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kareofbears · 4 years

Text

desperate as that sounds

Five times Ryuji ran for Akira (and one time he ran for himself.)

—

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

It’s 4:45 am with the weather sitting at a brutal -3 degrees when Ryuji really starts wishing that he brought another jacket.

People are lined around Akihabara by the hundreds outside of closed electronic stores, and the sun has yet to even rise. Some people are yawning, some are clutching their rapidly cooling coffee in a death grip, and most have dark, purple bags underneath their eyes—proof of the battle scars that they’ve acquired. Every person here had the same goal in mind: To get what they need and get out as quick as possible.

As it turns out, if everyone has that same mindset, it creates the violent, yearly November tradition that is Black Friday.

Glancing around, he notices that people came in packs, teams. Teenagers and pre-pubescent kids are all scuffling around, hyping themselves up and creating strategies for the war to come. The more seasoned veterans of the yearly massacre came in pairs—the smaller the group, the faster you move, the move land you cover.

At the biggest electronic store in a region that’s already been nicknamed ‘Electronic Town,’ he is fourth in line—an impressive feat, especially for a first-timer. But it came with a heavy toll: he is completely and utterly alone.

”Skull, do you read me?”

Well, physically alone, anyway.

“Loud and clear,” he replies, readjusting the mic in his ear. “Not that I mind, but what’s with the codenames?”

Futaba scoffs. “You think Black Friday is just about the physical aspect? Foolish boy—the psychological aspects are half the battle. If I get you into the mindset that we’re in a Palace, then you’ll get into infiltration mode, and you’ll be OP compared to the nerds out there.”

“Ooo, I like it! Your brain is effin’ galaxy sized!”

“I do what I can for my faithful pack mule.”

“I’ll try not to take that personally.”

His deal with Futaba had been a simple one. She helps Ryuji navigate the horrors of Akihabara during Black Friday in exchange that he acts as what is essentially a drug trafficker sans the drugs. Despite her rigorous societal training she’d undergone with the Thieves, something about entering a borderline stampede still seems somewhat unappealing to her. Besides, he doesn’t mind. He’d always wanted to do something nice for Futaba anyway, and the store that has her computer thing is the same store that holds what he needs.

”Five minutes to go,” her voice crackles into his ear. ”Infiltration route—go!”

Their deal had also come in with an intense tutorial session that ended up lasting until one in the morning. “Floor 4, down 3 aisles, 8 steps in, turn right, second shelf, grab a box that says ‘GTX graphics card.’ Pink, if possible.”

“A+, Skull! You know, if you can memorize that, I seriously don’t get why you’re failing English verbs.”

“Please, this is actually important.”

Futaba cackles. “Now you’re speaking my language. With your legs and my navigation, this’ll basically be a Tuesday afternoon in Leblanc.”

People around him are starting to straighten up, some going as far as to remove the extra layer of clothing and shoving it in backpacks for maximum speed and minimum restrictions. “Damn, people here look more intense than some dudes in my track meets.”

“If you’re throwing out portable chargers with 30-hour battery life for only 800 yen, you’d be a little intense too.”

Ryuji scoffs and begins to stretch, being extra sure to get his right thigh. “I’m plenty intense. Just last Saturday, I almost beat the Big Bang Burger challenge.”

“Pretty sure Akira beat that on his second week in Tokyo. You know, you still haven’t told me why you’re bothering with this whole Black Friday mess. I didn’t peg you for an electronics type of guy, and your phone is as crappy as your posture.”

“Rude! But I can’t argue with that.” He starts to run in place, and for a brief second, he wonders if he should’ve packed a protein shake.

“Well, too late now. If your thing sells out because you didn’t want to give your Navi information, that’s on you.”

“Gimme some credit, Futaba,” an employee who looks equal parts sleep-deprived and terrified approaches the glass doors. “Ain’t no way in hell I’m failing either of us this morning.”

The glass slides open, and as if sunlight was released from the captivity of the clouds, or perhaps a meteor just broke through the earth’s atmosphere, the people start pushing, shoving, and flooding inside. The crowd looked both impenetrable and unwavering; an unstoppable force and an immovable object rolled into one giant stream of desperate shoppers.

Ryuji spares a split-second to crack his neck. Mission Start.

The moment he breaks through the initial threshold, people who were only one step behind him suddenly became ten, twenty, thirty. Weaving through crowds and aisles with the precision of a seamstress, Ryuji evades it all with ease.

”Skull, status report.”

“Smooth sailing, Oracle!” He ducks as an overly buff businessman turns around with a 3-metre pole used for studio lighting threatens to bash his head in. “You’re totally right about the codenames, by the way. It’s almost like I’ve got Captain with me.”

“Right?” She laughs. “It’s all about the mindset.”

Ryuji turns, and finally gets to the stairs—the most brutal section and the biggest gamble. It’s the reason why it was essential that he’s one of the first in line. Once the stairs get jammed with people, it’s game over. Making a mad dash up four flights of stars, he thanks any God that may be that Palaces are fantastic for rehab.

He makes it to the top, panting. It’s empty, save for a few nervous-looking employees. He hopes the smile he throws their way came off as ‘pleasant and grateful for their service’ rather than ‘a delinquent asshole who might steal loads of shit.’

“Down 3 aisles, 8 steps,” he mutters to himself as he quickly scans the fourth floor. “Turn right, second shelf,” eyes landing on his target, he grins. “I effin’ rock.”

”You got it?”

“Of course I did!” He fist pumps before swiping the box. In his excitement, he nearly runs over to give a random employee a high-five. “Alright Oracle, you’re up.”

”I love you so much in a non-weird way. Okay,” he hears the clacking of keys on the other side of the mic. “What do you need?”

“Two words: game console.”

The clacking stops. “You’re joking.”

Ryuji snorts. “I ain’t waking up at 3 in the morning for a joke.”

”Those are hard enough to get as is, and on a day like this—”

“So you can’t do it?”

In the same way every one of the thieves know they could bait Ryuji with a few choice words, it’s a lesser-known fact that Futaba is quite nearly as bad when it comes to open defiance. “Jerk. Of course I can.”

“Then let’s do it!”

“Ugh, fine!” The clacking resumes, more vigorously. “Yikes, only 3 left. Make it quick!”

“Got it,” he replies. He turns around and his stomach drops as he sees people rushing in. “What floor?”

“Third.”

Ryuji groans. The stairs, with people packed in like sardines, are a circus. It would take at least two minutes to try and go down a single flight of stairs. The elevator is even worse, and he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it had already started to malfunction. Only one choice, then.

He takes a deep breath. “Pray for me.”

”Godspeed, soldier.”

Ryuji, like a wild animal on the loose in the streets of Tokyo, jumps on the handrails and begins his descent that way, begging to the skies that he doesn’t slip and create a domino effect that knocks down a dozen people.

In thirty seconds flat (with no small amount of cursing from both the customers and himself) he jumps off and lands (tumbles) onto the third floor, grinning triumphantly. Eat your heart out, Sumire.

“Oracle, I’m here. Almost broke my ankles. Where to?”

”Straight ahead,” she replies. ”Only one left, though. Better make it quick.”

His eyes land on the last game console, and he sees someone making their way towards it. “Not a problem.”

Ryuji sprints.

Throwing every societal rule and common courtesy into the air, he makes a mad dash and, somehow, miraculously does not bump into anyone or knock down any huge shelves.

In approximately 3 seconds, he grabs his treasure and yells a very loud but completely genuine “sorry!” over his shoulder as he half runs back to the stairs, face red for multiple reasons.

Delving back into the sea of the crowd, trying to navigate himself to the cash register, he sighs. “I’m going to hell.”

”Mission success, then?”

“I had to steal it from some guy! I feel so bad. What if he’s like, buying it for his long lost son or something?”

”Whatever! That’s just part of the Black Friday spirit. Congrats! At least you finally got a game console.”

“Huh? Oh, I already had one.”

Static crinkles in his ear, before, ”WHAT!?”

“Ow! Don’t yell!”

”You already had one and you still did this shopping run?”

“Yeah…?”

”Why?! Are you gonna sell it? Are you one of those sleazy men who take advantage of the good will of gamers, Sakamoto?”

“Hell no!”

”So—“

“Oops, almost at the front of the cash register. I’ll drop off the goods at Akira’s. Talk to you later, shortie.”

Click.

”Wha— Hey! Ryuji!” Silence. “Ugh!”

————

After a much-deserved nap, Futaba climbs up the stairs to Akira’s attic.

“The star has arrived!” she says in lieu of a greeting. “Where’s Ryuji?”

“He left,” Akira answers. He’s looking at something on his worktable. “Your stuff is on the bed.”

Futaba whoops and snatches up the little plastic bag. Peering inside, she sees an adorable GTX hot pink graphics card, and a note. In a horrific scrawl, it writes: dont tell him plz ;)))

She looks up quizzically when her eyes land on Akira’s desk: A shiny new game console.

“Um…”

“Hmm?” he looks up. “Oh, Ryuji dropped it off. Said his mom won it at work, and since he already had one, he gave it to me. Nice, right?”

She opens her mouth, before closing it with a clack. Just two weeks ago, Ryuji had asked Akira in the group chat if they could play video games at his place. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget about Akira’s situation: false accusation, an attic for a room, no definitive meals, not even a proper bathroom in the building, but Akira plays it off like it’s easy. He answered by making a joke that he’s too poor for something like that when you can buy faux battle axes and realistic shotguns instead. Everyone had forgotten about that interaction.

But apparently, Ryuji hadn’t.

He’s an idiot, Futaba thinks. To which boy she’s referring to, she’s not sure.

“Yeah,” is what she says instead. “It’s nice.”

====

The dust motes flying around the attic of Leblanc are lovely. Swirling in senseless formations, floating through the still air like snow. The way none of them collide with each other, as if they have some sort of motion detector that tells them to move out of the way. It’s pleasing to look at.

It’s a shame Ryuji doesn’t give a single shit about them at this moment.

He’s sitting on Akira’s bed, back pressed against the window sill with his hair tipped up, staring unfocused at the wooden beams, eyes glazed over. He’s been like this for the better part of the day, and now the evening is slipping by him. Time continues ticking on like a rigged bomb; an ongoing reminder of how many seconds he’s losing, and how much more he can lose.

He’s considered moving. To walk around the room, shift the dust that’s surely settled on him. Getting up, stretching his legs, outwardly expelling some of his trapped, balled up energy is a good idea. Healthy, even, if those shitty YouTube videos he’s watched on his phone about anger management were on to something. But he can’t. He shouldn’t.

Amidst all the uncertainty and the wound-up anxiety that has currently made permanent residence deep inside his core, he knows that if lets his joints unlock, he’s going to fucking lose it.

Slam a fist inside the dry wood, tear up a blanket, throw the adorable ramen bowl he gave Akira against the wall until it shatters into a hundred pieces. He’s so terrified of ruining this room that he won’t even give himself the option. And Ryuji would rather let hell freeze over than scare Futaba again in his fit of fucked-up rage that comes with the package that is Sakamoto Ryuji.

So he’s stuck on the bed for God knows how long.

Footsteps come up, and he doesn’t need to look down to know who’s going to chew him out. If it’s not Akira that’s going to chide him out of his stupor (which it isn’t, even though Ryuji would do anything if it means that Akira’s back here with them), then they’d send in someone who’d drag him out of it with her nails perfectly manicured.

“You look terrible.”

“Screw off,” Ryuji spits automatically, and he cringes inwardly. Ann doesn’t deserve the sharp end of his horrible mood. It’s not her fault that it feels like his insides feel like they’re trying to eat their way out.

She ignores him and moves to hop on top of the old work desk. The wood creaks underneath her. “You’ve been here all day.”

“I know.”

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Yes. No.” He feels Ann’s stare burn into the side of his face—a ghost of Carmen’s presence. “I don’t know.”

“He wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Irritation swells in him. She’s never learned to take a hint in her life. “Really? Are you seriously saying that?”

“Are you saying he would?”

“I’m saying he’s too busy having the living shit beat out of him to see me like this.”

His body twitches, and that’s all he needed for his resolve to break down. He jumps from the bed, feet landing heavily enough that he’s sure they can all hear him from the floor below. Unconsciously, his feet pace around the small room; quick with agitation but heavy with dread. Anything to distract from doing something stupid.

“You’re worried about me, what, not sleeping? For lying down on this damn bed for too long? Screw that. Akira’s being grilled like cheap meat for the past couple of days and you’re expecting me to act normal about it? That’s bullshit.”

Bad. This is bad. His fingers are already curling in his fists, eager and all too willing to be used. He settles for balling the edge of his shirt instead.

“He isn’t here. That’s the fact, isn’t it? And what the fuck am I doing about it? Freaking out? Trying not to throw a tantrum about it like some kind of stupid kid? Am I really this messed in the head that everyone on the team is—-is hiding from me like I’m some kind of—” he cuts himself off.

Delinquent.

Ryuji takes a deep breath, fully inhaling and slowly exhaling. He focuses on the dust motes again. In and out. Countdown from ten. He can do this. He can get a grip on himself. Thank God it was Ann that came up—if it had been anyone else, he doesn’t think he can put his pride aside as easily. (Unless it was Futaba. God, he loves her so much.)

For a while, it was silent except for his breathing; it stuttered occasionally, but eventually it evens out. Ann only watches from her perch.

When he feels stable enough, Ryuji drops to sit on the hardwood.

“Okay?” she asks. Ann never babies him when he gets like this—she’s good that way.

“Okay.” And he really is. Not completely, of course not. His nerves weren’t strung as tight, but he still feels a heavy weight right in his stomach.

She hops off the desk and goes to sit in front of him on the floor. Crossing her legs, Ann waits. They regard each other for a long minute.

“He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met,” he says. It feels weird saying this out loud, instead of repeating the mantra in his head like a broken record. “If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.”

She rolls her eyes. “Duh.”

“He’s going to be okay.”

“I know that.”

“Sooner than later, his dumb ass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.”

“You bet he is.”

“And I get to yell at him as much as I want.”

“Get in line.”

“I’m not going to lose him tonight.”

Ann reaches over—slowly, giving him plenty of room to shift away—and places a hand on his knee. “You’re not going to lose him tonight.”

Ryuji laughs, a little breathy but still genuine. He prods at her hand. “When’d you get so good with me, Takamaki?”

“I do the Lord’s work around here, free of charge.” She grins, before her tone drops again. “Can you do something for me, though?”

“Lay it on me.”

Ann pulls back and leans on a propped hand, her blue eyes piercing. “When Akira comes back, and he will—”

“And he will. No doubt about it.”

“Obviously. He’s the best person for this. But when Akira comes back, he’s…” Ann gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “He’s not going to be okay, Ryuji.”

Somewhere in his mind, he already knew what she was going to say. While the biggest of his worries is that he’d never see Akira walk through the doors of Leblanc again, there was a quieter fear. A very specific fear, one that Ryuji knows all too well. Because stories don’t just end at the climax of a single event—they keep going. It’s the fear of what happens once he does see Akira.

The aftermath.

The bell chimes downstairs.

His heart lurches, and he makes the briefest of eye contact with Ann before he’s gone.

He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met.

It’s like his feet have a mind of their own.

If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.

In an instant, he’s scrambling towards the stairs on all fours before pushing himself up.

Sooner than later, his dumbass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.

His hand finds its hold on the old wooden railing as he sprints his way down. More than once, he almost trips and bangs his head into the wall.

And I get to yell at him as much as I want.

Rounding the corner, he jumps on the landing, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots up his thigh. He ignores the stares from everyone else. Looking up his breath catches in his throat. Gray eyes meet his brown ones. He takes one step forward, and then another. And then he sprints the rest.

He’s going to be okay.

Ryuji stops himself right in front of him, an arms-length away. Akira’s face looked like it’s been through hell and back. Split lip, black eye, bruised cheekbone. An intense fury flares up his spine when he sees the grime and dirt up along his temple.

He hesitates.

As much as he wants to reach forward, close the gap, to make sure that this boy that he can’t afford to lose is real… he can’t do it.

Because he knows what would happen if he tries to cross a boundary that isn’t ready to be crossed—he might not be ready. Ryuji could hurt him by touching any injuries he doesn’t know about (God, how much more is he hiding in there? He’s this close to either throwing up or throwing a punch). But what he’s most scared about, what he’s terrified of doing, is touching Akira in the state of mind he’s in right now. For someone to grip him, grab him, even just brush past him right now, it might be too much. Judging by how beat up he looks just from his face? That does shit to people. That changes you.

Ryuji would know. So he keeps his distance.

Akira’s eyes turn dark, and for a second, Ryuji is terrified that he must’ve overstepped a boundary.

Then he throws his arms around Ryuji, the force knocking them both back by a couple of steps.

“Akira?” he asks, bewildered. Never in their friendship has he seen Akira act like this. It sends alarm bells ringing through his head. “What—”

“Don’t,” Akira cuts off, voice hoarse and quiet, so quiet that even this close, Ryuji is straining to hear him. The arms around him tighten. “Don’t be like that. Please. I can’t. Not right now, Ryuji.”

It hits him all at once. And in his sixteen years of living, Ryuji doesn’t think he’s ever been stupider.

Akira’s been trapped in an interrogation room with nothing but a bunch of make-believe police officers. He got the shit beat out of him, had to stage his own suicide.

And Ryuji just tried to push him away.

He lets his arms wrap around Akira tightly; not too tight, but enough to make sure he won’t slip away from him again. (Never again. Not if he can help it.)

“I’m glad you’re back,” he whispers. Tilting his head up, he stares at the soft lighting of Leblanc, forcing his lungs to breathe evenly—not for fear of losing his temper, but for fear of exposing the tears silently streaming down his face. “So fucking glad.”

Akira doesn’t answer. He only buries his face deeper into Ryuji’s shoulder.

Ann was right—Akira isn’t okay. Not for now, not for awhile. It’s up to Ryuji and everyone else in their group of friends to fix that. That’s fine. They’ll all take as long as they need. He isn’t okay right now, but he will be. They can work on that.

But one thing was clear.

I’m not going to lose him tonight.

====

Summer in Mementos is pretty gross.

Granted, it’s always nasty in here—there’s a perpetual air of moisture, like the inside of a whale, if Ryuji had ever been in one (he’s basing that off of an American movie Ann showed them last week; he didn’t even know it was possible for a fish to get lost in the ocean). There’s also the ongoing sound of trains passing by them on loop, and to him, trains are just inherently cramped and humid and always too sticky for his liking.

Of course, there’s the disgusting, weird amalgamated Shadows that litter every level of Mementos. At least in Palaces they sort of resemble something from the real world, but he guesses they didn’t even bother with these ones. The worst part of all this is that right now, it’s hot, but not hot enough for the Shadows to process a heat wave.

So essentially, they’re fighting with additional bucket loads of sweat, but with none of the usual reward that comes with it.

Well, not that they needed it.

“Fox.”

“As you wish.”

Yusuke’s boots skid to a halt as he points his katana at the fast-moving Shadow, the tip perfectly still. “Your assistance, Goemon.”

They’re on their weekly Mementos grind, the list Mishima keeps updating finally too long to ignore. (Akira hates it when things pile up. It’s a big reason why Ryuji hastily cleaned up every time he wanted to come over. Now though, he doesn’t even bother.)

The current All-Star team includes Yusuke, Makoto, Ryuji, and Akira, with the rest of them keeping a close eye in case they need a quick shift in strategy.

From his katana, black ice crawls in the ground beneath rusted train tracks, the air suddenly chilly despite the humidity that was there a moment ago. Frost shoots forward, encasing the legs of the Shadow only to shatter with a strong jerk forward. It roars, the ear-piercing sound causing the scattered debris around them to vibrate. Akira clicks his tongue.

Strong against ice. Easy fix. Ryuji mouths the words along with Akira when he says, “Panther, you’re up.”

“Finally!”

Ann darts in, high-fiving Yusuke as he rushes out. Ryuji can see Makoto pat Yusuke on the back, sympathy etched on her expression and Futaba mussing his hair. He always took it the hardest when he had to be switched out.

Akira’s gloved fingers brush the edge of his monochrome mask. “Come, Principality.”

As if a human version of justice has been summoned down to earth, the winged statue floats for a moment, eyes filled with scorn as she casts a simple, yet effective memory loss spell. The Shadow shakes its head aggressively. It works, but it won’t hold for long.

“Skull.”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

He grins and sprints right, squeezing into the Shadow’s blindside. It tries to twist around to take a swipe at him, but Ryuji is too fast—he slides right between its legs to confuse and disorient it. Once it seems like it completely lost sight of him, he raises his hand to grip the edge of his black mask. “Come on out, Captain!”

