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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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The Cinderella AU is back...and with it, a proper introduction to the character who fills the “evil stepmother” role -- Carewyn’s cold, cruel grandfather, Charles Cromwell. If you’d like to learn more about Charles and his family’s canon counterparts, you can consult this post, but to summarize quickly, in Carewyn’s canon, Carewyn’s mother Lane ran away from home to elope with a Muggle, which ended up protecting Carewyn and Jacob from Charles’s emotionally abusive influence. (At least until R started going after them, because hey, what d’you know, in Carey-bear’s canon, Charles is R’s leader.) But in this AU, Carewyn has to answer to Charles for some reason...so yeah, that doesn’t bode well, does it? You’ll just have to read on to learn a little more about why that might be...

Fashion changed very dramatically during the Renaissance, thanks in large part to the cross-pollination of different cultures and influences that came from more extensive travel, the growing popularity of published works, and royal funding of the arts. Pre-Renaissance men’s fashion, at least for the nobility, was very big on oversized sleeves, which ended up creating a more “top-heavy” frame. (Just look at most portraits of King Henry VIII.) As the Renaissance went on, though, trunk hose (which creates that kind of “bubble butt” look that we’re used to seeing in William Shakespeare Halloween costumes) became the latest fad, shifting a man’s frame to be much more “bottom-heavy.” Women’s fashion briefly flirted with wide trumpet sleeves (as one can see in this portrait of a young Elizabeth Tudor, later Queen Elizabeth I), but by the time the 1550′s were over, rounded sleeves grew much more popular. Fitted sleeves also went in and out of style in a lot of Europe throughout the 16th century, though sleeves were considered a special feature on gowns, so they often had a lot of embellishments, such as paneling, embroidery, or puffs. One exception to this rule, however, was in Italy, where fitted, detachable sleeves that could be used on multiple gowns became fashionable. Fashion in Italy in the 16th century was notably understated and modest compared to a lot of Europe, which tended to favor a lot of ornate beading and embroidery -- there were even laws on the books restricting how “bedazzled” women’s fashion could be. One such law even banned stripes, as it was considered wasteful to use two different kinds of fabric just to make a pattern. That being said, there were plenty of people in Italy who said “screw the rules” and worked around them anyway. Carewyn’s dress in this picture is somewhat based on this design, but with some tweaking, most notably with a fuller skirt and more ornate and puffy sleeves.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When the end of the month arrived, Andre requested that Carewyn come to his chambers bright and early in the morning. Carewyn had anticipated that the prince had some extra duties for her to attend to, but instead, he immediately led her over to a corner of his bed chamber that he’d drawn a curtain around. When he pulled the curtain back, he revealed a full tailoring station inside his walk-in closet, complete with organized rolls of fabric, various jewels and beads strewn about over a table, several unfinished hats stacked on the nearby desk, an entire separate wardrobe of unfinished pieces, and several mannequins with fine fabrics half-pinned on them.

One mannequin, however, was wearing a completely finished, luxurious dark scarlet gown. It was made of about six different fabrics, all cut and sewn together in a complex tapestry of folds and textures and trimmed with many sparkling beads and jewels. Also lying on the floor just in front of the dress was a pair of heeled shoes made of off-white cloth with red and white roses sewn into the toes.

Carewyn couldn’t help but gape. Andre was grinning from ear to ear.

“So?” he asked. “What do you think?”

Carewyn glanced out the side of her eye at the prince, over to the dress, and back.

“Did you...make this, your Highness?” she asked, amazed.

Andre laughed. “Carewyn, please, it’s ‘Andre.’ But yes! I got inspired while working on your shoes, so I stitched this up to go with it. ...Do you like it?”

Carewyn walked around the mannequin to look over the gown, not daring to touch it. She’d never seen so many fine fabrics on one dress before -- velvet, linen, silk -- and all the embellishments must’ve taken full days to finish --

“It’s -- well, it’s extraordinary, your -- Andre,” she corrected herself very quickly noticing the prince’s pointed smile. Even she was finding it difficult not to smile too. “The beading on the sleeves, the lace work -- the alternating wool and cotton paneling along the bodice...it’s worthy of an artisan!”

Andre looked clearly both incredibly pleased and impressed. “You have an eye for detail, Carewyn!”

His face burst into a bright white grin as he bent down and picked up one of the off-white cloth shoes.

“I’m pleased you like it,” he said brightly. “I thought it’d be the perfect thing for you to wear today. Lord Cromwell sent a message to the palace asking Father if you could return home for a visit -- so I worked all night to get this done in time so that you could wear it for your outing with your new shoes.”

