate number." "'No,' Calla corrected. 'Kick him in the nuts. Then run the other way.'" "She hissed, 'What are you?'" [Ronan storms out.] "'He asked for a specific. I gave him a specific. I'm sorry it wasn't puppies.'" "'Maura,' Calla said, "that was very rude.' Then she added, 'I liked it.'" "'Are you putting yourself out with the trash?'" So many nicknames for the four boys: 1) The smudgy one 2) The sulky one 3) The elegant one 4) President Cell phone 5) Soldier Boy 6) The mean one 7) The white trash one 8) Captain Frigid 9) Trailer Park Boy 10) Scholarship friend 11) The Irish one Bonus: calling Chainsaw a b*st*rd in the beginning and a pterodactyl later on. The scene where the boys make their way over to Blue's for the reading is another favourite in the book. They find out everyone's met, and everyone's dumbfounded. Blue, who isn't speaking, asks if she should leave because she's being loud (to which we know what that means) and the boys are like "What the heck are you talking about?" I'd also like to point out that when Blue mentions the difference between Gansey's and Adam's politeness, I think that's important. I love how it's the intention of the card picking. Gansey doesn't have to pick if he intends Blue to pick it. I love what that leads to, too. Blue picks her card, Gansey picks her card, Maura takes that card away, Gansey picks death. Nice. Then Gansey says, "'Actually, I don't care about that.'" Nice. "Ah, yeah, death? I know of him. He's pretty whatever." Maura: "What is this 'ley line?' I don't think I've heard of it." (Meanwhile she drew it while in the shower and visits the corpse road once a year.) *Persephone leaves the room via pie crust worries* Calla: "I'm not good with specifics" (Meanwhile, she unravels more than half of Neeve's secrets later in the book and unraveled Ronan's earlier) Shout-out to Gansey saying they're all adults there. When Noah suffers, I suffer: "Noah stood in the doorway to his room, his face pathetic and long-suffering. 'Make [the noise] stop,' he said." Shout-out: "'What the fresh hell is this?' Gansey asked pleasantly." Another all-time favourite scene: Ronan saving Gansey from the wasp. I'm not exactly sure what to say about it, but I love it. It shows friendship, I guess. Or trustworthiness? Respect for Gansey not dying? The fact that Ronan has some heart left? One of the main lines of this book is "it's starting," and it's so cliché, but it fits. Also, when Noah says, "'Don't throw it away,'" what is the "it?" I can't believe Aglionby's honour code goes as far as not having locks for the lockers. Are the students allowed to get their own locks if they want? Is that against the rules? I guess so. Shout-out to the fact that Calla's work involves Aglionby. I'd love to know more about that. I don't remember if we ever find out more about that or not. I wish I could remember, and if we don't, I wish we did. When Adam sends flowers to Blue, all that I could think of was that flowers are temporary. Flowers die. I like how Maggie goes back to Adam's accent every now and then. She even has Blue explain that bit about the word "pretty." I'm very into dialects, accents, and language, and I found that great. "'Safe as life.'" Another main line. Another great line. Helen making fun of Gansey's obsession with Henrietta gives me life. I think a lot of things that deals with the church confuse me. Gansey knows where it is because he was able to record Blue's voice while he was there. However, he constantly needs directions to get there. Also he knows the name of it and Blue doesn't. "'Ronan said, 'I'm always straight.' "Adam replied, 'Oh man, that's the biggest lie you've ever told.'" When I first read this book, I was wary. One of my friends recommended it to me. I opened it, and the writing style was different. The characters were different (human). The humour was different (and familiar). Spoiler alert: the writing style, characters, and humour are three reasons that I love this series more than many, many other series and books. I read this line, and I believe my thought process was something along the lines of, "Yes. That's it. I like this series." It's a repeated joke I hear millions of times a day, and it was so familiar and comfortable, it was nice to read it from book characters. Shout-out to the description "broccoli trees." Cabeswater is more of a character than a setting. I have an appreciation for its mysteriousness, but it's not my favourite. I've grown to like it more since I read the series for the first time, though. I love that Noah has this thing where he pets Blue's hair. I do that, too, to my friends. The moment Blue and Gansey find Noah's body, I will never forgive them. They call the police, and he's moved off the ley line. Bye, Noah. Blame your friends. I'm glad they fixed it, though, via grave robbing his bones and moving them to a creepy rundown church. Another favourite scene (the first book is full of them, I know): Gansey's confrontation with Noah about finding his body. And figuring out his last name. And that part about him being dead. Noah has this moment: he's stealing energy from Blue, and the moment he materializes, he's apologizing. He hesitates before bumping knuckles with Adam, and he's explaining that he was more when he was alive. He has a conversation with Ronan, Adam, and Blue about being dead, and you can still tell he feels bad and is confused. He doesn't remember dying--or when he stopped being alive, I should say. He then talks about Whelk, and I already don't like him (Whelk) without that part of the conversation. I have too many feels sometimes. You'd think Maura would be good at keeping her word that her and Neeve would be home at midnight. Gansey makes a point that he wants to fix Noah, and all I have are exclamation points. He wants to fix Noah. It's a Quest--capital Q. He wants that. It's a main point of his. So much is packed into the last fifty pages, and yet