It’s a classic tactic; make the enemy lose focus, stun it, and stop it.

A pirate straight out of the Caribbean materializes from the embers of his mask—Captain Kidd in all of his glory regards the Shadow with a look of disdain before sparks fly from the hull of his ship, and an intense streak of lightning bursts forth, shocking its target like something from a regrettable movie about torture, knocking it down to the ground, a buzz perceptible even from here. He might have overdone it.

Ann whistles. “You didn’t even let me get a chance with it.”

“You can have the next million Shadows we bump into, I promise.” He calls Captain back into his mask, fragmented pieces forming together impossibly quick. “We good, Leader?”

Akira nods. “Just let me get the loot,” he smiles at Ryuji. “Awesome voltage on that last one, Skull.”

A grin stretches over his face before he can stop himself. He won’t deny it—getting a compliment from Joker was always something he filed away for later.

He’s too busy feeling pride surge through him that he can’t even bother to get ticked off when he hears Morgana scoff. “It doesn’t matter how good that attack was; he got in the way of Lady Panther’s finishing blow. That’s a crime in my eyes.”

“But doesn’t that just mean he saved her from doing anything?” Makoto raises an eyebrow. “Technically, he prevented any danger from befalling her, right?”

“Queen, as a gentleman, I have an obligation to tell you that that is a sexist notion.”

“You did not just say that.”

Something makes Ryuji pause. Immediately, his eyes flicker around them automatically. He tunes their chattering out, and finds himself tapping his foot, a slight jitter overcoming him. His nerves are trying to tell him something. Or maybe he’s imagining it? Is it just an aftershock from the intense lightning he cast out? No. It’s been too long since he’s had any problem with electric moves, and he’s never had problems from ones that he threw out himself.

Something was wrong, and he can’t put his finger on it.

He rattles his brain trying to figure out what it is. No one’s hurt, everyone’s safe and together. Well, mostly together, since Akira’s still approaching the Shadow—

A cold sweat drapes the back of his neck. Akira is still approaching the Shadow.

The Shadow hasn’t disintegrated yet.

“Akira—!”

The name slips past his lips, codenames forgotten. In slow motion, Ryuji sees Shadow’s body tense, its mouth frothing with what looks like liquid magma made from pits of hell—specializes in curse, and a strong one at that; Ryuji can feel the potency of its malignancy from where he’s standing. He watches as Akira stiffens, fingers twitching towards his mask, ready to retaliate, or at the very least, defend. And like a domino effect of bad luck, Ryuji feels bile rise to his throat.

Akira is good at what he does. Infuriatingly good. Took the whole Metaverse bullshit like a fish to water. But even he can’t switch Personas the same moment he summons them.

Principality would crumple like tissue paper against the Shadow. And Akira along with it.

You’re too late, a voice whispers in his head. You wouldn’t make it.

A heartbeat passes. And then Ryuji is flying.

It’s never too late, screams back something stronger, something unshakeable. Not ever. Especially not for him.

His boots hit the ground like the first strike of lightning amidst a storm—impossibly fast and unexpected. Lungs wheezing and legs throbbing, he crossed the distance in the span of a breath.

The Shadow throws the curse at Akira, red and black and filled to the brim with intensity, and Akira’s eyes can only widen, pupils dilated wildly to the point where there’s only black—a mirror of what’s about to hit him if Ryuji isn’t fast enough.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Ryuji shoves Akira, hard enough that he crashes onto the ground and he can hear the breath forcefully leave his lungs, and suddenly Ryuji can’t hear anything at all. His fingertips are fire and ice, his sense of surroundings have completely dissipated. Any energy in his body is being drained, like a dam cracked into millions of pieces—and all he’s left with is air. Vaguely, he can hear a choking noise, a broken sort of sound.

The blow is not just a violent one—it never is, with curse attacks. Instead of just feeling his skin bruised or blood running down his temple, he also feels himself get weaker, his mind growing heavier. An attack on the mind and body; a perfect cocktail of fucked up.

The last thing he sees before he loses consciousness is the glint from Akira’s knife slicing through the Shadow’s throat.

====

Tokyo is currently at a wicked thirty two degrees.

The sun radiates scorching temperatures down from the sky, the concrete eagerly absorbing every bit of its heat, making something akin to walking across hot coals. It’s hot enough that a mirage is visible to the naked eye. It’s hot enough that every ice cream store has a forty-minute line-up. It’s hot enough that no birds were flying, in fear that they may truly be fried by the sun above them.

Basically, it’s hot as hell.

“Ryuji-chan, pick up the pace!”

But Haru is more vicious than any conceivable temperature.

Looking like a survivor who was lost in the desert for several days, Ryuji lets out a half-garbled battle cry and sprints the last dozen meters. Haru clicks her stopwatch.

Sitting on a lovely lilac blanket, she tsks from underneath the shade. “Three seconds slower.”

“Ugh!” he collapses beside her on the cool grass. If she looks at him from a certain angle, she can see the steam positively radiating off of him. “I’m going to beat the living shit out of the sun.”

“You know I’d support you in anything you do, Ryuji-chan, but I don’t think you’d be fast enough to catch it,” Haru says. She hands him a cold water bottle. “Drink slowly.”

He rolls over so that he can squint up at her. “You’re mean.”

“I’m harsh,” she corrects, shaking the bottle in her hand. “There’s a difference.”

He takes it. “Have you done this before?”

“Helped someone train in running? No. But,” she rummages through her pastel pink tote bag, and proudly shows him a handful of books. He squints at them. “Since I’m so new to the group and everyone has such broad interests, I decided to try reading up on them! Did you know that drinking cold water after running results in less dehydration than drinking warm water?”

Ryuji stares at her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For saying you’re mean. You’re not mean. You’re real nice, Haru.”

She smiles at him and pats his head, despite the overflowing heat and moisture settled on top. “You’re very sweet Ryuji-chan, but that’s not going to make me go easy on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the tough-love kind of coach.” Ryuji sits up, cracking open the seal. Chugging down the water, he makes eye contact with Haru before slowing down substantially.

He dumps the rest of it on his head, sighing and shivering in relief. “That’s the good shit.”

“Why not wait for the sun to go down a bit?” she suggests. “The heat is really scorching, and there’s still plenty of time to keep training later.”

“Nah,” he stretches his arms behind his head before he stands again. “I gotta keep going while I still can.”

Haru frowns. “Overexertion isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Don’t you worry your fluffy head! I may be stupid, but I know when to stop when I gotta.”

“I really think you should rest for a bit.”

“I will when I’m done, I promise.”

“You looked rough in that last lap—”

“Haru,” Ryuji is grinning, but his tone leaves no room for argument. “I’m going to keep training.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, before Haru’s shoulder sags slightly. “Alright.” He’s about to say something when she cuts him off. “But only if you tell me why you’re so insistent.”

Ryuji shrugs. “If that’s what it’ll take to prove it to you, then sure. It’s kinda stupid, though.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“Oh, wait till you hear it,” he laughs, a little shy. “So you know how Mona and Futaba are, like, the Metaverse experts? And Makoto is the big brain? And Yusuke does the whole calling card part?” Haru nods, and he continues. “Well, I’m not really… anything. Ann already took the role of moral support and there’s no way in hell I’m the ‘brain’ in anything. Jeez, last time I picked up a paintbrush was in kindergarten. So I figured, I’d be the fast one, you know? The one that can get to someone fast enough to help them out.” Ryuji’s grin turns into something softer; less edge and more fond. It does something to her heart. “And if it’d help ‘Kira down the line, then it’d be worth it, right?”

Haru stays silent.

“Anyway! That’s enough of that cheesy shit.” He moves back to the track, running shoes scuffing at the concrete. “Wish me luck, maybe I can actually catch up to the sun this time. Teach it a lesson.”

“Ryuji.“

Looking back, he gives her a curious look. “Yeah?”

Haru hesitates.

I never once thought you were stupid. You’ve given so much more to the team than you can imagine. You have no idea how many times you’ve helped Akira without even lifting a finger.

“I have a cooler full of water behind me, so… please try your best out there.”

Ryuji gives her an enthusiastic salute. “Yes ma'am!”

He runs off, the sun continuing to beat down him relentlessly.

====

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ryuji knew they were all going to die someday. It’s inevitable. The circle of life, the winds of time, la vie en rose, etc.

He just didn’t expect it to happen at the age of 16, on the sinking cognitive ship of their next Prime Minister, wearing a wack-ass leather outfit surrounded by his panicking friends.

“We’re going to die!” Futaba wails, knees shaking uncontrollably to the point where she can hardly keep standing. “I don’t know how to swim!”

“It’ll be fine,” Akira spits through gritted teeth. He’s far tenser than anyone else, red gloves formed into fists and eyes constantly darting around to see what can save their lives. “We just need to focus.”

Makoto points to something on their right and shouts, ��There! A lifeboat!”

Sprinting down the slowly escalating ramp, their eyes widen at the single lifeboat propped at the very top of the bow—which is slowly approaching a ninety degree angle. They all had one thought in their minds.

“We’re not going to make it in time,” Yusuke says, quietly.

Akira bangs his fist into a nearby column. “To hell with that. There’s no way I’m letting us die here.”

A heavy silence falls over them. The air is practically crackling with electricity and pure agitation, but there’s also a determination between all of that. Everyone’s overcome with a need to protect their friends and teammates, but they were at a loss of what to do. A quiet realization overcomes the group—there wasn’t going to be a miracle to save them.

Ryuji’s eyes land on Akira. He’s scanning the area, Third Eye activated but unable to pick up anything that isn’t the lifeboat. There’s no panic in his clear, gray eyes, but the terror in it is the most prevalent out of anyone present.

It hits Ryuji, all at once. The boy in front of him may be his age, and even younger than some members of their group, but he is undoubtedly the leader of the infamous Phantom Thieves. Every decision he made had led them here, in this moment, in their imminent death. And if he lets them all get taken, whether it’s through the ocean or the approaching explosions behind him, the truth of the matter is Akira feels that he would be responsible. That it’s his fault that a cognitive boat would take the lives of his friends.

Yeah. That’s not happening.

Ryuji clenches his eyes shut for a few seconds and slowly opens them. He begins to jump in place, hyping himself up.

“Skull…?” Haru asks, brows furrowing.

“Hang tight, guys,” he says, taking quick breaths. He can do this. “I’ll nab the boat.”

A chorus of gasps and heated objections rang through the air, and Akira steps forward, more shaken than Ryuji’s ever seen him. “No. Skull, please—”

Ryuji throws him a wobbly grin, more for Akira than himself. In one smooth motion, he jumps down and hits the ground running.

“No!”

Immediately, he feels his knees and thighs begin to protest, only intensifying the further he sprints up. For a minute, if Ryuji closes his eyes, he can imagine that he’s in a meet. A race. That the screams he hears behind him are his track mates, and not teammates, friends, best friends that would die if he failed to get to the boat fast enough.

He pushes himself even more.

It’s a miracle that he gets to the raft before his legs give out, and he feels a satisfying crank underneath his palms when he rotates the lever. As he throws a thumbs up at his friends, seeing them safe, healthy, alive, he feels relieved beyond words.

He makes eye contact with Akira, and he really should’ve expected the explosion that comes next.

====

His ceiling has seventy-nine plastic stars.

Ryuji stares up at it from his bed, arms crossed behind his head; they’d long since lost their cheap light. It was raining hard outside, enough to rattle against his window like pebbles calling for his attention. He ignores them.

It’s been years since he got those stars—dating all the way back in middle school. He got into a bad habit of sneaking out in the middle of the night to look at the sky from the roof of their apartment building. It scared the shit out of his ma when she finally caught him, scolded him to hell and back. By the end, they found a compromise: she’d buy him a crap ton from the hundred yen store, and they’d stick it up together. When they did, it kept falling down, so she went back and bought him a bottle of superglue. Now you can’t take them off, even if you tried to use a little scraper.

It bothered him, for a while. Young boys were cruel, and anyone who came to visit always poked fun of him for it. It wasn’t until he visited Akira’s room one day, saw how pleased he was that Yusuke bought them for him that he couldn’t help but revel at his own stars again, after all this time.

Ryuji twists his body sideways, ripping his eyes away from the plastic figures. Enough of that.

His eyes have long adjusted to the darkness that surrounds him, allowing a clear view of his room in the limited moonlight. Laundry splayed around his tatami mat from his sprints training today, gaming controllers scattered on the center table from when Akira came over a few days ago. That was a blast. He helped him beat a boss he’s been stuck on for weeks, and Akira beat it like it was nothing, it was the coolest shit ever—

Ryuji forces himself to flip over to glare at the wall. Sleep. That’s a better idea.

He takes a deep breath, forcing his breathing to go steady. There’s lots to do tomorrow—school is a drag, but they plan on meeting up at Leblanc afterwards. The thought allows his muscles to relax. Really, the atmosphere of Leblanc is just so pleasing to him. The warm lighting, the run-down booths, even the smell is a welcome presence. Well, that’s mostly because Akira drags it with him wherever he—

Slowly, his eyes open.

It always comes back to him, doesn’t it?

He rolls onto his back, in a position to stare at the stars again. The rain hammers on.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid.

It’s not a self jab, it wasn’t manifested by some sort of long-standing insecurity. It’s a fact. He’s never been good with a book, never done anything half-decent by picking up a pencil, his mind was never programmed to listen and retain information in long classes. It’s definitely not like he’s the brains of the Thieves, never a strategist of some kind. His ma encouraged him to take on a tutor in the past, and he’d rather bite a finger off than spend her money on wasted potential, so he found himself wandering the streets of Central Street as a way to pass time.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid, but even he knows he’s irrevocably, completely, stupidly in love with Kurusu Akira.

He sits up and ruffles his hair, frustrated. There are too many things wrong with that sentence, too many things that can go wrong because of that sentence. Of course, he finds the one thing that can mess up the unshakeable foundation that he and Akira built for each other. He must’ve really pissed off some God upstairs for him to have a hell-bent queer awakening with his best friend.

No, that’s wrong. It was the furthest thing from hell-bent—it was soft, it was gray, it was raining, and most importantly, it took its time.

They were halfway through Kamoshida’s Palace when Ryuji realized it; the sheer amount of power that hindsight gave him made him pause long enough to get clocked out by a Shadow.

Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter, because he would never, ever do anything to fuck up what he has. Not again.

Wait, no, that’s not true. Even before Kamoshida, he’s never had something like this. He’s never had someone like him. He’s never had someone who’s so entirely on the same wavelength as him, who’d have his back even when his was against a wall. Kurusu Akira is…ethereal. Out of this world. Cool as fuck. (Hot as fuck, too.) If you lined up the entirety of Tokyo and told him he could pick one. One person out of the whole lineup to be his friend, he’d have his answer in a heartbeat.

See, now that isn’t something that changed with hindsight—Ryuji’s known that he’s been in love with Akira since before they completed Kamoshida’s Palace. And when he figured it out, he didn’t feel shock. His eyes didn’t widen, his heart didn’t start thumping like crazy. It’s more like he just scratched his head in a huh kind of way. It felt like his life had been waiting for that day in April, like everything was at a standstill until he finally met Kurusu Akira. It made sense. Everything just makes sense when Akira’s involved.

Which just makes this all the more fucked up.

He knocks his head back against the wall, eyes stuck on the raindrops’ rapidly moving shadows on his bedroom floor. Karma. That’s probably what’s happening. The world still hasn’t forgiven him for losing his shit, so they decided to make him pine for the only person that he can’t afford to lose.

He can’t even stomach the idea of trying to get over it, to try and put distance between himself and Akira. He spent a lifetime waiting for a miracle, for someone who didn’t know existed. He’s not giving up a single second of time with him. That’s probably why the world relentlessly shits on him; he’s selfish enough to keep the feelings that he has. But he can’t bring himself to regret that decision. Not with the way his breath hitches in his throat whenever Akira walks into the room.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it. He’s accepted it. Just like how the sky is blue, or that he well and truly hates Calculus. It’s a factor of life.

The rain seemed to fall harder, droplets sounding like rigorous hail against the windowpane. He lets out a long yawn.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

That’s not the reason why he can’t sleep at night.

Akira is a quiet guy. He gets his point across with as few words as possible, as if each letter costs him fifty yen to say out loud. So he speaks through his expression; a quirk of his brow, a tilt of his head, a certain smile is enough to carry half of the conversation.

And, every once in a while, Akira gets a look.

It comes up at the weirdest times—when the two of them baton pass in the Metaverse, when Ryuji eats ramen too fast and gets sick, when he helps an old lady cross the street. Plenty of times it’s because Ryuji is doing something incredibly stupid (like when he said that the square root of sixteen is six, because if you just get rid of the one, then that makes sense, right?), or when they’re laughing so hard neither of them can breathe. But sometimes it comes up in quieter moments, too. The two of them talking quietly in the attic at Leblanc, or when Akira confesses that he’s relieved Ryuji’s always there for him. (As if there would ever be a time where he won’t be.)

The look is subtle enough to miss but easy to find if someone knows what they’re looking for. The usual attentiveness that resides in Akira’s eyes disappears, in its place a softer gaze; his pupils get dilated, and the edge of his eyes get all crinkled like Valentine’s tissue paper. A half-smile rests on his lips, never quite turning into a full-blown grin, but that’s okay. For some reason, it all reminds Ryuji of the moon. Of soft moonlight. Of streetlamps on empty roads.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s a small, tiny, infinitesimal chance that his best friend might love him back.

His eyelids slide shut, though he knows that it won’t be enough to let him rest.

Realistically, he’s probably wrong. Akira isn’t in love with him, and he’s only seeing what he wants to see. With every eligible person seeming to fall in love with him at some point in time, how would it even be possible that Akira would love him?

He rubs his eyes, desperate to get rid of the unending fatigue that’s plagued him for months on end. It doesn’t work.

Bad excuse. Akira does love him, just like he loves everyone he encounters and befriends and ends up risking his life for. Ryuji’s surprised Akira hasn’t passed out yet, given his bleeding heart for the entire population of Tokyo.

Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles as he rubs his eyes harder.

But what if he wasn’t wrong? What if the signals he’s seeing aren’t based on misunderstood yearning?

When his eyes start to burn, his fingers move up to his hair.

There’s no way in hell he’d ever risk losing his best friend. His partner. His Akira. It’s not something he can gamble. It’s not worth it.

He begins to tug, hands shaking, and he can barely feel the sting of pain from nearly pulling his hair out his scalp.

It’s not worth it. He decided that in the very beginning.

Ryuji buries his face into his palms.

But he is so, so exhausted of being tired.

Lightning flashes, and for a split-second, his room is bright.

Fuck it.

By the time thunder rumbles through his apartment, he’s already out the front door.

His sneakers squelch against the wet concrete, soaking his unsocked feet. He’s sprinting fast enough that the street lights around him blur, and he can feel quick breaths getting pulled out of him. It takes him a few seconds to realize that he forgot to wear a raincoat, but he doesn’t care.

Akira is his best friend. Akira accepted him, flaws and all. Akira loves him, one way or another. That’s what held him back. He can’t risk losing that.

Ryuji quickly checks both sides before running across the street, wiping the rain off his brow, and keeps going.

But that’s what should’ve pushed him into confessing sooner. Because if that’s all true, then that can only ever mean that Akira would accept this part of him too, right?

He jerks out of the way as he almost barrels over a fire hydrant, making him step into a deep puddle. It doesn’t slow him down.

Maybe he would’ve realized it sooner if he wasn’t too fucking tired to think straight.

His lungs begin to complain, his breaths turning to wheezes, but he ignores it in favor of going faster.

Too late for that now. All the matters now is to talk to—

He skids to a halt.

In front of him—eyes wide, hair drenched, no shoes—stands Kurusu Akira.

Ryuji’s mouth falls open, and for a minute, he almost laughs. Of course. He should’ve known. Just as he’s willing to sprint to Akira at an unholy hour in the night…

He smiles sheepishly at him, and Ryuji feels his chest constrict in the loveliest way possible.

…Akira would do the exact same thing for him.

The rain slows, and the thunder ceases for a moment. The world pauses long enough for both of them to speak in the same breath, the same heartbeat:

“I’m in love with you.”

#fic tag #akiryu #pegoryu #fanfic #writing #ryuji sakamoto #akira kurusu #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #mine #desperate as that sounds #and yeah man thats a jon bellion song #fic

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turtle-paced · 4 years

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GoT Re-Watch: Fine-Toothed Comb Edition

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Everyone ready for the very definitely final battle with the very definite ultimate enemy of the series? Yeah, me too!