Despite her best efforts, Carewyn couldn’t completely keep the dismay and discomfort she felt off her face.

“What? Oh -- oh, your Highness, I -- ”

“Ah, ah, ah,” chided Andre, “what have I asked you to call me?”

“Andre,” Carewyn corrected very quickly, her eyes drifting up onto the dress rather than at Andre, “this dress is...truly beautiful...but it befits a lady of status, not -- ”

“It fits you,” Andre said, undaunted. “I used the measurements from your uniform fitting. It should fit you like a glove -- or better.”

Carewyn felt like her stomach was shriveling up. She hated turning away such a lovely gift -- under any other circumstances, she would love wearing it out and about. But...

“That...that is...it’s so kind of you, to use me as your template...”

Or “dress-up doll” -- that is what the Queen said I would be, isn’t it?

“...but I simply couldn’t wear such a gift on my visit...not when I have no comparable gifts to bring my cousins. Many of them are around my age, and...and well, I know Heather, Iris, and Dahlia would be very upset, knowing I got to wear such a beautiful dress and they didn’t.”

None of her cousins had ever been very respectful of Carewyn’s personal belongings. Not long after she first arrived, her aunt Pearl’s two bullying sons, Kain and Arsen, stole her jewelry box while she was sleeping and sold both it and its contents for pocket change. Her youngest cousin, her uncle Blaise’s bratty son Tristan, had once thrown a bottle of red wine out the window that shattered mere feet away from Carewyn and soaked her dress so badly that it never washed out. Even Iris had -- after Carewyn caught the eye of one of her suitors who’d come to call -- ripped the sleeve off Carewyn’s dress so badly that she had to hide from sight for most of the day, until she’d managed to sew it up enough that her chest wasn’t exposed. Carewyn had had to hide her mother’s old dress from her cousins for years, for fear they might steal and/or ruin it.

Andre frowned deeply.

“Well, I hardly can send along anything for your cousins without knowing their measurements,” he said with a quick glance at the wardrobe full of unfinished pieces.

His face then brightened with an idea.

“How about this -- I’ll order you. I order you to wear this dress on your trip home, and to have your cousins give you their honest opinion of it. Then you must bring their opinions back to me. Goodness knows I could use some feedback -- and maybe a few new ideas, if they have them,” he added with a teasing grin.

Carewyn opened her mouth to object, but Andre cut her off.

“As your prince, I command you to showcase my work to your family,” he said through a broad grin. “Am I clear?”

Carewyn really, really didn’t love the idea -- but she had to concede that she could use this to her advantage. She needed a stable place at the palace in order to achieve her goals, and she could help maintain that stable place at the palace by justifying to Charles why she had to be there. And Charles’s whole interest in her being there was to try to endear the Cromwells further to the royal family, and maybe even secure one of her Aunt Claire’s daughters a space in that family...

So, with a heavy sigh, she put on a small smile and inclined her head respectfully.

“Very well, Andre. I’ll wear your work proudly.”

And so Carewyn set off for the Cromwell estate on horseback, dressed in the new shoes and dress Andre had made for her. The shoes were lovely and fit perfectly, but they were rather impractical for walking around outdoors. Carewyn thought to herself that she might have to continue wearing her old shoes when she returned to her palace work, if for no other reason that she hated the thought of getting them scuffed up.

As to be expected, when she arrived, her cousins reacted very hostilely to her appearance.

“Well, well,” sneered curly-black-haired Kain, “what do we have here? Playacting as a lady, little Winnie?”

“All hail Lady Cinderwyn, Duchess of Dust!” sniggered his similarly dark-haired brother Arsen.

He reached for her wide skirt, but Carewyn -- remaining on her horse -- steered herself far enough back that he couldn’t reach.

“I wouldn’t damage this, if I were you,” she said as coolly and levelly as she could. “It’s not mine.”

Arsen and Kain exchanged a mocking, wide-eyed look and an “oooooh.”

“Are you a thief now, little Winnie?” asked Kain. “How far you’ve fallen -- we might need to call the castle guard on you -- ”

“Cinderwyn’s a thief!” crowed tiny Tristan in a sing-song voice. “Cinderwyn’s a thief!”

Claire’s three daughters looked a lot less mocking.

“You have some nerve, stealing clothes from your betters,” spat dainty, brown-haired Heather. “Grandfather should lash you within an inch of your life -- ”

“I haven’t stolen anything,” Carewyn said very firmly. “Now I wish to see Grandfather. I have a message from the Prince he’ll want to hear.”