it doesn't feel rushed at all. The fight between Gansey and Adam. I don't know how to feel. I think Adam is supposed to be the "correct" side of the argument, but this issue is something I'm not familiar with. Adam has the right to be angry, of course. Maybe it's right to take it out on Gansey, or maybe it isn't. I'm not sure. Gansey's always trying to help, and from what I remember, he always tells the truth, but he did pay off Adam's insurance? I can see why Adam's upset, I guess. One thing, though, and this annoys me, is that Adam makes a point of Gansey's vocabulary. The entire book, Adam is telling Gansey to fix his words: use simpler words. This makes sense, as everyone wants to know what Gansey is saying. However, Gansey was raised with an excellent vocabulary. It's not a different language--it's all English--but it's almost a different branch of English. Gansey was raised on X branch while everyone else was raised on Y branch. Of course Gansey's X-branch words are going to be different. Of course he's going to need correcting. Of course this is going to take time to correct. They've only known each other for a year, and it will take longer than a year. What I'm getting at is while it's okay for Adam to ask for clarification, I don't think he should use it as a target point during the argument. I'm sure Adam is very annoyed at Gansey's vocabulary, and I understand why, but I still don't think it's right. And this leads me to how Gansey responds to Adam lashing out at it: "'This is the way I talk. I'm sorry your father never taught you the meaning of repugnant. He was too busy smashing your head against the wall of your trailer while you apologized for being alive.'" This was too far. I knew it, Adam knew it, Gansey knew it. It was addressed as too far. Everyone knew it wasn't okay. I don't think I need to discuss why, but I just wanted to say that while I can rant for two paragraphs on one point of Adam's, I'm not excusing these lines that Gansey says. All of the characters have flaws. Every single one. Everyone is trying to fix themselves and figure out themselves and become better people. That's human. That's excellent writing. Towards the end of the book, we see a lot of that. Appreciation for Blue calling out for Noah when she gets to Monmouth, and then Noah commenting on Blue's hair. It's not that Adam has bad intuition or anything--he knew he needed to do something about the ley line. It's just that he thought he had to wake it up. It was good he left to wake it up, otherwise things would have ended badly with Neeve and Whelk, but there must have been something else Adam could do. And then he became Cabeswater's eyes and ears, and that was something else. Appreciation for Noah's concern for Adam. I wish I had kept track of everyone who said things are changing. Maura, Ronan, Gansey? Blue? I think there were others, too. Adam, maybe? Whelk missing Noah is very strange. I think he misses the idea of Noah. Not the actual Noah. I love when they go to Noah's funeral and everything after. The interaction of Blue with his family (I have this theory that "I'm sorry I drank your birthday schnapps" is a code for something in the Czerny family), the later grave robbing, putting Noah's bones in the ground at the church, everything Noah says and is when he reappears. Maybe I really like Noah. Maybe he's my favourite character. SPOILERS FOR THE NEXT THREE BOOKS: Disclaimer: All page numbers for The Raven Boys (TRB) is for the paperback copy. -"'Gansey,' he said. ...'That's all there is.'" (page 15; TRB) "'Gansey,' he said. 'That's all there is.'" (page 417; TRK - hardback) -The entire interaction when Gansey goes in for his reading. We know what the third choice may be with Adam. We know what Calla means about Ronan's father. We know what death and Gansey mean. -When Adam gave Blue the flowers (page 81), my first thought was that flowers are temporary. They die. Almost like Blue and Adam's romantic relationship. Foreshadowing? Looking too deep into it? Who knows -"Ronan, I want you to tell me again what you'd found out about dreamtime and song lines." (page 233) -There are many tiny hints to Ronan creating Cabeswater -Adam and Ronan have many thoughts about each other. First thoughts. Their relationship is foreshadowed this way. -Blue makes a mental note to look out for Gansey being one for levity. I don't know if she does look out for that in the future, but I'd like to know if she does. (page 358) I've heard that you should read The Raven King before rereading this book. I did not have time for that, but next time! I'll see if there's any more foreshadowing. In the meantime, if someone else would like to tell me any foreshadowing they found in this book, I'd love to hear it! EDIT: I need to add more. The characters are so thought out, real, and human. Maybe I mentioned this, but I have an incredibly hard time hating people. I don't have an incredibly hard time hating book characters, movie characters, or TV show characters. They're too flat. They're like the emotions from Inside Out. But these characters are so different. I can't hate any of them. I feel bad disliking some more than others. Let's take Adam, for example. Out of the four boys, he's my least favorite. Except he's not. It's so blurry and unclear. How do I feel about Adam? Sometimes I like him and sometimes I don't. Sometimes I find him relateable and sometimes I don't. And every character is like that! They're all so human! It's incredible! I love it! And the setting is so well done. Setting the tones for each place: Cabeswater, 300 Fox Way, the diner Blue works at, Aglionby. All of it. I mean, especially Cabeswater, I really like Cabeswater. The plot gets a little iffy for me, but it still works so well. Everything's a huge 3D puzzle. It has ups and downs and isn't flat, but it fits together. In real life, everything affects something. In this book, everything affects something.