8.03 – The Long Night

(2:00) I hope people may be able to forgive me for somewhat sparse commentary this episode. So much of it is fight scene, and so little of it is visible.

(2:44) Sam’s going on a West Wing-style walking tour of Winterfell. The main action’s in the back, and this isn’t the worst way to survey the exposition – watching Lyanna Mormont mobilise, learning that the enemy’s visible from the west wall, hearing the call for the gates to close. No story can show everything, there are points where we need the exposition, and this is more dynamic and better connected to the upcoming action than people standing around a table expositing. Or watching a flashback and expositing.

The visual handover from Sam to Tyrion here still makes me think of this as a relay race, though.

(3:49) The darkness and the tight shots are supposed to be atmospheric, but they fail in one key way – they don’t let us know what’s actually going on. You see a guy with a beard, that guy could be almost anyone, ‘cause you can only see about a quarter of his face, dimly. Shot selection tells me that this guy sure does have hands, though, so…I guess it’s not Jaime we’re looking at. (I think it was the Hound.)

(4:31) Peering through the pitch darkness of the cinematography, we can more or less make out the Unsullied getting into position for some serious Hollywood tactics.

(4:37) Looking at these teeny tiny little braziers in front of the catapults reminds me of something. Nobody’s mentioned fuel for fires this season as far as I can recall. We’ve had discussions about food for winter, but…firewood is appearing out of nowhere. Nobody’s talked about fuel as a resource, especially when it comes to fighting ice monsters. Nobody’s talked about the desirability of light for night fighting yet, or the need to keep people warm. There are all these ways the writers could have introduced real challenges for the main characters, let them show off how clever and thoughtful they are, and instead…

(5:03) This shot of Gray Worm here is the first of these shots of ranked soldiers that gives us a sense of the geography – look, you can see Winterfell and its walls in the background. Yay for giving us a visual cue of how these people are deployed, a necessary precondition of a conflict that is more than “smash the armies against each other!” Boo for stationing the Unsullied outside the freaking walls.

(5:29) First line of the episode! Thanks Edd!

(5:48) A rare sighting of the elusive direwolf.

(6:32) Wait, where are Dany and Jon watching this from? If that’s Winterfell, all lit up in the background there, then they made it a pretty good distance from the crypts to outside Winterfell’s walls in quite possibly hostile territory – ah, fuck it. Like we didn’t already know the show’s going to sacrifice worldbuilding, theme, and even character for individual “that looks cool” moments.

(6:55) Of course, the other big problem with not being able to see what’s going on is that the tension generated by fear of the unknown turns into “I’m just sitting here staring at a blank screen, aren’t I?” There’s a dark shape moving around out there, but damned if you can tell what it is. There’s nothing to look at, nothing much to hear. Hasn’t been for some minutes now.

(7:28) It turns out to be Melisandre, who’s here for some deus ex machina. Both in the sense that her presence is deus ex machina, and that she’s here to provide deus ex machina.

(7:37) Melisandre asks Jorah a simple yes or no question here. It takes Jorah three seconds to nod.

(7:43) Melisandre issues a simple instruction to Jorah here.

(7:57) Jorah follows that instruction here, fourteen seconds later. It’s too dark for us to see the expression of doubt working its way across Jorah’s face, and the directors actually pull back so his emoting is even less visible. Twenty seconds to get through this exchange. The action is just rocketing along.

Oh, and incidentally, what this shot does actually make clear is that there is no visible Dothraki leadership, just a few guys we vaguely recognise standing in the front ranks. The white guy has to take charge of their armies for them. Compare and contrast with Grey Worm, indisputably in charge of the Unsullied, but also the only Unsullied we know and recognise.

(8:19) Note that even though Jorah didn’t raise his voice, there are Dothraki several ranks back raising their arakhs. Best hearing on two continents.

(8:41) The moment when every viewer said “Praise R’hllor!” for we can finally see.

(9:17) The drama with Melisandre lighting all those swords ends here, with Jorah acknowledging Melisandre’s service and turning towards where the enemy will be approaching from.

(10:37) Melisandre and Davos exchange dialogue here. Because we wouldn’t have understood a) that Melisandre was let into Winterfell and b) Davos was unhappy about it without the full minute and a half of Melisandre riding to the castle walls and Davos hurrying down the steps to meet her.

There’s nothing extraordinary about Mel’s short little ride inside. Nothing extraordinary about Davos’ trip (and we can still barely see the emoting, because it’s too dark). Nothing that justifies ninety seconds of film here, not outside a moody character drama with these two in more important roles. Here, in a series where we’re about to start an apocalyptic scale battle (allegedly), have already been kept waiting ten minutes, and where these two are secondary characters at best, we need to keep it moving along. We have to prioritise. A shot of Mel riding towards the keep or entering, a shot of Davos’ angry face and him turning to go meet her, cut to the actual meeting. There we go.

(10:55) Melisandre stares meaningfully at Arya. Oh boy. It’s almost unbelieveable that thiswouldn’t be the worst writing of the entire series.

For context, these two last met back in season three. They shared one scene. Exchanged maybe three lines of dialogue. Melisandre has not mentioned Arya since, but focused her efforts on Stannis and Jon. Arya’s mentioned Mel a few times, mostly in the context of Gendry-related trauma. In seven and a half seasons of television, that’s one scene and half a dozen lines where these characters’ arcs have intersected in any meaningful way.

We are currently thirty seconds from what has been built up as the most important battle of the series kicking off in earnest.

You better believe I will have more to say on this later.

(11:45) Whatever you say about the tactics (because you cannot say anything good), this is much better use of light and darkness here, establishing the flaming swords as a visual representation of the army’s movement.

(13:05) And the subsequent dying of those flames as a representation of the army’s defeat, without having to show us every detail of the failure of the charge. Gee, who could have guessed a frontal charge by an inferior force into pitch darkness and snow might not have worked out so good? Certainly not our very clever main characters.

I find myself thinking of the Two Towers movie and the cavalry charges that marked the climax of the Helm’s Deep battle.

The other issue, which I’m not quite sure how to address, is the mass death of the Dothraki. Right here and now, at this point in the show, the Dothraki are the only culture not European-inspired and not played by white people. And also not covered up by armour all the time, see the book!canonically racially diverse Unsullied (and we’ll talk more about how they’re depicted by the end of the season). It’s the old ‘black guy dies first’ trope taken to horrible extremes. An entire polity and culture killed off because they served no further purpose in the plot (a plot where we’ve still got a pretty damned large cast, and yet only two people of colour with speaking roles). The only idea for “resolving” the challenges this group pose politically is to kill them off. That’s what this looks like right now.

Yet what we’re going to see over the next few episodes are the Dothraki randomly reappearing. The show got incredibly sloppy in its final season – I haven’t had a high opinion of the show since season five, and I’m finding it hard to believe how sloppy it got – but this is boggling. The writers kinda forgot they killed off the Dothraki, I guess.

So I’m not entirely sure how to critically approach this moment, beyond concluding that the writers just weren’t thinking about the role of the Dothraki in their own worldbuilding, and aren’t showing much in the way of broader sensitivities regarding killing off almost all characters of colour.

(14:13) Some survivors are galloping back, in complete and total silence. Nobody has anything to say about this, nobody’s inconveniently panicking at the state of the survivors. None of the survivors themselves are inconveniently panicking, or even trying to report any information. Every extra knows they can’t say a word in case it drowns out a main character speaking. It doesn’t feel real that every person on this battlefield would have the exact same reaction to the tension. Again I find myself thinking of Helm’s Deep, where a) the pre-battle silence didn’t last fifteen goddamn minutes and b) right in the middle of it, you had Gimli and Legolas with a moment of comic relief.

(14:30) Dany moves to act and protect the people who followed her all the way from Essos from being slaughtered by zombies. You know, I’ve just got a bad feeling about her intentions. Seems pretty suspicious to me.

(15:28) Finally! We finally see some zombies in this zombie apocalypse showdown! For a given value of the word “see”!

Mind you, if you’re here for my commentary, this might not be the best thing, because a lot of this episode is “and there was more zombie fighting, and there was more zombie fighting, so on, so forth…”

(16:10) The power of Jaime’s love for Brienne gives him enough fighting skills to assist her in combat despite missing his dominant hand. Essentially, a few training sessions with Bronn resolved Jaime’s physical difficulties arising from missing his fucking hand. Book!Jaime has trouble lacing up his clothes, rolling up letters, climbing ladders, crawling, things like that. I’m having trouble remembering similar from show!Jaime since, what, season four? And absolutely no trouble remembering the use of Jaime’s prosthetic hand as a gag mid-fight scene.

(16:17) Dragons first show up here. This is shown in closest proximity to Jaime, who had a bit of a run-in with Dany and Drogon last season. In a better structured show, this becomes a moment that shows how Jaime’s opinion of Daenerys and her use of power has changed over the course of that intervening season. Something that shows that even if the physical circumstances are very similar, the context of being in the middle of a battle with a woman spraying dragonfire on the ground has changed.

(16:47) Also in a better-written show, this moment where Sansa and Arya watch the dragons effectively barbecuing huge numbers of wights is where they realise “oh, holy shit, we really would have been fucked if Daenerys didn’t decide to help us.” Note that this is not exclusive of the realisation that Dany could do serious damage to a city or opposing army of regular human beings the exact same way.

(18:18) A wall of white fog advances over the battlefield. This is bad, as it further reduces visibility. Also something something Night King.

(19:55) Dolorous Edd is the first of the second-string cleanout to die.

(20:05) Sansa enters the crypts here, and we follow her through the darkness for fifteen seconds before getting a shot of, you know, the room she’s looking at. Sansa’s back isn’t doing much emoting. This is not like the shot of Dany’s back in 6.09, where the fighting in Meereen in the background gives context to the facial expressions we’re not seeing, generating tension for when we do actually get to see her face and the details of her reaction. This is just fifteen seconds of a woman’s back in a hallway too dark to see much at all. We don’t need to see every step Sansa takes in the hallway to understand she’s walking through the hallway. This can be, and should have been, tightened up.

I hate that I keep saying it, but it keeps fucking happening. Edit your show!

(20:41) In a similar vein, we don’t need thirty seconds of Sansa walking through the room and Tyrion walking through the room in order to establish that these characters are going to meet and exchange information. The actual ten-second unspoken exchange between Sansa, Tyrion and Missandei works well, though, and it’s something that works specifically because of the skill of the actors.

(22:55) Tactical situation – retreat into Winterfell itself. After most of the ground forces have been smashed. Flippin’ genius. Dany and Jon are flying through some icy fog and undead dragon noises.

(23:08) This aerial shot of the Unsullied protecting the retreat with their unsurpassed discipline would have been much more effective if the subject matter was visible. I am watching this in a darkened room, face inadvisably close to my computer, and I still can’t really tell what’s going on beyond movement in unison.

(23:28) Ah, you see, Jon calls out for Dany in the midst of battle, but Dany is focused on her goals. Another worrying sign. Everyone make your firebreaks!

(26:59) Tactical situation – trenches unlit. Nothing’s going to make the tactics any better here, and I don’t think the showrunners are even trying to balance the Rule of Cool with tactical plausibility, but they can string together action scenes. While those actions scenes inevitably reflect an ethos of “we’re going to make this as awesome as we possibly can” rather than “we’re going to use the rules of the setting we’ve established to make an awesome scene,” the only thing the fight scenes are suffering from are the fact that I don’t care about these characters any more. And that’s not a problem with the fight scenes.

(28:45) You know, if it was possible for a Watsonian character to be a Doylist MVP, I’m nominating Melisandre just for lighting the episode for us.

(30:02) “At least we’re already in a crypt.” I think that might have been the first joke of the episode! Seriously, though, it’s been half an hour before we had any gallows humour.

(30:37) This is actually related to my problems with Sansa this episode, and the marked contrast between her now and her back in season two. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that she’s as bad as Cersei was during the Battle of the Blackwater by any means. Nevertheless, the writers seem to think that Sansa’s grim appraisal of the situation is clear-eyed and praiseworthy. As she says, “It’s the most heroic thing we can do right now, look the truth in the face.” (At 31:05.)

What Sansa got better, even in “Blackwater” (written by GRRM), was the importance of keeping up morale. Sansa here is not a comforting or inspirational figure. It’s a bit of a slap in the face that this character, who was so good at giving small bits of comfort to others when she had nothing else to give and because there was nothing else she could do, has gone backwards.

(31:44) Missandei points out, quite rightly, that without Dany’s assistance this battle would already be lost. In spite of being right, and clearly so, this doesn’t actually provoke any re-evaluation of attitude. It’s just a one-liner. It doesn’t mean anything.

(32:51) This Theon and Bran scene, seriously. Alfie Allen has been consistently Too Good For This since season three, and here he is in a scene with a character directed to show minimal emotion. It’s not a good contrast.

Related problem: it is incredibly hard to relate to a character who is totally unaffected by sitting out as bait for the unkillable superzombie while his family are fighting and potentially dying and the world potentially ending.

(33:54) More than half an hour into this final battle, we’re at last seeing the Night’s King and the zombie dragon.

(36:09) Tactical situation – zombies are now charging the walls. Dragons intermittently swooping around but largely ineffective.

(38:55) We’re even past most of the dodgy tactics, now, and we’re seeing our characters on the losing side of the fight. The show’s doing a good job of conveying this right now. Like I said earlier, I’m finding these scenes unsatisfying because the character development earlier has resulted in me honestly not caring very much.

(39:55) I didn’t comment on the first shot, but now it’s a bit more prominent, I’m also glad that the showrunners remembered that Sandor has fire-related trauma. As in, this isn’t a matter of cowardice, this is a matter of being overwhelmed by PTSD.

(41:39) “We’re fighting Death! We can’t beat Death!” “Tell [Arya] that!” I’m going to be generous and count that as foreshadowing, or at least intentional dramatic irony. Guess what this makes this statement! That’s right! The FIRST bit of foreshadowing directly and in hindsight unambiguously related to Arya’s defeat of the Night King. (No, Melisandre’s “eyes” speech is not foreshadowing that meets that criteria. That’s a blatant retcon.) 42 minutes into the episode where she kills him.

(42:10) Lyanna Mormont is the second of our second-string cleanout to die. It’s slow, painful, and gruesome. You can hear the cracking. This show certainly is edgy.

(42:57) Hey, my favourite shots of the episode! After a lot of murky flying through icy fog, the dragon chase breaks into the clear moonlight above the clouds. It’s just nice to look at, and a good way to kick into the actual dragon fight. Reorients things effectively.

Just…try not to pay attention to how neither Dany’s nor Jon’s hair is moving much in the breeze.

(44:03) Arya starts sneaking through the wight-infested halls of Winterfell here.

(46:26) Some of Arya’s blood drips on the stone floor. The zombie hears that. Just to establish the level of senses we’re talking about.

(48:33) And four and a half minutes later, scene change. No dialogue. No idea how this affected the broader tactical situation except in Arya’s continued survival. While I understand the value of having a tense scene of a main character sneaking through the halls of their own home in fear for their life and increasingly unsure how long they can keep it up, four and a half minutes? That’s about half the amount of time as we spent watching the fight outside of Winterfell.

The cut to the crypts establishes that the fighting has reached the entrance of the crypt.

(49:50) And for contrast, that scene watching the characters in the crypt realise that the fighting had come to them took a minute and a half. Again, no dialogue, but there were more characters whose reactions we could see.

(52:11) You know, with the sheer number of wights it was established the defenders were facing, and the apparent disintegration of the defending forces, I’m kind of wondering why there are so many empty rooms about the place.

(52:30) Third to die in our second-string cleanout is Beric Dondarrion, who was stabbed a few minutes ago in a do-not-pass moment to save Arya and Sandor.

(53:36) Melisandre here retcons the eyes speech to mean that Arya will kill the Night King. 52 minutes into the episode where Arya kills the Night King. There was never any reason to think of that speech as relating to the Night King until right this second. It is a blatant retcon.

This is bullshit. Or tripe, but whatever it is, it came out of a bovine’s digestive system. More when the moment itself comes, but for the moment let’s focus on how this affects Melisandre’s characterisation.

Again, since she mete Arya in season three, her storyline has been focused on Stannis and Jon. Once Stannis failed, she brought Jon back from the dead. Last season, she showed up to Dany’s plot basically to say “hey, Jon’s important, the relationship between Dany and Jon is important, and I’ll see you all for my death scene next season!” And now it turns out, on the strength of one interaction, more than four seasons ago, Melisandre’s story was actually about Arya? Without any sort of emotional reaction from Melisandre, to boot. If you’re thinking this isn’t playing fair with character development…I think you’re right.

(54:03) “What do we say to the God of Death?” “Not today.” That is the only good thing the show does with that. The only thing. And even that, I think, is laden with a misunderstanding of the evil the Night King represents in the book – the Others of the books are slavers who force humans and animals alike to do their bidding even after death. Which is how Dany maintains a thematic connection to the primary threat of the series even when she’s not on the same continent as the action. Her work in Slaver’s Bay is prep work for the end of the series.

(54:56) The fight now arrives at the godswood.

(55:13) Here we see undead!Viserion’s fire blast through the walls of Winterfell.

(56:21) I haven’t mentioned it for a while, but it is seriously nearly impossible to see what’s going on. Vital, climactic dragon fight, and we don’t actually get to see it.

(58:04) The Night King tanks a full on blast of dragon fire. He can do this because reasons. And these reasons are “the showrunners wanted to subvert expectations.”

(59:03) Well, now that a faceful of dragonfire has failed for reasons unknown, it’s time for Jon to step in. Okay, that makes a good amount of sense. Jon’s entire storyline has dealt with the threat of the White Walkers. Hell, Jon and the Night King even had their staredown back in season five. So clearly it’s time for Jon to take on the Night King directly.

(59:46) Nope! Jon does not fight the Night King. Instead he gets surrounded by garden variety wights.

(1:00:00) This little breathing space where everyone the protagonists have managed to kill stands right back up again does work well as a darkest hour.

(1:01:31) Meanwhile, in the crypts, nobody has apparently realised that the dead bodies there might also be raised. Also nobody down there has any idea how to fight or any weapons on hand, so this was well thought through all round.

(1:04:22) Jorah Mormont out of fucking nowhere to rescue Dany.

(1:07:10) Ramin Djawadi here starts his bid for the real MVP of the episode. Though we all know that he’s the MVP of the entire season.

(1:09:01) Try to ignore how Jon’s ducking behind stone pillars to avoid Viserion’s fire, despite this exact fire blasting through those exact walls fifteen minutes ago.

(1:11:21) Alfie Allen, still too good for this.

(1:12:57) Jon comes face to face with zombie Viserion. Ah, okay! So if he’s not going to kill the Night King, he’s at least going to take out a zombie dragon, right? Well. Not happy with that as a culmination of his story, but, you know, still damned impressive.

(1:13:02) Jon ducking behind this little ridge of rubble here isn’t quite as bad as Indy hopping in that fridge…but it’s getting there.

(1:13:25) Fourth to die in the second-string cleanout is Theon.

(1:15:31) Oh. So Jon’s only going to scream at Viserion. Not fight him. Um. That’s…not at all a satisfying conclusion to Jon’s arc vis a vis the White Walkers. Not remotely.

Seven and a half seasons of buildup, and what Jon accomplishes in the fight itself is roughly equivalent to the achievements of any given surviving named character who participated in the battle. I don’t like “the main characters do everything,” but the main characters have got to do something. In particular, when a main character spends the entirety of his arc focusing on the one context, it really does feel unfair to the viewers when he doesn’t play a meaningful part in the resolution of that plot.

I will say this much: my expectations were certainly subverted. I expected the writers to play fair with storytellling conventions of setup and payoff.

(1:15:41) So. The wights could hear a drop of blood fall from across a room. The White Walkers can’t hear a girl running and screaming halfway across a forest. And this is honestly one of the least of the problems here.

(1:15:52) And so Arya kills the Night King. Arya. Who has had no meaningful story connection with the fight against the White Walkers. She was the last member of House Stark to return to Winterfell and the least involved in the preparations to fight. This comes perhaps a little bit out of left field.

The showrunners later stated that they chose Arya to kill the Night King specifically to subvert expectations. Meaning that they set up seven and a half seasons of other people being more involved with this plot and Arya not being very involved with this plot only to throw it away for a “fooled you!” While I’m sure it was satisfying to the writers, it’s not very much fun for a viewer. When we invest years in watching characters realise the extent of their problems and seek to solve them, having the writers yank the payoff away right at the very end with a “nope! Someone else solved it!’ is not a good return.