“Grandfather’s inside,” said Claire’s gangling, button-nosed son Elmer with a crooked smile. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy your new look, Lady Cinderwyn...especially with the finishing touch!”

He jumped right into a mud puddle that splashed everywhere. Carewyn just barely avoided the spray, but when she moved back, Dahlia and Iris successfully grabbed hold of her velvet brocaded skirt and yanked hard in either direction, as if trying to rip it.

“Iris -- Dahlia -- ” said Carewyn, her voice growing colder and harder as she struggled to hold in her temper and emotion as best she could, “if either of you have any ambition to marry his Highness, I would strongly suggest letting go of his dress this instant!”

All of Carewyn’s cousins stiffened.

“His dress?” repeated Dahlia, looking outraged. “You mean to say you took this from the Prince?!”

“He bid me to wear it, for my visit,” Carewyn shot back fiercely. “Or would you have me oppose his Highness’s will?”

“You...arrogant, pretentious, ungrateful little rat!” shrieked Dahlia. She tried to yank Carewyn off her horse, and there was a slight struggle as Carewyn tried to both comfort her horse and prevent Dahlia from dislodging her.

“Now, now, children,” said a very coldly serene voice, “a little less noise there.”

All of the Cromwell children looked up to see Charles Cromwell striding across the lawn. He was dressed in black, gray, and white with a dark red cape with black trim, and he supported himself on an ebony-wood cane with a dragon’s head carved out of black zircon for a handle. Behind him were Carewyn’s aunts, Pearl and Claire, with their husbands, as well as her uncle Blaise. All three of them were looking over Carewyn’s outfit disapprovingly -- Blaise looked particularly irritated, his upper lip curling as he rested a hand on top of Tristan’s shoulder that made the small boy flinch.

Iris and Dahlia were still clinging to Carewyn’s skirt, but they’d frozen up like startled cats when their grandfather appeared.

“Grandfather -- ” stammered Iris, “W-Winnie’s a no-good thief -- she stole this dress from -- !”

"I have stolen nothing,” Carewyn repeated coldly. She stroked her horse’s white mane several times to soothe it.

Pearl too had come up to rest a hand on Arsen’s shoulder and was looking at Carewyn very critically out her own almond-shaped blue eyes -- most of Carewyn’s family had them.

“Is that so?” she said, her voice a low growl in her throat. “Explain, then, what gives you the nerve to show up here dressed in such obnoxious clothes.”

“It’s positively garish,” added Claire in a higher, simpering tone from her comfortable spot in her husband’s arms, mirroring her sister’s disapproval like a child would imitate their older sibling.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows very coolly. “Prince Henri will be very disappointed to hear that. He worked very hard on this.”

This startled all of the Cromwells. Blaise looked scandalized.

“And I suppose that makes you think the Prince favors you somehow?” he spat, his eyes flashing dangerously as he released Tristan’s shoulder and approached Carewyn’s horse. “Rather than just thinking of using you as some saucy little tart and then discarding you, just like your wretch of a father did your mother -- ”

"I think nothing of the sort,” Carewyn cut him off coldly.

Don’t you dare talk about my mother.

Charles, the least visibly startled, took a few steps forward. Iris and Dahlia finally released Carewyn’s skirt so as to get out of the way, and Charles came to a stop about three feet from Carewyn’s horse, his own almond-shaped eyes locked on his ginger-haired granddaughter’s face.

“I believe you owe me a full report, child,” he said quietly. “Stand before me and give it.”

Carewyn’s red-painted lips pursed as she picked up her skirts and descended from her horse at last. She looked up at Charles with a very stoic expression.

“Prince Henri learned that I would be coming to see you, as per your request,” she explained. “He commanded that I wear this dress, for my visit. He’s heard about my cousins and desires Dahlia, Iris, and Heather’s opinions on it. Then he requested I deliver their feedback back to him this evening.”

The time limit was a flat-out lie, but one Carewyn knew she could get away with. She did not want to stay at the Cromwell estate overnight -- she’d rather sleep on a lumpy old cot in the servants’ quarters than on the floor by the kitchen fireplace.

Claire looked at Charles, her face breaking into a rather eager expression. “His Highness wishes to hear from my daughters? He must have heard from the rest of the court of their extensive talents -- ”

“Or at least purported talents,” said Blaise under his breath with a rather cynical look. “Seems the rumor mill is working well...“

Pearl shot Blaise a glare, but Claire didn’t seem to hear him -- she had already whirled on Carewyn.