#The Raven Boys #The Raven Cycle #TRB #TRC #book review #review #reread #This is really long #sorry

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slytherin-writing-blog · 7 years

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When Your Friend Ships Drarry

"Draco?" The heaving breaths were echoing from what was looking to be the Restricted Section of the library. She hurried towards the sound warily, wondering how bad Draco's panic attack was this time. Draco had been having these since the end of the War. Initially he had unsurprisingly, tried to deal with them alone. However one night she had come across him huddled in a corner of the Eighth Year Common Room, clutching a pillow, desperately trying to breathe. She had panicked slightly then, trying to console him with empty words. He had not responded until he suddenly, collapsed into her arms, a trembling gasping mess. She had then tentatively wrapped her arms around him and held him, until he had calmed down. There had been an unspoken agreement between them that she would not divulge this particular event to anyone. She knew that Draco's panic attacks had reduced since then, as he himself had volunteered to tell her. They had grown somewhat close after that incident and ate breakfast together at the Great Hall, often. However she knew that his attacks were not gone completely and when she rounded the corner, she knew what she had to do to help him. She wrapped her arms around Draco's shoulders and held him tight. She felt him stiffen and try to move away, but she held on, placing her chin on his shoulder and raising one hand to run through his hair gently. She felt him slowly begin to give in and smiled at the tension slowly ebbing away from his taut frame. She felt his arms encircle her waist and was surprised at how warm his embrace felt. He drew her closer and as she stood there, she felt him shudder and tears soaked into her shoulder. She didn't let on however, and continued to hold him until he calmed down. Gradually, his ragged breathing slowed and the shaking subsided, leaving a rather limp Draco in her arms. She carefully lifted her head and pulled back a little to peer into swollen grey eyes. They stared blearily back at her with a hint of defiance shining through the grief, as though challenging her to bring up all the crying he had just done. She gave him a half-smile and put a hand on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat coming back to normal and was about to let go of him altogether when she felt herself being pulled forward. She let out an involuntary gasp as she felt soft lips press against hers. She felt her stance become rigid and opened her eyes a fraction to see Draco, eyes scrunched close comically, eyebrows drawn together in concentration, determinedly trying to kiss the life out of her. She almost laughed out loud there and then but caught herself, before slowly pushing Draco away. "Draco," He looked at her with a mixture of shock and fear at what he had done. "Oh Merlin... I'm sorry... I..." She smiled calmly up at him before shushing him with a wave of her hand. "Draco. It's okay. What you want right now is physical closeness to someone who cares about you. You want to be held and caressed, but you're confusing me with whom you really want," Draco's look of shock changed to one of bafflement as he processed what she had said. She took his silence as a sign of encouragement and kept going. "Trust me, you don't want to kiss me, just as much as I don't want to kiss you. You simply want that physical closeness. I can hold you and I'm always there to talk, but that particular feeling you were searching for when you decided to snog me, that you're going to be hard pressed to find with me." Draco gaped at her as she finished her little speech. She smirked and continued, this time with a hint of slyness in her voice. "Potter on the other hand... Well let's just say a snog from him won't be as dreadfully boring as the one you just subjected me to," "Hey!" She threw her head back and laughed at the indignant expression on Draco's face. She slapped him lightly on the arm to show she was joking and noted the pink flush colouring his cheeks and neck. Clearly even the thought of snogging Potter was too much for him to handle. "Potter... He doesn't... He'd never..." Draco trailed off, casting his eyes downwards and scuffing one shoe against the other. It was a painfully adorable show of insecurity and she resisted the urge to reach out and pet and coo over him. Instead she stuck to giving him a knowing grin before saying "Not everything is as it seems, Draco. Not Potter and certainly not you," On seeing the questioning look in his eyes she elaborated, "Your 'oh I am an unfeeling monster with a debt to pay' act is getting really old, you know," "I do have a debt to pay! I owe Potter my life. Not just once but on multiple occasions," "But Potter owes you his life too, along with his friends' lives as well," She held up a firm finger when she saw Draco open his mouth to argue, prompting him to shut up and let her finish. "Also, Potter thanked you verbally for refusing to identify him at the Manor, when he returned your wand to you. If you feel so burdened by your debts, why don't you swallow your pride and do the same?" "Malfoys always repay debts properly," he sniffed. "A simple 'thank you' will not suffice." She rolled her eyes at the sloppy cover story. "So sticking to Potter like a leech in the rains is obviously going to invoke feelings of understanding from him, hmm?" Draco's face was now flaming and he unwittingly ran a hand through his silvery blonde hair, leaving it sticking out at odd angles, not much unlike the raven-coloured mop of the boy he pined over all the time. "No! Shut up!" Draco sputtered. "When one has to repay something, proximity is.... favourable," he finished lamely. "Yeah right. Tell me, how many creases are there on Potter's forehead when he frowns?" "STOP!" Draco looked a bit livid so she decided to end her little teasing session there before he hexed her. (Not that he'd dare, she was a mean dueller and he knew it) "Okay, okay," she placated. "But you can't deny that he has actually reciprocated your flirting. Otherwise you would probably have given up by now," "How do you even know that?" Draco was looking at her incredulously, as though she had used Occlumency to sift through his mind. "Give a Slytherin some credit, darling," she drawled, enjoying being able to read him like a book. She marvelled at how easy he was to read, when he wasn't hidden behind that carefully constructed shield of indifference. "So you know..." Seeing the look of resigned fear in his eyes, she quickly cupped his cheek with her hand and stared into those grey eyes. "Yes. But I won't tell anyone else, you have my word," she reassured him earnestly and felt relieved to see him relax at that. "I only wish that you would allow yourself to consider the possibility that these feelings you have for him are not one-sided." Draco pursed his lips, looking pensive. "Well... We have talked to each other quite a bit after the trial...." "And was it all animosity?" "No... Just some random stuff.." "There!" "And he does start conversations with me during Potions sometimes. And it's more than 'pass the lacewing' and 'did you add the bezoar'. We talk about Quidditch and umm..." She raised an eyebrow as his recounting suddenly turned to bashful mumbling. She waited for him to finish, wondering what could be so scandalous it made Draco red to the roots of his hair. "Well... We discuss Muggle stuff," he said, looking anywhere but at her face. "Muggle stuff." She repeated blankly. "Yeah. I lived my life hating Muggles but he... respects them, even if the ones that he lived with as a kid where complete shitbags. I wanted to know why he didn't just hate them for what they had put him through and then next thing you know, he's teaching me what a telephone is!" He continued to proudly explain how a telephone worked on eclectricity and cordless ones used batteries. Obviously he had forgotten her own half-blood heritage in the excitement of sharing the wealth of knowledge he had received from Potter. Seeing Draco talking so passionately made her want tease him again but she didn't want to give him cause to doubt her, so she schooled her expressions and smiled softly at him. "So you guys have some good banter, huh?" "Yeah, I suppose..." "So what's stopping you?" She watched as Draco mulled over everything they'd discussed and did a small internal victory dance when a familiar determined glare crept into his eyes. "Nothing. Nothing is stopping me." He stood up a little straighter and squared his shoulders, as if preparing to have it out with an invisible foe. "That's the spirit," "I'm going to snog Potter." There was no quaver in his voice, none of the doubt she had been hearing five minutes ago had resurfaced in his declaration and she was so proud of him that she almost spilt the beans on the secret she was harbouring. The secret she had pledged to keep to herself, when a certain black-haired, spectacled Saviour of the Wizarding World had begged her to do so. The secret that she herself had uncovered by simply observing the Gryffindor from afar. The secret that confirmed that when Draco finally did snog Potter, there was no chance in hell that he would push Draco away. "Really," she thought, allowing herself a triumphant grin as she watched Draco's retreating form, no doubt off to search for The Chosen One. "Being a Slytherin is so much fun." (A/N: I didn't name the female protagonist in this story because I felt that she pretty much is just the fanfictional equivalent of all of us haha :p I'm of course not implying that all Drarry shippers are female Slytherins, I chose this character simply because I myself am a female Slytherin. We are her in spirit ^_^)

#drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #harry x draco #one-shot #cute

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deathsdesiign · 7 years

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I’m posting this, but i’m going to delete it after a day cause it’s not edited for tumblr. but it’s also mort’s original about or whatever for the forum he’s from. and i figure people might want to see it. under a read more cause it’s long af

The room is bright and sparsely decorated; almost clinical if it wasn't for the collage of somewhat crude pictures and posters on the far wall. Images that are quite clearly of corpses in various stages of the embalming process. Like before and after shots of a particularly gruesome accident, except that a young face is grinning at the camera in each of them. Body bent over the table, offering a thumbs up or thumbs down, in a scale you're not sure you ever want to know. You want to look away, your eyes are burning with the effort, but it's like watching a train wreak. You can't look away no matter how hard you try, and each set of pictures seems to be more gruesome and gore filled then the last.

"You know people used to pay to have their corpses photographed? Wicked, huh?"

The voice startles you, and your heart stops for a fraction of a second. Ironic considering your current location. If there was ever a better place to drop dead, surely the prep room of a funeral parlor would be it. But considering you were alone with three corpses just seconds ago your little moment of fear doesn't seem too uncalled for.

With a spin you're facing the young man. He looks out of place in there; jeans and a black t-shirt, with beat-up converse on his feet. Like he'd snuck in to get a glimpse at the dead, and you should be calling security.

Except of course you know better.

"Yep, they used to drop their loved ones off. Get them all nice an' tidy. Then people like me would prop them up real nice using wires, or you know stands or whatever. Get them looking like everything's swell." He's pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, black ones, if you must know. "Photography was expensive back then, people could only really afford like three pictures tops. Some of them, that's the only family photo." He laughs, and dark eyes drift up to focus on your face. Eyes that are much too old for that childish grin. "Can you imagine that, family photo with all the kiddies gathered around grandma's corpse?"

You kind of just stare at him, what else are you supposed to do? You're here because haven hill needs this interview, and with the three car accident victims laid out in front of him, he'd put off this meeting for the last time. So they'd sent you here. To the last place anyone should ever want to go willingly.

At least anyone human.

