#he’s much more receptive to her than he is indis

[andiwriteordie]

congrats on 1,500! ✨

For the prompt: how about something on Joyce's feelings on established (new or not) Byler? Just how she feels finally being able to see her boy happy (and with the boy who has been his side since forever)~

ahhh thank you so so much!!! ❤️

oh i love love love this prompt so much! here you go!

no matter how long it takes 

Will is late to breakfast, and absolutely no one is surprised.

“Do they think that we do not know?” El asks curiously, her mouth stuffed full of Eggo waffles. The food in her daughter’s mouth makes it a little difficult for Joyce to understand what she’s saying, but she gets the basic gist.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, kid,” Hop scolds, nudging their daughter’s shoulder. “Jesus, who raised you?”

El just makes a face back at him, and Joyce shakes her head, taking a sip of water. “I don’t think they know that we know,” she chuckles. “Jonathan didn’t, back when he and Nancy did the same thing.”

Her eldest kid groans, giving her an exasperated look. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Sweetheart, you came downstairs with lipstick on your cheek,” Joyce says with a smirk. “And you still had poor Nancy climb out the window. How stupid do you think I am?”

Jonathan just rolls his eyes, and he picks up a slice of bacon, munching on it absently. “I tried telling Will that you somehow know everything,” he remarks. “So, maybe he knows that we know.”

Hopper hums, taking a sip of his coffee and looking back up. “Nope,” he says, and he shakes his head. “I heard Mike scrambling to hide when I woke the two of them up.”

“Idiots,” El deadpans. “And what happened to the three inch rule?”

“Don’t worry,” Hop reassures. “I’m just biding my time. It’s fun to see Wheeler sweat a little bit.”

“You’re evil,” Joyce deadpans, shoving her husband’s shoulder lightly. Hopper just gives her a crooked little grin, and Joyce shakes her head, glancing back towards the staircase. 

It’s funny how much their lives have changed in the past several months. Honestly, Joyce’s life has been a rollercoaster of change since that fateful day back in 1983 when her boy was kidnapped, and she’s only just now starting to feel a semblance of normalcy return to their lives. It’s… nice. It’s really, really nice.

Because all of them are happy. She and Jim have been married for a couple months now. The wedding was a small affair—just a nice courthouse wedding in Indy with a reception for their little group of Upside Down survivors. Jonathan and Nancy are still together and planning to go off to the East Coast this coming fall for college. El is happy too—single for now, though Joyce thinks there might be something between her daughter, Max, and Lucas. She still needs to find out more about that, but either way, as long as El is happy, Joyce is too.

And then there’s Will.

Her boy is happier than he has been in years, and God, it brings such a warmth and a joy to Joyce’s heart. She still remembers sitting with Will back at their old home—the one haunted by harsh words and beatings from Lonnie, the one scarred by monsters tearing through their walls and separated the two of them, the one torn apart by horrors that threatened to consume her youngest son. She remembers a warm summer day in particular when Jonathan had stumbled downstairs, his tie crooked and his face marked with Nancy Wheeler’s lipstick.

She remembers Will’s words that day.

“I’m not… gonna fall in love.”

Joyce hadn’t said it back then, but she’d known. She knows her kids, and even though Will hadn’t been ready to tell her yet, Joyce had already known the truth.

“I’m not… gonna fall in love,” her sweet, quiet son had said, when he already was.

A lot has changed since that day, and thank God for that. It’d take Joyce forever to explain how much things have changed, but she thinks one of her most favorite changes is the shift in Will’s demeanor from a sad, resigned belief that love wasn’t for people like him to a happy, silly, and lovesick attitude that follows him around all the time.

Will is happy, and he’s in love with his best friend, Mike Wheeler.

And to Joyce’s delight, Mike Wheeler is just as happy, and he’s just as in love with Joyce’s boy.

So, when Will stumbles downstairs, wearing a hoodie that Joyce knows doesn’t belong to him, with his hair ruffled like someone’s been running their hands through it, and his cheeks flushed bright red, she can’t help but smile. Her family holds back their snickers as Will takes his seat at the table, and Joyce just smiles at her son.

“Morning, baby,” she greets, and Will looks up, meeting her eyes. 

“Morning, Mom,” he says, a small smile on his face. “Sorry, I… uh… I overslept.”

“Mhm.” Joyce nods, and she gestures to the plate of food sitting in the middle of the table. “Well, there’s still plenty left to eat if you’re hungry.”

She pauses, glancing at the front door and considering her options for a moment. 

And well… it’s not fair to only tease Jonathan, right?

“There’s enough for Mike too,” Joyce adds with a grin, and she fights her laughter as Will nearly chokes on the piece of toast he’d started to eat. “You know… if you wanna run outside and catch him before he leaves.”

Her boy’s face gets bright red, and beside him, both El and Jonathan snicker, nudging him teasingly. “Mom,” Will starts to say, and Joyce just raises an eyebrow. 

Will deflates, and he covers his face with his hands, clearly embarrassed. “You’re sure it’s okay?”

“Oh, just go get your boyfriend, kid,” Hopper chuckles, and he gives Will an amused look. “We all know he’s probably climbing out the window and running away as we speak.”

As Will groans again, Joyce just laughs, smiling at her son. “Hop’s right,” she agrees. “Come on. Mike’s part of the family. Now go catch him before he leaves!”

Will lowers his hands, and for a brief moment, he looks up at Joyce, meeting her eyes. There’s something in his eyes that warms Joyce’s heart—a tentative yet hopeful and relieved look. 

For a moment, Joyce remembers the fourteen year-old who once sat next to her at the kitchen table, pouring syrup all over his eggs. She remembers how her boy had barely been able to meet her eyes, how quiet and dejected he’d sounded that day, and how badly she wanted to fix this for him.

A lot has changed since then, and Joyce thinks Will knows it too.

An understanding passes between the two of them, and Will just smiles. “Thanks, Mom,” he whispers.

Then, as quickly as he can, Will hurries to the door, running outside in hopes of catching up to his boyfriend, and Joyce just smiles.

A lot has changed over the past several years.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Joyce and her family are happy.

#andi's asks #byler #byler ficlet #andi writes not dies

[msclaritea]

"Jenna Ortega, the star of Netflix’s Wednesday and Disney’s Stuck in the Middle, has faced a significant setback in her career as her latest movie, Miller’s Girl, bombed at the box office and received harsh reviews from critics. The film, which also stars Martin Freeman, is a psychological thriller about a young writer who gets involved with her teacher.

A dismal debut OF Jenna Ortega and a low score

According to Box Office Mojo, Miller’s Girl, written and directed by Jade Halley Bartlett, opened in US theaters on January 26, 2024, and made only $321,000 in its first weekend. This marks Jenna Ortega’s lowest-ever domestic opening weekend and her second-lowest opening per-screen average after her 2018 indie film Saving Flora.

The film also failed to impress the critics, who gave it a 25% rating on Rotten Tomatoes, making it Ortega’s worst score ever and one of Freeman’s lowest scores in over a decade. The critics slammed the film for its weak script, poor direction, and implausible plot.

The Wall Street Journal called the film “a work of glaring artifice” and said, “Only a generous grader would award this script anything better than a D-plus.” The New York Times said the film was “too vapid and silly to do much besides titillate” and “being touted as a psychological thriller, but it’s not.”

Surprising praise and a hopeful future

Despite the hostile reception, the filmmaker Bartlett praised Jenna Ortega for her performance and said she was “totally, totally surprised” by her talent and charm. She told Screen Rant that Jenna Ortega was “hysterical” and “very funny” in the film and that she “disarmed” her during their Zoom meeting..."

I've seen this before; Miss Bartlett's quote. When Hollywood is determined to boost a certain star, they'll just keep throwing them into anything and everything. It makes them look increasingly sought after, but if it's a script from a B level Hollywood writer, HOW sought after, I don't know. The important part is to always make sure the public knows what an INCREDIBLE talent the lead actress is. (I found the exact same type of quotes for Emma Stone, when she started out; a young woman whose dad is a wealthy contractor. Did you know Emma and fam lived at a celebrity hotel, when she was a kid?) Meantime, poor Martin Freeman gets a turd on his CV, because you know he didn't choose to be in Miller's Girl, of his own free will and AMC Theatres just keeps losing more money.

#Jenna Ortega #OverHype #Paramount Global #Netflix #I Thought Wednesday Was Cancelled? #Hollywood Is Starving The Public Of Quality Entertainment Because They're Too Busy Making BAD Films As Star Vehicles #Renee Rapp #Barry Keoghan #Ncuti Gatwa #Austin Butler #Andrew Scott #Scientology

[hypnotisedfireflies]

If Rachel hadn’t died when she did, would Tess have gone through with telling Joel how she felt about him? They’re both so happy in that honeymoon period after Indy I could have read an entire story set in that time period. (Even if not much would be happening)

How would a declaration of love gone at that point of their story? Would Joel have been receptive to it that early on? (We all know he was head over heels at this point, but would he have admitted it?)

And how would having their feelings out in the open effected their relationship going forward? (If at all) Since we know that the years that follow weren’t easy and that ultimately Tess isn’t able to heal him the way Ellie eventually does.

You guys ask good questions. Thanks for another, anon!

This is interesting because the whole course of the story really could have changed depending on the exact nature of how this happened.

Also, I would actually like to add a bit to Drifter's Dawn to incorporate more of that "honeymoon" period. There is more in Rachel's chapter of the Ensemble, but I do feel it was rushed in the OG story. ANYWAY. Two scenarios:

SCENARIO #1: Rachel and Ricardo both survive

Tess ultimately chickens out when she has the opportunity later that day. She comes so close to telling Joel, and she can't. He kind of knows what she almost said but he doesn't say it either.

However, the group changes course.

There's four of them and they're stronger. They decide to go south and they go back to the Appalachian Mountain cabin and find it actually undisturbed since they were last there. Tess tells Joel she loves him here by accident (probably mid-coitus) and he says it back and it's all very happy.

Joel teaches the other three a shitload about construction and they build on to the cabin and spend the next few years fortifying the area. It's not perfect, but they are far enough removed that nature takes care of a lot of natural obstacles, especially when there's a rockfall that wipes out the main access road to the cabin.

Over time they have some animals there, Rachel successfully establishes a thriving vegetable garden, and they even find a few other people and admit them into the group.

Joel still grows distant and becomes more and more focused on working the land and building stuff, spending increasing amounts of time alone. But he does have Ricardo, with whom he becomes incredibly close, and it's him who keeps him more or less level rather than Tess.

I never really developed Joel and Ricardo properly, but that friendship actually ran pretty deep.

Tess and Joel remain together but go on quite different trajectories. It's not a relationship like we see in Dusk and Joel never heals properly, but Tess does, and is mentally in a better place than she is in Dusk and beyond.

Maybe they find a young orphan and raise her up or something. That'd help Joel. Chuck a lost kid at him.

SCENARIO #2: Ricardo dies but Rachel survives

In this version Tess still doesn't tell Joel. Rachel is a mess. I mean, she really loved Ricardo. They spent a lot of time together in Indy - he lived with her toward the end - and they looked after one another. They spoke French together and he was teaching her Spanish. They were best friends.

What's also not written anywhere (because nobody who saw it happen lived in the story) was that Ricardo didn't get bitten in the store. Rachel panicked and shot him by mistake, and then she got mauled.

So in this scenario, Rachel would have been in such a state that Tess would not have told Joel. The moment passes. With Rachel so unwell, they would still have made for Boston and probably been billeted in a larger apartment so they could be together. They couldn't look after her in the open.

Rachel would have recovered and become a lot harder. This would basically have broken that kind, lovely spirit and she would have gotten into the smuggling with Tess and Joel.

#driftersverse #asks #tlou fanfic #tlou #joel x tess #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #tess servopoulos #joel miller

[mikareo]

hello again dove <3 hehe thank you so much for the matchup spots. it makes me sooo happy really <3 so, for the needed info!

a bllk match up please!

i will send it in an ask after this one :>

a male around teenage years thank you <3

an sfw result pls would be nice hehe

as for my personality, i’m a she/ her infp and a capricorn, to start off :D i think i’m a pretty curious and open minded person. i’m an introverted person who likes to be an ‘audience’ more by nature, but i’m also pretty talkative and affectionate i think. though, when my social battery run out i do tend to become a quiet person who just hang around and listen almost immediately haha ;;;; i’m a pretty idealist person, while also trying my best to be open and understand another point of view. and as i like to think a lot, while it came with its benefits like considerations, sometimes it ended up in some bad habits like 2 am 4 am silent overthinking and putting unnecessary pressure on myself to the point i got cold feet hohoho. however i do recently realize with little reassurance and praises that is convincing to me, i got cheered up almost immediately ahahaha my biggest love language are words of affirmation & acts of service, even though i’m pretty receptive to all! (words of affirmations and acts of service are definitely up there tho <3)

my hobbies include watching movies and videos! animations, indie stuffs, and ‘making you think and reflect’ stuffs especially lately haha. i also enjoy reading, writing, and drawing! (i think, it’s the aspect of ‘learning’ and ‘a story of something’ that interests me the most from these kind of activities) i also likes looking at aesthetically pleasing and pretty pictures and such. i do also enjoy going to new places. my faves are mostly related to art or history! i go alone sometimes, with my friends sometimes too. on my downtime, usually my go to is a long hour of rpg or idle gaming in my room. or scrolling down my phone for random trivia and advices while listening to something ehe

my ideal date would be to hang out, and maybe eat, in a place that is not too fancy, somewhere indoor if i have to choose tho haha. a calm & quiet place my date likes or have fond memory would be nice honestly, like a hole in the wall restaurant or a cafe they often hang out in, for example? a simple, pleasant time is more than enough for me. though, i think as long as i can listen and talk to them, i would be fine anywhere

i think that’s all! i hope it is enough and also not too much! thank you so much again :””” sending you many virtual kisses! i hope you can have fun and take your time doing this, i’m looking forward to it :3 wish you a nice day and night dove! take care <3

💌 ✮⋆˙ love letter to...popponn!

hi popon!!! srry this took a little longer than it usually does,, i rlly wanted it to be perfect n finals week got a little in the way! also i think we have the same glasses LOL,, ur so pretty tho like i love ur haircut,, the bangs are so cute so suit u sm !!!! i rlly hope u like this n i had a lot of fun doing this matchup!!

[ ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ ᰔ ] your complete matchup results!