“Tell his Highness that the dress is a work of art, fit for a queen!” she said insistently. “And make sure that he knows that there are much better models for his work here, at the Cromwell estate -- Iris has a far superior build, Dahlia the most perfect shoulders -- ”

“I suppose Winnie can do far worse than inanely fawning over your daughters’ target on their behalf,” said Blaise in a rather cutting voice. “Mindlessly swooning certainly worked for you.”

“Blaise!” Pearl snapped reproachfully.

Charles’s eyes drifted over Claire and her three anxious-looking daughters thoughtfully.

“...What feedback...do you believe would most please his Highness, child?” he asked Carewyn.

“He appreciated it when I noticed the details,” said Carewyn. “I would think if anyone had any creative ideas to add onto it...or perhaps constructive criticism...he might react well to it. His Highness is very interested in fashion and tailoring...I’m sure he would appreciate knowing someone who could indulge in that passion with him.”

He must be awfully lonely, locked up in the palace all the time. It’s no wonder he tried to find things to do indoors that could bring him some joy, if he’s unable to go much of anywhere...

Charles’s eyes flitted over the silk and ornate beading on Carewyn’s sleeves.

“His Highness certainly does have an eye for finery...has the royal family come into additional wealth recently?”

“I don’t think so,” said Carewyn. “The castle staff is very limited. And although the nobility are all dressed and fed well and the castle is decadent, the staff is frequently short of common necessities like nails and coal for the fire. Not to mention the staff’s rations are sparse.”

Iris gave a loud, haughty laugh. “Ha! Probably just as well -- you could do with getting some of that meat off your thighs!”

“Iris,” said Charles very sleekly, even as the rest of Carewyn’s cousins sniggered.

His lips curled up in a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

“...It seems that the King and Queen are indeed in need of our family’s charity. But we must indulge their pride. It’ll be far easier for them to accept help from a future daughter-in-law and princess than simply from a loyal servant of the realm. Carewyn -- you shall report back what his Highness wishes to hear. Customize three answers for Heather, Iris, and Dahlia -- one fawning, one critical, one creative. Whichever answer he likes best, we will then pursue that route with the cousin you’ve assigned to it.”

His almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

“And once we’ve secured an invitation from the Prince...I expect that you will step aside, to make room for your cousin to make her move.”

Carewyn’s expression didn’t shift.

“I’m not interested in courting princes,” she said lowly.

Heather, Iris, and Dahlia can knock themselves out. Andre will see through them sooner or later, and it’ll be all their own fault.

There was a cold, diamond-like glint in Charles’s eye. “...Yes...you truly don’t care to chase any man except for your brother...do you, Carewyn, my dear?”

Carewyn tried not to blink or look away.

“You have news of Jacob?”

Charles sighed airily. “I’m afraid not, my dear. I know he’s well, of course...but news from the War front, as you know, is simply impossible to come by...”

“You know he’s alive,” Carewyn shot back a bit more sharply than she meant to. “That doesn’t mean he’s well. No one could be doing well out there.”

“And yet I’m sure you’re happy that the first is guaranteed?” said Charles. “At least, so long as you do your duty to your family, and to me?”

It was a warning, but it was done so delicately -- it was like his voice was flirting with a threat, rather than flat-out making one.

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly as her gaze drifted to the ground.

“You know I wish no harm to come to either you or Jacob,” Charles said softly. “Losing a child was terrible enough, losing grandchildren as well...well, it would deeply upset me. And per our agreement, you are the one who must shoulder the burden of your brother’s and your debt to me...particularly since you have no dowry and no possible claim to my estate. Remember, Carewyn...you are responsible for how you are treated -- and for how Jacob is treated.”

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit tightly together over her closed eyes.

“...Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now then -- rehearse the answers you plan to give to his Highness with your cousins. I wish them to sound convincing, so that when one or more of them is invited to the palace, they will be able to play their part appropriately.”

Carewyn hated every minute of hashing out responses with Heather, Iris, and Dahlia. Like their mother Claire, they and Elmer were all “follower” type personalities who tended to echo whatever they thought would please others -- so Dahlia, Iris, and Heather were constantly trying to steal each other’s ideas to “improve” Carewyn’s answers, despite all three of them supposedly needing to take three different approaches as part of Charles’s plan. Even the three girls’ hostile attitude toward Carewyn largely came down to her refusing to follow their direction, despite her lowered status in the family giving them authority over her -- something that, Carewyn believed, they would never do if their positions were switched.

When Carewyn was finally ready to leave (and successfully avoided Tristan’s muddy hands when the wickedly grinning little boy forcibly tried to hug her goodbye so he could leave stains on her dress), Blaise pulled Charles aside. As the male heir of the Cromwell legacy, Blaise had always followed in his father’s footsteps most, but there was one thing they didn’t agree on.