"Ahem, Mr. Wynter I-"

"Please, dude. Call me Mort. Or Morty, whatever gets your gears grinding." He's grinning, but he's also prepping a tube and syringe, and just looking at it is making you want to throw up. Never mind the corpse with an unrecognizable face laying on the table between you.

"Um...Mort. You know why I'm here, right?"

"Yeah, you want to hear my story, I get it. You don't mind if I talk while I work do ya? These guys need to be prepped by tomorrow and- are you gonna be okay? You're looking kind of green around the gills there?"

"I'm fine...just-"

"Never been this close to a body before, huh?" He looks sympathetic but you doubt it. For some reason you doubt his ability to be something so...human. Especially not when there's a wall of selfies with corpses at your back. All you want is for this to be over, and to get the fuck out of here.

"Just start from the beginning, alright?"

"Alright, but it's a long story. So I hope you're not planning on going anywhere for a while."

"Just go."

He's working as he talks, but to your relief he's at least talking and for the moment you can forget the bodies laying around you. Car accident victims with their faces a mess and their bodies shattered. Of course your eyes drift down anyway to watch as he begins the draining process, unable to look away even as the body's fluids seep out of the plastic tubing and down a drain. It makes your stomach flip and turn as his voice washes over you; enthusiastic, but almost mechanical. Like this is something he's shared a thousand times before, and its become little more then a script to recite.

I wasn't born. Not in the strict human sense of the word. What I am, my nature, it kind of doesn't allow for that kind of thing, you know? I mean sure there was a moment where I wasn't there and then a moment where I was, but I didn't have a mother. Or if I did she or he or it, wasn't around when I finally realized that I could...well, realize things. There were others that came before me of course, you might recognize them. The oldest was another pair of twins; Light and Darkness, then came Life and her twin Time, then my sister and I.

You're probably wondering; How could you have a twin if you're not born? How do you know? Well the answer to that is kind of simple really. You just did. And if you didn't, you had the older ones to tell you that's how it was. According to Life we flared into existence one instant after the other. We always came in pairs, with centuries between each match.

He laughs and you don't really understand why. But it's a sound that sends chills through your entire body, like you've just taken a dive in ice water.

A little on the bubbly side for my taste, but I could handle that-

Anyway, I'm off track here. Which I shouldn't because this can stretch on for centuries, and I doubt you have that much free time.

Basically it was six of us, three pairs, but the focus of all this is my sister and I. Like I said we were twins, except we weren't. It's just the easiest way to describe us in human terms. Technically we aren't related or anything, we're just there. Concepts, constructs, that help the world and the universe run. Fate's purpose was to write out the stories of each and every being in existence. She knows literally everything, and if you were to go to her 'room' you'd find that it was filled to the brim with books and strings that crisscrossed all over the place. An organized mess with her in the center of it, blank stare focused off into the distance. I asked her once what that was like the whole 'seeing everything and anything thing' and the way she explained it was like having an infinite number of televisions playing in your head at once. Crazy right?

I do not envy her in the least...but then I guess it's something you get used to. I mean it's not like my version of keeping track of things is any less fucked up.

He pauses then, and takes a minute to turn around, arms reaching behind him to tug up his shirt. The process makes you pause in confusion, but then your eyes widen and you feel yourself gasp. It takes a moment but clear skin seems to shimmer away and suddenly every inch of him is covered in bloody scratches..and they're moving. You know for a fact that they're words; names...but they heal and reappear far too quickly for you to even begin to read them.

"Neat, huh? I think it's just our world...but I might be wrong. I feel like the longer I stay here, the more names from this place start to pop up." He's shrugging and the scratches vanish, leaving his skin clear ( at least to your eyes ), before he lets his shirt drop back down. "Doesn't hurt by the way, in case you're wondering."

A gulp, and you find yourself asking "A-at all?"

He shrugs, fixing the tube to start pumping the body with formaldehyde. "I think it did at first...but I don't remember. It was fuck-all-forever ago." Stepping away from the body, he moved to the second table, waving that you follow. "That one's gonna take a few minutes so." He'd set up some bottles with what appeared to be cleaning supplies, hands moving deftly over the man's limbs. Lifting the arms and wiggling the fingers.

"Gotta check for rigor....anyway, where was I?"

"Uh..." it was a struggle to keep the queasiness building in your stomach. Especially with this one. Arguably the worst of the three. "Your s-sister..."

"AH, yeah."

It's just the way it was.

From the get-go we had pretty much one job and we sort of just dove right on into it. I mean it was our entire reason for existing, you know? So it was kind of a given that from nanosecond one we were doing what we were programmed to do. Fate would write out the stories, when someone was supposed to die I'd get the name. ( By the way I mean real honest, to goodness Death. Not 'oh look I kind of sort of died but hallelujah I didn't' ) Like, when I get your name, that's it. Unless Life pulls some divine move bullshit and calls a God or something to intervene, your soul is fucking mine.

I'd like to think she had a little more respect for me then that. Normally she'll give me a heads up if she doesn't want someone to die ( mostly so I can intervene with Fate cause I mean my sister DOES NOT enjoy outsiders fucking with her shit. ).

You should count yourself lucky by the way, not everyone gets a backstage tour of this shit. It happens in another plane of existence. One, people like you can't even dream of. It's broken into sectors and my personal space is kind of like this void where I can go anyplace I want. I just have to think it.

Makes getting souls and tossing them off to their respective resting grounds a hell of a lot easier. Just gotta think it, and boom I'm there. Easy as popping an eye out.

Fate and I, this is what we did. Non-stop. For billions of years. Since the first spark of life it was me and her; writing and reaping. Over and over and over again. You know how fucking boring that is? I mean lets just put aside that we're basically immortal concepts and not actually people, for like five seconds. Can you imagine doing the same damn thing non-stop; morning, noon, and night. From the instant you crawl out from between your mom's legs to the moment you fall ass first into your coffin? It could drive you mad, and you know, I think it kind of did. Well...not me, but Fate? God damn, you should have seen her. Everything that happens next? It was all her idea, but you're not gonna see me complaining. Fuck that. Those were some of the funnest years of my life, and I'm going to tell you exactly why..cause buddy, it's got about everything to do with how I got here.

He's stopped, seemingly to catch his breath, but really he's gesturing animatedly at the body between you two. "Holy shit dude, this guy's ribs are poking out. Come see!"

"Um...no."

"Aww, c'mon it's just like the movies. Here, look." Before you can stop him, he's yanking you forward and your eyes widen because you can't help but stare at where he's pointing. The stark white bones jutting free of the man's side. It makes you want to throw up, and you gag, trying to pull free. Despite the scrawniness of his size; the thin arms, there's a power hidden behind those muscles. Strength that keeps you pinned as one gloved black hand pokes curiously at one of the bones. He's got his face as close as possible too, hovering over the wound, and inches from yours with that same grin. "Neat, huh?"

The urge to throw up is growing stronger now.