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀ APPEARANCE PAIRING ! congratulations . . .‧₊˚🪐✩ZANTETSU TSURUGI₊˚✨⊹♡

with his height, zantetsu towers over you and holds your hand, making sure that you don't get lost in the crowd. he may not have the biggest brain, but he does have the biggest heart. he'd do anything to see that bright smile on your face whilst your hair blows in the wind. if there's one thing he's devoted to more than soccer, it's undoubtedly you; and he wouldn't change that for the anything.

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀ PERSONALITY PAIRING ! congratulations . . .‧₊˚👾✩YO HIORI₊˚🌑⊹♡

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ chemistry analysis . . .

while reading through your personality traits, i realized that i wanted to pair you with someone similar to you rather than someone who's your opposite. i also wanted someone good at communicating, which crossed off nagi (lol); and then i landed on hiori after debating a few other options. i think that you and hiori would definitely be the most compatible compared to any other blue lock boy— and you two would be really cute together!

one thing that you and hiori have in common, is your preference for a quiet life. you're both extremely introverted people and like to avoid noisy and obnoxious crowds, which makes it easier to find comfort in each other when you need a little break from socialization. rather than standing on the sidelines in silence, the two of you talk to one another and quietly comment on the conversation whenever you're in a social setting— genuinely enjoying each other's presence over a large group of people. when you're in need of a social break, hiori's the person you know you can go to.

being observant is one of hiori's major traits. he's extremely good at reading people and understanding how they're thinking without even having to ask, which would be extremely beneficial whenever you have those nights where your mind is running wild and you can't seem to sleep. hiori is right beside you, asking you what's wrong, and talking you through your feelings in the gentlest way he can. your happiness is of utmost importance to him, and he can't rest until he knows you're feeling better. he's also a great communicator. he knows how to explain his emotions and understand other people when they struggle to do so. with that observance and communication, he's the perfect boyfriend for you.

your hobbies also really align with hiori, considering that gaming is also his usual go-to when he doesn't know how to spend his free time. the two of you could be on a discord call together, in the middle of the most difficult rpg campaign that either of you have ever played; yet somehow still manage to complete the hardest task possible since you have such great teamwork. if either of you wasn't feeling up to play for some reason, you could simply watch the other livestream and lowkey backseat game if that's what your into— though hiori wouldn't mind. he just likes to hear your voice, no matter if you're telling him what to do or simply giving him some helpful advice.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ memories on the wall . . .

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ a treasured moment . . .

"happy anniversary." hiori smiles at you softly as the glow from the dim over-head lighting casts dancing shadows across his face.

the atmosphere of the familiar restaurant is so comforting. it's almost like a warm blanket enveloping the both of you and squeezing tight until you're fast asleep. it's been a year since you first came here, having walked through the doors on your first date and choosing to come again and again to make more memories as the time goes by.

"happy anniversary to you too." you grin back, shining your bright teeth at him and mouthing a quick 'i love you' as you begin to look at the menu.

there's a smooth piano track playing on the speakers, so lovely that you'd think it was a live band if you hadn't asked a few months ago. you and hiori love this place for the intimacy the ambience brings. you don't have to shout to hear what he's saying and he doesn't need to be overly outgoing to get your attention. it's almost as if this place was made just for you two, and you were so lucky to find it so soon after finding one another.

"you gonna get the same thing as usual?" he asks. he knows you so well.

"obviously."

#matchups ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎ #txt.popponn

[fountainpenguin]

"Your love was handmade for somebody like me..."

---

Today is not my usual 'fic update day, but I wrote a dorky one-shot about my OTP and honestly did not want to sit on it </3

"Your family is doing okay"

Read on AO3

Exposition Guy came here for family photos but in my headcanon he has three invisible brothers, idk what to tell you.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

Is it… weird to be so, so thankful that you live in a city crawling with supervillains? Probably. But Miah Wall wasn’t meant for a slow-moving life in a slow-moving town. She’ll take a storm of mashed veggies or a cockroach invasion on the bus every other day - not even hesitating! - as long as she still gets to order cookies, cupcakes, and snazzy indie records at the shops along the street.

It is cruel, cruel irony, however, that Miah Wall - who is not built for dull and dreary things - must cram herself into the flabby seat behind the reception desk every afternoon and suffer through her pre-med homework without cookies, cupcakes, and snazzy indie music. The fact that she can see both a floral boutique and a rolled ice cream shop through the photo studio window does not make her dread her empty pockets any less.

I need a new internship… If I’m not getting paid to sit here, can it at least be for something relevant to my nursing career?

Now, Miah Wall is also an incredibly gracious individual who has certainly not forgotten how loving and kind her adoptive mother is for letting her live at home for free during her studies instead of shelling out the cash for a university dorm. It’s just, well… Greeting the occasional customer with a plastic smile and spouting white tales about how they’re “Actually early” and that Mrs. Ford will be “Just one moment” isn’t going to pay for super cute lattes. Or the new state award books. Or a sugar glider.

But a nursing degree pays for a sugar glider.

Mine are gonna be ‘sour gliders’ when I’ve spoiled them rotten, she tells herself in silence, and flips three pages forward in her textbook.

The fun thing about supervillains, though, is that they tend to target those high-profile money-making places like the jewelry store, the bank, the real estate office, and the auto-shop. Every now and then you hear about a guy whose schtick doesn't slot neatly into one of those categories. The Raccoon Wrangler, for example, prefers hanging around the city dump, and the Beetle Kid (accompanied by his six-legged friends) actually does a great job of eliminating random waste after storms.

But no one ever targets her adoptive mother’s little photography studio. It’s not even along a main road. Once you run a business in Fair City long enough, you realize that the foot traffic tends to be heavier outside the downtown area where villains like to strike… and if you adapt appropriately, you too can succeed at life by running an adorable place across from the flower shop!

Supervillains do not rob photo studios. What’s there to take? Some old pics of someone else’s kids? Miah’s helped Mrs. Ford with a couple photoshoots for supervillains in the past (once or twice even witnessing a secret identity reveal in the process). Photography, like costume tailoring, is one of those peculiar businesses that ne’er-do-wells seem to value as much as people on the straight and narrow do.

She knows this.

She has faith in this.

But she almost slams the panic button when a big, sturdy guy pushes himself - backwards - through the glass door. Alone. Jerking his shoulders funny as though someone on the sidewalk has his wrists and is trying to pull him back into the hazy, humid afternoon. Miah’s purple pen falls away from her teeth and clicks against the desk.

What’s he doing here? The last appointment of the day is for a family.

Oh boy.

The ragged, dust-covered, dirt-stained guy at the door looks like he can’t be more than 19 or 20. She can only see a portion of his profile, but that seems right. Something about the dark green sweatshirt and those little rectangle glasses seems familiar… but she can’t nail down the reason why. Maybe she knows him from school? She’s 21. Maybe they shared a generals class last year?

I don’t get the impression he’s into medical science.

Since he’s trying to force his way into the studio backwards, Miah sees the ponytail before any of his face. It’s coming loose, his scrunchie far too low in his hair. It’s probably been hours since he adjusted it. Bouncing bits of frizz make multiple attempts to escape his scalp just in the time it takes him to wiggle his way inside. He’s holding a lot of leashes for someone who just walked into the studio alone. At least three of them. Maybe four, but one of them is rainbow so it’s difficult to separate it from the others. All three leashes are fighting back against his grip, and they look like they’re winning.

Okay. Forget what he’s doing HERE… I can’t tell what he’s doing, period.

He’s… struggling with the empty leashes? He must be. The pull against him is too strong to be the air conditioner. She can’t hear anything outside. No shouting. Maybe it’s the wind? Or someone with telekinesis powers? Miah strains her eyes against the dim light level, then feels stupid for it. Squinting doesn’t reveal anything at the leashes’ other ends.

“Hi?” she offers, rising from her chair. She keeps her forefinger under the desk, right over the button that will send out the Peppermint Kid rescue alarm, but… she’s starting to think she might not even need it. What is this guy doing?

He seems to recognize the absurdity of the situation at the same time she does, because he turns around at that moment. Miah jolts and almost hits the panic button after all. Okay- where does she know him from? His facial hair is overgrown, but uneven in awkward patches. His baggy, half-lidded eyes make it clear from the start that he didn’t come here to play games. Which, you know… makes sense. This is a photo studio. 

Her finger rests against the panic button, feeling out the curves. The plastic-y-ness of it feels sticky and hot, but the metal around it is icier than the crisp wind has been all week. The guy stares at her with the face of someone who just got the back of his ankle run into by a shopping cart and found out his insurance won’t cover it.

Then he tells her, point blank, “I’m here for a family photoshoot with three kids who are invisible.”

“OH!” Miah snaps straight up, grabbing for her purple pen. “You’re the Nightmare King’s son! Or…” She glances at the three leashes dangling from his hand. All three are tugging in different directions. Shoes are squeaking. “… sons, rather. I just saw him in the paper for robbing city hall. Well, I mean, I didn’t see him…”

[Cnt'd on AO3 - Link at top]

#Exposition Guy #WordGirl #ridwriting #I thought posts with links did not show in tags but then my Factor link post did and idk what to believe anymore #Satirical vocab alien child show #apparently art #The very visible boy #Factor It In #fic announcement

[itsohh]

Missing Part 2

A/N: Female reader, haha so it helps when I actually hit the post button mb.

Summary: On your tail Gustave and Taina continue their search for you, getting ever closer.

Word count:  1964

Warnings: None

AO3 Part 1

Sleep hadn't taken Gustave very easily that night. While Taina had slept in the spare room he had stolen the couch in your basement. It wasn't the largest of rooms, but you still managed to fit in the couch, desk and pool table. He couldn't sleep the night in the master room, it didn't feel right. Not with your absence. Then with the smell of your blood, a coppery scent that plagued his mind, spending the night in your living room was a no-go. By the time he got up in the morning, there was a considerable increase in the size of the bags under his eyes. Tania had helped herself to some of the supplies they had brought while she worked away on the laptop.

"Morning. You missed Sam, Meghan got a result on your girl's Toyota." She spoke without looking up, the blood around was ignored while she sat on the living room couch, legs folded. There was the light scene of toast in the air, a single piece left on her plate that sat on the coffee table. "It's going further South, Sam speculates it's going to the border."

"How long of a drive is it?"

"About sixteen hours no stops."

"If she is injured she will need to take breaks." Not that you prefer to, a rather stubborn one at times. Gustave's mind went to the car trips the pair of you had shared, always desperate to get as far as possible before you stayed in some motel for the night. Always one to push the limits much to his light-hearted concern.

"Now that you're up, make yourself some breakfast and we can go. We are going in her trail, Meghan believes she knows where K spent the night." There was something that rubbed Gustave wrong, not once since the situation started did someone say your actual name. Only referring to you as your codename, perhaps it was easier to distance themselves from you, to distance themselves from the fact that you were very much their friend. Yet he didn't speak up on the matter, he knew so long as he was there, he had the control to make sure there was that level of emphatic connection.

Taina liked listening to music while she drove, not that he could understand it. It was a playlist of indie rock that he presumed originated from her home country considering most of the music was sung in Portuguese, the odd song having English in it. The music wasn't played too loud, more of a background sound than anything. She kept it at respectable levels as she drove. She wasn't one to really talk much while she drove, not that he particularly wished to. Perhaps if they were on a different mission, in a different situation he would make more conversation. But not then.

After a few hours, Taina turned the music off as they pulled into an old motel. Sam had mentioned that your car wasn't seen past the upcoming intersection so they presumed you stayed the night here. It wasn't anything special. A two-story building with no other cars in the car park, and a small check-in area downstairs. The vacancies sign flickered as their car stopped and they both got out of it. Tania led them towards the reception area, immediately her stance told him she would be taking control here, taking the lead.

A small bell rang as they came in and the woman at the desk looked up from her phone for a moment. Taina's eyes scanned the keys on the wall. There was only one hook that had only one set of keys, a set of keys that she spied next to the woman on the counter. Most likely that was the room you had spent the night in, unable to rent before they cleaned it out. "Hi, two queens or a king?" The girl's voice was monotone as she asked.

"A king we won't be here for long." The woman seemed unphased and leaned back grabbing the key labelled 'six'. Silently Tania smiled, yours had been 'seven' which made the situation far easier to get to.

"Regardless of the time you spend, you will be charged for the night. Credit card or cash?"

"Card." The girl typed away at the computer in front of her before the EFTPOS machine in front of Taina lit up. With the swipe of her card, a payment was made. Not that it was coming out of her pocket, no, the room would be charged to Rainbow. The woman slipped her the key and the pair of them walked out of the reception room. Tania glanced over her shoulder and it seemed the receptionist cared little for their actions as her eyes immediately went back to her phone, not nothing to watch them go to their own room.

Instead of going to room six, they headed to seven where once again Tania's lockpicking skills were put to work. Unlike your door, this door was far easier to get through and after a few seconds, it clicked open. The curtains had been drawn and you had left quite a bit of mess. Similar to your safehouse, there was blood-covered tissue but this time it was dumped in the trash. They started to scan the room. Gustave started to look at the bedding that had been bunched up in a corner, only finding stains of blood on it. Some of it was in the middle area while more of it was at the end. It didn't tell him much info, not other than did you raid of medical supplies in the bathroom. Only that they were old enough to have dried.

Taina's eyes fell on a notepad that seemed to be freshly cut. Next to it was a pencil. Carefully she started to cover the pad in lead, small white lines coming through showing the indents of what had been written.

"Gustave, what do you make of this?" She called that man over. There together they looked at what you had written. It wasn't so much writing but more of a graph. On the left-hand side, you had written 'Then' and then a long line that connected to 'Now'. Above the lone line, you had put a bunch of question marks. In small print, he could manage to see the words 'Ten years?' written.

"What do they think it means?" She asked him and she frowned, he wasn't sure.

"Perhaps something took place for ten years that she's trying to figure out. It doesn't bring anything to mind."

There have been some more notes that you had taken but the hard pressure of scribbles crossing them out prevented them from figuring out what it was. "Do we know what she was doing ten years ago? Perhaps something or someone from her past has resurfaced." She looked towards Gustave.

"No, we will need to ask Harry about that. Her past wasn't anything that she has brought up with me." Because you were hiding something or because it was just something that never came up, he didn't know. It was never something that bothered him, never something he cared for. Most operatives had something in their past that they wished to bury, hell, Taina next to him was one of them.

"We are going to need to find out if this is a potential lead." Taina made eye contact with him, while he didn't want to find out this way, while he rather wished you would tell him when you were the most comfortable, he knew that if it was important they needed to know. They got the laptop from the car and set themselves up in the room, the receptionist hadn't looked towards them even once when they got their stuff from the car.