“Father,” he said, his voice very low in the back of his throat as he watched Carewyn ride away at a fast gallop, “I don’t approve of her returning to that place.”

Charles smiled coldly. “You always have disliked sharing your toys with others, Blaise.”

“It’s a bad influence!” said Blaise, whirling on his father. “We can’t monitor what she does, how she behaves -- who she speaks to -- how can we hope to keep her, if we consistently open her cage?”

Charles’s eyes, the same color and shape of all of his children and most of his grandchildren, sparkled with something crueler.

“Ah, my boy,” he said sardonically, “you have much to learn about cages. Physical cages have strong bars, but ones easy to see and constantly weathered. But a cage forged carefully in another’s mind...can become so strong that the prisoner willingly chooses to stay.”

Charles turned on his heel, his lips curling up further still even though his face remained so doll-like and emotionless.

“As weak and overemotional of a thing she is, Carewyn is far more like you and me than Lane ever was. She’s very resourceful and she’ll do whatever she has to in order to get what she wants -- and that drive fuels everything she is and does. It may make her spirited, but it also makes it so that as long as she sees Jacob’s life in the palm of my hand...so too will she be.”

Blaise’s eyes flickered with a strange skepticism. “And...if Jacob’s life were ever not under your sway?”

Charles’s expression grew even more detached and emotionless as his smile faded and his eyebrows raised.

“...Would Carewyn really want to contemplate what state he’d be in, if he weren’t?”

Carewyn couldn’t be happier to leave the Cromwell estate behind. She didn’t slow down her horse’s pace until she’d reached the outskirts of the market, well after the manor house was out of sight. Only then did she slow her horse down to a leisurely trot, so that she could enjoy some time on her own wandering down the village streets before heading back to the palace. The castle staff wasn’t expecting her back to work until the following morning, so she could take her time.

Unfortunately for Carewyn, there was another reason her cousin Tristan’s hands had been so muddy -- and that reason soon became apparent when Carewyn reached into one of the pockets on the side of her saddle, thinking to temporarily change out of the pretty shoes Andre had given her and were now pinching her feet for the ride home. When she reached into the pocket, she instead found the tiny snake that Tristan had stolen out of the reeds by the nearby pond.

With a scream of surprise, Carewyn flung the snake to the ground -- the snake arched back, hissing angrily, and that in turn spooked Carewyn’s horse. With a loud, scared whinny, it reared back, bucking wildly.

“Whoa!” cried Carewyn. “Whoa, boy -- whoa!”

Several passerby turned around at the sound of the noise. A few looked like they wanted to help, but were too warded off by the horse’s kicking feet. Carewyn tried desperately to calm her horse, stroking its mane with one hand and clinging desperately onto the reins with the other, but it was no use. She wasn’t strong enough to wrench her horse into submission. And so when the horse gave a particularly violent jerk, Carewyn was thrown right off.

“AHH!”

Out of nowhere, someone dashed forward. Carewyn ended up slamming right into them, and the two landed roughly in a heap in the dirt.

Carewyn watched her horse gallop off the street, her face very tense and distraught. She then looked down at the person she’d landed on top of, and she gave a visible start.

Her “hero” was a man about her age dressed in modest clothes with tanned skin, slightly-too-long dark hair, and a beard. His sparkling black eyes were squinted slightly as he winced in pain, but nonetheless shone with some concern as he looked her over.

“Are you hurt, Lady Cromwell?” asked Orion.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #carewyn cromwell #charles cromwell #blaise cromwell #pearl cromwell #claire cromwell #andre egwu #orion amari #my art #my writing #orion!! you sweet tofu-eating knight in shining armor!!#and charles cromwell you no-good bastard :I #the cromwell clan by and large are terrible people but all of them are dark shades of gray except for charles #he's always been the worst of the bunch easily since he first appeared in my head #but hey for a character who leads r in his canon I guess that's not surprising #charles's cane has a black dragon head which is a reference to the hebridean black dragon which appears on the cromwell coat of arms #like mythical dragons the cromwells hoard their treasures -- not just financial wealth but also their family #it's frankly no wonder carewyn's learned to be stoic and sophisticated in this universe looking at how charles acts and treats her #she got her more tearful and emotional outbursts beaten out of her by her cousins' bullying #and yet she's too proud to grovel and cower :(#I'm looking forward to writing some more pleasant stuff in the next part <3

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nerianasims · 3 years

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Billboard #1s 1970

Under the cut.