He seems to finally sense your discomfort and his hold loosens and drops away. Finally allowing you to shoot back away from the table until you're pressed against the far wall. Gasping for air; and unfortunately finding nothing but the stale air of the morgue. The sharp smells of copper, formaldehyde, and death.

You need a distraction, fast. "C-can you bring people back?" It's the first question that pops into your head. Your eyes by this point are rolling around in your skull in an attempt to look at anything BUT the dead man on the table. Though you finally settle back on him, just in time to see him offering a thumbs up and smile at his phone as he takes another picture for his wall.

"Me? Nah." He snorts, "I told you there was a Life right? Only she can do that shit...now what I can do." His nose crinkles, and he tilts his head "I can keep you from dying. For however long as I want, well, maybe not forever. There is an order to this shit and eventually I have to listen to it." He shrugged "That's when the cuts really hurt you know, when I keep someone kicking even though their name showed up? It hurts like a bitch. It's different when Life does it, cause you're getting a second chance, but me? Nah if I keep you around it's still part of your first. So your name is going to just keep slicing itself in till I get the message." he snorts "Course you might not want me to. I can keep you alive forever but I can't heal you so lets say you jumped off a fucking building; splat. Can you imagine being alive, like that? Would you want to be?" It sounds horrifying and you find yourself shaking your head in horror. "Didn't think so."

He shrugs, spinning a pair of scissors on his fingers. "'Course it's not all bad. I can also keep you alive long enough for someone or something else to intervene? I mean lets say I stabbed you in the heart right here and now. Imagine if the doctors had literally all the time in the world to fix you? They could patch you up, hell they could even take your heart out and wait for a new one to show up months later and you'd still be fine." he grins. "It's relative really. The order's there and I have to follow it...but people can intervene, people 'change it up' or 'cut in first'."

"I-I don't think I follow."

"That's alright, that's what the next part of the story is for."

I mean...I'm not evil either, it's kind of morally grey actually. I have no idea what I am, but anyway...

The games started pretty recently all things considered. You'd expect this whole fiasco to be my idea, but it wasn't. Like I said, doing the same thing over and over again it drove you mad. And if anyone one of us deserved to go mad it was Fate. I mean she had the whole 'infinite tvs in her head' thing going for her. It's no surprise when one day she kind of just yanked the floor out from under me.

I was actually pretty goddamn pissed at first. There's not a lot to get excited about in my line of work, but occasionally. Occasionally I'd get something big. Like war or tragedy big. Sometimes you people will fucking screw each other up so bad and the death count can just blow your mind. Other times it's some freak accident or some natural event. Either way, the big stuff. God that gets my jollies cooking if you know what I mean.

The stream of death on a daily basis is constant. Always flowing, never stopping. It's like the blood flow of the universe. People's souls are moving in and out like air through cells. It's beautiful ( if you're not forced to look at it forever. ), like a work of art. Sometimes though, there's a big rush of it. It's like when your beautiful mountain view is broken by a sudden avalanche. It's still fucking beautiful, it's nature, but it's beautiful in a different kind of way. You feel me? A chaotic, heart pounding kind of way.

That's what was about to happen. A big chaotic something.

A bridge collapse to be exact.

I'd been planning this for months, eagerly anticipating what was going to be the biggest flash point tragedy I'd seen in ages. I was fucking psyched for all the souls that were about to come flooding through my door. Literally the highlight of my existence in that moment as depressing as that might sound to you, I'd like to take this moment to remind you that people dying is how I exist. There's no beating around the bush or lying about it. I live and thrive because people are dying, and it's not my fault I get my jollies from big tragedies. So don't go thinking I'm the one that caused this to begin with. I don't cause Death, I don't kill things. I collect what dies. Simple. Easy. This bridge was going to collapse and all I had to do was stand back and watch it all happen.

That's when Fate did her thing. You see Fate, her job is basically nothing. It's watching, witnessing, writing. She isn't supposed to intervene like Life might, she can't even grant things like deja-vu like Time can do sometimes if he's feeling especially douchy one morning. Fate basically drew the short straw in our little relationship. Which is I guess why she just snapped. I honestly think that she did what she did just so she could see if she could actually do it or not, at least that first time. She wanted to be something more then a bystander is what I'm guessing, and was I mad that her little ego trip ruined the greatest day of my life? Yeah a little bit.

See she shoved what she could see, into one of the bridge victims. He saw and lived his fate down to the very last second. He saw every moment, felt the spray of blood on his face, probably even felt his damn soul leaving his body. Only to weak up like it was all a very vivid, very 'about-to-fucking-happen' dream. Of course dream boy shit his pants and freaked out. Now, he didn't manage to save EVERYONE on the bridge, but he saved six people. Six people living on borrowed time, six names that suddenly hurt.

You see, I'd never known you could skip a name. Before only Life did it, and like I said there were no consequences when that happened. This time? Nah, this time I felt it. I felt those names digging into my skin like whatever divine force held the pen was pissed at me. Not Fate. Me.

I had never felt pain before. It was kind of awkward.

Here he was stopping again, focusing on his work, or gathering his thoughts. This part of story seemed to take more concentration seeing as his demeanor had changed somewhat. He was still at ease in his surroundings but there was a more focused expression on his features. Eyes darkening as he finished prepping the last body and gestured for you to follow him back to the first. "I could never understand my sister. You'd think that she did all of that because she cares. I mean...why else give the poor kid a premonition? Why even bother trying to save anyone's life if you didn't actually want them to be saved?" A huff of breath, that frosted in the air in front of him as though you both stood out in the snow. Morgues and funeral parlors were kept cold, naturally to preserve the dead, but not that cold. That was him.

"She didn't care?"

He had face close to the first victim, and he glanced up to shake his head. "Not one fucking bit." A chuckle "She's not evil, so don't go thinking that either. None of is is good or evil. We're...grey. We're not supposed to feel anything, I don't think...but we do." His head tilted slightly "I used to call it a 'backfire bond'. It was like we were meant to be connected to humanity. To help it run, but something went wrong. The connection was supposed to go only one way and I guess at first it did. Only the more people there were, the bigger the flood of information going through the bond.Until the only way for it to stay open was for all of that to go both ways." He straightened, hands falling to his hips, "Does all of this make sense?"

"Not really."

"Figures. Well, the only other way I can explain it is like a doorway. If you have one of those double doors and the crowd is small you can just open one and everything is fine. The people coming through are usually coming one or two at a time on a good day and it's easy to keep track of everything. But then some huge nightclub or something opens upstairs and suddenly that one door is being flooded with people trying to come in ten or twenty at a time. Not just that but there's people wanting to go out and you're standing there trying to keep track of it all. Eventually you need to open the other door to ease the flow. Except that second door was closed because it actually cut through your home or your office...so now this surge of people is walking through your personal space." He shrugged "You don't want them too but they're there, and when they come through bits and pieces of them get left behind. Clothing, accessories, the stink of their perfume. It lingers inside of your personal space like a disease you can't get rid of."