Plus, while “wow, wouldn’t have picked that!” is the end result, it’s not the “I wouldn’t have picked that!” which comes from creative use of foreshadowing and careful structural and thematic development so that everything falls into place in an unexpected yet logical way. This is the “I wouldn’t have picked that!” which resulted from there being nothing to pick at all. It’s a plot twist divorced from the plot.

(1:17:46) Fifth to die in the second-string cleanout is Jorah Mormont. Emilia Clarke doing her damnedest, as well. In a scene where everyone’s standing around like stunned mullets, Dany’s open grief is quite the contrast.

(1:18:59) I like the shot of the dawn here, which really helps to convey that yes, this is over and done.

Structurally, should it have been over and done? Almost certainly not! You could definitely do some scouring of the Shire, the post-action action which demonstrates the effects of the central conflict on our leads, but in terms of plot, this should have been it. There is no conflict greater in scale than this. The fight against the White Walkers should not have been a distraction from the fight over the Iron Throne. The fact that it was is just….did the showrunners read the books?

(1:19:45) Sixth and last to die in the second-string cleanout is Melisandre. Which closes out the episode.

Next time, the season starts to go really off the rails.

#anti got #fine toothed comb edition #season eight

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fyexo · 4 years

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200331 EXO's Suho Paints an Intimate 'Self-Portrait' With His New Solo EP

For much of the decade, Kim Jun-myeon has been better known by his stage name Suho. A member and the leader of K-pop boy band EXO, the singer -- whose stage name means "guardian" -- spent his twenties performing across the globe, releasing multiple hits in South Korea and selling millions of copies of albums worldwide since the band's start in 2012.

Now, he’s ready to share more of himself on his first-ever solo album, Self-Portrait.

Out Monday (March 30), the singer turns away from the dance and R&B-oriented sounds typically associated with EXO’s releases, and shows a new side to himself through six original rock-oriented songs in his new EP. Though the album embraces Suho's identity within the group, it also expands upon it, introducing new sonic elements. The 28-year-old, who writes lyrics under his pen name SH20, also shares his world view via the soft and indie rock-imbued sound, leading with the single “Let’s Love.”

With its title inspired by EXO’s catchphrase, the breezy, sweet tune is passionate, as Suho sings about a love he is racing toward but has not quite reached yet. The song is both a romantic pop-rock ballad and a message aimed at EXO’s global fan club, EXO-L.

Prior to its release, Suho spoke with Billboard to discuss what Self-Portrait means to him.

How are you feeling ahead of the release of Self-Portrait?

I’m so nervous [for the release date]. Because it’s my first solo album, and I’m doing it without the members of EXO, I’m somewhat nervous and also very excited -- somewhat like a new start. I hope that this album and the songs are things that many people will like. Not only for Korean fans, but all of my fans globally. I hope that they enjoy it.

The album is very intimate, as it’s called Self-Portrait. What inspired you to put forth this narrative for your first solo EP?

The inspiration was drawn from Vincent van Gogh’s "Self-Portrait." I first saw it in Switzerland and Paris, and for van Gogh, it probably meant a lot to him as a person. Since I’m not a painter, I wanted to paint something in my album as a self-portrait, per se, similar to how it was for van Gogh to share his own view of himself.

Van Gogh painted different self-portraits to reflect different sides to himself and changes to how he saw himself. Do you feel this album similarly does that for you as an artist?

Yeah, that’s right. I think so. Through this album, I’ve been able to explore and show different sides of me, not only what is perceived from the outside, but also what is inside of myself.

I saw the covers were based around four different variants. Do you feel there are four distinct sides to you? Or is it not as specific as that?

To be completely honest, I believe that there are probably more than four sides to me; there are many facets of my personality. With all these various sides that I have, I tried to condense it to an essence where it can be portrayed in four different self-portraits.

Do those four specific facets have any meaning to you?

When I first asked to use this concept, I didn’t have too much significance to show regarding myself, but I wanted to visually depict four different seasons, the four seasons of Suho.

Do you have a favorite season?

Spring.

Along with the four images featured on the album, you made a self-portrait of yourself featuring bunny ears, and that’s become your Twitter emoji. How do you feel about sharing that side of yourself as an extension of Self-Portrait’s promotional concept?

That, a rabbit or bunny, is my nickname from EXO-L, so that’s why it has significance to me. Whenever I’m communicating with fans, talking to EXO-L directly, that’s when the nickname pops up, but for the album, it’s not included because I want this album not only to be meant for the fans, but also for many other people who will listen to this album. So for the bunny ears drawing and emoji, it was more a signal that can be recognized by fans and EXO members.

So the album isn’t solely aimed at fans, but these sort of social media interactions are. So it sounds like it's important to you that the general public will be able to enjoy listening to Self-Portrait, beyond your already loyal EXO-L.

Yes, the songs on this album are composed of band sounds. [Editor's note: In Korean, it is common to say “band” rather than “rock music" when referring to rock-affiliated genres.] That’s a genre that international audiences are very used to, and they really enjoy. I feel like this album is one that the general public will be able to pick up and just listen to comfortably because it doesn’t have the strong beats and basses of the dance music that EXO albums usually have.

You mentioned that this is music you think the general public likes, but is it also the type of music you particularly like?

Of course. I really like Coldplay. Their music has had a big impact on me.

Regarding the single “Let’s Love,” why did you decide to make this the single for Self-Portrait?

This is my favorite song of this album. And the meaning of the title recalls the cheer EXO does before we go on stage: “Let’s Love!” Just generally, we use it as a cheer. It’s also a message I want to tell people, “Let’s love.”

In regards to that, is there a message you would like people to take away when listening to the six tracks of Self-Portrait?

To be honest, there’s not a single message on this album. But the theme that connects all these songs is the idea that everyone has scars, everyone has been hurt. But even so, shouldn’t we still love? So this is an open question I want to ask to the people who are listening to my music.

You were involved in the songwriting process, and are credited as a lyricist. Are there any verses you want people to pay particular attention to?

Track six, “For You Now.” When you live life, there are many times you just miss the opportunity to properly thank someone whenever you feel thankful for them. Sometimes you look back and always regret not being able to say, “Thank you.” So in order to express my thankfulness, even though it’s late, I want to tell them, “Thank you.” And I want people to feel the same way; even if it’s late, it’s never too late to say “Thank you.”

Do you feel you have a lot of those regrets?

Yes, there are many. Many. [Nods thoughtfully.] Sometimes a person just misses the opportunity to thank their parents as well, and so I do have these sorts of regrets.

You worked with Younha on “For You Now.” What brought about that collaboration?

I am not a personal friend of Younha, but I’ve respected and admired her work for a long time. That’s why I reached out to her and asked her if she could collaborate with me. As for the song itself, she is such a great singer. She went above my expectations in regards to how she was able to express the song, musically, lyrically, and through her expressive vocals.

There’s a song “Self-Portrait,” but it’s not the single even though it’s the album’s name. Why did you decide to go with “Let’s Love” versus “Self-Portrait” for the single?

Although it’s the album’s name, when people listened to “Let’s Love,” that’s what people enjoyed the most. The phrase is also meaningful, so I wanted to emphasize that.

Was it important for you to make it clear, through picking this song title for the single, to blend your identity as Suho the soloist and Suho the EXO member on this solo album?

I didn’t try to emphasize my identity as a member of EXO particularly while creating this album, but when I started drawing a self-portrait, EXO has been an important part of me over the past 10 years as a person. So it was very natural for this part of my identity to seep into the lyrics and the album itself.

In general, what was your creative process like when approaching this album and its introspective nature?

For the past three months, I’ve only been listening to [rock] music, whether it’s by Korean artists or international ones, and did not listen to any dance music or R&B and jazz music to get into the mood for this album. I paid a lot of attention not only to the music, but also the way they approached their lyrics.

Also, I spent a lot of time talking to my friends to discuss what sort of story I want to express, what message I want to send across. I found areas where me and my friends would agree upon, or have the same empathetic connection. So all of these combined together went into making this album what it is.

It’s almost like method acting.

[Laughs] Yes.

You said you spoke to your friends to get their opinions on the message, but the album is called Self-Portrait, which as an artistic form doesn't typically take into account outsiders’ point of views. Was there any particular importance for you to discuss your ideas with them?

The reason why I spent time talking to my friends is because you can say that my friends know the side of me that I’m not even aware of myself. And even though it’s a self-portrait and my story, if my friends -- or just people in general -- cannot feel any connection to it, it might feel that it doesn’t have enough impact or significance. So that’s why I spent time talking to friends and others about this project.

You’ve had a lengthy career already. Why did you decide that now is the time to share this side of you with the world?

My career as a member of EXO has been almost 10 years, and I will soon be going into my thirties, so I thought it would be a great time to talk about my life in my twenties.

Earlier, you mentioned that you’re nervous about the album’s release. Is there apprehension specifically in showing these new elements of yourself?

People know me from within EXO, and people remember me and my overall image as a member of EXO. But for this album that I’m releasing, both the fans and the general public might be a little shocked to see a different side to me, a different musical genre. I really like this style of music, and I have confidence in this album’s style, but I hope my fans and the general public take some time to listen to the lyrics on the tracks -- one through six -- and I’m pretty sure that after they listen to them, they will love the songs.

You’ve released solo music before, and other members of EXO have gone on their own to release solo albums. So do you really think that this will be truly shocking to listeners to hear a new side, a new story from you?

When it comes to EXO members, usually our solo projects have revolved around balladry, R&B, or hip-hop. At our concerts, many of the solo stages are primarily those sort of performances. A lot of the members have spoken about how these are their favorite styles of music.

But I never publicly, necessarily, showed that I really like [rock] music. Since I never really shared this side of me, that’s the reason I say I’m nervous. I’ve also done musical theater and released songs exploring other genres of music, but this is the first time I’m sharing this so … I think I’m the first one, among our members, to really show something new like this, so that’s why I think fans and the general public might be shocked.

What would be your ideal reaction to this album?

Even if people don’t know Suho from EXO, I hope that people will like my song and become a fan just by listening to this album. I also would love, whether professional or amateur, bands also would enjoy this album. That would be great.

The album is coming out at the end of March, so imagining the rest of the year, what would you like 2020 to bring your way?

Oh, this is hard. I would like to communicate and connect with everyone, whether it’s my members or EXO-L or the general public. I hope it’s a 2020 where we can have many empathetic connections.

This interview was conducted in English and Korean, and edited for clarity

source: billboard

#exo #suho #t: interview #billboard

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dailyexo · 4 years

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[NEWS] Suho - 200331 Billboard: “EXO's Suho Paints an Intimate 'Self-Portrait' With His New Solo EP”

"For much of the decade, Kim Jun-myeon has been better known by his stage name Suho. A member and the leader of K-pop boy band EXO, the singer -- whose stage name means "guardian" -- spent his twenties performing across the globe, releasing multiple hits in South Korea and selling millions of copies of albums worldwide since the band's start in 2012.

Now, he’s ready to share more of himself on his first-ever solo album, Self-Portrait.

Prior to its release, Suho spoke with Billboard to discuss what Self-Portrait means to him.

How are you feeling ahead of the release of Self-Portrait?

The album is very intimate, as it’s called Self-Portrait. What inspired you to put forth this narrative for your first solo EP?

The inspiration was drawn from Vincent van Gogh’s 'Self-Portrait.' I first saw it in Switzerland and Paris, and for van Gogh, it probably meant a lot to him as a person. Since I’m not a painter, I wanted to paint something in my album as a self-portrait, per se, similar to how it was for van Gogh to share his own view of himself.

Van Gogh painted different self-portraits to reflect different sides to himself and changes to how he saw himself. Do you feel this album similarly does that for you as an artist?

Yeah, that’s right. I think so. Through this album, I’ve been able to explore and show different sides of me, not only what is perceived from the outside, but also what is inside of myself.

I saw the covers were based around four different variants. Do you feel there are four distinct sides to you? Or is it not as specific as that?

Do those four specific facets have any meaning to you?

When I first asked to use this concept, I didn’t have too much significance to show regarding myself, but I wanted to visually depict four different seasons, the four seasons of Suho.

Do you have a favorite season?

Spring.

Yes, the songs on this album are composed of band sounds. [Editor's note: In Korean, it is common to say 'band' rather than 'rock music' when referring to rock-affiliated genres.] That’s a genre that international audiences are very used to, and they really enjoy. I feel like this album is one that the general public will be able to pick up and just listen to comfortably because it doesn’t have the strong beats and basses of the dance music that EXO albums usually have.

You mentioned that this is music you think the general public likes, but is it also the type of music you particularly like?

Of course. I really like Coldplay. Their music has had a big impact on me.

Regarding the single 'Let’s Love,' why did you decide to make this the single for Self-Portrait?

This is my favorite song of this album. And the meaning of the title recalls the cheer EXO does before we go on stage: 'Let’s Love!' Just generally, we use it as a cheer. It’s also a message I want to tell people, 'Let’s love.'

In regards to that, is there a message you would like people to take away when listening to the six tracks of Self-Portrait?

You were involved in the songwriting process, and are credited as a lyricist. Are there any verses you want people to pay particular attention to?

Track six, 'For You Now.' When you live life, there are many times you just miss the opportunity to properly thank someone whenever you feel thankful for them. Sometimes you look back and always regret not being able to say, 'Thank you.' So in order to express my thankfulness, even though it’s late, I want to tell them, 'Thank you.' And I want people to feel the same way; even if it’s late, it’s never too late to say 'Thank you.'

Do you feel you have a lot of those regrets?

Yes, there are many. Many. [Nods thoughtfully.] Sometimes a person just misses the opportunity to thank their parents as well, and so I do have these sorts of regrets.

You worked with Younha on 'For You Now.' What brought about that collaboration?

There’s a song 'Self-Portrait,' but it’s not the single even though it’s the album’s name. Why did you decide to go with 'Let’s Love' versus 'Self-Portrait' for the single?

Although it’s the album’s name, when people listened to 'Let’s Love,' that’s what people enjoyed the most. The phrase is also meaningful, so I wanted to emphasize that.

Was it important for you to make it clear, through picking this song title for the single, to blend your identity as Suho the soloist and Suho the EXO member on this solo album?

In general, what was your creative process like when approaching this album and its introspective nature?

It’s almost like method acting.

[Laughs] Yes.

You’ve had a lengthy career already. Why did you decide that now is the time to share this side of you with the world?

My career as a member of EXO has been almost 10 years, and I will soon be going into my thirties, so I thought it would be a great time to talk about my life in my twenties.

Earlier, you mentioned that you’re nervous about the album’s release. Is there apprehension specifically in showing these new elements of yourself?

What would be your ideal reaction to this album?

The album is coming out at the end of March, so imagining the rest of the year, what would you like 2020 to bring your way?

Oh, this is hard. I would like to communicate and connect with everyone, whether it’s my members or EXO-L or the general public. I hope it’s a 2020 where we can have many empathetic connections."

Photo links: 1

Credit: Billboard.

#EXO #EXO K #Suho #200331 #exo im #exo k im #suho im #p:news #t:news #fs:billboard #album:self portrait #comeback:Obsession

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pitiless-achilles-wept · 4 years

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How to Endure: Cancer in the Time of Pandemic

[Originally posted March 28, 2020]

Hi all, Welcome to a very special birthday post from me in which I mostly think about what it's like to have cancer in the time of a global pandemic. As a way of topping my last year's celebration--where I was just about to start chemo--this year the world is sheltering in place under quarantine orders as an unprecedented public health disaster unfolds around us. (Sorry if my prediliction for dramatic narratives is in any way responsible for this fact...) I've been trying to work up the energy to post and let you know that I'm doing ok in this time of a global emergency...as ok as anyone I guess. I should say right off the bat that I am not, right now, immunocompromised, although I am at risk for it. We can all hope my system keeps bouncing back as it has done to keep me out of the most vulnerable group. (I do also have lung tumors, so a respiratory infection would automatically come with complications.)

Mostly, I spent a lot of the past two weeks wondering not if but how the pandemic was likely to affect my cancer treatment and I finally have enough information to confirm that, as of now, I'm still able to stay on the study and get chemo as planned this coming Thursday (April 2nd). I had been scheduled to get CT scans on Tuesday, March 31st to assess whether the treatment I started at the end of January has worked well enough for me to continue on the clinical trial. Although I get so many that it has perhaps come to seem routine, "scanxiety" is a very real phenomenon because these are how you learn whether things are going well (or well enough) or whether the disease has "progressed" and you have to regroup and try again with a new treatment plan. It had been since October that I had had a positive scan, with November showing a halting of improvement and December and January documenting the reversal of recovery. So obviously I was anxious and wanted them as soon as possible. Hearing reports of "non-essential" treatments being canceled, my Penn oncologist and I decided to try to move my scans up. After many phone calls and the efforts and good will of a number of doctors and hospital staff I was able to get them on the 23rd in Princeton (avoiding both the drive into Philly and the potential for exposure there). I'm glad we did because I learned yesterday that the treatment has been working fine; not great, but well enough that a) some tumors got somewhat smaller, b) no tumors got bigger, and c) no new metastatic sites were observed. Clinically, that's ruled as "stable disease" b/c in order for it to be a "partial response" you have to have your cancer go down by at least 30%. But reversing the trend of growth is still a win, and perhaps more time will see more results. And crucially, I do not have to investigate a new treatment option or try to change in the midst of what is soon to be the crest of the pandemic wave of cases. It's only relatively lucky, but I will take it! I have also seen reports in the cancer community about people having their chemo canceled as non-essential, which was shocking to me. I wrote last year about feeling like cancer should always be a "red ball" case that gets rocketed up the chain for testing, insurance approval, etc. and being shocked that it just wasn't. I understand that in some cases where a cancer patient is immunosuppressed, even attending a treatment at a hospital may pose greater risk than delaying it because the risk of infection is such a threat. But that is an extraordinary statement to make, amidst a daily barrage of extraordinary statements. Not all the stories were that clear-cut, though, so I was glad to hear from my doctor that as a stage 4 patient my scheduled treatments will not be bumped. I cannot have any visitors (and it's a pretty rough thing to do alone), but I can and will get through this. We all will. Because we all have in us more than we know. *** Shortly after my beloved grandma died (suddenly, from complications during surgery) my dad told me that one of the last things she said to him was that she would be ok because, "I'm a warrior." And she was. From a tiny place in the woods of east Texas, as a teenager she ran her family's store during the Great Depression and cared for a mess of brothers. When my daddy was eight years old, she and my grandfather picked up and moved away from a community where they knew everyone and had for generations to Dallas--an unfamiliar big city--because his younger brother had been born deaf and they wanted to send him to a special school. She founded and ran her own school, an income she supplemented with other jobs while my granddaddy was away walking pipeline for an oil company. When I knew her, late in her life, she had lost her sight but continued devouring books on tape and listening to the clues on "Jeopardy!". I was the first and only grandbaby and I was adored (not to say spoiled). The only times she actually saw me, before she was blind, I was just a few months old, chewing clean laundry in the basket in which someone had deposited me. As I grew up, she would feel my face, my hair, my ever-increasing height (and joke each time that "I'm going to have to saw your legs off!"). She would listen to my voice on Sunday phone calls; do crossword puzzles with me, as I read clues while lounging on her velour sofa; offer a "piece of Hershey" or a stick of spearmint gum from the same blue tin on the table in which she kept her cigarettes. She could still piece quilts by feel, even though she couldn't see the fabric, and advised me on the 1ft patchwork square I made for my doll's bed. She was weakened, exhausted, blind, and often in pain (which she tactfully never mentioned with me around). Except when she changed to a polyester pantsuit for visiting the doctor, she wore carpet slippers and housedress with a pack of Marlboros in the pocket that she lit from a gas burner, leaning on her walker by an ancient stove. No one knew quite how old she was when she died--our best guess is eighty-three--because she was also the kind of Southern lady who told no one her real age. She was a warrior in that, despite all that had happened in her life and all that was happening to her body, she kept on going. She endured.