Harry looked down as they described what they had discovered, nodding as they requested information from your personal file. "Normally I wouldn't send through personal files but on this occasion, I will. I trust this information will stay between the three of us, for privacy's sake." Harry sent through the file, one that only he and Sam had looked at.

A small notification came through as your personal file PDF came through. It certainly wasn't short. Skimming the text he scrolled down until he found what they were looking for. "Hm, she hasn't joined the military. Not officially."

"Not officially?" Tania peered over his shoulder.

"It seems like she was living in America at the time. A mechanic for illegal street racing." A pop came from Tania's lips as she looked up.

"You know, that makes so much sense." Her mind was thrown back to all the times you drove, just a little more recklessly, just a little bit faster than everyone else.

"When did she join the military?"

"Nine years ago, it seems she was a whistleblower on the operation that was happening where she worked when she found out about the human trafficking. Officially in the States she was apprehended and deported. Unofficially she signed an agreement to join the police and trained to be an undercover operative.” He continued to scan the long text about the history of said undercover operations, brief statements that didn’t go into too much detail and then finally the very undetailed history of your time with the NZSAS.

“Hmm, this human trafficking could be a possible motive. Harry, what do you know about this?” Taina leaned over Gustave and made eye contact through the camera.

“Aside from the fact it was a massive success due to her information, nothing more than you see in front of you. I hesitate to ask Eliza about it but if need be I can.”

“Ask Miles about it, he's less likely to ask questions.” Eliza's distrust of Harry's judgement wasn’t something that was a secret from Gustave, Miles however would be able to supply the same amount of information but without further probing.

“I will send him a message-” A call interrupted them, it was Meghan. Gustave added her to the call and she jumped a little to see Harry there.

“I just got some CCTV of her at a gas station, she's not too far away from you guys. If you hurry you might be able to catch up with her, shes maybe an hour away. Here.” She shared the footage. Gustave and Taina kept their eyes on the security footage. “I also contacted the owner and they gave us their indoor security footage here.” Another file was sent through. The first showed your car showing up. From there they could see you get out of the car, there was a limp on your right leg, your head was covered with a hood and for a brief moment, your face turned to face the camera. Your upper face was covered with a pair of sunglasses while the bottom of your face was covered with a mask. If it hadn’t been for their tracking, you could have been anyone. Gas was put in the car and you promptly went inside to pay. Cash. Five minutes you were in and out.

“I’ve sent you the location on your phones.” Tania looked down as the text came through.

“If we hurry we can be there in half an hour. Right on her tail.” Gustave frowned as he scrolled back on the security footage while Tania started to pack up their things. He zoomed in on your thigh, blood had gone through your pants, still wet. Whatever your injury was, it wasn’t getting better. They needed to be quick if he was to treat your wound. “Let's move out.”

#r6s #rainbow six siege #r6s x reader #doc x reader #gustave kateb #the gif is my own

[qqueenofhades]

Years ago, I vaguely recall hearing that Charles should abdicate the throne for the good of the monarchy since he’s pretty disliked, so I’m curious how popular Will is? I can’t remember if it was one of your posts or some other post about the Queen dying that mentioned she was popular and that’s partly why so many nations didn’t bother officially not following her (I’m sure I’m phrasing this badly so sorry for that) so I was wondering how Will’s popularity is compared to the queen’s?

William has always been much more popular than Charles, since he is Diana's son and in the late 90s/early 2000s, was a major teenage heartthrob and subject of various swooning fantasies about marrying a prince. (This was back when he had hair, I guess?) He's also from the modern generation, so people identify with him more, and he's talked about mental health and had a real job for a while and went to college and had more of a real life than the older generations of the Firm. So. There's that.

However, William is still, just like Charles, the inheritor of the whole rotten system, has operated in a political and behind-the-scenes capacity to support The Monarchy At All Costs, and was the one who, along with Kate, carried out that horrible "shaking hands through wire fences!" colonial-throwback Caribbean tour earlier this year. After they predictably got blasted, their reaction was to blame their advisors for not "preparing" them, as evidently it was somehow impossible for they themselves to imagine that they might get a less than worshipful reception. He gave some mealy-mouthed general acknowledgement of the impact of the British slave trade on the West Indies, but still didn't actually apologize for it or go into any depth as to WHY that was.

So, yeah. Just because he is a younger, more "down to earth," technology-hip royal doesn't make him any less of an upholder and safeguarder of institutional white supremacy, and people who think he would be a "better king" than Charles are still missing the point. None of them should be king! They're still profiting from a hugely unequal and exploitative system that has caused (and continues to cause) massive generational, ongoing harm, while dressing it up with nice platitudes about "letting the Commonwealth choose its own destiny" blah blah blah. William is just as much committed to maintaining the overall system as the rest of his family, even if he wants to make some cosmetic changes to make it seem nicer and more empathetic. Sorry, my dude. Not buying it.

#anonymous #ask #anyway royal family still trash film at 11

[queenofmalkier]

The Ongoing Egwene Exploration part 2

I pulled the time to do this out of a hat because I was enjoying the adventure and also wanted to read the whole book in one sitting and it was ruining my week.

Part 1 can be found here.

Let’s do this!

While this chapter picks up directly where the last ended, it felt like enough of an “end scene” sort of moment to separate this encounter into an individual observation post. We’ve officially been introduced to Thom, and with this introduction we get to see a bit more about Egwene and how she reacts to others.

She starts off excited - they all are! It’s been a hard winter and a gleeman is sort of the indie-band-entertainment-of-the-year in their village. I like that we have this pocket of a moment, which ends all too quickly, because it shows despite everything else that Egwene is still young. She’s excited about Bel Tine, about the fireworks and dancing around the maypole. Oh Egwene.

But she isn’t excited for long, not once Thom gets going. He immediately jumps into a tirade, inadvertently insulting Egwene’s father,  the neighboring villages that might one day be her people if she becomes a Wisdom, and, worst of all, Nynaeve. Because yes, Thom The Silverest Tongue To Ever Silver is guilty of foot-in-mouth syndrome on occasion.

I’m not sure if I find that encouraging or not, given my own penchant for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Honestly, I very much would have been more than a touch annoyed with him myself. Egwene’s feelings are absolutely justified. Given that she at least knows Fain, that’s more or less the last straw - she’s many things, but cowardly has never been one of them. She’s not going to stand there and listen to Thom disparage anyone else without making it clear she’s not a receptive audience. (In addition to being brave, she’s also very loyal when she can afford to be.)

Good for her.

This next bit feels a bit fumbled. Thom is obviously trying to smooth any ruffled feathers, the boys snicker a bit, but it’s not really clear why. Are they waiting for Egwene to lay into Thom? Or do they think that his flattery is absurd? It remains a bit murky, though I gather we’re supposed to understand that the boys are laughing at the idea of Egwene being pretty and she’s mad about that.

Whatever the case, Egwene is offended and politely accepts the offer.

The conversation moves on but we get another flash of insight - unlike the boys, Egwene is not superstitious. Perhaps because of her mentor, Nynaeve, but perhaps she was always a bit skeptical? It makes me wonder what sort of little adventures she’s gone on, given what the boys have admitted to. Has she tested the strength of her own resolve just yet? Or is she building up to it?

It does embarrass her though, either because she was suppose to mind her tongue about whatever Nynaeve told her or because she knows her dismissiveness would be frowned on in their village. Censure is a powerful tool.

Again, Egwene displays an innate ability to read people and to understand their motivations - she knows Thom is being a dick, but she also feels guilty about calling it out because clearly the three boys haven’t clocked it yet.

More flashes of delight, the mood shifts so quickly. I sort of forgot that. They are all just so bloody young :( Now I’m sad again. She might be playing at being a Wisdom for now, at being an adult with a braid and everything, but Egwene still has her favorite stories, and Rand knows these aren’t those kinds of stories. Another subtle manipulation tactic, perhaps? Rand does think she’s done it intentionally to rattle him, perhaps in retribution for not agreeing she was the prettiest girl in the village. We can’t really say.

We’ve learned she favors comedies though, and, rather on the nose for Egwene “stories about women outwitting people who were supposed to be smarter than everyone else” - can you see my surprised face?

We end this encounter with Egwene on an interesting note - torn between Rand and Nynaeve, who represents a different path, a different future. That something more that Egwene wants in her life.

Egwene follows Nynaeve.

#Wheel of Time #wheel of time book spoilers #egwene al'vere #The Egwene Exploration

[silmaspens]

Tolkien OC Week- Day Two,Family Members

The Great Architect of Tirion

Among the first elves who awoke in Cuiviénen, only one devised structures of wood and stone large enough to dwell in. She was called Ontamë, the Mason, and she delighted in all that sprung from beneath her feet. Only Mahtan’s love of the earth rivaled her own and the two were wed on the shores of the Sea of Helcar beneath the stars.

She journeyed to the Blessed Lands with the Host of Finwë and set to work building great towers, halls, courtyards, and palaces as soon as she arrived on its shores. In Valinor she taught many in the ways of masonry and founded a school of architecture in Tirion. Chief among her students were Anairë, wife of Fingolfin and their son Turgon. As well as Finrod, and Galadriel of the house of Finarfin. And later her great grandson Celebrimbor.

She bore one child, Nerdanel who wed Fëanor the only son of Finwë and Míriel Serindë. Together they gifted Ontamë with seven grandchildren whom she adored. She was a doting grandmother who nurtured curiosity and a love of the arts in her grandsons. And they loved her as if she were a second mother. Celegorm was most alike her in mood and Caranthir the most alike in face.

She remained in Tirion with her husband and daughter, and did not return to Middle Earth with the host of Noldor after the Darkening.

#I’ve been thinking about Nerdanel’s mother for while now #she just has to be cool #it’s only fair #lol #she treats Feanor as a son and tries to be a positive motherly influence im his life #he’s much more receptive to her than he is indis #rip #Ontamë felt like she failed him after he freaked out and left valinor #she missed Celebrimbor the most tho #my art #tolkien #silmart #silmarillion #my artwork #feanorians #Ontamë #Nerdanel #mahtan #Curufin #he’s sitting on her hip #Caranthir #Celegorm #huan #tolkienocweek

[calaofnoldor]

Winchester Welcome

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 3,878

Summary: Everyone’s ecstatic about the impending birth of your twins, but since when do these things ever go off without a hitch for the Winchesters?

Warnings: labor/birth/complications (but nothing too graphic), potential medical inaccuracies, slight angst, bit of language, dean being an awesome big bro? 

A/N: this is part 2 of ‘Dean, Don’t’ (though i think it can be read as a stand alone) which was very kindly requested by @carryonmywaywardbucky, so if you don’t like it, you can go take it up with her (jk!). also, i’m so sorry, i don’t know where all this angst/drama came from 😬

← BACK UP | MASTERLIST

Sam had one foot up on the bench seat and the other planted firmly on the floor of the Impala. He had managed to maneuver you between his legs, where he could offer comfort and support in whatever form you needed.

With one hand pressed against the side of your colossal baby bump, Sam could feel your stomach tense up each time a contraction came, and he always urged you to breathe through them. His face would be nuzzled within your hair, while his other hand kept itself busy rubbing along your neck, shoulders, arms, back, and hips. Indeed, the man had become remarkably handsy ever since you began to show and you unwittingly loved it, even now, in the throes of labor.

“Ugh, Sam!” You grabbed his wrist in a moment of frenzied pain.

“I’m here, baby! I got you, it’s OK.” Sam burrowed his nose into your neck in consolation, and you were beyond glad he had decided to join you in the backseat, despite the tight quarters.

As the blur of buildings and trees whizzed by, your contractions intensified in both strength and frequency. “This hurts more than that time I got shot,” you groaned miserably.

Sam laughed but continued to offer gentle susurrations in his low, soothing tone, lips grazing along the shell of your ear, whilst his doting, reverent fingers brushed the hair away from your face before travelling downwards to work their magic along the base of your spine.

Although Dean tried to grant the two (soon to be four) of you some privacy, he was still able to hear every whisper of love and encouragement Sam uttered your way. He knew that there was nearly nothing his brother hated more in this world than to see you in pain and figured Sam had been doing a pretty awesome job so far, considering. And you, of course - as proven countless times before - had the pain tolerance of an indie wrestler, and Dean had never been more aware of or impressed by the fact than right now.

On this, your boyfriend agreed wholeheartedly. “Breathe, baby. You’re doing so good,” he commended with pride as you huffed through yet another massive cramp, your hands laid protectively across your distended belly.

But something didn’t feel right. Your contractions were growing closer together at an alarming rate, though no one cared to vocalize it, and although you were tempted to pull your usual shit of swallowing your discomfort in silence, you reminded yourself that this time it was about more than just you.

“Ohhh,” you finally let yourself moan aloud, “Sam, I think you might have to check me.”

“Check you?” Dean asked from the driver’s seat; his voice was a little higher than usual.

“To see how far she’s dilated,” Sam replied for you. “Baby, I can’t do that unless Dean pulls over. Do you think we should stop the car? Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Mmm, I don’t know,” you rasped, “There’s just a lot of pressure and it feels like there’s no break between the contractions anymore.” The string of words left you panting, and you leaned further back into Sam’s embrace.

“What’s the sitch, guys? We stopping the car or should I keep driving?” Dean questioned as he turned his classic rock down a little lower.

“Keep driving,” you confirmed weakly.

Dean complied but made a point to meet Sam’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. They shared a brief moment of wordless, brotherly communication, after which Sam nodded resolutely, his jaw set and eyes ablaze with a mixture of fear and rigid determination.

As the tension in the car mounted, however, the tension in your body seemed to fade. You felt awful for becoming so depleted this early into your labor. You hadn’t even given birth to one of the twins yet, and already you were feeling drained. How could you possibly carry on this way? But all these thoughts quickly disappeared when the weariness became too much.

“Y/N?” Sam looked down at you with furrowed brows. He could feel your body growing limp within his arms.

“Sammy, I don’t feel so good,” you whispered hoarsely. Dean would have thought this was a very normal thing to say during labor, but the change of tone in your voice alerted him to something more.

Sam too, was immediately alert. He scanned your form and noticed two terrifying things right away: first, there was blood on your pants and second, your eyelids seemed to be drooping involuntarily.

“Y/N? Baby, stay with me,” he pleaded as he gave your shoulders a light shake, “Come on, wake up Y/N!” But the darkness was beginning to take over, and you could no longer respond.