"I think I get it now...you were absorbing parts of humanity? Parts of us?"

"Bingo."

"And your sister...she.."

"She absorbed a lot more then the rest of us. Enough to make her a little cruel. She's a total sweetheart of course, but something inside of her- nah, something in there is broken. Like I said before she gave the first vision just to see if she could. She knew it'd do nothing, except maybe torture those people, but she did it anyway. Just to see."

"What about you, what'd you do?"

He grins.

Anyway, I stormed to where Fate was and I yelled. After all this was a mess that had repercussions all over the place. The list on my skin was practically having seizures. Simply because as long as these people were alive they were interacting with other people, changing events that they shouldn't have even existed for in the first place. Because of them certain events that should have happened didn't. And I couldn't just snap my fingers and make them all simultaneously drop dead of an aneurysm. I'm Death but up until then all I did was collect souls, I didn't physically interact with the world to actually cause anything.

Fate didn't make it any better. She was pleased with what she'd done. Like the cat that swallowed ten canaries she just kept taunting me. Saying that she was better, that she'd bested me. Laughing because now I was stuck, and she could beat me whenever she wanted. All she had to do was show someone what was coming, and that was it. "Let Fate Decide" She told me, and grinned like a cracked piece of glass right at me. Fate had decided. She'd decided to be a pain in my ass.

Well two could play at that game.

I decided that if she could interfere then so could I. It took a little practice but I managed, following her little 'chosen ones' and playing with the world around them until I caused a brutal enough accident. Sometimes they caught on. ( Even then I had to go in order ) and sometimes they even managed to avoid me more then once. Hell there was even one time where Fate just kept giving the girl visions. Over and over and over again every time she noticed me getting ready to do what I was doing.

Have you ever heard of the game mousetrap? It's a personal favorite. A board game where you have this confusing setup in the middle of the board and everything's connected. When the mousetrap is set off one thing causes another until the cage comes down over whatever player gets caught.

That's what I did.

Turn on a forklift and taking the break off so it starts moving on its own. Directing it towards a shelf full of hardware supplies, knocking the supplies down so that one of the wooden logs bursts the bag on an air compressor making it explode. That explodes knocks some dude ten feet into a wall of spikes or a nail gun with the safety off. Brutal, but effective. If no one stops it or intervenes I win. I get the soul that I needed to get and fix my list. Except, that kind of power...it gets to your head. It makes you want more, and eventually we stopped seeing it as our job. We were seeing it as a game.

It didn't matter that we were playing with people's lives. That we were making humans who were set to die especially brutal and traumatic deaths to begin with, miserable. All that mattered is that Fate could give them premonitions and I could get them killed. It became a race; could I get rid of all of them before they caught on, could I kill the last batch before she started the new one. Of course I was limited by a strict order and she wasn't so there was a bit of an unfair advantage. I could kill people but if they escaped my trap I'd have to swing back for them later, and if Fate started a new group I couldn't get to the survivors of the last one until I'd run through the new people.

Life thought it was disgusting.

Oh but it was so much fun.

We did our damage, and sometimes I even gave them hints myself. Like...did you know that if you're next but you kill someone who wasn't supposed to die. You switch places on the list? Technically since these people weren't supposed to exist in the first place, anyone they killed could arguably be classified as 'not supposed to die'. I told them that, I made sure that they knew...gave them hope. Then I made sure they picked people who didn't have particularly long to live anyway. Nice right?

You look horrified and he can see that, but he just smiles at you. Fingers working to stitch up the broken face of the corpse in front of him. Fixing the damage of whatever accident got him him. "We were cruel sons a bitches, that's obvious...but we were bored. We couldn't help it. I think, in the end, that's how the darkness found us."

Here you perk up. Sensing the closing of the story.

"We're supposed to be background noise, but all this playing with people's lives meant that we had our hands buried deep into the world. We were leaving our little side dimensions and spending more and more time among people. Giving them visions, fucking them over. Fucking each other over. Too busy to notice that something was wrong. There was a taint in the air...a sour taste like rotting corpses." His nose crinkled, and it's almost ironic. "Sis and I, by rights we should have been the first to notice that something was killing people. Something big was destroying the world...wiping out Fates and flooding me with souls, but we didn't."

He sighs, and stands back, hands stuffing in his pockets "When the Darkness was completely here I didn't notice until I finally went back to my dimension. The place was packed. Full to the brim and growing fuller...straining with the influx of death and destruction that was taking place and it was only getting worse. I tried, I really did try to fix the damage. To start the souls moving on but...to where?" His head shook and there might have actually been sadness there. "The places they should have been going weren't fairing any better; heaven, hell, hades, Elysium, purgatory. Didn't matter, they were all feeling it. It was Chaos."

"That bad?"

He nods, and his shoulder's slumped "Fate was freaking out, the tvs in her head were shutting down or something, I guess. But I couldn't even be bothered. All those souls were in my domain and I could hear them screaming, could hear them crying. They wanted to go somewhere, but I had nowhere to put them. You'd think it wouldn't phase me much but that was my purpose it was fundamental part of who and what I am. What good is a Grim Reaper, Death, if he can't traffic souls to their final destination? Worthless that's what."

"That's not-"

"Oh believe me it is. I broke down. I couldn't do it, couldn't even begin to handle it. I tried but it was too much, so I ditched. Didn't even tell Fate where I was going. I just...had to get out of there. Had to go back to the world and breathe. I pretended to be human for a little while, that's how I found out about the portal. I didn't think I'd ever cross. My duty, my job is the animated world. I'm connected to it...stitched into it. I didn't even think I could cross."

You're watching him closer now, the changes in his expression. A hundred different emotions flicker there in the course of all this. Too fast for you to really read any of them. "But you can? Or you could..."

"Yep. I decided to give it a shot. Who knows, maybe if I'm not there people can't die anymore. right? Worth a shot. I took the dive, and now I'm here. Gotta say...being an actual real human. It's a fucking trip." He laughs now, and a bright grin spreads across his face "I knew about all this stuff but to actually get a chance to play with any of it? To watch movies, play video games, take pictures? EAT FOOD. It's great. Better even. No wonder nobody wants to die...fuck if I had all this, I'd want to live forever too." The grin widens, almost maniacal. "Good thing I can, right?"

You shake a little at the look on his face, and then he's suddenly moving around the table to stand next to you. Wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close before holding his camera phone up over your heads. "It's been nice meeting you kid, loved the chat but I gotta head back to work." There's a flash as he grins at the camera before turning and laying a sloppy kiss on your cheek. "Tell your mom to cut back on those candies she likes, and stay away from public transportation." You're left in minor shock as he saunters back to his side of the table, tucking his phone in his back pocket. "I better not find you using any of that in a book without permission, remember I can find you." A teasing wink.