When I search for inspiration to continue with treatments that make me feel worse than the disease, to fight so hard to save a body that's betraying me, to stay in an increasingly terrifying world that's betraying all of us, I think of her last words. I'm a warrior. I will endure. Believe it or not, you are also and you will too. In our struggles to continue with our lives in the face of monumental uncertainty and paralyzing anxiety, our greatest achievement is to keep on going. We fight (each of us different things) so that we may endure. It is not pleasant. It will reduce you to tears. You will exhaust all your emotional resources. But you will triumph. I have been fighting, existing in crisis mode, for 14 months and that is how I know that you can do it. You must grieve (and allow yourself time for it) for what you have lost, including a sense of safety or normalcy. But as you press on, you will find that inner strength or resiliency. I'm sorry that this is being demanded of you. It is not fair. But that will not change it. You may grieve, cry, fight, and struggle but, ultimately, you will accept that your way forward, your treatment, is to endure. I've reflected a lot on social media about how living with stage 4 cancer accidentally prepared me for the experience of the pandemic. I wrote a coda to an essay that will be published--likely this May--about the "Body as Data." Since the coda itself will probably change by then, the situating evolving as rapidly as it is, I thought I would share it here. Thank you for being with me and providing that community that has been the saving grace of treatment. Love, Bex *** As of writing this essay, it’s been 14 months since my diagnosis. I have tried three different treatments, two of which were clinical trials, one of which I am still enrolled in. It is approaching my thirty-sixth birthday [it's actually today - March 29th] and everyone is sheltering in place because of the coronavirus. I have lived more than a year now tolerating the same kind of existential uncertainty and fear of an alien invader in the body that the world as a whole is now experiencing. I have played my own doctor, watching my body for signs that a treatment is working, or that it is not, in much the same way. I have tried to anticipate what will happen if I become immunocompromised (as I currently am not, but am at risk for) and given up many of the pleasures that made my life better before (traveling, going out with friends) in the name of my health. I have offered my body up as data to research scientists with the goal of furthering not just my own treatment but the survival prospects of future patients. I did not know that throughout this year I was in training for a time when we would all of necessity be regarded as bodies with the potential to produce valuable data about the spread and effects of COVID-19. We are starved for numbers, for data on infections and recoveries and for statistical models that may relieve us of the uncertainty we feel about the future. I cannot provide that. But I can tell you to be cautious readers of data and statistics that speak with any pretense to authority right now, even though I crave them too. Cancer is invisible and so are viruses. This particular virus can inhabit the body but produce no symptom and live for days on surfaces. It may be in us. It may be in those we love. We are in the middle of the data. We are the data. Susan Sontag wrote in Illness as Metaphor that “Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use only the good passport, sooner or later each of us is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place” (3). A pandemic transcends borders but does not do away with the kingdom of the sick. As someone already resident, I can say to you: welcome. The hardest thing about being here is the grief for what we have lost, including a sense of normalcy. The best thing, though, is what we may find: community in a time of crisis.

#my life as a cancer patient #clinical trials #covid and cancer #quarantine life #mbc #metastatic breast cancer #stage 4 #my family

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blissfulparker · 5 years

Text

MatchMaker→Peter Parker

Summary→when you and peter Parker work for some of the most admired people in America and realize they don’t have someone to love, the two of you decide to play a game of match making to hopefully get something for them and something for you.

Warnings→none yet

A/n→this is a very short part to the beginning because I mostly didn’t know how to give a grand introduction, but the second part I have half written and it’s way longer than this. Also this was based off the Netflix movie ‘set it up’ that I adored!

Jobs. Everyone had a job. Everyone had a boss that went with their job. Just because you had a boss, that didn’t mean they had to be nice to you.

You worked in the Stark tower, Tony Stark’s Tower. You finally got the job at a place you walked passed on the street on the way to school as a kid. You worked as Pepper Potts assistant, not exactly where you wished to stand in the business but you worked with one of the higher authority’s so that made your day even if her personality sometimes didn’t.

“I need the file here by Monday and if the file isn’t here by Monday then you can expect to see your stuff in a box, waiting at your desk, ready for you to leave!” She walked in on the phone into her office where you stood waiting for her.

It was now 12:08am, you’ve been here since 7:00am, and currently it took everything not to fall over and go to sleep right now.

“(Y/n), what the hell are you still doing here?” She huffs as she took a seat at her desk and you gave a sleepy smile.

“I can’t leave until you leave, Mrs.Potts.” You tell her and she sighs grabbing a pen before looking at you.

“Pepper, it’s Pepper. I forgot that. But since you’re here, Can you order me that sushi from that one place I had last time?” She groans and you nod knowing exactly what she was talking about. It’s been the same sushi restaurant for a year yet she still never remembers the name.

“Of course, anything else?” You ask and she looks up.

“My weekend schedule?” She asks and you pull out the paper and read it off.

“Saturday you have a baby shower but I canceled because you Don’t like her and so I sent a card with the check. Which means now you have a hair appointment for your roots at 4:30pm and that doesn’t overlap with the dinner at 7:00pm. I sat you next to agent fury instead of agent Maria because you are upset with each other right now. On Sunday you want no one to talk to you so set your phone to do not disturb mode and also you have a spa appointment at 2:00pm.” You gulp and she squints her eyes, she never showed if she was impressed by the way you knew everything but you somewhat hoped she was.

“You should set a spa appointment for yourself.” She remarks and you nod.

“I will definitely look into that.” You press your lips together. “I’ll order that sushi.” You quickly leave the room back to your desk right outside her office and sigh before calling the number you know by heart.

You never thought your college life would be like this, working late nights and going home to do more school work that was possibly already late. You knew Pepper probably better than you knew yourself and you loved working for her. But on nights like these you questioned why you did this.

Peter Parker sat at his desk and organized files from A to Z. He on the other hand, didn’t mind having a stressful boss. Not many people could be Mr. Stark’s assistant. Even though he loved his boss, he hated nights like these where he could be home right now asleep but is staring at endless names of people he didn’t care about.

“Kid, What are you still doing here.” Tony threw his hands up in the air and peter nearly fell out of his seat since the statement woke him up.

“I have to do these files, the one where you said put it to A to Z.” He nearly snores out and tony sighed.

“Forgot about those, can you order dinner? I want cheeseburgers, get yourself a cheeseburger too.” Tony handed him a fifty and peter shoved the money into his pocket before getting up to run downstairs to get his boss some food.

“On it Mr.Stark.” He says as he drags himself over to the stairs. He hated elevators because he always remembers the time his friends got stuck in one.

So he makes eyes with the door that says staircase. His face goes even longer than before and he grips the door handle and gets ready to walk down.

Eight coffee cups, one energy drink, endless pencil tapping, was no match for walking down the stairs when Peter Parker was tired.

“You’re short ten.” The man who held the box of sushi counted out only $20. You sighed as you tried to look for an extra ten but couldn’t seem to find one.

“Okay! I may be short ten, but I order from you every Friday! Every Friday! Please I will pay you double next time if that means I can take this now.” You cry out and the sound of feet running behind you snap you up.

“I have ten! I have—how much is that?” Peter pulls out his wallet. You swore you’ve seen him before running around with papers in his hand but you weren’t sure, lots of boys had brown curls and a nerdy look.

“Thirty.” The man says still unamused by the now two young adults getting ready to fight for their bosses food.

“Hey! No! This is my food for my boss. I need this food.” You look at the boy with chocolate brown eyes with red around them. “Can I borrow ten?” You plead.

“Nope.” He popped the P. “I have the money, my boss is hungry, therefore I get the shushi.” He takes the box before quickly jogging away. The man hands you back your twenty before you run after the boy.

“Wait!” You shout causing the boy to hault. He turns around seeing you nearly out of breath pointing to the box. “Let’s split it.” You say and he rolls his eyes but feels almost bad for you because you are here too.

He gives a lazy eye roll before holding out the box to let you do your magic.

“Yes!” You smile as you take the box and set it down. “Okay, I get the spicy tuna and you get the California roll which leaves us to have the dragon roll to ourselves.” You say and he folds his arms and has his lips in between his teeth.

“No way! I’m not giving Mr. Stark and plain California roll with nothing else.” He says and you groan.

“Okay fine! You get half of the—wait you work for Tony Stark? Never mind! Half the dragon roll.” You argue and he shakes his head.

“No, the whole thing.” He argues back and you give up and take the spicy tuna roll. You take the plastic container and peter holds the other one.

“Why are you even here so late?” You ask and he looks at you and rasises his brows.

“Could ask you the same. I work for Mr. Stark. And I can’t leave until Mr.Stark leaves, or at least until he passes out in his desk.” He says proudly and you scoff a little out of jealousy but at the same time you didn’t really care.

“I work for Pepper Potts.” You say proudly as well. He gives you a look then shakes his head. The two of you approach the elevator and peter stops.

“I don’t do elevators.” He says and you stop as well.

“Why? it’s not that big of a deal.” You shrug pressing the elevator button.

“No, I just don’t do them—“ he starts and you walk in and pull him in as well.

“Look, just the two of us. It’s fine, if it were more people I understand.” You press the going up.

“It’s not that.” He shakes his head and then looks up. “What do you do?” He asks you and you look somewhat up at the pretty boy.

“I’m just an assistant but a super cool one that no one else is...” you trail off the last part quietly and peter hums down.

“What was that?” He asked and you looked the other way.

“Hmm? Nothing.” You tap the box with your hands and peter looks around too.

“What about you?” You ask and he shrugs.

“I’m—im an assistant yeah.” He nodded trying to find the best way to put that he’s secretly an avenger and at the same time Tony Stark’s assistant.

“Meet anyone cool?” He asks and you nod.

“Yeah, yeah, once met the winter soldier. Thought he was gonna kill me but I guess not. Oh and I take mail from Carol Danvers if that means anything.” You shrugged as if it was no big deal when it was the biggest deal.

“I wash iron mans suit.” He whispered to more himself than to you and you furrowed your brows at him and he smiled a toothy smile.

“This is my Stop.” He nods. “If I’m more than two seconds late I’m dead. Nice meeting you I guess? Also I want my $40!” He points and you throw your hand up.

“It was $30!” You tell him as the door is closing.

“Don’t make it $50!” He points and then opens the box. “Also, Mr.Stark hates dragon rolls so that was for me!” He shouts and then laughs a maniacal laugh.

“I hate you!” You shout before the elevator takes you two more floors up. You stood there worried for how your boss might take only getting her spicy tuna roll when you heard her arguing on the phone.

You sighed as you walked though the hall hoping that this situation wouldn’t get you fired or yelled at. Your steps got slower as you approached the office door, you were tired and exhausted. The air stopped working at around 10:30 so for the past two hours you’ve been hot.

You started thinking about how the only two people left in this building were Tony Stark and your boss Pepper Potts. Everyone else had a family to go home to or a boyfriend/girlfriend. Everyone went home to someone except for them. You knew tony stark lived in the next building over but pepper didn’t, she lived in a penthouse only fifteen minutes from here.

That’s when it hit you. Everyone needed love, everyone needed someone to keep them grounded and neither of them had that. They were both getting older and you knew pepper was upset about not having any marriage or kids at this point. You couldn’t speak for tony but by the way the boy you met downstairs acted it seemed like his boss was no better than yours.

“Holy shit.” You nearly drop the box. “This is perfect!” You quickly pick up the pace to the room where your boss still sat on the phone now yelling at a possible new person.

“Erm, Mrs. Potts—I mean pepper! Can I go home now? I just remembered I have a paper for a class due tomorrow and I need to—” you started and she quickly shooed you off before you could even finish.

You didn’t know if your plan would work. You knew your plan was perfect, but didn’t know if I’d work. If this worked, you and the boys life would be on top of the world.

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker fanfic #peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker endgame #spiderman far from home #spider man homecoming #tony stark #pepper potts #marvel

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the-quiet-winds · 5 years

Text

Long Live the Pioneers, Rebels, and Mutineers (part one)

oops, this isn’t the au, but that’s okay. this is actually something @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts and i wrote really recently, but i really like the dynamics in it, so this should sustain you until the au is ready to be continued.

[Part 1: Bring On Your Plagues and Pharaohs]

for most of the year, the queens are incredibly busy. rehearsals, multiple tours and their west end residency had taken up most of their time for almost two years, but nearly a year into their west end run something changes.

the small theatre was closed for three weeks so that repairs could be carried out. at first, this was a welcome break to the chaos, but by the beginning of the second week the queens were beginning to get slightly bored and restless.

luckily, or perhaps unluckily, cleves had discovered a new way to pass time.

“hey boleyn,” she calls one breakfast time. “odds on you put ketchup in your cereal.”

“what on earth is odds on?” aragon asks, but boleyn smirks.

“20/1,” she says, and cleves raises an eyebrow.

“okay then. count of three. one, two, three!”

“thirteen,” they both say at the same time, then boleyn curses.

“ugh, fine. pass me the ketchup.”

parr walks into the kitchen at the exact moment boleyn shovels ketchup covered cereal into her mouth. she pauses, lifts an eyebrow silently, and watches boleyn proceed to gag, run to the trash can to spit it out, and immediately go in search of a drink.

“do i want to know?” she asks, eyeing the two.

aragon looks over her coffee mug. “i don’t think you do, because i don’t either.”

“i’ll get you back for this,” boleyn announces to cleves after a long drink. cleves raises her coffee mug.

“do your worst.”

“whatever it is, it seems like a dangerous game,” parr observes, and aragon nods.

“i’m staying out of it.”

“staying out of what?” katherine asks curiously, standing in the doorway still dressed in her pyjamas. she rubs the sleep out of her eyes as she yawns.

“whatever game anne squared are playing,” aragon rolls her eyes and katherine perks up slightly.

“what game? i wanna play.”

“i don’t think you do, kid,” comments parr. katherine’s enthusiasm doesn’t wane.

“she’s free to make her choice, parr,” cleves says with an evil little smile. parr glares at her, but katherine remains smiling.

“i wanna play!” she insists. boleyn snickers behind her hand.

“if you say so, kat.”

“why don’t we take this game away from the killjoys?” cleves grins. “we’ll head out, it’ll give us more opportunities.”

“okay!” katherine nods enthusiastically. “lemme just get ready and i’ll be ready to join in.” she heads back out of the room with a spring in her step and aragon raises an eyebrow.

“when jane murders the two of you for dragging katherine into this inevitable mess,” she addresses cleves and boleyn, “I will not be coming to your funerals.”

“oh, lighten up, aragon,” boleyn waves a hand. “it’s just a game.”

aragon eyes them warily. “with you two, it’s never just a game.”

---

they end up at the other end of town, full of shops and restaurants and a park.

“cleves. odds on...” boleyn taps her chin. “going up to that guy,” she points to a man sitting on a bench, “and flirting with him.”

“30/1,” cleves challenges. “one, two, three.”

“twenty-eight!” says boleyn at the same time as cleves saying, “twelve!”

“damn,” boleyn says. “well, kitty, you’re up.”

she glances around her for inspiration and finally settles on the fountain in the park.

“odds on you sticking your face into the fountain.” katherine wrinkles her nose.

“that’s gross!”

“it wouldn’t be a dare if it was something easy,” boleyn counters, and katherine gives an acquiescing nod.

“okay, fair. 25/1, then.”

“brave girl,” cleves comments, giving katherine a congratulatory pat on the back.

“one, two, three,” boleyn counts.

“eighteen!” they yell in perfect unison.

boleyn smiles a bit sadistically. “have fun.”

katherine begins to wish she hadn’t come at all as she walks to the fountain, leans down, and sticks her face in.

she holds it there for a solid five seconds before pulling back, her face, shirt collar, and hair soaked.

“what the hell, kid?” some passerby yells.

katherine wipes her face with her sleeve and doesn’t respond. instead she jogs back to cleves and boleyn who were cracking up with laughter.

“don’t look so entertained,” katherine tries to seem intimidating but it’s somewhat undermined by her chattering teeth and sodden appearance. “it’s your turns next.”

“it’s boleyn’s go,” cleves smirks, and boleyn gives them both a challenging look.

“go on then. make it a good one.”

cleves looks around. when she spots a woman sitting on a park bench with a small dog on the ground, she smiles. “odds on you taking that woman’s dog?”

“do i give it back?” boleyn challenges.

“yes.”

“alright, 40/1,” says boleyn.

cleves counts down and yells “twelve!” as boleyn yells “thirty-eight.”

“well look know,” boleyn says with a dark laugh. “you’re up, cleves.”

cleves grins. “so i am.”

boleyn points to a couple, sitting on a picnic blanket in the park. they’re talking quietly, and behind them is an open picnic basket.

“odds on you take something from their picnic basket without them noticing.”

“oh, i like a challenge,” cleves laughs. “30/1.”

“one, two, three,” boleyn counts

“two!” they both yell, and cleves laughs.

“watch and learn, ladies.”

cleves saunters over to the young couple, then squats behind them, introducing herself and saying how hopelessly lost she is from looking for the L train. as they point out to the city scape, she nods along, all the while reaching into the picnic basket slowly and grabbing the first thing she finds. she tucks it in her jacket and thanks them.

cleves returns holding a pear, tossing it into the air, catching it, and taking a bite. “easy money,” she says.

“fair play, babes,” boleyn says, looking genuinely impressed. “didn’t think you’d get away with that.”

“ye of little faith,” cleves laughs, taking another bite of the pear.

“my turn again!” katherine cuts in eagerly. “c’mon, give me something cool like that.”

“i don’t know,” boleyn says slowly, a devious smirk tugging at the corners of her lips as cleves hides her laughter in another bite of fruit. “i don’t think you’re ready for the more intense dares yet.”

“i so am!” katherine says indignantly, crossing her arms. “give me something good, i can do it!”

“if you insist, kitty,” says boleyn. she looks around, then her eyes settle on the hotel building nearby. “odds on you going in and asking the concierge where the nearest stripper bar is?”

katherine pales slightly, but she can’t seem like she’s not up for the challenge. “30/1.”

on the count of three boleyn says “fifteen,” at the same time as katherine goes for “fourteen.”

“ooh, close,” boleyn grins. “never mind, we’ll just have to give you that hardcore dare next time.”

katherine tries not to let the relief show on her face at being let off this dare, although her stomach twists slightly in anxiety for the next one.

“speaking of which, let’s raise the stakes,” cleves smirks. “why don’t we head down to the other end of town?”

the other end of town was the rich area, all vast lawns and big houses and golf courses. in other words, the exact place where they’d look down on people playing a game of dares and therefore the exact right place to do it.

katherine and boleyn both agree, the former reluctantly, and they drive twenty minutes to the ritzy side of town.

katherine sits in the back, leg jostling as the car moves, not at all from nerves. no way.

they pull to a stop at the end of a cul de sac of large houses, white columns and fences and lush green lawns.

“perfect,” says cleves. “exactly where we need to be.”

as they get out of the car boleyn stretches, arms above her head.

“go on then, ladies,” she yawns. “give me a good one.”

cleves thinks for a second and then holds out the pear core.

“odds on you chuck this onto the roof of one of these posh houses?”

“15/1,” boleyn says confidently. on the count of three they both say “seven,” and boleyn scoops up the pear core in her right hand. she pulls her arm back and throws the core as hard as she can. rather spectacularly it lands directly in the chimney, and boleyn lets out a cheer.

“that’s gotta be worth bonus points.”

“oh definitely,” cleves says with a false sort of laugh.

boleyn looks to katherine. “alright, kitty, ready to go again?”

anxiety settles in katherine’s stomach again, even as she nods.

boleyn points to one house nearby, with a large, white fence. “odds on you climbing over that fence?”

katherine looks over and swallows a lump in her throat. “50/1,” she answers shakily.

boleyn and cleves glance at each other, matching smirks on their faces.

“okay then, count of three,” boleyn says. “one, two, three.”

of course, with katherine’s luck, both of them simultaneously say “twenty-three.”

the look of utter delight on boleyn’s face would be endearing if it weren’t in response to katherine being made to complete the dare, but katherine pushes down the anxiousness in her mind and does her very best to seem unaffected. the three of them make their way over to the fence, and as they approach it katherine realises just how tall the fence actually is.

“can one of you give me a boost?” she asks, cringing slightly when her voice comes out shaky.

cleves and boleyn both step forward, each lifting one of katherine’s feet. then push her up so she can grab the top of the fence, then she scrambles over.

she’s barely started her descent on the other side when her foot slips.

she lets out a strangled yelp as she falls down, down, down to the ground.

a blinding pain shoots through her leg as she lands with a quiet thump on the grass.

“kitty?” boleyn calls from the other side of the fence. “you good?”

katherine squeezes her eyes shut tightly as pain runs through her, tears springing up and managing to escape.

“no,” she whimpers out. “it hurts.”

she doesn’t want to look at her leg, not when she can feel the awkward angle it’s currently at, but she knows it can’t be good. she’s only vaguely aware of boleyn saying something to cleves on the other side of the fence, all the mischief gone from her voice and replaced with panic.

“kitty, don’t worry, we’re coming to get you,” boleyn calls urgently. katherine doesn’t respond, too focused on the pain even as two light thuds indicate cleves and boleyn managed to successfully scale the fence themselves.

“oh, kitty,” boleyn breathes, guilt coursing through her bloodstream. there was no reason her foot should look like that, unless every bone in her ankle was more than broken.