“Dean, she’s bleeding,” Sam spoke as an urgent aside, his heart pounding wildly inside his chest.

Dean could tell his brother was beginning to panic, just as he always did when your well-being was on the line, and he knew he needed to remain calm for Sam. “What? OK, just hold on, Y/N/N! We’re almost there.” Dean’s lead foot pushed even harder against the gas pedal.

Behind him, Sam held you tightly in his arms, filling your ears with delicate murmurs of reassurance, desperate for you to wake up. “Come on, baby. You promised me. Just hang on a little longer. You’re gonna be OK.” But even as he said this, he saw more blood seep through your pants. “Dean, drive faster!”

About to tell Sam that he was already going thirty over the speed limit, Dean made the wise decision to shut up and simply put the pedal to the metal, his face a mask of absolute focus.

It was only a matter of minutes, during which you drifted in and out of consciousness, before the Impala screeched to a halt in front of the hospital’s emergency entrance. Dean scrambled out of the car at lightning speed and ran around to open the rear, passenger-side door for you.

Likewise, Sam wasted no time lifting you into his arms and bounding out of the car, practically sprinting towards the reception area. It was an impressive feat of strength, even for Sam, but Dean knew his little brother would have moved mountains for you and those babies if he needed to.

A nurse was there to greet Sam upon his frantic and rather rowdy entrance.

“Help! I need help! My wife’s in labor with our twins, and she passed out on the way here! Her water already broke a-and she’s bleeding!”

The two of you had created fake identities when you decided on a hospital birth, concerned about the chances of complications for delivering twins (and big ones at that), and Sam had never been more grateful for the foresight. He had suggested you go with the credentials of husband and wife to make things easier and ensure the hospital would give him all the privileges of a marital status. Fortunately, despite his hysterical state, Sam hadn’t even hesitated when he called you his wife; the word just seemed to roll off his tongue naturally.

Meanwhile, Dean glanced at his beloved car for a moment, its keys left haphazardly in the ignition. There was a slight grimace on his face as he faltered, considering whether he should go park his Baby in a more legal location or let her get towed and head directly to you and his brother. When he looked back towards the ER and saw your head lolling against Sam’s shoulder, he made his decision. Sam needed him, and Dean would be damned if he didn’t fulfill his lifelong job as the solid and unwavering base of support for his baby brother at this pivotal moment.

“We need a stretcher over here!” The nurse hollered out before turning back to Sam, “OK sir, can you tell me when your wife’s water broke?”

Sam blanched for an instant. He couldn’t focus on anything but your unconscious form. “Um… it was before we left, about, I don’t know-“

“About an hour ago,” Dean supplied as he strode up to his brother’s side. “And we noticed the bleeding around fifteen minutes ago.”

Sam nodded appreciatively, his eyes still wide and frenetic. A stretcher suddenly appeared next to him and he reluctantly laid you down on it, opting to grasp for your hand instead. Dean was busy informing the doctors of your situation, but Sam couldn’t hear any of it.

“OK, let’s go!” a male doctor called out. “Get an OR prepped just in case. Tell them we’ve got a female in active labor with twins, possible placental abruption.”

Trotting alongside your stretcher as the hospital staff pushed you down the hall, one of Sam’s large hands still held on firmly to yours while the other wiped the hair away from your face. “Baby, if you can hear me, please just stay strong, OK? Everything’s gonna be alright. I’m right here. I’ll be here the whole time.”

As if you had heard his prayers, your eyelids began to flutter open. Sam nearly collapsed with relief, but he willed his legs to continue pumping, his eyes never leaving your face. He waited as you tilted your head this way and that, trying to make out your new surroundings.

“S-Sam?” Your voice was still feeble, but Sam had never been happier to hear it.

“Oh, thank god! I’m here, baby, I’m here,” he choked out in a sob.

“Where are we?”

“The hospital. Dean got you here in record time. Everything’s gonna be fine.” He repeated. “Just stay awake for me, OK?”

You tried to nod, but you weren’t sure how well it translated since every muscle in your body felt utterly exhausted.

“She’s regained consciousness. Let’s bring her to the delivery room first.”

As soon as you were wheeled in, an oxygen mask materialized before you, and despite your weak protests was promptly attached to your face. Regardless, you barely got the chance to take a few deep breaths before the contractions began to pick up exactly where they left off.

Yet it seemed like an eternity until the urge to push finally and abruptly overcame your body. You gasped, mouth forming a wide “O”, as you felt your first baby descend swiftly through the birth canal.

“What? What is it?!” Sam inquired hurriedly in trepidation.

“She needs to push,” the doctor answered for you. “Alright Y/N, on your next contraction, I want you to put your chin to your chest and bear down for me as hard as you can, you understand?”

Your answer was a resounding growl as you squeezed your eyes shut and gave your first push of many.

Sam never left your side and he never let go of your hand. He could only marvel at your strength as he tried desperately to provide what little physical and moral support he could. He wanted so badly to kiss you but with the mask in the way, his lips could only settle upon your sweaty forehead.

It took hours, but eventually…

“The baby’s out; it’s a boy! Time of birth - 2:37am.”

Sam was granted only a second to rejoice, his iridescent eyes lighting up at the sight and sound of his firstborn entering the cruel world.

“The mother’s hemorrhaging!” a nurse bellowed and Sam instantly paled, his gaze returning at once to your fatigued figure on the bed.

“We need to get the second baby out now! Call the OR, tell them we’ve got an emergency C-section coming in,” the lead doctor commanded in reply.

Sam watched helplessly as the blood drained from your face and your eyes refused to open yet again. “No, no, no! Please, baby. Please don’t do this to me. Stay with me, Y/N. I need you. Our babies need you!” Sam pleaded for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

“Damn it!” he cursed as the tears began to fall. Sam rose to his full height, his hands balled into tight fists as he pumped them erratically through the air. His imposing form might have frightened some of the nurses if they hadn’t seen the look of horror and anguish that engulfed his features, or witnessed his unequivocal love and devotion to you throughout the labor and delivery process.

Sam forced himself to heave deep breathes as he observed the medical professionals bustling about your room, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Where’s my baby? At least tell me my baby is alright?” he demanded in a shaky tone to no one in particular.

“Your son is just fine, sir. They’ve taken him to the NICU to get checked up but from what I saw, he’s a big and healthy baby boy,” one of the nurses provided with a cautious smile.

“My son…” Sam breathed, looking back down at your unconscious form, “Our son… Did you hear that, baby? Oh, god!” He wanted to take you in his arms, to simply will the life back into you, but the doctors were swarming around your bed, poking and prodding at your still swollen abdomen.

“Sir, you need to back up and let the doctors do their job.”

Sam’s chest puffed up on instinct and he was about to retort when Dean, who had been watching in vain from afar, was suddenly there to hold him back. His hands gripped Sam’s biceps from behind and he pulled his brother back with all the strength he could muster, but Sam would not budge. Dean had no choice but to come around to Sam’s front and push against his inflated chest with both hands, while eyeing his little brother with a pointed look that told him to listen to the nurse, that there was nothing he could do right now to help you.

When Sam finally relented, he could no longer hold back his sobs. He had never felt so helpless, so useless. Dean managed to pull him into a waiting room before he broke down completely.

“Hey, you listen to me.” Dean’s ‘big brother voice’ was in full effect, “Your girl in there, is one hell of a fighter. We have seen her go through hell and back both with and for you, literally. And I know you’d do the same for her, Sammy. And so does she, alright? So I know for a fact that Y/N is gonna be fighting with everything she’s got to get back to you and your family. Just like she always does. I mean, hey, she’s practically a Winchester, right? And since when have we ever let death get the best of us?”

At his brother’s last point, Sam’s heart jolted in his chest. You really were practically a Winchester. And he’d loved the way it felt being able to call you his wife and being referred to as your husband in return.

The next hour passed at an agonizingly slow rate, with Sam and Dean fidgeting silently in their seats through most it.

“Mr. Windsor?” When the doctor got no response, he tried again, “Family of Y/N Windsor?”

At the sound of your name, Sam vaulted off his chair, realizing he’d nearly missed his calling. Hurtling towards the doctor, Sam almost miscalculated his braking distance. “I’m here! That’s me, I’m her husband!” he burst forth breathlessly.

“Well I’m here to tell you Y/N’s out of surgery. The C-section was a success, and she should be waking up shortly. Oh and congratulations, you have another son.”

“Wait, so she and the babies are OK?” Dean checked from his spot behind Sam.

“Yes, we have no reason to believe she or either of the babies are in any further danger.”

Sam released the largest breath known to mankind. “C-can I see her? Can I see them?”

The doctor sent him a smile and a nod before giving them your room number. Sam was off like a bullet with Dean hot behind his heels, but when they reached your door, the older Winchester elected to stay back a little, wanting to permit your new family some time alone first.

You were just coming to your senses when Sam walked in. Adjusting your bed to a seated position, you looked up to find him staring at you, “Sam?”

“Oh, thank fuck,” he exhaled before falling to his knees at your bedside. “You scared the shit out of me, baby. Please don’t ever do that again.” Sam buried his head in your thigh, so you ran your fingers lovingly through his soft chestnut locks, allowing him a moment of reprieve.

When he raised his head to face you, his eyes were red and cheeks stained with tears. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You gave him a confused look, “What do you mean? Are the babies OK?”

“Yeah, they’re fine but the doctor said your complications were most likely the result of previous injuries and the fact that you were carrying big babies.”

You huffed a gentle sigh, “Baby, we both knew there was a higher risk associated with a multiple pregnancy. And of course my hunter background wouldn’t be any help. But how is any of that your fault?”

Sam didn’t respond with words; he merely fixed his watery puppy dog gaze upon yours, which just about caused you to break down with him, but you had promised yourself to always denounce this type of behavior. “Sammy, how many times do I have to tell you? I never wanna hear you apologizing for things you can’t control. And I especially never wanna hear you apologize for any part of who you are, because I am so completely and irrevocably in love with that person that it hurts me just the same, do you understand?”

Sam nodded and you wiped the tears from his cheekbones, beckoning him to stand back up, though his head was still pointed down.

“Hey, I’m OK, alright?” You grabbed his hand, waiting until his shoulders visibly relaxed before adding impatiently, “Now when do I get to see my babies? Please tell me I can see them now.”

“Y-yeah, lemme go bring them over.”

You nodded enthusiastically, feeling a surge of energy flow back into your body at the thought of finally meeting your twins. So when Sam returned, wheeling two hospital cribs through the door, you were virtually bouncing with anticipation.

“You were right, baby.” Sam shot you a handsome little smirk.

“What?”

“We’ve got two boys.”

“Really?” You gasped, the emotions finally catching up with you after all the hardships you’d faced in the past twenty-four hours.

“What? No ‘I told you so’?” Sam teased lightly.

But you were much too in awe for that. “No, just… gimme,” you pouted, holding your arms out expectantly.

“You sure?”

“Sam, if you don’t hand me at least one of my babies right now, I swear to Chuck-“

“Alright, alright, no need to bring God into this,” Sam chuckled, sliding your firstborn carefully into your eager and waiting arms.

“Oh my god, he’s perfect.”

“Yeah? So is this little guy,” Sam had picked up the other infant and was beaming fondly down at him.

You spared a glance at them and giggled at the sight.

“What?”

“Nothing, just… he looks so small in your arms.”

Sam’s entire being exuded radiance, “So what are we gonna name them?”

It wasn’t long before you called for Dean and he strolled somewhat nervously into your room.

Cradling his eldest son in his arms, Sam sent his brother a warm and proud smile, “Dean, we’d like you to meet Robert John and…”

“Lucas Dean Winchester,” you finished, gesturing to the baby boy in your arms. “Well, Luke and Robbie for short.”

Dean’s emerald eyes grew wide and a little wet. He looked back and forth between you and Sam as if to confirm what he had heard was true.

You smiled at him, nodding. “You’ve always meant the world to Sam, and if I’m honest, you mean the world to me too. And I am beyond certain that these boys will grow to love you no less than either of us. Besides, none of us would be here if it weren’t for you.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, and you knew he needed to process his emotions.

“That’s awesome,” he said, though you knew he meant ‘thank you’.

“You wanna hold them?” Sam asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Dean grinned back, then looked toward you.

You held back a laugh, “You wanna start with your namesake, don’t you?”

“Hell yeah!” Sam shot him a mini bitch face, “Sorry, I-I mean, heck yeah!”

Snorting, you carefully handed Dean the bundle of blankets in which Lucas Dean was wrapped.

“There’s just one more thing I wanna say,” Sam’s voice brought your attention back to him.

You gave him a curious look and he seemed to almost blush under your gaze, which only confused you further.

“Y/N, I never thought I’d get to have all this, but you’ve made me so unbelievably happy, and I know it shouldn’t matter, but there’s been something ruminating in the back of my mind ever since we got to the hospital- no, actually ever since we made those fake IDs.”

Now you were really lost, eyeing him perplexedly. You looked over to Dean for some help, but he seemed not in the least bit surprised. In fact, he appeared to be perfectly content, paying zero attention to you and his brother and cooing happily at baby Luke as he bounced him in his arms.

“Baby,” Sam continued, “I know you’ve never really wanted or cared about this, and I know we can never make it a hundred percent official, but- Y/N, will you marry me?”

It was a good thing you were no longer holding any babies, because Sam’s question took you completely off guard.

“W-what?” you stammered, staring at him with large eyes.

Sam chuckled and looked down at Robbie, “I think your mom heard me just fine, don’t you, buddy?”

Your mouth stayed open for some time as you tried to absorb it all.

“Any time now, Y/N. Any time,” Dean interrupted without glancing up from Luke.

“Y-yes!” You finally replied.

“Really?” Sam asked again.

“Yeah! Obviously! I mean, who else would I marry but my incredible, brilliant, tall, and gorgeous baby daddy?”

At this point, Sam had passed Dean his oldest son, helping him balance both babies in his arms, before rushing back over to you. He took your face in both hands and kissed you like it was the first and last time. You leaned up to reach him and run your fingers through his shimmering tresses but you refrained from taking the kiss too far, figuring you’d save Dean the torture given all he had just done for your family.

“Well, alright! Two Winchesters coming in, and five going out. Nice work, Sammy!”

You released Sam and sent Dean a bitch face of your own.

“But- I mean, none of this would have been possible without you, Y/N/N,” he quickly amended, “I mean, who could forget that you nearly died bringing these two to the world? What’s that, the third time you’ve cheated Death now? That alone is enough to make you an official Winchester in my books.”

“Well, technically we’re all Windsors in this hospital.”