B. J. Thomas – “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head” -- January 3, 1970

Everything's going wrong, but he's not gonna cry or complain, because he knows things will turn good before long. Meh. I dunno, it's a bouncy song, sung well, but I've never liked the whole smile your way through everything awful ethos, and I really fucking hate it right now. See: Pandemic, and Trump's response to it. And so a song I was fine with last year now infuriates me.

The Jackson 5 – “I Want You Back” -- January 31, 1970

I'm skipping every Jackson 5 song. Little kids singing love songs for money and fame is bad enough, and I never liked any of these songs for that reason. But add in the baggage of what Michael Jackson did later, and how much did that have to do with him being forced into this position when he was a little kid, and I'm done. Let a child psychologist handle this. I'm not equipped.

Shocking Blue – “Venus” -- February 7, 1970

It's supposed to be "The goddess on the mountaintop," as anyone who heard the later Bananarama cover a whole bunch knows. But Mariska Veres is Dutch, and she sings "godness on the mountaintop" instead. Also Venus was technically on a mountaintop I guess, but I associate her more with a giant clamshell in the sea. I'm nitpicking. The song's got a great groove and Veres' voice is perfect for it. It's good.

Sly & The Family Stone – “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)” -- February 14, 1970

I always thought this chorus was "Thank you for lettin' me be myself again." I'm not sure what the actual spelling is trying to communicate. I only just learned what the song is actually about: How the pop music industry sucks. I think. The only totally clear line is "Dyin' young is hard to take, sellin' out is harder." So maybe the spelling is a sarcastic jab at how no one is letting him be himself. But with the funk dancing beat, and the only lines that sound clear not actually being what they sound like, it's still not more than a really great party song.

Simon & Garfunkel – “Bridge Over Troubled Water” -- February 28, 1970

If I were a music critic, I'd get in trouble for this one. Bridge Over Troubled Water bores me to tears. It makes me feel like I'm stuck in glue. Aretha Franklin's rendition is significantly better, but I still don't like it. It's a nice sentiment and all, but I'll take the Four Tops for the same idea done far better, thanks.

The Beatles – “Let It Be” -- April 11, 1970

I hate toxic positivity. However, I very much like calming down and detaching from things you cannot control. The latter is what this song is about. It's about "Mother Mary," which obviously sounds like Jesus' mom, but it's actually about Paul's mom, who died when Paul was 14. When he was going through a tough time as an adult, he had a dream that she came to him and told him "let it be." John Lennon, being a dick as he so often was, didn't like the song, and called in Phil Spector to put massive layers of production in it. Later, Paul released "Let It Be... Naked," which was his original vision for the song. It's far better.

The Jackson 5 – “ABC” -- April 25, 1970

Pass.

The Guess Who – “American Woman” -- May 9, 1970

This song pisses me off. Obviously it's an entire song insulting American women, and as an American woman, I am not pleased, not that The Guess Who would care. And of course it's metaphorical, but why the fuck are American women the ones getting blamed for war machines? Because women are blamed for everything, that's why. Oh and also the song is incredibly repetitive, so even if it were a song about how great American women are, I would not like it.

Ray Stevens – “Everything Is Beautiful” -- May 30, 1970

There's a mob of small children, hide! That is my reaction to the beginning of this song. Past that -- okay, yes, everyone is beautiful in their own way. This song isn't though. It's the gloopiest of Christian "rock" before that was even a thing. It makes me shudder.

The Beatles – “The Long And Winding Road” -- June 13, 1970

Phil Spector splooges all over another Paul McCartney song. I never cared much for this song before I heard the "Naked" version, which gives me chills. How could anyone not open their door to this? But when it comes to the official single version, I'd tell him to take another trip around the block while I thought about it.

The Jackson 5 – “The Love You Save” -- June 27, 1970

Pass.

Three Dog Night – “Mama Told Me (Not To Come)” -- July 11, 1970

The lyrics are about how scary parties are. Which, um, yeah. Especially that cigarette part; I've always been drastically allergic to cigarettes, so that my parents had regular parties when I was a kid was really bad. I'm glad that people were going outside to smoke by the time I was in college. But the song. It's a party song in which the narrator hates parties. Pretty fun.

The Carpenters – “(They Long To Be) Close To You” -- July 25, 1970

Karen Carpenter's voice and singing ability were astounding. It's one of the great tragedies of music that she didn't get better songs. I do like this one, though. Yes, it's ridiculously sweet. But it has a beat and forward motion -- it's slow, but not turgid. The piano is nice. And, of course, there's Karen Carpenter's gorgeous voice, the most important thing about the song by far.