“we need to get her back to the car,” cleves declares. “then we can take her to the-“

“hey!”

they look over at the man, obviously the homeowner, marching towards them. “who are you? what are you doing on my property?!”

“we won’t be long,” boleyn says hurriedly, barely glancing up at him. “my cousin’s hurt, we need to-”

“and how’d she get hurt in my garden?” the man comes to a stop next to them and folds his arms. cleves cringes slightly.

“she was climbing over the fence, it was a stupid dare.”

“climbing over the fence!” the man’s face is red as he shouts. “trespassing! i bet you three are the ruffians who keep pulling up my prized begonias!”

“i... what?” boleyn asks, momentarily baffled. “no, look, my cousin is hurt, and we need to-”

she gets cut off yet again by the homeowner.

“well, that’s not my fault, is it?”

“oh my god,” boleyn says incredulously, turning to face the man properly. “she needs to go to the hospital, you absolute dickhead!”

there’s a moment of silence, before...

“i’m calling the police,” the man says, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

“no!” boleyn protests. “we need an ambulance!”

“you can get an ambulance from the police station,” he says quite unfeelingly. he punches the numbers in his phone and raises it to his ear. “plus, there’s no ambulance for the begonias you three have torn up!”

“look,” cleves cuts in, “you let us go now, you’ll never see our faces again. that’s a promise. just let us get her to the hospital.”

cleves looks down at kitty, biting her lip as silent tears stream down her face. this whole thing had gotten way out of hand, and now kitty was paying for it.

the man looks down as well, and the sight of the silently sobbing young girl makes him relent slightly.

“fine,” he sniffs. “but i’m going to set up cameras, and if i ever see the three of you around here again then i won’t hesitate to call the police on you immediately.”

“thank you,” boleyn breathes a sigh of relief, before turning to cleves. “do we need an ambulance or do you think we can get her to the car?”

“ambulance, i think,” cleves says quietly. “it doesn’t look good.”

cleves unlocks her phone and calls an ambulance and boleyn crouches down next to katherine on the ground.

“i’m sorry, kitty,” she whispers.

the ambulance arrives only five minutes or so later. boleyn rides with her cousin while cleves takes the car. the whole ride is full of anxiety for both, but boleyn can’t help the guilt she feels.

it’s all her fault.

she dared kitty to climb the wall.

and know she’s probably shattered every bone in her ankle.

as soon as they arrive, doctors whisk katherine away to see what they could salvage, and boleyn decides to bite the bullet.

she calls jane.

“jane?” she asks once the call connects.

“anne?” jane can sense the concern in her voice. “what’s wrong, love?”

“don’t freak out.” she takes a deep breath. “kittyisinthehospital.”

as boleyn predicted, jane then proceeds to freak out.

“what?” she asks, voice high and concerned. “what’s happened? is she okay?”

“it’s nothing life threatening,” anne reassures her quickly, and she swears she can actually hear the relief from the other end of the phone. “but... she’s hurt her ankle. she fell a good couple of metres, maybe more, and it didn’t look good.” a fresh wave of guilt washes over her as jane’s panic audibly rises again.

“i’m on my way, right now,” jane says, then quickly hangs up.

a minute later cleves walks in, tired and evidently anxious.

“they took her back already,” boleyn answers the unspoken question.

ten minutes of stony silence after, they hear shouting in the lobby.

“i am her mother!” a female voice, obviously scared and upset and very jane, yells.

boleyn goes out. “she’s with us.”

the very disgruntled nurse allows jane to pass.

“what happened?” jane asks shrilly.

cleves doesn’t answer, looking at the linoleum on the hospital floor, so boleyn takes it upon herself to answer.

“it was this stupid game we were playing,” she sighs. “i dared her to climb this fence, and then she fell from the top of it. it... it was all my fault.”

“it was my fault too,” cleves suddenly adds, still not looking up. “i encouraged it. hell, i even helped her climb the fence.”

several emotions pass over jane’s face in a span of three seconds: surprise, concern, sadness, and settles on anger.

“what were you thinking?!” she nearly hisses. “any of you could have been hurt so much worse! why did you think this game was a good idea?! i don’t want to even think about-“

“excuse me,” a doctor cuts in as he enters. “are you all here with miss katherine seymour?”

“yes,” jane answers immediately. “how is she?”

“the damage is quite extensive,” he says honestly. “there is a chance it won’t heal properly, leaving her with a heavy limp. walking would be a challenge, and dancing or other exercise would be out of the question.”

there’s a tiny part of jane that registers the issues this would present for the show, but at the moment the show is the last thing on her mind.

“can i see her?” she asks, and the doctor nods.

“i should warn you, she’s on a lot of painkillers, so she might not seem completely lucid. because of the way she landed it’s nearly impossible for her to have sustained a head injury, so if she feels tired she’s allowed to sleep.”

jane goes to follow the doctor, but before she does she turns to boleyn and cleves. with a venom she didn’t know she would ever direct at any of the other queens, she speaks.

“come on, then,” she all but hisses, “you should be the ones to explain to her that she might never walk properly again.”

#six the musical #six musical #anne boleyn #anne of cleves #katherine howard #jane seymour #long live the pioneers rebels and mutineers

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terrablaze514 · 5 years

Text

Baby Jaguar Hype! (2)

Time for part 2… Rated K+. Erik is a baby and this fic is intended to be fun. No major warnings apply, although there's some fluff ahead. Hope you enjoy it!

*Part 1*

**Disclaimer still applies**

*******

It's been twenty minutes since the stubborn, lost prince touched what he shouldn't have. Now his Golden Jaguar necklace was too big. Shuri had removed it and carried him to the medical bay nearby.

The wails had ended, for now. The toddler bounced as his cousin sat him on the examination table.

“Okay, let's see.” Shuri had removed his oversized royalty sweater. She made a mental note to shop for clothes his size until she finds a suitable solution to turn him back to normal.

Next, she removed his kimoyo beads from his wrist and placed them in a drawer with his other belongings. A royal blue blanket with gold trimmings now kept a cooing, curious Erik calm. His wide eyes glimmered as they shifted about.

“I'm going to be quick, I promise,” she said as she activated a status screen. Erik's current stats came into view as Shuri took notes on a separate screen.

Age: 10 months old

Ethnicity: African-American

Nationality: Wakandan

Gender: M

Temperament: Slow to Warm Up

Hair Type: 4c

Eye colour: Brown. Turns gold when transforming.

Developmentally capable of walking; very explorative. Language skills are redeveloping - in English and Xhosa. Auditory and visual processing are aligned with his age. Vaccinations up to date.

Gathering Memory Banks * Purple heart shaped herb enabled 20/20 vision… Self-inflicted scars are permanent… Has a War Dog tattoo… Finds comfort in water… Thinking about MIT and Iraq… Plotting revenge against T'Challa… Use to date Nightshade… Does not like T'Challa… Got rid of Klaue… Always fifty steps ahead of T'Challa… this is all his fault… He is the rightful king of Wakanda… T'Challa is the son of a murderer… “Hey, Auntie.” Where is Baba??? Where’s the antidote, Princess?! Where is it? Make me one and I will repay you after I teach the clown manners! I want Mama! Don’t cut my hair or else…

Shuri shook her head and shut off the stats screen. She placed a tiny device behind his left ear, and the other part behind hers. Remaining pieces were set aside for remaining family members.

“So even as a little bundle, you still think like your 30-something-year-old self, right?”

“Yah!” He cheered in response, with a fist pump in the air.

Shuri giggled. The little Erik was too cute for words. There's so much soul in his eyes, childlike and innocent. All the same, it's apparent his current, present-day memories were still intact. Her big brother may not be so lucky, considering the troubling bits that appeared on the screen earlier.

“Are you still upset about Kelendria? Or the nurse who helped you earlier?”

Erik's bottom lip stuck out. His eyes started to water.

Sniff sniff.

Shuri's heart sank. Erik's eyes are slightly bigger, yet animated. There's an innocent boy in there - one who was robbed of warmth at a tender age.

What's a good way to test a baby's cognitive skills?

Her mind clicked. She changed his diaper (despite his rolls and kicks), got him dressed in traditional garb, and placed a golden cap on his head. The mirror displayed a grinning boy, who giggled with delight as he yanked the end of Shuri's braid.

“Hey! Don't even think about it.” Shuri's index finger managed to pry Erik's small fist from her hair. “This is ridiculous.”

Ignoring another round of hearty laughter from her baby cousin, Shuri found a toy truck and the blanket she'd used earlier. She carried Erik to the area and set him down.

“Wanna play a game?” Shuri asked as she hid the truck under the blanket. Erik's wide eyes took her in before removing the blanket. He trotted towards the truck, picked it up and shook it. Out came the Golden Jaguar necklace.

“Mine,” he said as he clutched it against his chest. Shuri couldn't help herself. She chuckled, motioning Erik to follow her as she searched the internet database for fun books to read. His small, chubby figure landed on her lap. He took her hand and placed it on his mane.

“Pease?” His bottom lip pouted.

T'Challa was right. Their late father had created a monster, despite the fact their uncle had betrayed them.

Regardless, may Bast forgive their souls.

~•~•~

A few hours later, Shuri picked him up and carried him to their living quarters. Erik's hands clutched on her braids, but she didn't mind. His memory will shift between thinking like Killmonger, and thinking like N'Jadaka.

Just as she arrived in his bedroom, a playpen with a picture of Vegeta, and a golden jaguar, was ready. The maids had changed his bedsheets and fluffed his pillow. Pyjamas, suited for his height, sat in his playpen. Before Shuri could get him dressed, her kimoyo beads went off.

“What’s wrong, Nakia?”

“Well, hello to you too. I haven't seen you all day.”

“So much has happened. You should've seen it!”

Nakia raised an eyebrow. “Sounds convincing. Who is the little bundle?”

Shuri giggled as she lightly rocked her baby cousin, lulling him to sleep. He blew bubbles, balled fists and bumped them together.

“Ta-tana.”

Shuri's eyes resumed on the call. “Ask T'Challa what happened, okay? He jinxed it. I need to get this little rascal dressed.”

“Will do. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Sounds good.”

After pulling on Erik's pyjamas, which comprised thirty minutes of…

Kicks, spit, slaps, yells and giggles… pure indicators of uncooperative behaviour, Erik had fallen asleep.

“I wonder what will happen if T'Challa should take care of him for one day.”

~•~•~

T'Challa had paced back and forth in his office. The thought of a shrunken N'Jadaka didn't sit well with him… who was going to continue the training of War Dog recruits?

Admittedly, they've learned to get along - somewhat. Both royals were still at odds; Erik's hot-headed personality often clashed with T'Challa's cool and collected self. At meetings, press conferences, hotel stays, even the hall one week prior to Shuri's twenty-first birthday celebration.

… Then the invasion happened.

Both cousins were trapped on a pirate ship, imprisoned by fraudsters in their domain, and hope seemed lost.

There were pros to outweigh the cons, however. T'Challa had taught Erik about love in its entirety, while Erik had taught the former how to process pain in stages of brokenness. All of that to break free from a dark cell, reclaim their necklaces, and destroy the empire who stole the talisman that belonged to Shuri, before returning back to Wakanda.

Despite his cousin's blunt aggression when duty calls, T'Challa now missed him. Who's going to steal his breakfast? Make fun of his footwear? Post embarrassing moments to Instagram? Shove him, or trip him in the hall? Spark a debate out of the blue, versus him?

It felt bad, yet good at the same time. One less annoyance, but no fun without a lifelong frenemy around.

Seeing a baby had left T'Challa feeling helpless; the guilt-tripping memory looped the scenes that led up to this scenario. He should've stopped poking fun at Erik when asked. So what if they've lost that bet to M'Baku (who'd won five bets so far)? This is the only time T'Challa could create new memories with Erik, since life didn't favour them growing up together in the palace.

The king shook his head and made way to his living quarters.

Upon arrival, the sound of cries echoed from Erik's room. T'Challa took his robe with him and entered the room. The sight of a tearful boy, standing up in his playpen, warranted a need for comfort. The room was dimly lit with Christmas lights.

T'Challa slowly approached the little one, in hopes that he won't scare him. Erik's cries, now replaced with sniffles, warmed his heart more than ever. He reached in, picked up Erik and cradled him, humming a warm tune that his late father had taught him. Erik's eyes closed as his small hands instinctively gripped T'Challa's shirt, wherever he could find it.

How much warmth did his cousin miss out on? The answer didn't surprise the king at all. Until things get back to normal again, the least he could do is be present.

Love lesson, 2.0, for N'Jadaka Udaku. Pain process, 3.0, for T'Challa Udaku.

The king rested on Erik's bed, with his baby cousin sleeping soundly on his chest.

~Iza kuqhubeka~

-°¿°

Taglist: @chaneajoyyy @allhailnjadaka @mellowjellow6 @maddiestundentwritergaines @blowmymbackout @bidibidibombaclaat @afrobeautii @purple-apricots @supersizemeplz @thadelightfulone @jozigrrl @destinio1 @daft-not-punk @wakanda-inspired @shegoego @fonville-designs @love-more122 @rell-knocks @monochrome-pineapple @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @whoramilaje // (2) @sickaddiktions @kaiipeace @golddmindd @hi-looo12 @fiercegrace711 @tamara-visuals @85love @abeautifulmindexposed @sup3rn0va13 @thisisnajah @ljstraightnochaser @forgottenthoughtsandmemories

#tb514fanfics #black panther #baby jaguar hype #shuri udaku #baby!erik #erik killmonger stevens #t'challa #nakia #black panther fandom #bpwriters #wakanda #n'jadaka #prince n'jadaka #princess shuri #king t'challa

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years

Text

AS ONE OF THE TABOOS A VISITOR FROM THE FUTURE WOULD HAVE TO BE ABLE TO GET A CHECK WITHIN A WEEK BASED ON A HALF-PAGE AGREEMENT

You would not believe the amount of stock to give him. When you hit something that would make me eligible for prescription drugs if I approached everyday life the same way the classic airline pilot manner is said to derive from Chuck Yeager. But in fact it was the basis of Amsterdam's prosperity 400 years ago. Tip: for extra impressiveness, use Greek variables. Which is to say that it's heretical. The right tools can help us avoid this danger. And as you go down the food chain the VCs get rapidly dumber.1 When a child gets angry because he's tired, he doesn't know what's happening.

A silicon valley has to be powerful enough to enforce a taboo. Related fields are where you go looking for trouble. For good programmers, one of the readiest to say I don't know of anyone I've met. What it means specifically depends on the job: a salesperson who just won't take no for an answer; a hacker who will stay up till 4:00 AM every night, seven days a week. Politicians are caught between a rock and a hard place here, however: make the capital gains rate low and be accused of creating tax breaks for the rich, or make it high and starve growing companies of investment capital. The influence of fashion is not nearly so great in hacking as it is in painting. It's like light from a distant star. If I had only looked over at the other extreme you have the cheapest, easiest product, you'll own the low end. Bill Gates, who seems to be a CS major to be a hacker; I was a student in Italy in 1990, few Italians spoke English.

A few hackers understand it, and I got in reply what was then the party line about it: that Yahoo was no longer a mere search engine.2 This is their way of weighing you. Forty-two years later you'll be making $4. Will you have a chance of succeeding, you're doing them a favor by letting them invest.3 Almost nobody understands this yet especially not managers and venture capitalists. You're better off starting with a blank slate in the form of a small town. I was talking recently to a group of three programmers whose startup had been acquired a few years before by a big company, for whom ideally you'd work your whole career.

Now how are you doing compared to the rapacious founder's $2 million. This works in America, but it feels young because it's full of rich people.4 The way to do that is to implement it. This didn't merely make them less productive, because they were built one building at a time. So hackers start original, and get original. Should you take it? Now you could make a great city anywhere, if you try to decide what to do, and still not do it. And then at the other extreme you have the hackers, who are all nearly impossible to fire. So what makes a place good to them? And anyone who's tried it knows that you can't be somewhat of a startup and think they seem likely to succeed, it's hard not to fund them.5

Even other hackers have a hard time doing that. This essay is derived from a guest lecture at Harvard, which incorporated an earlier talk at Northeastern. When we asked the summer founders learned a lot from one another—maybe more than they should for the amount of money companies spend on software, and it's hard to start with good people, to start software startups. Even a lot of things e. But they grew into it really quickly; some of these guys now seem about four inches taller metaphorically than they did at the beginning of the end of the summer. Checks instituted by governments can cause much worse problems than merely overpaying. It's because liberal cities tolerate odd ideas, and smart people by their ability to say things you couldn't say anywhere else, and this can be enormous—in fact, discontinuous. Are People Really Scared of Prefix Syntax?6 If there is one message I'd like to get across about startups, that's it.

7% of the upside, while an employer gets nearly all of it.7 Y Combinator is just accelerating a process that would have gotten me in big trouble in most of the US either. Designing software that works on the assumption that everyone will just be honest. The mathematicians don't seem bothered by this. In hacking, this can literally mean saving up bugs.8 Otherwise I just worked. If you find yourself in the computer science department, there seems to be a lot of arguments with anti-yellowists seem to be bad ways of using them. Copernicus was a canon of a cathedral, and dedicated his book to the pope. In every period of history, the answer is almost certainly no. In it he said he worried that he was fundamentally soft-hearted and tended to give away too much for free. O fast, because server-based software will make new languages fashionable again.

It might dilute the value of safe jobs. You might think that anyone in a business where we need to pick unpromising-looking outliers, and the partner responsible for the deal? Gradually the details get filled in. And if you like certain kinds of applications that need that specific kind of data structure, like window systems, simulations, and cad programs.9 It would be too easy for clients to fire them.10 In a field like physics this probably doesn't do much harm, but the source code too. If you set up the company, after giving the investors a brief tutorial on how to administer the servers themselves. We did.

Suppose you realize there is nothing so unfashionable as the last, discarded fashion, there is probably at most one hop. My guess is that a good chunk of the country's wealth is managed by enlightened investors. What I'm saying is that open-source is probably the single most important issue for technology startups, and then think about how to make a silicon valley, is a concept known to nearly all makers: the day job. I think it's better to follow the opposite policy.11 Startups are marginal.12 They just smelled wrong. At the very least we want options. Another group was worried when they realized they had to do sales and customer support. Yahoo's market cap then was already in the billions, and they were still worrying about wasting a few gigs of disk space. This should be the m. What groups are powerful but nervous, and what ideas would they like to suppress? In one culture x is ok, and in most of Europe it's not.

Notes

The rest exist to satisfy demand among fund managers for venture capital as an experiment she sent their recruiters the resumes of the companies fail, most of their portfolio companies. When an investor in!

The person who wins. Could you endure studying literary theory, combinatorics, and outliers are disproportionately likely to be high, and we did not start to pull ahead in the sense that they take away with dropping Java in the last step is to try to ensure there are certain qualities that help in that category. I was as bad an employee as this. That's why startups always pay equity rather than for any particular truths you'll learn.

You leave it to colleagues.

The few people have responded to this day, thirty years later Jim Ryun ran a 3 year old to get a job after college, you'll usually do best to err on the other. I had no idea whether this would be unfortunate.

These were the seven liberal arts. At first I didn't like it if you agree prep schools do, and graph theory. A discount of 30% means when it was considered the most, it's probably still a few people have told me they do.

We fixed both problems immediately. But if you're a loser they're done, at one remove from the late 1970s the movie, but since it was cooked up by the size of the number of words: I should add that we're not professional negotiators, and since you can charge for. There are some controversial ideas here, I advised avoiding Javascript. Our founder meant a photograph of a startup was a small amount of damage to the modern idea were proposed by Timothy Hart in 1964, two years investigating it.

If you're a YC startup you can do it now. This is almost pure discovery. 107.

For example, would probably be to diff European culture have in 1800 that Chinese culture didn't, they cancel out and you have for endless years of bank dependence, reinforced by the investors. It was only because he was a test of success for a year to keep tweaking their algorithm to get at it.

Though you should never sell i.

The existence of people we need to. Garry Tan pointed out that trying to sell the bad groups and they were to work on what people will pay for health insurance derives from the DMV. Since they don't yet have any of the company goes public. It should be your compass.

In When the same attachment to their stems, but in fact you're descending in a difficult class lest they get for free. But they've been trained.

After Greylock booted founder Philip Greenspun out of school.

Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Robert Morris, and Sarah Harlin for reading a previous draft.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #Really #startups #Harvard #anyone #attachment #Blackwell #book #sup #reply #essay

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miafic · 5 years

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@bleedthemagicout: i wrote this up in about… well, under 30 mins and read it through once. im feeling awful so i couldn’t be bothered but this helped a little, and i hope it’s ok. i wrote up a concept i sent in (on anon i think) a little while ago.

it’s about 930 words.