A/N #2: thank you for reading! ...i’m thinking of turning this into a series of sorts, like a collection of stories about sam and reader’s lives after the twins (because i’ve got iDeAs brewing), would anyone be interested? ❤️ also, here’s a look at some new stuff at lexicolor.redbubble.com:

tagging some peeps who seemed to enjoy part 1 :) @carryonmywaywardbucky @girl-next-door-writes​ @sams-sass​ @swiftlymoniquesblog @austin-winchester67 @idreamofhazel @hoboal87 

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester x pregnant!reader #sam winchester x you #daddy!sam #sam winchester angst #sam winchester fluff #supernatural #spn #fanfiction #fanfic #one-shot #series #they chose family #fanart #redbubble #lexicolor #text #my writing

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 2 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

Present day

Miruko’s agency was large, much larger than you had expected.

From the street, it had looked unobtrusive enough, a moderately-sized office building with a modern-looking glass front. You could see into a large reception area on the ground floor, and open workspaces on the next few floors, conjoined desks piled high with paperwork and slightly wilted-looking office plants. If not for Miruko’s name emblazoned over the entry in bold, metallic letters, you could have taken it for just another office building.

Once inside, however, the building became much more than that. After checking in at reception, you were led deep into the building, and gestured into an elevator that took you tens of floors down. When the doors opened, they let out into a cavernous space, stretching under what must have been the entire block. The floor was equipped with a gym, several reinforced training spaces the size of office buildings themselves, and what appeared to be a surveillance room where footage from the training spaces could be replayed.

Your mouth dropped open. Did all hero agencies hide deep underground like this? How many other underground floors were there? How big was Miruko Agency, really?

Your guide had enough tact to ignore your inelegant expression, instead leading you towards a training room. A huge, clear window tens of meters across looked into the space, but you would bet anything that it was made of some material much stronger than glass, which was especially evidenced by what you could see going on beyond the window.

Rubble littered the room, scattered in towering piles that gave the appearance of a post-doomsday cityscape. You didn’t know if the room had been set up this way, or if the rubble was the result of the battle going on within; there were two heroes that you could see darting around the space, both appearing to be causing maximum chaos.

Closest to you, a woman with wild pink curls was emitting a powerful stream of some cement-colored substance that ate away at anything it touched, causing it to smoke and hiss and crumble. She melted a huge hole in a pile of rubble, and a man with a shock of golden-yellow hair leapt away from what had probably been his hiding place, backpedaling wildly.

You perked up when you realized who they were--Ashido Mina, the number twenty-nine hero Pinky, and Kaminari Denki, the number thirty-three hero Chargebolt.

Kaminari threw out a hand, and a crackling wave of lightning struck out at Ashido. The lights flickered out briefly, and even behind the window, you could feel your hair stand on end. You blinked past the powerful flash that had temporarily blinded you, casting about for Ashido who had surely been struck down, only to choke on a laugh when you caught sight of her flashing Kaminari the middle finger, sliding away from a huge chunk of rubble she’d dislodged with her acid to use as a shield.

“They’re idiots,” a voice intoned from your side.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, turning to find Miruko herself standing next to you, powerful arms crossed over her chest. Despite her words, a little fond-looking smile flickered at the edges of her mouth.

You schooled your slack jawed expression into a smile. “I don’t know--their personalities are mostly why they’re so popular, so they must be doing something right. I did a little digging into everyone’s results before I got here, and they stood out among a lot of the rest.”

Miruko’s gaze flicked over you. She was short, maybe even shorter than you, but her keen red eyes and very lethal-looking biceps more than made up for her stature. She was intimidating in person, an air about her that told you she could snap and turn on you at any second. Despite the fact that she had asked you here herself, you felt like she might seize you and bodily throw you out of her agency.

“And that’s why they’re idiots. Their results are buoyed by their personalities,” Miruko sniffed. “They need work.”

You prickled a little, feeling like you should say something in their defense, but the truth of it was, you were here to help them work on things.

Some weeks ago, Miruko had contacted the Public Safety Hero Commission with interest in the ranking model. Your version had been in production for close to a year, and you had recently been making scholarly noises about feedback loops, asking for permission to provide pro heroes with individual results breakdowns. Miruko had caught wind of this and demanded on site assessments for her “team of frigging clowns” as she had so eloquently put it. And so you had been loaned out, with the idea of helping to direct the training for the heroes at Miruko Agency, providing them a real time comparison of their training footage to the generic hero ranking model results.

If this trial run was successful, if you could help any of the heroes measurably jump ranks, then the Commission had committed to providing individualized results for the thousands of heroes employed today. The Commission had also expressed interest in your idea of creating and packaging smaller models that took less technical skill to operate, for heroes to use to direct their own training. They had even seemed receptive to giving you a small team of research scientists and software engineers to build such a product, so you would be looking at a pretty sick promotion, not to mention.

Miruko made her way over to the surveillance room, beckoning you after her, and you watched as she leaned over a desk, pressing down a button with one gloved finger.

A crackling sound echoed overhead and her voice followed. “Alright, brats, recess is over. Anyone not heading out on patrol, meet in the surveillance room now.”

The flickering light from Kaminari’s lightning fizzled out, and the door to the training room opened not long after, Kaminari and Ashido spilling out in a chaotic whirlwind of limbs and petty squabbling. They were the first to arrive at the surveillance room, and Kaminari visibility perked up when he saw you.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, interrupting himself on a gasp when Ashido’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “What the fuck, Mina--! Why are your elbows so sharp? Can you just not--?” He grabbed her elbow. “Stop, look, it’s stats girl! From the Awards!”

You startled a little, shocked that he had remembered you. That had been almost a year ago, and you’d only exchanged a couple quick comments in the stairwell.

Ashido looked up from where she appeared to be attempting to crack one of his ribs, her expression shifting into something altogether too interested. You flushed when a sharp grin broke out over her pretty features.

“Oh my god, you’re stats girl? I have been waiting forever. It’s an absolute honor to meet you.” She held out a palm, waggling her rosy fingers expectantly.

A rising sense of horror grew within you. Did...did Kaminari remember you so clearly because he’d told people about the incident? What exactly had he mentioned to her? Who else had he spread the tale to?

“Um, yeah that’s me,” you managed, trying to tamp down your embarrassment.

Ashido grinned wider, leaning forward. “I was totally convinced Denki and Eijirou made you up, except that Katsuki wouldn’t stop plotting revenge out loud for months. You’re, like, a legend. Do you do autographs?”

You gaped at her, your mind sticking on the phrase Katsuki wouldn’t stop plotting revenge out loud for months. A nervous, hunted energy crept over you. Revenge...for months.

Miruko’s rabbit ears twitched and she turned to you, frowning. “I wasn’t aware you’d already met some of my circus monkeys. Is this going to be a problem?”

You dithered nervously, not actually sure if it would be. You’d known Bakugou worked at her agency, considering you had done a fair amount of pre-work collecting everyone's results. But you’d honestly put off thinking about this. Bakugou had been in quite the rage at the Hero Awards, but that had been almost a year ago. And Ashido had phrased his revenge plans in the past tense… Surely he didn’t still hold as much of a grudge now?

Miruko eyed you suspiciously for a moment, but she was distracted when the scuffle of boots indicated the approach of other heroes, and a pair of burly men with curling satyr horns rounded the corner, one of them leaning forward to speak to her. Ashido sent you a wink when Miruko turned her back, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like later.

In the next few minutes, a small group of heroes assembled, ranging from relatively well-known heroes like Ashido and Kaminari, to a couple of heroes who ranked deep in the hundreds--you only knew some of their faces because Miruko had provided you with a list of her employees for preparatory research purposes. They formed a small crescent around the surveillance area, chattering lowly to themselves and eyeing you with speculative curiosity.

To your eternal relief, her most famously explosive employee was conspicuously absent, and you felt yourself relax when it seemed like everyone had turned up who was going to.

When it seemed like the crowd size was finally large enough to please her, Miruko barked a loud “SHUT UP” at them. The din of low voices instantly died down.

“Alright brats. Over the next few months, Y/N will be working here at the agency with us. She has been invited on behalf of the commission, and will be analyzing your quirks, your methods, and your recent work,” Miruko said. “She has individualized results pulled from the current hero rankings that can inform you how to improve. I expect you to take full advantage of this opportunity.”

She gestured to you, giving you a meaningful look as if she expected you to introduce yourself. You gave a little wave, glancing at the heroes around you.

“Um, hi,” you said. “As Miruko-san said, I can give you a little advice based on your current results breakdown. I also plan to analyze video of your training in the coming weeks, and build parallel models to simulate future results given your performance. We can compare those to the current rankings for an idea of how much work you will have to put into particular skills for you to move up in the ranks.”

A small murmur went through the crowd at the prospect of moving up in the ranks. Some gazes sharpened in interest.

You continued, “This is also a good chance to work on specific growth areas -- I can train smaller models on subsets of videos so you can compare your skills more directly with each other or with other heroes from other agencies. Please let me know if there is anything special any of you would like to focus on.”

Miruko stepped back in front of you. “Y/N is going to set up in the surveillance room for the next few weeks. I’ve already established checkpoints for all of you to meet with her, but I encourage you to meet with her more often if you can.”

There were a couple of nods, and a few interested whispers from somewhere at the back of the crowd. Miruko took a breath like she was going to say more, but then--

“Hard pass,” a voice growled from your left. Your hackles instantly raised, and it took your brain a couple seconds to catch up with your instincts. You whipped around wildly when you realized you knew that voice, and you almost jumped a full foot in the air when you caught sight of those familiar blonde spikes over another hero’s shoulder.

You hadn’t noticed his approach, but Bakugou had clearly returned from a fight only minutes ago. His hair drooped a little with sweat, there was dirt streaking the points of his high cheekbones, and his costume was shredded by a thousand tiny tears, like he’d been thrown through a glass window. And...was that blood on his gauntlets? Was it his?

You were torn between immediate annoyance and something like concern at the sight of him so obviously roughed up.

“The meetings are not optional,” Miruko’s voice took on a hard edge.

“I already know what this fucking nerd has to say,” Bakugou drawled dismissively. “And I don’t give a shit. I don’t need assists if I’m the one busy saving the fucking day.”

Your mood edged cleanly into annoyance. It seemed he hadn’t changed any, then.

Miruko’s face darkened. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”

Bakugou bared his teeth. They gleamed almost blindingly white against the dark dirt on his face. “No.”

A wild look entered Miruko’s eye at the challenge. “Everyone is dismissed. Except Katsuki,” she uttered in a low, dangerous tone.

There was a small pause. The heroes around you looked at her askance, and her features darkened even further. “I said scram. NOW!”

The effect was immediate. It felt like no sooner had you blinked than the hall was suddenly clear. The sight of Kaminari and Ashido wheeling around the corner was all the proof you had that the team hadn’t suddenly vanished from existence.

Bakugou snorted and propped himself lazily against a column, affecting a slouch, one pale eyebrow raised over his insouciant expression. It looked almost too perfectly arrogant, and you wondered if he practiced it in the mirror sometimes.

“I said the meetings are not optional, Katsuki,” Miruko hissed, taking a step closer to him. “You can ignore her suggestions all you want, but you will attend them.”

Close as they were, you could see she was almost a full head shorter than him, but the force of her anger seemed to make her larger somehow--she wasn’t towering over him, but she was certainly terrifying. Towering under, your mind supplied unhelpfully.

Bakugou, for his part, held his ground. His mouth curled disdainfully. “What’s the fucking point? The nerd’s just gonna tell me stupid shit. And I’m not going to listen.”

Your fingers twitched in irritation. Data wasn’t stupid shit -- it was mathmatical fact, almost as divorced from human bias as it was possible to be. How was it humanly possible that he hadn’t learned anything or grown even the littlest bit? How was it possible that he was just as infuriating as he was a year ago?

But fine. He could have things his way if that’s what he wanted.

Miruko’s face twisted in a scowl, and she took a deep breath like she was ready to start yelling. But you got there first.

“He has a point,” you said, giving him a hard look over the top of Miruko’s head. “I would hate to waste my time on someone who’s been stalled in the rankings for a year now. He wouldn’t know how to implement my advice even if I were to give it.”

You paused, letting an uncharacteristic smirk curl your mouth, trying your best to channel his disdainful energy. “Isn’t that right, Number Eight?”

Bakugou’s gaze sharpened over Miruko’s silver hair, twin pinpricks of red narrowing in on you. He abandoned his slouch, his body tensing like a hound that smelled blood. “What did you just say?”

You pushed down the petty satisfaction that rose within you at his reaction. He was so fucking prideful, so easy to bait.

“Hmm, cognitive delays,” you said, pretending to tap your chin thoughtfully. “Very worrying. Further evidence he wouldn’t be able to process the information, though. No, I think it’s best if we don’t meet.”

Bakugou pushed himself off the column, edging around Miruko as his mouth drew into a snarl. You were immediately reminded of the Hero Awards, that same overwhelming prickle of power edging over you as he stalked closer, the same scent like caramel and gunpowder.

Miruko’s eyes flicked between the two of you curiously, an eyebrow raised in interest. You hoped it meant she was interested enough in your data analysis to intervene if Bakugou tried to sauté you like an onion.

“If you melt through this blazer I really will sabotage the hero rankings and dip you all the way to number five hundred,” you threatened, edging away from Bakugou as he drew closer. “And also you owe me money for that dress.”

“I’m not gonna fucking give you shit,” he announced, looming over you when he’d decided he was close enough to intimidate. He was near enough that you could feel the heat of him, but he hadn’t put his hands to you yet. It seemed Miruko was enough of a deterrent to curb his bad behavior. “And I’m not gonna meet with you.”

“Good, then we agree,” you said, tipping your head back to look him in the eye. “You’re not good enough to do better anyways.”

Bakugou growled, the phrase clearly still enough to tick him off a year later. “Fuck you, I’m the best.”

“That’s not what your ranking tells me,” you clicked your tongue, feigning disinterest. With the dirt and scratches all over him he looked wilder than ever and you would be a fool to ignore it, but Miruko’s presence made you bold. And something else, some latent streak of frustration and pettiness told you to keep going, to keep pressing the buttons that were getting this reaction from him.

“Your ranking tells me you haven’t even improved the tiniest bit in an entire year. At this rate, you’ll never even hit the top three, never mind be the best. I don’t think you could improve even if you wanted to,” you said.