Bread – “Make It With You” -- August 22, 1970

Bread is wonderful. I love bread. But not the musical group Bread, which is like stale Wonder Bread rather than a delicious foodstuff. 70s easy listening managed to make sex sound boring. This song is one of the worst in that regard. If sex were like it seems to be in this song, I'd rather scrub grout.

Edwin Starr – “War” -- August 29, 1970

"War/ I despise/ It means destruction to innocent lives." Exactly. To say I love this song doesn't quite cover it. The song is the absolute truth, that's all.

Diana Ross – “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” -- September 19, 1970

The narrator's been dumped but whenever her ex needs her, she'll get to him any way she can. This version takes too long to get started, and then Ross speaks the verses instead of singing them. I don't like it at all. Give me Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell's version instead, which also sounds like the narrators have a much more equal relationship.

Neil Diamond – “Cracklin’ Rosie” -- October 10, 1970

The song sounds like it's about a sex worker. It's not. It's about cheap wine. Also it's Neil Diamond. It's not boring, and I don't hate it, but I can't say I like it either. It's just sort of there.

The Jackson 5 – “I’ll Be There” -- October 17, 1970

*shudder* Pass.

The Partridge Family – “I Think I Love You” -- November 21, 1970

It starts in a minor key, waking up and suddenly realizing "I think I love you." But the narrator isn't quite ready to accept it. It's about a first love, and about how confusing the feeling is. Also there's a harpsichord. At the end, the narrator is asking if you think you love him too. I like it.

Smokey Robinson And The Miracles – “The Tears Of A Clown” -- December 12, 1970

He's pretending to be happy in public, but he doesn't want the woman who left him to think he's anything but miserable after she left him for some reason he doesn't know. He name-checks Pagliacci. Great Motown song. (The B-side of the single was "I Second That Emotion," which I like even better.)

George Harrison – “My Sweet Lord" -- December 26, 1970

Oh, George. I actually like his solo career better than that of any of the other Beatles, but his first big smash is not good. First, the melody is plagiarized from The Chiffon's "He's So Fine." Not inspired by or similar to or any of the other bullshit musical artists are getting sued over these days. It's a straight-up rip. George said he did it accidentally, and that absolutely can happen, but in this case I'm doubtful. The Beatles covered a whole lot of girl group songs at the beginning of their run. George knew girl groups. Second, he slowed down the melody, and so it is too slow, especially if you already know "He's So Fine." Third, it's about wanting to "know" some non-denominational New Agey all religions are really one religion type "Lord." That's a philosophy that I find confused at best. Very bad.

BEST OF 1970: "War" WORST OF 1970: "My Sweet Lord"

#billboard number ones

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ikesenlemonadestandstories · 6 years

Text

Food Fight

Request by @dmiqueles and @yvckie for MC who’s turned into a child! Hope you enjoy this!

All My Love,

T~ If you’re interested all of my other works can be found on the Master List! Read at your own leisure! I’ll be at a wedding most of the weekend so imma be extra busy but will be fielding questions/comments (^.^)v have a great one honey bees!

[Mitsuhide]

I had been gone a few weeks, not to say that’s the longest stretch of time I’ve had to leave the princess in the care of my vassals but I wasn’t particularly fond of our time apart so I was hurrying to get back to the manor. Despite all of my times traveling I had never returned to my place in such a state of disarray. The moment I stepped into the hallway from the entrance everyone seemed to freeze, all of them either balancing something expensive high above eye level or wrestling a six year old little girl. Since when did we have so many young girls in the manor.

As calmly as possible I walked over to my most trusted vassal, who happened to by holding both a vase and tray of tea cups well above a little girl who’s kimono skirt was trapped under his footing so she couldn’t run away.

“Might I ask what is going on? Why does everyone seem to have a little girl with them.”

“Actually Lord Mitsuhide, almost a week ago all of the women in the residence fell ill after a trip to the baths. In the morning when we woke up they were all gone, these little girls in their place.”

“All of them.” trying to keep my eyes calm and my face stoic

“Yes Milord.”

“Even the Princess?”

“Yes, though she’s the reason we believe the women didn’t disappear only to be replaced by young girls, rather they have been cursed to look like children.”

“Oh and why is that.”

I was escorted back to our room and equipped with several sugar stars to use in ‘an emergency’ whatever that meant...I still didn’t see how a young (YN) could be so terrifying that the only way to subdue them was to use candy.

I slid the door open and saw them sitting at my writing desk reading, what I could only assume was a book of fairy tales. I’m impressed it was odd to see a child that small reading a book that large. Either they still had retained their education through this curse or the children of the future were held to a much higher standard of learning.