Too bad you didn't see it that way. You were practically running out of there once you'd finished. Desperate to escape the bodies and the chill he'd settled into your bones.

Don't take the bus?

Why?

#( O DEATH | about. )

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The Elephant in the Brain (review)

The book was a very interesting read.

The art scene, for example, isn’t just about “appreciating beauty”; it also functions as an excuse to affiliate with impressive people and as a sexual display (a way to hobnob and get laid). Education isn’t just about learning; it’s largely about getting graded, ranked, and credentialed, stamped for the approval of employers. Religion isn’t just about private belief in God or the afterlife, but about conspicuous public professions of belief that help bind groups together. In each of these areas, our hidden agendas explain a surprising amount of our behavior—often a majority. When push comes to shove, we often make choices that prioritize our hidden agendas over the official ones.

The thesis of the book is the underlying motives behind everything a person does is to increase prestige and social status ― and our conscious brains invent false pro-social explanations that we tell others. More strongly, we consciously believe these false explanations and don't understand the motives behind our actions as well as we think. The hidden motives trying to maximize prestige in our respective social circles is "the elephant in the brain".

Here are some intriguing extracts with some commentary:

On why self-deception is sane from a game theory standpoint:

Civilization is a Mixed-Motive Game

A classic example is the game of chicken, typically played by two teenagers in their cars. The players race toward each other on a collision course, and the player who swerves first loses the game.18 Traditionally it’s a game of bravado. But if you really want to win, here’s what Schelling advises. When you’re lined up facing your opponent, revving your engine, remove the steering wheel from your car and wave it at your opponent. This way, he’ll know that you’re locked in, dead set, hell-bent—irrevocably committed to driving straight through, no matter what. And at this point, unless he wants to die, your opponent will have to swerve first, and you’ll be the winner.

The reason this is counterintuitive is because it’s not typically a good idea to limit our own options. But Schelling documented how the perverse incentives of mixed-motive games lead to option-limiting and other actions that seem irrational, but are actually strategic.

Your Conscious Brain is a Press Secretary that explains the actions of the President, i.e., the hidden motives:

When we capitalize “Press Secretary,” we’re referring to the brain module responsible for explaining our actions, typically to third parties.

In one classic study, researchers sent subjects home with boxes of three “different” laundry detergents, and asked them to evaluate which worked best on delicate clothes.16 All three detergents were identical, though the subjects had no idea. Crucially, however, the three boxes were different. One was a plain yellow, another blue, and the third was blue with “splashes of yellow.”

In their evaluations, subjects expressed concerns about the first two detergents and showed a distinct preference for the third. They said that the detergent in the yellow box was “too strong” and that it ruined their clothes. The detergent in the blue box, meanwhile, left their clothes looking dirty. The detergent in the third box (blue with yellow splashes), however, had a “fine” and “wonderful” effect on their delicate clothes.Here again, as in the split-brain experiments, we (third parties with privileged information) know what’s really going on. The subjects simply preferred the blue-and-yellow box.

But because they were asked to evaluate the detergents, and because they thought the detergents were actually different, their Press Secretaries were tricked into making up counterfeit explanations.

And a whole series of examples in Part II of hidden reasons for everyday behavior.

Laughter is a Play Signal:

Gregory Bateson, a British anthropologist, figured it out during a trip to the zoo. He saw two monkeys engaged with each other in what looked like combat, but clearly wasn’t real. They were, in other words, merely play fighting. And what Bateson realized was that, in order to play fight, the monkeys needed some way to communicate their playful intentions—some way to convey the message, “We’re just playing.” Without one or more of these “play signals,” one monkey might misconstrue the other’s intentions, and their playful sparring could easily escalate into a real fight.

Here, for example, is a joke that flirts with, but doesn’t actually consummate, a norm violation:

MARY: What do you call a black man flying a plane? JOHN: Uh … I don’t know… . MARY: A pilot. What did you think, you racist?!

The humor here plays off the norm against racism. After Mary’s setup, John starts to squirm uncomfortably, afraid his friend is about to tell an offensive joke. But when Mary delivers the punchline, it’s sweet, safe relief. She wasn’t telling a racist joke after all. She was just playing! And a hearty chuckle ensues.

This joke uses the norm against racism only to provide the sense of danger, and achieves safety (and laughter) by not violating it. In this way, the joke ultimately reinforces the norm. But other jokes don’t pull back from the norm violation, and must achieve safety by other means, which often subverts the norms that they’re playing with.

We speak to gain prestige:

In case it’s not clear by now, this chapter helps explain Kevin and Robin’s “hidden” motives for writing and publishing this book. To put it baldly, we want to impress you; we’re seeking prestige. We hope the many things we’ve said so far testify to the size and quality of our “backpacks.”

We consume to signal social status:

When you think about people two or three rungs above you on the social ladder, especially the nouveau riche, it’s easy to question the utility of their ostentatious purchases. Does anyone really need a 10,000-square-foot house, a $30,000 Patek Philippe watch, or a $500,000 Porsche Carrera GT? Of course not, but the same logic applies to much of your own “luxurious” lifestyle—it’s just harder for you to see.

Consider taking the perspective of a mother of six from the slums of Kolkata. To her, your spending habits are just as flashy and grotesque as those of a Saudi prince are to you. Do you really need to spend $20(!!) at Olive Garden to have a team of chefs, servers, bussers, and dishwashers cater to your every whim? Twenty dollars may be more than the family in Kolkata spends on food in an entire week. Of course, it doesn’t feel, to you, like conspicuous consumption. But when a friend invites you out to dinner, it’s nice being able to say yes. (If you had to decline because you couldn’t afford to eat out, you might feel a twinge of shame.) And at the end of the meal, when you leave two uneaten breadsticks on the table, it doesn’t feel at all like conspicuous waste. You’re just thinking, “Why bother?” In fact, you might feel silly asking the waiter to pack them up for you, those two measly pieces of bread.

Advertising to Non-Buyers to create Common Knowledge:

One reason to target non-buyers is to create envy. As Miller argues, this is the case for many luxury products. “Most BMW ads,” he says, “are not really aimed so much at potential BMW buyers as they are at potential BMW coveters.”33 When BMW advertises during popular TV shows or in mass-circulation magazines, only a small fraction of the audience can actually afford a BMW. But the goal is to reinforce for non-buyers the idea that BMW is a luxury brand. To accomplish all this, BMW needs to advertise in media whose audience includes both rich and poor alike, so that the rich can see that the poor are being trained to appreciate BMW as a status symbol.

Naturally this feels manipulative, and it is. But the same tactics can be used for more honorable purposes as well. The U.S. Marine Corps, for example, advertises itself as a place to build strength and character. In doing so, it’s not advertising only to potential recruits; it’s also reminding civilians that the people who serve in the Marines have strength and character. This helps to ensure that when soldiers come home, they’ll be respected by their communities, offered jobs by employers, and so forth.