Bakugou looked like he wanted nothing more than to tear your head off with his teeth. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

You opened your mouth to reply but there was a sudden motion at the edge of your vision, something pink and blurry and wild. You glanced past Bakugou’s shoulder to find Ashido leaning around the wall, waving a hand frantically and mouthing something at you. You squinted, watching her lips shape themselves carefully: make a bet.

What? Make a bet?

She wanted you to make a bet?

You looked back up at Bakugou, taking in the oppositional expression, the angry curl of his mouth, the straight slope of his nose, and those keen, blood red eyes glaring down at you. This was certainly the face of a man who wouldn’t be told what to do, who couldn’t be told what to do.

But despite your words and your inherent distaste, there was no denying he was actually your best shot, the cleanest pathway to your promotion. Bakugou was smart, driven, and absolutely lethal. If anyone could turn around a rank at top speed it was him.

But he couldn’t be made to do it. He had to want to do it.

Ashido waved in the corner of your vision again, enunciating with exaggerated facial expressions. Make a bet.

Things clicked into place.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t be so sure,” you looked away from Ashido, inspecting your nails casually, like your focus would rather be anywhere than on this conversation. “In fact, I would bet almost anything that you wouldn’t know how to implement my suggestions, even if you tried.”

Bakugou froze, red eyes passing over you curiously. For one heart stopping moment, you thought he was on to you, but he just leaned down instead, putting his face close to yours.

“I’ll fucking take that bet.”

You tried to push down your sudden swell of excitement, fighting to keep your expression neutral. You knew he wouldn’t cooperate if he thought you were happy about this.

“Fine. You have two months to jump a rank,” you said. “Or I win. And you’ll pay me what you owe me for the dress.”

Bakugou smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. This had the effect of emphasizing both the tears in his shirt and the swell of his biceps.You quickly attached your eyes firmly to his face--that was so not what you needed to be focused on right now.

“I’ll do it in one,” he said. “And then I win, you smug fucking nerd.”

You gazed at him steadily. “Agreed. Miruko’s number seven--you think you can beat your own boss with just a month of work? You’ll never.”

“You haven’t heard what I win yet,” he said.

You stared at him, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “You go up in rank. That’s what you win.”

Bakugou’s handsome face shifted into an uneven smirk. “Oh no. This is twice now you’ve opened your little know-it-all mouth and acted like you know what the fuck you’re talking about. When I win, you’ll tell me I’m the best and I was right all along.”

You suppressed an eye roll. If he moved up a rank, the point would very obviously be that you were right all along. Was he really so unreasonably competitive and spiteful that he needed to be told he was right?

Then you remembered he’d quite literally dragged you into a stairwell and implied he'd fry you to a crisp when he found out he was number eight. Of course he was.

Well, a few throwaway words were worth nothing compared to the promotion you’d be getting. He could have his sense of self satisfaction when you were knee deep in software engineers and fat stacks of money.

You took a deep breath, holding out a hand. “Okay. If you win, which is a very big if, then I’ll admit it. Deal?”

Bakugou considered you for a long moment, red eyes watching you closely, before a calloused hand engulfed yours. “Deal," he growled, a crooked grin flickering at the edge of his mouth. "Get ready to eat shit, nerd.”

You suppressed another eye roll, hoping to god this was going to be worth it.

This was going to be the longest month of your life.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #tw threats #tw gendered violence

[kenkamishiro]

20210218 Jack Jeanne Creator Interview with Famitsu - Interview #1 with Ishida Sui

The Jack Jeanne staff (Ishida Sui, Towada Shin, Kosemura Akira, Seishiro) were interviewed by Famitsu, a Japanese gaming magazine for Jack Jeanne’s release. Someone was kind enough to let me read it, so I’ll be translating the 4 interviews. The interview with Ishida I’ll do a full TL, and the other three I may do more of a summary since I’ve been busy lately.

Ishida Sui

Creator / Character Designer / Script Supervisor

Mangaka. From Fukuoka Prefecture. Creator of “Tokyo Ghoul” and “Tokyo Ghoul:re.” 2021 marks his 10th anniversary in the art industry.

Characters that were created based on the idea of “personifying plays”

Please share with us how you honestly felt when you received the commission request for this work.

That it seemed kind of questionable but interesting nonetheless. “If others can do it, I can too,” I thought.

How did fans react after Jack Jeanne was announced?

I still get letters from the readers of Tokyo Ghoul to this day, but some of them would bring up Jack Jeanne, or mention that they like a character and are interested in them even before the game’s release, so it makes me happy seeing that reception.

Please share with us your thoughts about being in charge of the character design.

It was a good learning experience because it was something I’d never done while working on my manga, trying to finalize the 6-member cast of the protagonist and the main characters, and then completely focusing on them as an elite squad. I tend to make too many characters, so...

When coming up with a character, how do you develop their image?

Previously, I decided it based on the character’s name and face. But with Jack Jeanne, it was a trial-and-error process. At first, I envisioned each character as a personification of a play - for example, Fumi was modelled off of “Salome”, Yonaga off of “Shintokumaru”, Shirota from one of Yamamoto Shūgorō’s works... I dropped the idea after that...and that’s how they were developed. They were created in a peculiar way this time.

Which character did you have the easiest time drawing, and on the flipside, which character did you find yourself struggling to draw?

Kai was the very first character I created, followed by Fumi. Those two I was able to draw relatively quickly. I wouldn’t really call this a struggle, but Suzu, the one with the red hair, wasn’t part of the main cast of six at first. Ootori, the blond character with the prickly personality, was actually part of the main cast at first, but since I wanted a simple-minded character, Suzu ended up being promoted.

I’m sure you consider every character your favourite, but if you had to pick only one character, who would it be?

Probably the main character Kisa. She embodies everything I think of in a shoujo manga protagonist, and I’m very fond of her. But I really do love all the characters. They each have their own appeal, so I can’t settle on just one.

Was there anything you had to constantly keep in mind when designing the characters for Jack Jeanne?

Broccoli specially requested that I give every character a strong colour palette. It’s because if I’m left to my vices, I end up using only subdued tones...I also constantly kept in my mind that I was making them look good-looking as boys.

You were also responsible for the event illustrations in the game. Could you give more details about them, and any difficulties that you faced?

For the event illustrations, I had to be aware of what scene would best match the script. Towada-san also specified where the illustrations should be inserted, but if there was a better scene before or after it, I gave priority to it instead. The hardest part...was drawing them all by myself. There ended up being more than 160 illustrations.

I heard it was you who requested Touyama Maki to design the chibi characters. Please share with us the appeal of the chibi characters drawn by Touyama-san, as well as your thoughts when you saw the chibi characters in the game.

Touyama-san’s appeal...is that their art is great! The deformed characters are perfectly balanced and outstandingly stable. I’m also a fan of their art and I like their life-proportion-size characters. It’s really cute seeing them move their tiny limbs around on the game screen.

Despite his humble abilities as an amateur lyricist, he oversaw every song with a burning passion that was second to none.

You supervised the game and the script, but what was the most memorable part of working on this game for you?

For starters, I vividly recall talking with Towada-san all the time. It was common for us to spend 10 hours a day talking to one another, several times a week.

How did production handled between the two of you for the script proceed?

I come up with the general outline. I’d talk about the overall flow and the key developments during the meetings, and Towada-san would take that and organize it, adding descriptions and colour to the details. It would have been impossible to create Jack Jeanne without her.

You wrote the lyrics to all the songs, including the opening song “Jack & Jeanne Of Quartz.” Please share with us how you came to be in charge of the lyrics.

Originally, there were several candidates, and there was even one person that I thought, “This person might be the one.” But I realized that it would take an enormous amount of time to share the understanding of my work to them, so I decided to give it a try, thinking that even an amateur would be the best for the job as long as they were passionate.

How did you come up with the lyrics?

I’m embarrassed to say this since I’m a complete amateur, but I tried my best to associate it with the feelings and information related to the subject, and whether it sounded good when sung...at any rate, I did my absolute best.

Are there any verses in the lyrics that you’d like people to pay special attention to, or any phrases that you really liked?

Avu-chan from Ziyoou-vachi (a 4-member rock band) is a friend of mine, but when I met up with her, I had her look at the lyrics, and the part she liked I also ended up liking. It’s the phrase “charcoal night grey” in the opening song. I also like the last two lines of the ending song because they represent the entirety of the game.

What was the most memorable interaction you had with the composer Kosemura-san?

He was professional in that every time, he exceed my expectations in what I wanted conveyed. We also spent about a week together (?) during the recording boot camp for the demo songs, and the time I spent sitting next to him and listening to the same songs was surreal. I couldn’t believe the person sitting next to me wrote the songs that I listened to as a student.

I want readers to like Kisa. A cover illustration filled with strong emotions.

On October 9, 2020 on Twitter, you tweeted, “Makin’ games is hard.” What was it you found difficult?

I was given a lot of decision-making authority as a producer, but since I’m a company outsider, I had a hard time making decisions without seeing the actual situation or making choices in areas where I had no insight. It was a tweet vexed from my inability to understand due to lack of experience. I wish I had more power...

What do you want people to pay attention to when they play the demo version?

I’d like people to pay attention to the fact that the art and script were created by very few people (almost two people), much like an indie game. Something like, “Ishida really drew all these characters!” or “Towada-san really wrote all the script!”...there is more to come in the full version.

You drew the cover illustration for this issue of the magazine, but I’d like to hear more details regarding this.

I drew it while reflecting on how lucky I was, like, “I’m really drawing for the magazine I’ve read since I was a kid...!?” I drew both male and female forms for Kisa, in the hopes that people would come to love the main character.

Please leave a message to your fans and readers who are eagerly awaiting the release of this game.

I made it so that players of all ages and genders can enjoy the game. There is a lot more in store besides just the illustrations. I hope you will play it!

#Jack Jeanne #Ishida Sui #translations #the others i will get to next week

[epicspheal]

You should watch mother’s basement’s video “how a Japanese indie studio kicks bethesda’s butt at world building” its kinda a revelation about video games as a story telling medium and the dev studio in question, nihon falcom, could really teach gamefreak a thing or two (or two hundred) about how to tell stories outside of railroaded cutscenes. You wanted gen7 to give more depth to Hau and Kukui and Burnet, and this immediately popped into my head of how to do that *right*

Hi there anon! First off, thank you for sending me the link to this video (link here for anyone wants to watch it) I had to sit on this ask for a bit because my thoughts on this kept evolving (and I had to rewatch the video a couple of times). Yeah the franchise in the video (The Legend of Heroes: Trails) definitely could teach Gamefreak a lot about worldbuilding and storytelling. Although I have mixed feeling about whether some of the items suggested would fix SM/USUM’s problem (more on that later) But to the first point that the video brings up, I think that Pokemon needs to do way better at establishing a timeline for the games. Like we know some confirmed things such as

Gen 1 and Gen 3 games take place at the same time

Gen 2 and Gen 4 games take place at the same time

Gen 7 takes place at least 10 years after the events of Gen 1 and Gen 3

There is a 2 year gap between BW and BW2 with XY happening concurrently with BW2

However this very rough timeline misses some things such as

Where the let’s go games fit into this (we know they’re in the mega timeline and that these events take place after Red, Blue and Green went on their journeys but no indication as to how long that was)

Where the original BW games fit in the time. We know it had to be after Gen 4 since Caitlin is aged and moves from Sinnoh and Unova, and that there’s Kanto Team Rocket grunt, but there’s not a clear timeline except for “at least 3 years”

We have no idea where the SwSh timeline fits at all

And even then you still have discrepancies of Red and Blue appearing as adults in SM/USUM but Wally (who was a kid around the same time Red and Blue were since the Gen 1 and Gen 3 events are concurrent) is still a child. Or how Grimsley’s appearance is significantly altered but not Colress or Cynthia’s. Little things like that take people out of the immersion and just make things seem more complicated than it has to. So Gamefreak definitely could do better in being more intentional about giving us more concrete clues as to how the game events relate to each other temporally but also being consistent with those portrayals Now onto the meat of the video, which was how the people in the world really make things come alive by having evolving storylines for the NPCs. I think this is something that Gamefreak should implement more. Especially when you consider the popularity of Twilight Wings and Poketoons which shows life in the Pokemon world outside of just battling or villainous plots, I think many in the fandom would be receptive to this type of worldbuilding in the main series game especially for minor NPCs.

Having minor NPCs that you can talk to who have evolving storylines that don’t require the player to be there would make the various regions feel more alive and encourage players to actually interact with the world around, seeing how as many Pokemon players still hold on to the “play the game, skip the story” mantra. Perhaps to incentivize going out your way to talk to these NPCs as the main story progresses maybe you’ll get a small reward or some secret battles post game.

However I’m more mixed personally on the idea of using that for the major NPCs like Hau, Kukui or Burnet. The offscreen storyline is actually the issue. These are characters that are supposed to be important to both the player and Lillie and as actual natives of the region offer valuable insight to the culture which is unlike anything seen in previous or future regions. Yet they’re out of focus save for those long cutscenes where they don’t always offer much in the way of interesting, unique dialogue. Even Lillie, the game’s most thoroughly written character suffers from repetitive dialogue that makes some of the cutscenes she’s in feel like padding rather than moving her own character development along.

I think having optional talk dialogue for the major NPCs would help with fleshing them out in ways that don’t have to do with battling or the main plot. That and cut down on the repetitive dialogue that plagues the series. But as far as their actual growth and contributions to the story I believe that’s best served for on-screen cutscenes. The cutscenes though need a massive rework so that they aren’t constant and when they happen they offer actual new interesting information and not just Kukui going “whoo” or Hau talking about malasadas. Instead, bring up potential pushback Kukui might be facing from Alolan elders who might feel like he’s trying to erase their culture by adopting the league from other regions. Bring up the complicated familial dynamics Hau has which would allow him to relate to Lillie and her complicated familial dynamics. Also spread the cutscenes out some more and not have so many happen so close together.