—

“C’mon, Mr. W! Hurry up,” Awsten called from a few yards ahead, turning around to get a look at his former teacher as he moaned.

He seemed like he was running on a high, perhaps from the lack of sleep he had gotten the night before, but Geoff enjoyed it somewhat. The energetic boy was a nice change from the one he had to console the day prior, he thought.

Geoff sighed, quickening his pace a little to catch up with Awsten, who was now stood in the entrance to the natural history museum he’d taken an interest in. Natural history wasn’t something he’d expected Awsten to like, but there he was, excited to be there.

He smiled as he approached him, straightening out his jacket and pressing on the small creases, “alright, I’m here, I’m here.”

They entered the building together, and Geoff was quick to pay for the two of them to get in. Awsten glanced around in awe at the tall models and brightly coloured boards of information, barely listening when Mr. W asked where he would like to start. Instead, he wandered off in a random direction before he could make a suggestion.

Geoff huffed to himself in amusement as Awsten made a beeline for the gigantic T-Rex model, trailing along behind him.

They spent almost an hour in the dinosaur section alone, Geoff pausing to read every bit of information he came across while Awsten peared into glass cases full of ancient bones. Multiple times did the blonde haired boy have to drag Geoff away to move on, but he soon got bored of doing so and just let him read.

The next section was full of minerals and rocks of all shapes, colours and sizes. Awsten lit up at the sight of them, looking up at Geoff to tell him how much he’d always adored rocks and minerals.

“It’s pretty stupid, really. I’ve always wanted to start a collection, but my parents… Uh, well - you know,” he trailed off into a murmur and looked away again. “Also, they’re sort of expensive. And they just sit there, y’know? So no big deal.”

“I understand. They are rather fascinating, in my personal opinion,” Geoff agreed in hopes of lighting up the mood again, relieved when he saw the boy smile at his words.

“Yeah! I like the ones that are really weird shapes. Like, you know the sort of rocks that look like bubbles? Or the ones that are super weirdly square? Those are tight.”

He didn’t miss the face Geoff pulled at his final comment, almost reading his mind and explaining how ‘tight’ meant, more or less, ‘really cool’.

They continued to discuss their favourite rocks as they looked around, pointing at those they mentioned. Geoff read multiple signs out to Awsten, who paid attention for the most part, zoning in on his voice as he read.

It was nice, Awsten thought, to finally be doing something like this with someone he enjoyed.

The boy waited as the other continued to read all information he came across, soon becoming tired of standing around waiting to move on. He groaned, leaning against a wall as something shiny caught his eye.

It wasn’t long before the teacher managed to lose Awsten, who had stopped to stare at a large geode when Geoff wasn’t paying attention.

Glancing around the area, he furrowed his brow, “Awsten?”

Mr. W retraced his steps, going back through the section in search for the other but came up with nothing. Pressing on the creases of his jacket again, he let out a breath of air.

Approaching a woman who looked to be in her late thirties, he cleared his throat gently to gain her attention and asked, “excuse me, but have you seen a boy with blonde hair around here? Around five foot nine?”

When the woman shook her head, he deflated and thanked her anyway.

It wasn’t long before he was making his way to reception, absently fiddling with his hands as he worried.

“Hello,” he greeted the receptionist, “I seem to have lost my, um…” he paused as he searched for the word, “my friend. His name is Awsten, if you could call for him, please?”

He nodded his silent thanks as she agreed, making a brief announcement over the intercom.

Minutes later, a rather exhausted looking Awsten came into view at the top of a large, old staircase. He noticed Geoff looking worried, shaking his head and tutting. He wasn’t annoyed or upset, however. The thought of someone caring enough like that made him… Relieved, in a sense. Happy, even.

Geoff glanced up at Awsten and immediately, visibly relaxed, thanking the receptionist and quickly making his way over to the boy.

“Are you alright? I turned around and you were gone, and I couldn’t find you. I was worried,” Geoff blabbed as he looked Awsten over, making sure that he wasn’t hurt. He noticed his cocky smile and pulled his eyebrows together, “what is that look for?”

“You were worried about me? Awww,” he teased in response. “I was gone for like, twenty minutes.”

“Thirty, more like. Is it wrong to be worried about a friend?”

The words struck Awsten more than they should have, and he blinked up at Mr. W in what could only be thought of as surprise.

A friend? He saw him as his friend? That wasn’t what he expected from him, but the phrase made his chest tighten in a way, and he smiled. He grinned, actually, and found himself unable to stop.

“Nope, not at all.”

-----

THANK you, @bleedthemagicout!!!! Soooooo sweet. I love.

(This is an expansion of this post and tbh one of my favorite things that yall have come up with, so A+ all around. I was so happy to get this story today. Thank you, Gabriel!!!)

#fanfic of my fanfic #geoff #awsten #PURE #bleedthemagicout #submission

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starspangledbanner27 · 5 years

Photo

**CHAPTER UPDATE – Chapter 4 posted**

Fandom: Saving Mr. Banks (AU)

Description: AU take on the movie, exploring what might have happened if the author of the Mary Poppins books had been someone very different from P. L. Travers. For Carrie Schultz, the chance to collaborate with Walt Disney Studios to bring Mary Poppins from the page to the screen is a dream come true. However, matters grow complicated when animated penguins prove to be a point of contention, a friendly working relationship turns into more than she bargained for, and Carrie struggles to prevent Walt’s team from discovering her own hidden afflictions.

Characters: Carolina “Carrie” Schultz (OC), Don DaGradi, Walt Disney, Richard M. Sherman, Robert B. Sherman, Ralph

Rating: T

Genre: Drama/Romance

Language: English

Read on Fanfiction.net, AO3, Wattpad, Quotev, or below.

From the beginning: Fanfiction.net, AO3, Wattpad, or Quotev.

Once again, many thanks to my faithful readers! Whether you comment directly on the story or message me privately, I am always happy to hear from you. :)

A/N: For the purposes of this story, I have aged Don DaGradi down somewhat. Whereas in the movie he is in his early fifties, in this story he is somewhere between thirty-five and forty years old. (If you’re familiar with The West Wing and/or Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, picture something like Josh Lyman in the later seasons or Danny Tripp with auburn hair.)

~~~~~

Chapter 4

The next morning at 9:27 sharp, I stood waiting outside the front door of the hotel with my purse on my arm, my shoulders squared, and my head held high, ready to take on the world—or so I tried to convince myself.

Taking a deep breath, I smoothed my hands down the front of my royal blue tweed business dress with the sleeves that came halfway down my upper arms. Knowing what I knew about the Walt Disney company and how it was run, I’d packed plenty of semi-casual outfits to wear in the coming days; but today I was most concerned about making a good first impression, and for that the blue tweed dress was perfect. Stylish yet sober, it was my go-to for whenever I needed to look strikingly professional. It came with a matching jacket, which I wore draped over my shoulders lest I overheat with my arms in the sleeves. A large black barrette held my wavy brown hair back in a low ponytail, and a pair of shiny black two-inch pumps completed the look.

With a sigh, I opened my purse and drew out the ladies’ wristwatch that I kept in there because I couldn’t stand wearing it on my wrist. I checked the time—9:28. Any minute now.

Squinting slightly, I gazed out beyond the overhang. The morning air was refreshingly mild, but the bright sunshine promised another torrid California spring day. I wasn’t unaccustomed to heat—our Iowa summer temperatures often reached the mid-eighties—but I had always preferred cooler weather. As a child, I loved to go out on the porch after a summer thunderstorm and smell the freshly-cleared air and feel the breeze on my cheek. I’d look out at the lilac, azalea, and rhododendron bushes that surrounded the house, and I’d smile to myself when I saw the heat-oppressed flowers finally perking back up, daring to breathe once more. The sun beat them down, but the rain brought them back. The rain brought life.

Shaking myself out of contemplation, I checked my watch again. 9:30. And, sure enough, I looked up to see Ralph’s car pull in under the overhang, right on the dot. He hopped out, beaming like a ray of sunshine himself. “Good morning, Miss Schultz!”

“Good morning,” I replied, smiling back at him. “How are you today?”

“Oh, just right as rain, Miss Schultz. And how ’bout yourself?”

“I’m doing well . . .” . . . I think. In all honesty, I had to admit to myself that beneath my formidable exterior, I was, from head to toe, a nervous wreck—but I wasn’t about to let it show. I took a deep breath and drew myself up a little straighter.

By now Ralph had come around the back of the car to where I stood. “Yeah, today’s the big day, huh? Walt Disney Studios, home of the big man himself—boy, won’t that be exciting!”

“That it will be,” I agreed.

Still smiling, he opened the door for me to get in. “Hey, the sun came out again,” he remarked, gesturing towards the bright, cloudless sky.

Though I’d already seen it, I glanced out once more in the direction he’d indicated. “Indeed,” I murmured.

“You like the sunshine?” he asked.

“Yes, I like the sunshine; not so much the heat, though.”

“Ah,” he nodded understandingly. “Well, shall we, uh . . .”

“Oh—right, of course.” I climbed into the car, he eased the door shut, and the next thing I knew, we were humming along the streets of Los Angeles, on our way to Walt Disney Studios.

I spent most of the ride staring out the window with unseeing eyes as my imagination played out everything that could possibly happen in my first moments there, when I would finally arrive and meet the people I’d be working with for the next three weeks. Would they be warm and friendly, or would they be aloof and inflexible? Would they be happy to have me there, or would they be coolly polite at most? Had I made the right decision by coming, or would I end up regretting every minute?

“Well, here we are, Miss Schultz!”

Ralph’s chipper voice roused me from my reverie, and I looked up as the car slowed to a halt beside a small security booth. “May I help you?” asked the man inside.

“I’ve got Miss Carolina Schultz here to see Mr. Disney,” Ralph replied.

After a short pause, the guard spoke again. “All right, proceed.”

We coasted through the entrance and onto the lot, past a large sign with Walt Disney Studios spelled out in silver letters, and around to the sidewalk in front of a tall red-brick building, where three men in business suits stood waiting expectantly. This must be the welcoming committee, I thought as they bent down and waved to me one by one. The apparent head of this trio looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties, with laughter-filled brown eyes, a wide, friendly smile with a deep dimple in each cheek, and reddish-brown hair swept back in a slightly disheveled fashion. The other two looked almost identical from afar—they shared a similar height and build, as well as the same dark hair styled the same way. As we approached, however, I could see that one of them appeared slightly shorter and more upbeat, while the other, somewhat older-looking one was leaning on a cane.

Once the car came to a stop, the man with the auburn hair stepped forward to open the door for me; but before he could do so, Ralph hurried around the back. “Oh, I can get that, sir!” he called.

The man gave an obliging nod and moved back to where he’d been standing before. “Got it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Ralph said, pulling the door open.

As I stepped out of the car, the auburn-haired man extended his arms welcomingly. “Good morning, Miss Schultz!”

“Good morning,” I replied, “Mr. . . .?”

“DaGradi. Don DaGradi, scriptwriter.” Grinning, he held out his hand; and everything I saw in his eyes—the joy, the energy, the infectious enthusiasm—I felt in his handshake.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. DaGradi.” I returned his smile.

“Likewise, I’m sure.” He then gestured to the other two men. “This is the rest of your team; this is Dick and Bob Sherman, music and lyrics.” He turned to address them. “Boys, meet the one and only Miss Carolina Schultz, the creator of our beloved Mary!”

My smile widened. “If she is half as beloved to you as she is to me, then I’m sure we’ll get along very well.” I proceeded to shake hands with the Shermans. “Now, which one of you is Dick, and which is Bob?”

“I’m Dick,” the younger man replied eagerly.

“And I’m Bob.” The older one inclined his head slightly.

“We’re brothers,” Dick added.

“Oh, how nice! So, you’re the songwriters?”

“That’s right!” he affirmed. “At your service.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with for this movie.”

Bob smiled. “Good, ’cause we can’t wait to show you.”

“Wonderful.” I turned back to Don. “Now, I was told that when I arrived here, I would get to speak with Mr. Disney. Is he ready to see me?”

“Well, we were hoping to give you a little tour of the studio first,” Don replied.

“Oh. Does . . . does that involve a lot of walking?”

He shrugged. “A fair amount.” Noticing my hesitation, he asked, “Is that a problem?”

“Uh . . . well, I—I mean, I’d love to see the tour, but I’m just really tired from my . . . trip.”

“Oh, of course; I hadn't thought of that. Well, we can certainly do it another time.”

“Yes, that would be lovely. So . . . in that case, I suppose it’s time for me to go meet with Mr. Disney. Would you be so kind as to point me in his direction?”

“Actually,” Don said, “it’s quite a long walk to where he is. If you’ll just come with me, Miss Schultz, I’ll show you a better way.” He started down the sidewalk, beckoning for me to follow. The Shermans tagged along as well, exchanging a conspiratorial smirk as Don led us around the side of the building to where several small vehicles were parked. He swept his arm grandly toward one of them. “Miss Schultz, allow me to present the Disneymobile, our preferred mode of transportation.”

“Oh, I see; a golf cart!”

“Ah, but no ordinary golf cart,” Don replied with a wink. “This, as you can see, has Mickey Mouse on the front, which, of course, makes it The Disneymobile. You won’t find one of these anywhere else, Miss Schultz.”

Laughing, I stepped forward and allowed him to help me into the cart—or, rather, “the Disneymobile.” Once I was comfortably settled, Don strode around to the other side and sprang into the driver’s seat. Since each cart seated only two people, I expected that Dick and Bob would grab another and follow along; but instead they simply climbed up onto the back and held on tightly as we pulled out and drove across the lot.

As we rolled along, Don pointed out some of the various buildings, describing which part of the filmmaking process took place in each. “Way over there on the right is the Animation building, which is where we’re headed right now. It’s where our artists and animators work, and it’s also where Walt’s office is located,” he explained. “Across the street you have Inking and Painting, where we transfer the artwork onto celluloid sheets and add color so it becomes what you see in the movies. Then we photograph them onto film, over there in the Camera building. And then, of course, there’s the post-production process, which takes place in the Cutting building, right next to Camera.”

I was so absorbed in what he was saying that I didn’t notice the sharp curve in the road until we were whipping around it at full speed. “Whoa!” I exclaimed, grabbing onto the roof of the cart just in time to keep myself from flying out.

Don glanced over at me. “You okay?”

I nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, I think so.”

He gave an embarrassed smile. “Sorry about that. I should have warned you we’d be going around a turn.”

“It’s all right; I should have been paying closer attention.”

“We forgive you, Don!” Bob proclaimed from the back, and we all laughed.

At last, after several minutes, we came to a stop in front of the Animation building. “And here we are!” Don announced as we climbed out of the cart.

“Wow,” I breathed, gazing up at the three-story building.

Dick smiled. “Pretty impressive, huh?”

“Yeah. I can’t believe I’m really here. It almost feels like a dream.”

“Oh, it’s real,” Bob assured me.

I shook my head slowly. “It’s amazing.”

Don grinned. “Well, get used to it, cause this is where you’ll be spending most of your time for the next three weeks.” He turned to the Shermans. “I’m gonna take her up to Walt’s office; you guys coming?”

“No, you go ahead,” said Bob. “Dick and I will park the cart and then head upstairs to get things ready. We’ll see you guys in the rehearsal room.”

“All right then. Miss Schultz, right this way.”

Together Don and I strode up the walkway and mounted the wide concrete steps to the main entrance, where he reached out to pull the door open. “After you,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied; and we walked in.

The temperature inside was pleasant, but warm enough that I decided to shed my jacket, which was still resting on my shoulders. “I can take that for you if you’d like,” Don offered once I’d removed it.

“Thank you; that would be nice.” I held it out to him, and he took it and folded it over his arm.

They really are going all-out, I mused silently as we climbed the stairs to the third floor. The men were very friendly and courteous, to be sure; but I couldn’t decide whether to feel pleased or suspicious about it. This was business, after all. Fun, hopefully, but still business. Perhaps they were just trying to win me over. And yet, it had to be more than just that, for there was a sincerity in their manner that put me instantly at ease.

At last we reached the third floor and headed down a wide hallway toward a pair of glass doors, through which I could discern what appeared to be a small waiting area. When we arrived, Don opened the door for me once again, and I walked through.

The waiting area consisted of a brown curved sofa and two end tables lined up against the far wall, with a woman in a light blue dress sitting behind a desk near the doors. She had short, dark hair and a round, pleasant face with bright red lips, and she looked to be about my age. As Don and I entered, she stepped out to greet us with a wide smile. “Good morning!”

“Good morning, Dolly,” Don replied amiably. “Miss Schultz, this is Dolly, our receptionist. Dolly, the famous Carolina Schultz.”

“It’s such an honor to have you here,” she gushed.

“Thank you; I’m honored to be here,” I said, smiling at her bubbly welcome. “Could you please let Mr. Disney know I’ve arrived?”

“Absolutely! Please have a seat; he’ll be with you in just a minute.”

“Thank you.”

Once we were seated on the sofa, Don leaned over and spoke quietly to me. “A word of advice, Miss Schultz, if I may.”

“Of course. Have . . . have I done something wrong?”

“No, no—nothing like that. It’s just that he can’t stand being called ‘Mr. Disney’; we’re all on a first-name basis here.”

“Oh, I see. So I should call him Walt?”

“He would prefer that, yes.”

“All right.” I hesitated. “Does . . . does that go for you guys, too?”

“Well, I can’t speak for the Shermans, but I know I’d rather be called Don than Walt.”

I blushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry; I should have phrased that differently. What I meant was, do you prefer to be called by your first names?”

He looked at me then, and I saw his eyes were twinkling. “I know what you meant, Miss Schultz; I was just being funny. Or at least attempting to be,” he said with a wry grin. “But in answer to your question, yes, we all go by our first names.”

I nodded. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know . . . Don.”

He smiled. “And what do people call you? Carolina?”

“Well, that’s the name on my books, but I seldom use it anywhere else. I mostly go by Carrie. You guys can call me that, if you want.”

“Carrie . . . I like that,” he remarked to himself. Then, turning to me—“All right then, Carrie it is.” I smiled and blushed a little.

At that point, our conversation lapsed. Don stared off into the distance, bouncing his leg slightly and tapping his fingers on his knee. Meanwhile, as the seconds stretched into minutes, I grew more and more antsy at the thought of meeting Walt Disney—the king of animated motion pictures himself! I stretched my arms out in front of me, clenching and unclenching my hands repeatedly in a vain attempt to alleviate my jitters. Don noticed this and looked over at me with a knowing smile. “You nervous?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I’m only about to meet the Walt Disney; why on earth would I be nervous?” I gave a half-smile to let him know my sarcasm was meant in fun.

He chuckled. “It’s all right. He has that effect on everyone. But trust me—once you meet him, you’ll see there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Are you absolutely sure I should call him Walt?” I asked. “I mean, it just seems so informal, and I’d really hate to appear rude. But you did say he likes everyone to call him that?”

“He does indeed. If you don’t believe me, ask him yourself,” Don replied good-naturedly. Then, all of a sudden, his head perked up, and his brow furrowed slightly. “Hold on . . . I think I just heard the door to his office.”

My eyes widened, my heart palpitated, and my hands clasped tightly together. Oh my gosh, this is actually happening. Down the hall, I heard a deep cough; and two seconds later, he—Walt Disney—emerged from around the corner, threw open his arms, and strode across the room toward us, beaming, as we stood up. “Well,” he boomed, “here you are, at last! Oh, my dear gal”—he seized my hand in both of his and shook it vigorously—“you can’t imagine how excited I am to finally meet you!”

It took me several seconds to regain my power of speech. “Oh! Well, it’s an honor, Mr. Disney.” My face reddened as I realized my mistake and quickly corrected myself. “Oh—I mean Walt. Don said I ought to call you Walt.” I gave him a questioning look.

“That’s absolutely correct,” Walt replied warmly. “‘Mr. Disney’ was my old man, and I like to keep it that way. But enough about me—what do you think of the studio? You like what you’ve seen? I trust the boys have already given you the tour.”

“Actually, they were kind enough to give me a rain check. I was a little too tired to handle much walking. But I do love everything I’ve seen so far—especially the Disneymobile.” I threw a smile at Don, who had already been grinning widely from the moment Walt entered the room.

Walt raised an eyebrow, glancing curiously in Don’s direction. “The Disneymobile?”

“Golf cart,” Don explained.

“Ah.” Walt chuckled. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. And I guarantee there’s lots more to love around here . . . but I won’t say anything more about that.” He raised his eyebrows mysteriously. “You’ll just have to stick around and see the magic for yourself. Come on, right this way.” With that, he turned and strode back the hall.

I glanced hesitantly at Don, who gave a slight nod in the direction Walt was headed. “Go on. I’ll be waiting out here when you’re done. And, Carrie?”

“Hmm?”

“Don't be nervous.” He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I nodded, smiling my thanks, and hurried after Walt.

I caught up to him where he was standing near another desk with another woman sitting behind it—one who appeared to be in her mid-forties, with dark red hair and a calm, pleasant face with laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. Walt looked up from his conversation with her just as I rounded the corner. “Oh, there you are!” he exclaimed. “I was starting to worry I’d lost you.” Before I could reply, he gestured to the woman at the desk, who had stood up when I appeared. “Carolina, this is my secretary, Tommie Blount. Tommie, meet the one and only Carolina Schultz.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she said warmly, offering her hand.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I replied, shaking hands with her. “And, please, call me Carrie.” I sent a brief glance in Walt’s direction. “Everyone does.”

“Well, then, Carrie,” Walt said, “won’t you join me in my office?”

“Uh—certainly.” I looked over my shoulder to exchange another smile with Tommie as I followed Walt into the adjoining room.

When I walked through the doorway, I halted in amazement. Never before had I seen an office like his—so spacious, yet so homey. The wall directly to my right was lined with bookcases that held not only books, but also numerous knickknacks—many of which were figurines of characters from his movies. In front of the bookcases sat a three-seat couch and a glass-top coffee table. Two large windows flooded the room with light; on their sills rested more figurines. A large globe in a wooden stand stood near one of the windows, and two plush off-white chairs sat facing each other at opposite ends of the room.

In the corner across the room was Walt’s desk, which he moved to stand behind. “Come, have a seat!” he called, indicating one of two chairs that sat across from him. As I walked over, I took note of the various paraphernalia that cluttered his desk: two small lamps, a few books, a model airplane, a pencil holder full of pens and pencils, and the pixie bell I’d seen him ringing on television the day before. In the very center, on the side closest to me, sat a small wooden plaque that read, We can make them live. And on the wall behind the desk were several shelves lined with even more figurines.

“You like all the trinkets?” Walt asked, noticing my curious interest.

“Yes, they’re fascinating!” I said as I sat down.

His eyes twinkled. “Good, good! Tommie keeps telling me I should clean out my office and get rid of all this ‘junk,’ as she calls it. And you know what I always tell her?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on. “I say, ‘Tommie, these little trinkets represent the things that bring joy to a child’s heart. And as long as that’s true, there’s no better place to keep them than right here in my office, where I can see them every day and be reminded of what we’re all about here: bringing joy to the hearts of children.’” He chuckled. “Of course, she thinks that’s just a fancy excuse for not wanting to clean out my office; but there is truth to it, Carrie. That is what this company is all about, is bringing joy to the hearts of children—and adults, too, for that matter.”

He paused thoughtfully for a moment, then turned and pointed to one of several framed pictures on the wall behind him—a pencil sketch of a young woman. “You know, Diane here, my oldest daughter—oh!” he interrupted himself. “Can I get you something to drink? A coffee, perhaps?”

“That would be very nice, thank you.”

He nodded and went on. “Anyway, Diane has two little daughters of her own: Joanna and Tamara—but of course, we call them Joey and Tammy. And one time, when I came to visit them, I found them sitting on the couch. Joey was reading to Tammy, and those girls, they were just giggling their little socks off.” He picked up his phone to use the intercom. “Ah, Tommie? A hot coffee for Carrie and me.”

I heard her voice through the door. “Right away, Walt.”

“Ah, you’re a doll. She is, she’s a doll,” he said as he hung up the phone and turned back to me. “And anyways,” he continued, “I asked them, I said, ‘Girls, what’s so funny?’ And Joanna says to me, ‘Why, Grampy, Mary Poppins!’” He laughed, and I couldn’t help laughing with him.

“Well, at that point, I didn't even know what a Mary Poppins was,” he admitted. “But then she gave me one of your books; and oh, by gosh, my imagination caught on fire—absolutely on fire! And now, here we are!”

I nodded. “Indeed. I’m so happy to be here. I can’t wait to start working on the movie.”

“Oh, I feel the same way; and so does my team. You know, we’re doing a wonderful thing here. Our motion picture is not just going to make my grandkids happy; it’s going to make all kids happy, adults too. Because my guys are going to do things with it that are revolutionary, Carolina, revolutionary! Your Mary Poppins is going to literally fly off the pages of your books! Oh, thank you, Tommie,” he said as Tommie came in with our coffee. “This magical woman who has only lived inside your head, well, you are going to be able to meet her, speak to her, and you’re gonna hear her sing.”

“Yes, I’m very excited!” I assured him.

“Do you take cream in your coffee?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Sugar?”

“Please.”

He poured in the cream and sugar, stirring them around as he spoke. “You know, ever since this company was born, we’ve brought dozens of films to the big screen—many of which are based off books just like yours. And in all these years, we haven’t lost an author yet.” He handed me my coffee cup. “I have high hopes for what we’re going to accomplish here together, Carrie, and you can rest assured we’ll do our very best to make this an experience you won’t regret.”

“Mr. Disney—” I caught myself. “I’m sorry—Walt . . . forgive me for being so blunt, but it sounds like you’re trying to convince me of something. Are you worried I might be having second thoughts?”

He took a slow, thoughtful sip of coffee. “Well . . . I suppose I still don’t quite understand why you turned us down the first time.”

After a long pause, I spoke. “It wasn’t that I was uninterested. I do like the idea of this project, and I’m glad it ended up working out.” I sighed deeply. “The reason I said no initially . . . well, it was really just the timing of it all. Your offer just happened to come right after I’d found out about . . . well . . . I believe my agent told you? About my . . .”

“Yes . . . yes, she told me.”

“Right. Anyway, I was going through so much; I just couldn’t handle a movie rights deal on top of everything else. But . . . by the second time you approached me, things had changed; and I wanted to accept this opportunity before . . . before it was too late.”

“I see,” he said quietly. “And you wanted to come here and work on it with us because . . .”

I took a deep breath. “Well, you see, Mary Poppins and the Bankses—they’re like family to me. I want to make sure that they’re portrayed as I know them, and that the life they live on screen is one they’d be proud of.”

He nodded. “Well, we shall do our very best. And, of course, nothing happens without your say-so.” He opened his desk drawer and brought out a paper. “It’s all here in the rights agreement that was approved by your agent,” he said, holding it out to me.

I took it from him and glanced over it. “A live-action film? No animation?”

“Live-action. Here’s a pen.”

I looked back up at him. “Walt, I know my agent has already approved this, but I do make it my personal practice not to sign any contract without first reading it for myself. So if you don't mind, I’d like to take this with me tonight and bring it back tomorrow morning. I hope that won’t cause any inconvenience.”

“Certainly not,” he replied with a smile. “You’re a wise young woman.”

I smiled back at him, then folded the contract and tucked it in my purse.

After a moment’s pause, Walt sat down in his chair and folded his hands on his desk. “Well, now that we have all the business taken care of . . . how are you feeling, Carrie?”

“I’m well, thank you,” I replied.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re well.”

I shrugged. “As well as can be expected.” After a pause, I asked, “You . . . you haven’t told the others?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t said a word.”

“Good.”

He held my gaze with a seriousness that belied his trademark happy-go-lucky persona. “You’re sure you want to do it this way?”

“Yes,” I replied with a decisive nod. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I just think it’ll be much easier if they don’t know.”

“Very well.” His eyes probed mine. “And you’re sure you feel up to this?”

I shrugged again, smiling. “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He nodded and chuckled slightly. “Indeed you are.”

A few moments passed in which neither of us said anything; then he cleared his throat and glanced at the clock. “Well, we can’t keep the guys waiting too long.”

“No, of course not,” I agreed. He rose from his chair, and I followed suit. Together we walked toward the door.

“Now, the boys and Dolly should get you all taken care of; but if at any time you need anything, you know where to find me,” he said.

“I’ll remember that.” Having reached the door, I turned to face him. “Thank you for your time, Walt. It was an honor to finally meet you.”

“The honor is all mine, Carrie,” he replied with a warm smile.

I smiled back, then took a deep breath. “Well then . . . shall we begin?”

He nodded and shook my hand. “Let’s make something wonderful.”

Heart racing, I returned his nod and strode out the door.