Art as a display of Fitness:

The argument we’re making in this chapter is simply that “showing off” is one of the important motives we have for making art, and that many details of our artistic instincts have been shaped substantially by this motive. Not only do artists want to show off, but consumers simultaneously use art as a means to judge the artist. That’s one of the big reasons people appreciate art, and we can’t understand the full range of phenomena unless we’re willing to look at art as a fitness display.

This way of approaching art—of looking beyond the object’s intrinsic properties in order to evaluate the effort and skill of the artist—is endemic to our experience of art. In everything that we treat as a work of “art,” we care about more than the perceptual experience it affords. In particular, we care about how it was constructed and what its construction says about the virtuosity of the artist.

Education as Domestication:

In light of this, consider how an industrial-era school system prepares us for the modern workplace. Children are expected to sit still for hours upon hours; to control their impulses; to focus on boring, repetitive tasks; to move from place to place when a bell rings; and even to ask permission before going to the bathroom (think about that for a second). Teachers systematically reward children for being docile and punish them for “acting out,” that is, for acting as their own masters. In fact, teachers reward discipline independent of its influence on learning, and in ways that tamp down on student creativity.29 Children are also trained to accept being measured, graded, and ranked, often in front of others. This enterprise, which typically lasts well over a decade, serves as a systematic exercise in human domestication.

In this particular instance, I think modern educational institutions are a sub-optimal equilibrium the world has slipped into, rather than domestication. But the above gives reasons why employers prefer college graduates.

Medicine as Conspicuous Caring:

We asked readers to consider the case of a toddler who stumbles and scrapes his knee, then runs over to his mother for a kiss. The kiss has no therapeutic value, and yet both parties appreciate the ritual. The toddler finds comfort in knowing his mom is there to help him, especially if something more serious were to happen, and the mother is happy to deepen her relationship with her son by showing that she’s worthy of his trust.

The thesis we will now explore in this chapter is that a similar ritual lurks within our modern medical behaviors, even if it’s obscured by all the genuine healing that takes place. In this ritual, the patient takes the role of the toddler, grateful for the demonstration of support. Meanwhile, the role of the mother is played not just by doctors, but everyone who helps along the way: the spouse or parent who drives the patient to the hospital, the friend who helps look after the kids, the coworkers who cover for the patient at work, and—crucially—the people and institutions who sponsor the patient’s health insurance in the first place. These sponsors include spouses, parents, employers, and national governments. Each party is hoping to earn a bit of loyalty from the patient in exchange for helping to provide care. In other words, medicine is, in part, an elaborate adult version of “kiss the boo-boo.”

Like the conspicuous behaviors we’ve seen in other chapters, we’re going to call this the conspicuous caring hypothesis.

This chapter was especially hard to digest. While this explains the heroic end-of-life care that families subject their loved ones to, I felt the chapter overstates the conspicuous caring hypothesis.

Status Climbing Gone Astray (explaining celibacy vows):

Individual brains are built to go “up” in pursuit of higher and higher social status (or any other measure of reward). So we scramble our way toward the top of whatever hill or mountain we happen to find in our local vicinity. Sometimes, we consider going down to find a better route up, or wandering randomly in hope of finding an even higher peak off in the distance. But mostly we just climb skyward as if on autopilot. And in most landscapes, these instincts serve us very well. But if we happen to find ourselves in a nonstandard landscape, one that our brains weren’t designed for, the same instincts can lead us to bad outcomes.

To continue the analogy, we might model the landscape of a religious community as a volcano—a cone-shaped mountain with a perilous crater at the top. Every day, as a worshipper, you seek to climb higher, which often (counterintuitively) requires you to make sacrifices. Each sacrifice earns you more trust and respect from your peers, taking you further up the slope. It may get steeper and the air more rarefied. With each step, you run the risk of slipping back down or getting clawed down by rivals. But you steel yourself to press onward. You make ever larger sacrifices, which continue to work out in your favor—until one day, without realizing it, you push yourself too far. Your brain, expecting a simple mountain, took a step that felt like “up.” But in reality, the mountain was a volcano, and your final step sent you tumbling over the edge and into the crater.

It’s important to note that these hill-climbing accidents aren’t at all unique to religious landscapes. In dietary landscapes, we seek tasty fats and sugars, which were almost always “up” (in health terms) for our ancestors—until one day we’re stricken with diabetes or a heart attack. In military landscapes, we learn to show bravery, earning ever more respect from our comrades—right up until we take a bullet. Drug addicts seek ever-more-pleasurable highs until they overdose. And in literal mountaineering, risk-taking explorers might search for higher and higher peaks to climb, each summit bringing more glory—until one day their reach exceeds their grasp and they plummet to an untimely death.

In all of these cases, instincts that are adaptive in one context can lead us fatefully astray in another. But we shouldn’t jump to the conclusion that the instincts are necessarily maladaptive, or that the people acting on them are hopelessly foolish or deluded. They’re just chasing their highs, same as the rest of us.

This kind of explains why young males decide to pursue math PhDs despite the atrocious sex ratio. Ultimately all creative work is like a sexual display ― done to gain prestige and status among fellow humans. Hill climbing errors happen when they don't directly result in reproductive success.

Politics as a display of Loyalty:

At the conclusion of the conference, a tribute to Comrade Stalin was called for. Of course, everyone stood up, and the small hall echoed with stormy applause. For three minutes, four minutes, five minutes, the applause continued. It was becoming insufferably silly even to those who really adored Stalin. However, who would dare be the first to stop? So the applause went on—six, seven, eight minutes! They couldn’t stop now till they collapsed with heart attacks! Finally, after eleven minutes, the director of the paper factory assumed a businesslike expression and sat down in his seat. And, oh, a miracle took place! To a man, everyone else stopped dead and sat down. They had been saved!

That, however, was how the [secret police] discovered who the independent people were. And that was how they went about eliminating them. That same night the factory director was arrested. They easily pasted ten years [in a labor camp] on him.

― The Gulag Archipelago

Nevertheless, our hypothesis is that the political behavior of ordinary, individual citizens is often better explained as an attempt to signal loyalty to “our side” (whatever side that happens to be in a particular situation), rather than as a good-faith attempt to improve outcomes. In addition to the Do-Right’s motives, then, we also harbor the motives of the apparatchik: wanting to appear loyal to the groups around us. This is the key to making sense of our political behavior. It’s not just an attempt to influence outcomes; it’s also, in many ways, a performance.

As long as we adopt the “right” beliefs—those of our main coalitions—we get full credit for loyalty. We don’t need to be well informed because the truth isn’t particularly relevant to our expressive agendas. The main actions we take based on our political beliefs are preaching and voting, neither of which has practical consequences for our lives (only social consequences).

#elephant in the brain robin hanson kevin simler

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