#pokemon sun and moon #pokemon ultra sun and moon #professor kukui #rival hau #professor burnet #ask epic spheal

[moons-and-stars-and-shit]

hello!!! i'd like to request a piece of 🍰 please <3 apologies for incoming info dump about my Entire Life :| & thank u so much darling!

basic information — i use she/her and i'm bisexual, an infj, and a scorpio. a yachi kinnie :)

appearance — i'm a 5'0 asian girl with long black hair and dyed caramel tips! my body type is petit and skinny - lack of butt, unfortunately, but i got some tibby! overall im pretty tiny and always look younger than my age lol. i also wear glasses because i am Very Near Sighted, and my clothing style is a weird mix between cutesy-pastel-female-kpop-idol fits, indie teenage girl, and faux cottagecore.

personality — i'm a rather introverted person, but i'm trying my best to work on that. i have depression, anxiety, and adhd, but i'm always telling myself uplifting things and trying to work on my mindsets, so i'd like to say that i'm also sincere and compassionate! i'm also very adaptable and easily influenced by the behaviors of people around me. i think at first impression, i look standoffish and judgemental, but i think it's because i lack the confidence to say what i think and express my emotions, which i'm also working on! once i'm comfortable, i think i'm a very funny, intelligent, and caring person (i'm an extremely sensitive person and receptive to others' emotions — i cried a LOT watching karasuno v shiratorizawa 😐), but i can also tease and be a little sarcastic if the relationship calls for it. i get very affectionate and touchy with close friends too! long story short - i might seem awkward and quiet, but give me a moment— i'm trying, and i'll get there eventually, and i think that'll be worth waiting for. :)

hobbies — i like to do visual art things, like sketch pretty anime boys and also cross-stitch and make calligraphy! i'm a bullet-journaler :) i also love love LOVE learning languages and about different cultures, especially asian ones. i think i'm a pretty studious person when i get into it but i do procrastinate a lot T____T i'm also super into playing genshin impact, but i easily hop interests, so one day i'll be on this and the next, it's something else i'm rambling about. get ready to get ur ear talked off about wtv i love that week <3

likes + dislikes — i like anime, bts (!!), and otome games :> i also enjoy desserts, boba tea, flowers, and sudoku puzzles 🥺 i'm also a lover of learning, asian cultures, and dogs (also cats, but mostly dogs!) <3 i reallllyyyyyy want a pet snake one day too 🥺 family is also very important to me because i'm the youngest of 7 children! i dislike spiders snd working out (seriously the last person to want to do any type of fitness). all that "moving" jazz... volleyball is the only sport i'll probably ever even bother to learn the rules of LMAO but do not expect me to play i will eat the floor </3 my arms are sticks and i will simply embarrass myself

what i want/need in a relationship — i have a pretty idealistic idea of romance - i want someone perfect, but i know that's not realistic. at the very least, i want someone who loves me very much and is honest about that. they also need to let me be affectionate and clingy, and will be the same way back, even if it's just a little bit. i'm someone who needs love and affirmation rather consistently, like a freaking plant. i NEED someone who'll make sure i'm doing things and being productive, and someone who will actively encourage me to both be a better person mentally and physically get things done. they also should be able to take care of me (i'm a youngest child so i like being babied~) <3

this is very long, apologies! thank you so much for your wonderful matchups, they're so detailed and you work very hard on them, i can tell. thank you for your hard work!! kisses 4 u! <3

@mochiiswan ok I see you stealing my husband from me 🥲

Romantic Matchup

Bokuto Koutarou

How yall met

Girl you were just having a bad day

Nothing seemed to be going right

So you showed up for school in a rather gloomy mood

Bokuto didn't know you

But he still didn't like how sad you seemed

So he approached you

He basically just started making small talk to try to cheer you up

You dont know why but his energy did seem to be having a positive effect on you

Bokuto really liked talking to you

And he was glad he was able to cheer you up

The bell had rung signaling it was time to go to class

But bokuto didn't wanna leave you

So he asked if you wanted to come watch his volleyball practice after school

You agreed to go

You went to his practice and bokuto found himself trying to impress you

He didn't know why

Wait...

“AKAASHI I THINK I HAVE A CRUSH”

😳

Yeah he straight up yelled that…

While you were in there…

After a quick advice break from akaashi

He asked you out on a date :)))

What they love about you

He loves that you try to improve yourself

It's one thing to have issues

But to acknowledge those issues and to want to fix them truly makes a strong person

So he loves that you love yourself enough to improve on yourself

And he WILL help you in any way he can

Eek

He loves how sensitive you are

Bb boy is sensitive too

So he's glad he's found someone to cry with when a dog dies in a movie

(Also do any of you cry when a dog dies but doesn't when a human does? No? Just me?)

He loves how you value family

Im convinced bokuto is a family man

He loves his parents and his sisters more than anything

So he's glad he's found someone with the same values as him

HE LOVES HOW CLINGY YOU ARE

DO NOT EVEN HESITATE WITH THIS BOY

You can't tell me ocultos love language isn't physical touch

Come on now

LOOK AT HIM

You will get all the physical affection you could ever dream of

Favorite things to do together

Ok hear me out

He just likes going to the pound…

And looking at the animals with you

and/or

He likes volunteering at the animal shelter with you

You+cute animals=happy bokuto

Random HC

You drew him doing a spike once and he bout cried

Keeps the drawing in his phone case and pulls it out to brag

You take me as a hopeless romantic

And good news for you

Bokutos a hopeless romantic too :)

So your relationship is the closest to perfect relationships can get

He 100% keeps you on track

Mans is like a personal trainer istg

However don't expect to be productive with him around...

He did try to get you to play volleyball

And you did in fact eat the floor </3

Astrology

When Virgo and Scorpio join together in a love match, these Signs that are two apart in the Zodiac are brought together.

Their placement gives the relationship an intense karmic bond

The Virgo-Scorpio couple is loyal and deep, with very strong ties.

Virgo and Scorpio enjoy working together toward acquisition: Virgo wants order and Scorpio wants power.

Both of these Signs are about resources, including inheritances and property.

This couple is very service-oriented and known to be dependable.

They like to lend a hand to a friend or to the community.

Additionally, Virgo can be withdrawn — while Scorpio is more opaque and outgoing.

Because of the disparity, both Signs can learn from one another if they can agree to meet halfway.

Virgo is ruled by Mercury and Scorpio is ruled by Mars and Pluto.

This combination is very heated, thanks to Pluto’s influence.

The two Signs unite to form the basic foundation of human relationships — Mercury’s communication and Mars’s passion.

Mercury and Mars go well together; Mercury is about the conscious mind, and Mars is about the passion of romance.

Scorpio is rambunctious and intense, and Virgo is attracted to this energy.

In turn, Scorpio needs the loyalty and practicality inherent in Virgo.

Overall Aesthetic

Pastelcore

Songs-

Are you bored yet - wallows

Strawberry Mentos - Leanna Firestone

Hey Lover - Wabie

Mystery of Love - Sufjan Stevens

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu fandom #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu matchups #haikyuu x reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #bokuto x y/n #bokuto koutarou x y/n #bokuto #bokuto headcanons #bokuto hc

[meltingangels]

As it’s been up on AO3 for a while now, I am making my first Cyberpunk fic available to read on tumblr!

Fic Title:

It's Not a Shrine

Fic Summary:

"What the fuck, V?" (I made a post on tumblr about how funny it would be if V was some kind of Samurai/Silverhand superfan. And how Johnny would react if he walked in and saw all these posters and shit on the wall. And I needed some serotonin, so here we are)

So I made this random post on tumblr and someone said they’d like to see it ‘made canon’ so here I am with this. Whether it progresses or stays as a oneshot depends on the reception.

Basically, I thought of what would happen if V was into older/indie rock music, and a big fan of Samurai- Johnny Silverhand’s group. And how he would react (if he didn’t show up in V’s apartment like he does that first time) if he walked in and there was this huge-ass poster of him on the wall.

Just have at it, lads. This starts off kinda serious, to set the scene. Also because I feel starting off serious makes the end part all the funnier.

Also because I don’t know how to do a short oneshot.

V figured that whatever was on that fucking relic had to be a pretty big deal, if Dexter Deshawn and Evelyn were willing to up against Arasaka to get it. Sure, it would have been nice to know exactly what that was, but given how much time and planning had gone into every other aspect of this insane heist, they’d just shoved any thoughts about the relic itself to the back of their mind. 

They just had to focus on somehow pulling this off, which...even with all the planning...was going to be a fucking miracle. Any aspect of the plan could end up getting fucked up, or someone could end up fucking them over, but the fact that a successful heist would propel them into the fucking stratosphere of Night City’s underworld- with a paycheck to match- was just...well.

Too much to resist. Who wouldn’t want to take up that sort of opportunity? They’d be insane not to try. Anyone who was worth anything in the sprawling underground network of the city’s gangs would know who they fucking were. 

It’d come with it’s drawbacks of course, but once people know they’d gone up against fucking Arasaka and stolen a relic from right under Yorinobu’s hands? 

Most wouldn’t even dare to touch them.

Yeah, the idea of ‘making it to the big leagues’ as Jackie had said it, was too much for either him or V to resist. Sure, they’d talked about it a hell of a lot, going over the risks and all. Which outweighed all their past jobs put together. What they’d done so far was small-time stuff. Just general merc business, nothing to be overly proud of. Certainly nothing to attract any big names. Truth be told, V still wasn’t sure how Jackie had managed to get them the gig in the first place. 

But they hadn’t questioned it. Just like they’d stopped questioning the heist when presented with Dexter’s plan and the hefty reward they’d negotiated. Which, again, was more than most of their past jobs put together. Given how much money and time was going into the heist, despite the fact it would take a miracle to pull off without a hitch, it seemed almost foolproof.

But it had gone wrong in every possible way. Despite claiming the plan was pretty much bulletproof, and he had some of the most reliable sources for all his information, Dexter had still somehow missed the fact that the fucking Emperor had come to talk to his son. A huge factor that had turned everything upside down. Not only had they been made unwilling witnesses to the heir of Arasaka murdering his own fucking father, the entire hotel going up on alert had sent literal shockwaves through their oh-so-foolproof plan. 

V and Jackie couldn’t get back out through the elevator and ended up shimmying along the literal edge of the balcony, with a fucking glass roof on one side, and a sheer drop on the other. And because everything had gotten completely screwed, they’d had to take the glass roof option. The rush of adrenaline and fear coming from sliding down the tilted roof, with dozens of bullets raining down way too close to their backs, was nothing compared to having pain ripple through them as every last breath was knocked out of them.

Then there had been the sense of terror, sending chills down V’s spine, when they turned to Jackie and saw the blood seeping through his white-collar shirt. The knowledge that they somehow had even less time than they thought. That was...honestly...V didn’t think anything could have been worse than that. Looking up from the scarlet red, to the sudden paleness of Jackie’s face. A face that looked more in shock than anything else, eyes hinting at the fear he quickly tried to hide behind his usual jokes and bravado. 

V had barely taken her eyes off of him the entire time, terrified that every time they looked over, he’d be dead on the floor. But, somehow, against the odds of that stomach-turning injury- and the countless waves of Arasaka guards armed to the teeth, they’d made it. Made it out, the chip safe and secure in Jackie’s head, to the relative security of the Delamain vehicle. Where V had almost let out a laugh at the fact they’d made it.

Only for Jackie to bleed to death in the back seat, while she was powerless to stop it. The feeling of his blood seeping out over her fingers, bunching her jacket up against the wound, had somehow been fucking nothing compared to how he’d reached out to touch her face and smile. That same crooked, warm smile, eyes shining like this wasn’t the last time they’d be doing so. Or how her heart had finally shattered into a million pieces when that hand fell down, and his body went slack. Honestly, no amount of alcohol or drugs that Night City could offer would ever get that out of her memory. 

V knew it would haunt her nightmares for years, if those ever stopped. Then there was those first moments without Jackie, with her stumbling out of the car covered in her best friend’s blood. With the scarlet fucking covering her up to the elbows, staining her own white shirt the same way it had ruined Jackie’s. 

She could remember stumbling into the motel, and before she had it in her to find her way to Dexter’s saferoom, there had been a thought just as terrifying as the idea of Jackie’s body being back in the car waiting for her. 

The thought of having to take Delamain round to Mama Welles’ place and show her that her son was gone.

And as if that wasn’t enough of a clusterfuck for her mind to deal with, she’d then been left reeling with the bitter sting of betrayal. Panicking in a way that showed the exact opposite of the slick, cool gangster he always portrayed, Dexter had shot her in the fucking head. After his goon had beat her to a fucking pulp. Which, of course, V assumed would be the end. A world class beating and a bullet to the brain did tend to bring an end to someone’s life. Well, the bullet would do that by itself. All the implants in the world couldn’t save you if your mind was completely fucked. 

But somehow she’d fucking made it through that. Left in a pained daze as confusion overrode any sense of fear or anger. Jackie had died. Why hadn’t she? There was a bullet in her head, so why the hell wasn’t she wherever you went when you died. If there was ever any such place, that is.  Why had she somehow survived, not only through said beating + bullet, but through the insane fucking car chase after? 

That had ended in a crash that almost took out the guy who pulled her through all that.

As if all of those events weren’t consecutive, metaphorical and literal hits to the heart, there was then the mind-fucking revelation that followed. That the relic wasn’t just any piece of fancy tech. No. Well, sure, it was a fancy piece of tech. But it was also so much more. As were the memories V had previously believed were some kind of hallucination. This piece of tech, buried in their own fucking head, was a digital construct. Something that was almost like a human soul . Which was mind blowing as it was. 

But then there had been the moment V realised the truth of what Viktor was saying to them. 

They had Night City legend Johnny Silverhand in their head. His construct had been what Dexter and Evelyn had risked everything for. What Jackie had given his life for. 

Yeah, the guy was no doubt a terrorist. But there had been some kind of method to the guy’s madness. And even with that, they couldn’t work out how to feel. Yeah, the idea of being wiped clean was fucking terrifying, but the fact that neither of them would be able to do anything about it? That changed things. V thought the tech was conscious in its decision to take over her body. But it was just that. A piece of tech, going on what it had been programmed to do.

Of course, they were still terrified. They’d beaten death once, only to have it looming at their back again. But there was some sliver of hope. The guy who saved them, Goro Takemura, had ultimately saved V because they were the only other living witness to the Emperor’s murder, but their first meeting had given V that hope. He’d given them some leads to follow, promising more information if V helped out on his end. 

And that had been just enough to keep V going. Whilst they’d yet to see any sort of physical manifestation of Silverhand’s construct, what they were dealing with outside of that was still more than any sane person would want to deal with. They’d found out, in the absence of her return, Delamain had returned Jackie’s body to his family. 

Meaning some strange, shot up car had arrived on Mama Welles’ doorstep, carrying her son’s broken and bloody body.

Facing the woman after that had been almost as terrifying as staring their oncoming death in the face. But she’d shown V compassion they still didn’t believe they’d deserved, including them in every part of Jackie’s memorial celebration, letting them contribute to the ofrenda and speak of just some of the many fond memories V had of her son. Who had been taken from the world far too fucking early, right when they’d really started their climb to the top. 