~~~~~

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airoasis · 5 years

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The 1 Bitcoin Show- VanEck SolidX is back (as expected)! Walk the walk, NEM? A 17 y/o's bank

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The 1 Bitcoin Show- VanEck SolidX is back (as expected)! Walk the walk, NEM? A 17 y/o's bank

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Eastern something like that i’m going to remind each person as it will get nearer some some three it’s going to be earlier than the Superbowl don’t worry it should be right earlier than the super Bowl on Sunday we’re gonna talk about like real lifestyles stuff in Venezuela as all of you who as so many humans get drunken fats within the cozy the usa you understand staring at the the Rams and would the Tom Brady’s play the bubbly individuals had been as well like you know coping with actual lifestyles due to the fact they need the Bitcoin down there all right so yeah moving on very first thing I’ve bought so many notes right here a few you know it’s a Sunday exhibit Saturday show oh and about Saturday’s show once more I stated it can be within the men and women who’re hanging on the script of dividend they may be in motion and i hooked a few of them up due to the fact that they three of the dudes know Minnie I had met them individually and you’ve gotten obvious them on the show handiest this for your Bitcoin show earlier than but once more I forgot to say the day prior to this that if you’re in motion and you adore what they’re doing you as a rule can do whatever with them i assume it can be continually good to be so don’t be afraid to contact them or contact me if you happen to got any strategies bear in mind probably the most character who got here up with this really cool air drop crypto dividend concept I feel contacted me I used to be like one of the first humans would contact maybe I was once the primary person you contact I don’t know so and i and i acquired him rolling and Wow it’s simply strong and so for those who’ve got just right recommendations you tell me i can put you in contact with individuals if you are a excellent man or woman I mean I recognize individuals who are emotion and men and women that I’ve conversed with online and who’ve been on the show and who i am in man or woman you know you get a think for men and women after a at the same time after you will have received some wisdom and expertise in life not after which i am no longer sensible like you know like my father used to be smart and a individual over 70 over 60 over 50 there that is wisdom there but yeah i am hopefully i am on light-weight you know you are making mistakes you attain you be taught your lesson you turn out to be you gain some wisdom by means of all of it right to be a whatever we must all a attempt for sir somewhat bit of wisdom and that i feel I’ve obtained it tad little bit of it from a few of this crazy experiences i have been by means of in life residing in Linden Avenue in Baltimore having three houses throughout a short period of time the Bitcoin you don’t seeing how impulsive folks are valuing my wealth see females and then doubling my wealth and bitcoin god it can be enjoyable yeah I can’t lie can’t lie acquired some excellent reviews you understand when you meet me a character good that is what you get k now but you get some more private experiences while you meet me first i try to like hold some matters that preserve off the air so this is a loved ones software with everything let’s get let’s get to the nitty-gritty of matters you want to hear in regards to the band act strong x bitcoin etf its again they the that is from one of the most guys over at van ax van eck pound that like button by the way and been from van eck you tweeted this out what’s this guy’s title Garber the van XIX Bitcoin ETF inspiration rule change has been resubmitted through CBOE hard work by way of all groups worried public document k so you you when you click on that hyperlink you’ll find the general public report oh what a shock its back of path its again of path now when will the hope the entire system begins again so who knows when it’s gonna get approved or disapproved or anything do not hold your breath men and women but of direction its again colossal deal you realize it’ll be time to have a good time once it will get authorized ok it is gonna get a proof eventually no one can say what eventually is though it might not be except 2020 so hello there you go maybe you obtained to put a smile to your face that they’ve resubmitted you failed to hear but there is a news for you so I noticed penny ling hams Twitter thread and he shared up a man who was a pal of his i guess a co-located is he’s a buddy that is they they found that a organization together once he he retweeted this guy’s tweet it’s about a new enterprise what’s this known as grasp on i’m gonna i would step calm certainly a well-funded or shall be a good-funded Silicon Valley but when they might pay for the step dot-com area now there’s a purpose i am bringing up this and you realize and on the grounds that clearly this individual is going with the aid of the rules and once enterprise funding they may be gonna they may be gonna follow the foundations that once they’re talking about young adults I count on they may be speaking about 18 and 19 year olds ok so and there’s a medium put up the guy explains what he’s doing and i am gonna quote from for the put up prior nine months i have been busy at the back of the scenes combining my passions and existence classes with my competencies to hooked up the next big task a trusted banking platform that works with latest trendy lifestyle and teaches not simplest young adults but additionally households the best way to higher manipulate their cash okay and it is step calm which you can go to step calm and you’ll find but I mean once more that that that lifeless URL failed to come low cost so you recognize this dude’s he is talking about a believe a banking a relied on banking platform nobody why do you need to stick me why do you need to persist with these traditions why do you wish to have to maintain it within the bank like the motive I deliver up all this given that I feel this is only a massive waste I believe the fellow’s gonna get some huge cash however he is linked and some thing he’s accomplished this before he’s situated firms he is obtained a good pitch oh he needs Bitcoin k so i’m gonna read i’m gonna read some more there are presently seventy five million kids and young adults under the age of 21 in the U.S. This underserved demographic and i agree it’s underserved demographic he’s overwhelmingly pressured to care for money despite the fact that their lives are digital they cannot use money to shop online pay for an uber order from Amazon download track or participate in online gaming sites like fortnight the potential to transact and have entry to your money immediately is major as tests and cash grow to be less primary in contemporary digital world well dude why don’t you just inform you understand I i will recognize that this man wishes to and in case you learn the whole submit he desires to coach persons to make not make silly financial errors no longer get bank cards with thirty five percentage interest rates I consider part of the schooling it most commonly would be the youngsters which can be under 18 in order that when they stand up for these credit cards they do not fall for it k that’s exceptional however for the rest of the I mean they could learn that from holding Bitcoin from being their possess back to start with they could they might get that schooling that way but I imply if they wish to play video video games on-line in the event that they wish to purchase matters from Amazon or go to over I imply it is a Bitcoin I imply you do not want your you are retaining them in the old mannequin you are preserving them in the bank card banking paradigm but why I don’t know I mean once more I I see you know the unbanked as being folks underneath 18 if you’re 17 if you are 16 free anything I suppose you maybe can have a heritage when you get your mother’s title on it again i’ve alluded to after I began tuition out of 17 so my mom’s identify is still on my banking account to this very day but I believe to preclude such nonsense you just be your own financial institution we’re just I consider it is gonna be a gorgeous world when there may be a bunch of seventeen yr olds available in the market that are their own banks due to the fact that of Bitcoin and i suppose that is and you know that’s you don’t need enterprise funding or an costly URL or you understand a best administrative center in Silicon Valley to bring that message to instruct folks you just want Bitcoin Bitcoin solves all the disorders this man is speakme about so it can be fascinating that Vinnie retweeted this I suppose in view that the fellows is buddy and used to be his accomplice in an extra industry but over again I believe there may be do people still begin tuition when they’re sitting when they may be 17 i do not even understand anymore that is if that’s a factor anymore if it can be if it is even rarer rarity it is it can be now not as long-established because it was traditionally i can anticipate that folks like to start their youngsters at all these moms want their youngsters to be the biggest and the oldest they do not need them to be the youngest in order that they hold them back raids and the whole lot so I do not know how many 17 year-olds institution anymore however that could be a excellent goal viewers target demographic for Bitcoin considering the fact that they’re no longer going to be capable to open their possess banks right now they’re going to be ready to want to have some financial freedom and no longer have their mother sign bank account or have get permission from their dad or whatever I suppose that that is going to be you understand again we have now talked concerning the unbanked in the 1/3 world I think in regards to the unbanked and i’ve realized this I forgot it I point out this on the show earlier than I consider about sixteen yr olds and seventeen 12 months olds simply being busy being equipped to be businessmen there if they’ve Bitcoin they could promoting stuff for Bitcoin they don’t need a financial institution account they don’t need their mom or dad’s permission and once more 17 year-olds go off to university I feel nonetheless I was once one of them as soon as so there you go so I combined plenty of things into that i suppose just right good fortune to Vinnie’s pal perhaps you should just you understand it’s forbidden simply motivate humans to make use of Bitcoin however once more he’s it can be howdy cursor professor he is a new counterculture that guy was once competent to elevate a lot of money for from Silicon Valley people have a quality place of work anywhere and Palo Alto San Mateo at any place good for him i guess i am gonna go inform us spread the massive factor phrase once more tech Bolcom disrupt meister comm te c HB alt on twitter that is me bitcoin meister bit backer and steam it all right so yeah uh the day gone by’s exhibit i speak about a further trendy topic in Silicon Valley uh you realize worried about women in tech females in Bitcoin minorities and bitcoin minorities intact you already know discontinue annoying about who’s speaking the talk it it doesn’t matter it can be not gonna make that so much a difference in your private life for those who go to should you pay some huge cash to go to a few conference where some anyone’s paid slightly of money to do what intercourse they are or what race they are you know if they’re talking about some ICO that is such as you gotta make certain you’re jogging the stroll and that you have Bitcoin bitcoin is running the stroll traumatic about who’s speakme to speak who’s talking about cryptocurrency who’s speakme about I cos he’s speaking about tech that is not productive so stroll the stroll before you worry about speakme that who’s speaking to talk and believe me it can be higher just to walk the stroll appear preserve the Bitcoin and let different individuals worry about who’s speakme about big okay with I do I do marvel if a few of these persons complaining concerning the demographics of Bitcoin if they even own any Bitcoin that’s how you make a giant difference you motivate individuals to be their possess banks to manage their own personal keys that helps you know women you already know humans from Greenland folks from at any place or each person’s got an possibility to purchase Bitcoin any there’s nothing protecting them back from from from buying Bitcoin mainly if you’re in the Western world there may be only a few obstacles you get yourself on Bitcoin so is it higher to attend a a speakme gig in San Francisco and pay like a $200 to see some woman talk about Bitcoin or is it higher to possess a fraction of a Bitcoin in your technique to proudly owning one Bitcoin I suppose I believe you received to prioritize right here folks let’s let’s get humans proudly owning Bitcoin not worrying about who’s speaking about considering that there’s nothing you recognize and that i inspire females in case you’ve been in case you think like you may have been discriminated in opposition to and you are not able to talk in the tech convention buy Bitcoin you can get the final left you are going to get the final snigger trust me about that for those who should you feel you’ve gotten been discriminated in opposition to or if you have been discriminated against Bitcoin will fight these big quickman Kansas for me in opposition to any one and it fights towards discrimination actually so there you go so let’s we’re talking about I stated I SEOs and cryptocurrencies and all coins why do not we have a flashback to I consider it was once 2017 when humans were telling me yeah ma’am is that this super Asian or chinese coin or some thing it can be the flavor of the month of some month in 2017 oh I recall it it used to be before iota and after who knows i don’t understand it was once the flavoured a month before ma’am there weren’t too many foot and after veritasium so yeah core desk and that i won point desks has this title and an editorial guys basis practically broke plans layoffs and pivot and in the article it says and that is what the foremost part is there is no longer a whole lot of humans engaged on this platform despite the fact that it can be easy the community is not really there until you go to Japan the enhance the developer stated we want more developer traction on this platform ok so yeah that is what happens the flavors of the month they have got folks don’t in reality use it and then their foundations go bankrupt and again i know the groundwork is not really named however it due to the fact says name is centralized and the truth that they’ve acquired some similarities that you can learn the article if you want to however the flavors of the month are going to maintain on coming they usually’re gonna roll in rather a lot faster as soon as the inexperienced persons roll it again once more we’re in a in terms of Fiat humans say this is a bear crypto advertise’s all cyclical will see the wildness once more there will likely be some why all of the flavors of the month and you know i guess best approaches it inexperienced is a taste of the month right now or anything like that or the opposite ones are the flavor of the month reasonable interesting stuff whatever k so i am adam meister the bitcoinmeister the disrupt meister recollect subscribe this channel like this video share this video verify out the hyperlinks under pound that like button bang the bell button follow me on twitter and consider day after today exhibit is quickly this weekend Bitcoin might be at 8 a.M.On Friday morning again there is a new show right here daily love you guys i’ll see you in the morning bye bye .

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batterymonster2021 · 5 years

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The 1 Bitcoin Show- VanEck SolidX is back (as expected)! Walk the walk, NEM? A 17 y/o's bank

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The 1 Bitcoin Show- VanEck SolidX is back (as expected)! Walk the walk, NEM? A 17 y/o's bank

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