Then there had been the sucker-punch of emotions that resulted when the woman gifted Jackie’s motorcycle to her. The piece of hardware he’d saved up for months to get, buffing it up and tweaking it every chance he’d got. The one vehicle he never, ever, let V drive. 

God, that...that had been something else. Picking up the keys, turning them in the ignition, and being sent to their knees by the rush of memories that resulted. Memories that turned into an agonising blur, sending spikes of pain into their head, leaving V unable to move from where they’d knelt against the unforgiving ground.

That, of all places, had been the first time Johnny Silverhand had showed up. In the flesh, so to speak- standing before V almost as clear as a real fucking person. It was also the time they learned that a hell of  alot of the stories about the guy were true. If she had his memories, he had hers, so he’d no doubt have known the sequence of events that brought him here. 

But he’d still gone into some kind of rage, taking control of V’s body for a few terrifying moments, scattering some of the clutter that Jackie had clustered in every corner of his garage. Slamming her head against the fucking wall . The guy had been fucking terrifying, all but holding V by the throat, going off on some tangent about how he now had a chance to end the shit he’d started with Arasaka half a decade ago, with that fucking bomb that wiped out damn near all the tower- the blast of orange light shattering every single window in a several mile radius. 

A blast that had been powerful enough to shake the foundations of the buildings around the tower, in a way that signalled the start of something. Or what Johnny wanted to start back then, at least.

V shouldn’t have expected much more from someone who was a known anarchist, but they did. Because in a way they’d been dodging talking about, they knew a hell of a lot more about Silverhand than they were letting on. How he’d not seen certain memories, V wasn’t sure. But they were grateful to that twist of fate. Because yeah, they knew way more than they should. That was an understatement. When they’d been tossed from foster home to foster home after their parents died in an armed robbery, one of the few things V had been able to do to escape it all had been through getting into music. 

One of the handful of friends she had at her last home, before turning 16, had saved up from this little waitressing job they had at some tiny diner- all so they could gift V with a retro music player she’d been coveting. It was second hand, perhaps a few times over, bought from some old rocker- but it was one of the best gifts they’d received.

At first, they’d thought about using the tech skills they’d learned in their research outside of school to wipe the device clean. But something had stuck out. The device showed up the album covers on the screen, but would also play a holographic image of the main performers via a tiny projector in the device itself. And, bored of waiting for other music to download through the home’s crowded, outdated internet, they settled in to scroll through what the old rocker had left on there. One particular album had stood out to them amidst the black and silver of metal and old rock. 

It was a dark cover, upon which was set a distinct logo. A black and red Samurai-type mask, eyes seeming to be set ablaze even as a still image. When they’d selected it, they saw the projection. Admittedly, it was a bit fucked up- blurry and glitchy in places. Not in as high quality as the rest; clearly recorded by a fan in the audience. 

Patched together. But patched together in a way only a devoted fan could. 

That, and the bright-ass logo, convinced V to listen.

And that had been it, pretty much. They’d gone through the entire album in one sitting, and that was all they listened to for three days straight. At first, it was just the general tune and the lead singer’s voice that drew her in. But then she started really listening to the lyrics, and that’s what truly started her down that twisted rabbit hole. She started digging into who Samurai were, and, more specifically, who their lead was. They were a proper, kind of old school rock band, who had a pretty decent and dedicated following. 

But they never went mainstream. Which, given their lyrics and what happened with Silverhand, made sense. When V first read about how Johnny Silverhand started a one-man war against Arasaka, the figurehead of the monopolising corporations that had taken over the world, they were hooked pretty much instantly. They saw and heard way too many stories growing up on the streets, of shops being taken over and homes being demolished for shiny skyscrapers and luxury hotels. 

Of how the streets became laden with neon logos and signs blaring into your vision as far as your orbital implants could see. How they held a terrifying amount of control over the NCPD and major leadership positions. That the city was basically a monopoly board for the ultra rich to play in. To fuck with in whatever way they saw fit.

So yeah, like any sane person (or angsty teen) would do, V found themselves in Samurai’s music. And as the years went by, and they learned more about Silverhand and how he’d somehow managed to bring down Arasaka’s own fucking tower in Night City- at the cost of his own life now less- for the chance at bringing down the megacorporations ruining people’s lives, they found it being a part of themselves. Especially as they got into the mercenary gig at 18 and started working their way up, seeing the deepest and darkest parts of Night City’s underworld. 

Ok, it was kind of an obsession. 

But it wasn’t only an ideal that V could get behind, it was also an escape from the chaos of her life. 

Fucking hell, she even spent a huge chunk of her first well-paying job on tracking down and obtaining one of Silverhand’s original guitars. Sure, him and Samurai weren’t the only band with posters and memorabilia decorating her apartment walls (which she carefully took down and carried with her as she moved from place to place), but they were definitely the majority of it. There was even an original poster, taken and edited by a photographer who got into one of Samurai’s last concerts. 

A photo of Silverhand all but screaming into the mic, one hand on said microphone, and the other on a gun that gleamed as silver as his cybernetic arm. The crowd reaching out to him amidst a haze of blazing lights and dense smoke.

Which, after all that and a string of events that were like something out of an old Hollywood action movie, left V where she was now. After spending 3 days hopping around Night City, taking on job after job, and switching between motels, they’d finally gotten the courage to go back to their apartment. Because yeah, they were definitely still scared shitless about the idea of their brain essentially being wiped clean. But the immediate issue was that, in the few days she’d had with him cropping up everywhere, she’d gotten to know Silverhand a bit. 

The guy still scared her half the time; not that she’d admit that to his fucking smug (and annoyingly good-looking) face, but the other half of the time? He was pretty interesting. Definitely still holding on to a metric tonne of anger towards Arasaka, and more blunt and abrasive than any person she’d ever met, but interesting. Beneath the layers of anger and resentment, as well as more cockiness than one person should ever fucking possess, there was hints at the shit beneath all that. 

Of who Johnny was, beyond the legend attached to his name.

So yeah, that left them stuck outside the door of V’s apartment, Johnny crossing his arms as he leant back against the wall with a huff- the former being more than a little afraid to open the door. They’d lucked out with the memories of hers that he’d seen so far, but that was going to run out sooner or later. Especially with the both of them being on borrowed time. So it was better to get this shit out of the way sooner, rather than later. 

Didn’t make the prospect any more appealing, of course. She knew how Johnny felt about the so-called fanatics and groupies. Good for a one night stand, but nothing else. 'Just following the slightest sense of fame' as he put it. So V could only imagine how he’d react to not only seeing a room half full of Samurai memorabilia, but also the knowledge he was stuck in the body of the owner of said memorabilia. 

One of the ‘wild fans’ he’d said he despised. Sure, V wasn’t exactly ashamed of liking Silverhand’s music (or him, because fuck) but having your teenage hero seeing a room full of his band’s shit was on another level.

And she couldn’t even duck away afterwards. They were literally stuck together for the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck fuckfuckfuck.

“Any reason you’re stood there with your eyes wide as hell, like your fucking brain already got wiped?” Johnny spoke up, abruptly bringing her back to the present.

“No. No reason.” V shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant whilst internally screeching.

“Something in there you don’t want me to see?” Johnny showed up in the corner of her vision, leaning against the wall. “Can’t be any worse than the shit out here.”

“You that interested in seeing my apartment?”

“With the alternative being stuck in your head staring at a fucking door, yeah. I am.”

Okay, he was definitely getting more and more pissed off as the seconds ticked by. To be fair, she had been staring at the door trying to gather the courage to open said door...for about...five minutes. Truth be told, she was surprised Silverhand lasted that long. Guy wasn’t exactly one for being patient. 

Which was the understatement of the fucking century. But the idea of him fucking her up for making him wait was somehow, somehow, worse than the idea of who was basically her (he was an anarchist asshole, but damn if the guy didn’t make a good point sometimes) idol growing up, seeing her apartment plastered in his band’s memorabilia. There was already an onset of cringe overtaking V’s system, grimacing as she anticipated the barrage of fucked up questions that would be coming her way- but somehow she finally got in in her to swipe the key across her door. 

At least she hadn’t left it in a fucking mess like she normally did. 

That would be something.

When Johnny casually walked through her to examine the apartment, V stepped in after him, the door sliding shut agonisingly loud behind her. Those first few seconds were some of the longest of her life, and given all the shit that had happened recently, especially what got her to this bizarre fucking moment in the first place- that was saying something. Saying something. Which was, V realised, something that Silverhand wasn’t doing. 

In the few days they’d spent together, he rarely shut up. So this was about as miraculous as her rising from the fucking dead. Of course, the silence had it’s drawbacks- V could practically feel the tension rising...as Johnny scanned the room. As he no doubt saw the countless Samurai poster variations amidst the swathes of rock memorabilia. And, of course, landed on the huge fucking poster of him on the opposite wall. 

Which went literally floor to ceiling, beaming out amidst the cluttered apartment like the fucking neon lights of the city outside.

Something that made the silence all the more-

“Hey, V?” Johnny spoke up abruptly.

“...yeah?” V braced herself.

“What the fuck?”

V opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a nervous laugh. Sure, she was mildly terrified, but the way he just said it so deadpan and blunt as he slowly turned halfway- eyebrows raised so fucking high you could see it above those trademark sunglasses...it was honestly one of the funniest things she’d ever seen and heard. 

It somehow sounded simultaneously unlike him, without any of the usual spite or anger, but so much like what she’d expected all the same. He sounded a mixture of disappointed, and outright freaked the fuck out. Which was...understandable. The guy had been brought back from the dead, stuck in some random ass stranger's body, only to walk into their apartment to see half of the wall was like some fucked up poster shrine to him and his band. 

Yeah. V could understand his reaction. Didn’t make it any less hilarious. (Or make her any less scared of the inevitable fallout, but hey)

“You gone deaf or something? Relic malfunction?” Johnny tried getting her attention. “I said...what the fuck, V?”

“I...uh...can...explain?” V spoke hesitantly, hands raised in mock (no, totally real) surrender.

“Uh huh. Really?” Johnny didn’t look or sound convinced, arms crossing in front of his chest as he turned to fully face her. “Going to make this worse and tell me what I think is going on?”

“What...do you think...is going on?”

“This shit isn’t in bad condition, but I can tell its old as fuck.” Johnny gestured to the wallpaper-like swathe of posters. “And not because its Samurai shit either.”

“So…” V wrung her wrists together nervously.

“You’ve probably had it since you were like, what? A fucked up hormonal teenager?”

“I…”

“Great.”

“Look, this-”

“Is somehow worse than waking up in your body?”

“Hey!”

“How would you feel if you rose from the fucking dead and found a shrine to yourself?”

“It is not a shrine- ”

“Sure looks like it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself-”

“Says the asshole with a huge fucking poster of me on their living room wall.”

“How am I an asshole?”

“Because this shit is weird, V!”

“Liking a band is a bad thing?”

“No. Having a fucking shrine is-”

“IT’S.NOT.A.SHRINE!”

Yeah, V was definitely considering that she was going crazy. Here she was, after almost pulling off the most insane heist Night City in years, the death of her best friend- and rising from the dead...arguing with the digital construct of the guy she’d looked up to for half her fucking life. Over whether her (admittedly kind of oversized) poster of said idol made up the centerpiece of some kind of shrine. If you’d told her this was what her life would amount to, trying to defend her teenage-borne obsession with an indie rock band to their resurrected anarchist/terrorist lead singer, she wouldn’t have believed you. 

Not even after overdosing on every fucking drug Night City had to offer.

God, worse than the insanity was how fucking embarassed she felt. Because even she was starting to realise how weird it would be for Silverhand to wake up in someone’s head, only to walk into their apartment and see said person was pretty much obsessed with him. Because yeah, she had to admit to herself it was an obsession.

 How could you blame her? The guy’s music was pretty fucking awesome, he had somewhat understandable views on corporate overlords... and he was probably one of the most attractive guys to ever walk the streets of Night City.

But he hadn’t seen every poster yet. He’d turned back round, talking about something V couldn’t hear over the rising mix of terror and cringe running through her veins, fixated on that huge-ass poster of him on the wall opposite them. And he’d yet to almost crack his voice with another what the fuck , meaning yeah. He hadn’t seen every poster. 

Namely, the one she’d stuck on the square wall behind her bed. Which was worse than the gigantic one taking up a quarter of one of her living room walls. It was some reporter’s photo from a backstage venture at one of Samurai’s concerts. (Taking up that whole section of wall) Silverhand was sitting on top of an unused amplifier, looking at someone outside of the camera’s point of view. Signature vest top nowhere to be seen, leaving him shirtless. In those stupid tight leather pants and boots combo. With his trademark sunglasses on. Smoking a cigarette, smirking, skin shining-

Possibly the thirstiest fucking image that photographer could have taken.

“V?” Johnny snapped her out of it.

"What?" V bit back.

Shit, she’d gotten distracted by the somewhat spicy photo. (Another thing she’d take to her fucking grave) She had to move while his attention was still on the other poster. Because if she could just cross the few feet over to her bed, unnoticed, she could carefully pull the poster down and stash it under the bed. She could say some shit about how yeah, it was pretty fucking weird, and take down the other one after.

Yeah, if V could just make it across the floor, she’d get through this with at least a shred of her dignity intact.

However, Fate (the bitch) seemed to have even more fucked up plans for her.

Because today, of all days, in this one shitty moment…

Her foot landed on the creakiest fucking patch of flooring in the entire goddamn apartment.

Johnny instantly turned to face her, downed eyebrows raising once more when he took in her almost cartoon-like sneaking stance. Even though she knew she looked fucking ridiculous, V couldn’t quite bring herself to move. She was literally frozen in fear, knowing that any second now...

“The hell are you-” Johnny started, before turning his head.

As he started to follow her line of sight, V relaxed her cartoon pose and started slyly backing away, (Like that would help her. The guy was literally stuck in her head) following his gaze. When his eyes finally crossed over to her bed, V felt herself get struck with the hugest fucking sucker-punch of cringe she’d felt since she was the angsty teenager that had inadvertently gotten her into this mess.

But then Johnny finally fixed his eyes upon the shirtless photo of him, stuck up next to her bed of all places.

“Oh for fuck’s sake-”

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk v #v cyberpunk #johnny silverhand #johnny x v #johnny/v #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfic #fanfics #fic #fics #fanfiction #fanfictions #oneshot #one-shot #funny #comedy #personal #random

[malikmata]

Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like  “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

#diary #photoblog #photo diary #midwest #kansas #travel diaries