“Little mouse, I’m back.” no response, they just continued to read. Odd. I repeated myself sitting opposite them at the table.

“Oh, you finally came home. About time.” What was this? Quite a brazen young thing you had become, or were rather.

“That I have little mouse.”

“I’m hungry” they dead-panned looking me straight in eyes. The person I was looking at was undoubtedly you, the same face shape, the happy familiar innocence in your swirling cinnamon eyes.

“Then let's go get you fed, shall we princess?” they shook their head vigorously as I whisked them off the floor carrying them down towards the kitchens.

…

I had sent for Masamune in hopes that he would be able to help us feed the little one, gods knew I couldn’t. He arrived in a timely fashion, for once, if only to laugh at the site of me carrying a small child who was gnawing away at the fabric of my scarf and sticking their fingers in every facial orifice they could reach.

“Stop laughing and help me feed them. They have refused everything offered by my kitchen staff screaming about something called ‘pizza’ the only thing that keeps them calm are these god forsaken konpeito.”

“Pizza?” he looked confused “I’ve never heard of that….we may be in a bit of a bind.”

“See little mouse, nobody knows what pizza is. You must pick something else.” and that’s when they screamed. A high pitched blood curdling scream that could have rattled the windows. Out of air you stopped, a dreadful silence filling the room and then, as if your bones were made of nothing more that mochi, you threw yourself backward twisting in a fashion that should have been impossible for any human being, trying to wretch yourself from my grip.

…

He was your last resort, you hated to let one of Kenshin’s men know that you knew he was here poking around but you couldn’t stand the screaming any longer. You knew he was a friend of theirs from the future and you were hoping the ninja could offer some insight as to how to fix (YN) or help make pizza.

As expected Yukimura and Sasuke were found at their stall in the market, both equally surprised to have us approach, and with a child no less. As quickly and efficiently as I could I gave Sasuke as much information about what was going on.

“I know what pizza is. If you can get me these ingredients I can try to make some for (YN).”

“Wonderful. Masamune will help you shop for the items and will escort you back to my manor. Please be quick.”

…

We were waiting in the kitchen for the two of them to return, (YN) occupied themselves with several of the wooden spoons, dancing around the kitchen banging on other random buckets and containers. Squealing with delight when the pair walked in, they ran over to lock onto Masamune’s shin. Unable to detach them he started walking around the kitchen, it took everything in my power not to laugh at the extra little thunk when his left leg came down slightly heavier from their weight around it.

“You’re going to need a crowbar to remove (YN)” Sasuke stated, expression flat yet oddly mirthful.

“What’s a crowbar, and where do I get one?” Masamune turned to him quickly.

“A crowbar is a long, typically flat metal rod used as a type of lever to open or detach things difficult or impossible to remove otherwise. You can find it in the same place you can find pizza I’m afraid.”

“So it’s from your town? Where the hell did you two even grow up anyway…” Masamune looked confused.

“Can we have this discussion later, right now we need to make pizza before they start screaming again.” I pointed to the little one wrapped around Masamune's leg.

“Agreed.”

…

It didn’t take long for (YN) to get bored of hanging onto the One-Eyed Dragon, he had made it too much of a challenge, jumping and swinging his leg around while they were attached. Instead, they were wondering around the kitchen space with a barrel over their head smacking into every other piece of furniture in the room. Unfortunately for us, no matter how many times they went running into something solid only to land on their bottom, they continued to get up and run again, this behavior was put to a stop when they almost ran into the small opening of the oven.

“How about you help us cook instead (YN)-chan?” Sasuke suggested as the little one nodded vigorously.

Bad idea. Absolutely terrible idea. You were covered in wheat flour, tracking it all around the kitchen, you had splattered at least a quarter of the tomato paste Masamune had made on the walls, shredded cheese was literally all over, mostly found in Sasuke’s hair, half of the onions had been haphazardly peeled and pulled apart by your devious little fingers, and now we stood in a stalemate. You had two eggs, one in each hand...where you had gotten them was beyond me, but you had them raised directly overhead threatening to slam them into the ground if anyone took so much as one step closer to you. You were a very clever child I would have to give you that. I took my eyes off you for a second and the next thing I know Masamune is diving for you as the eggs splinter on the ground, yolk spilling out all over the floor.

“All right little mouse. Back up.” They listen looking wide eyed at my now stern tone. “Why would you do that.”

“Why not?”

“Oh gods they did not just…” words beyond that seemed to fail Masamune as he rolled over on his side laughing. Even the ninja was chuckling as he put the mostly complete pizza in the oven, but I had just about had it.

…

The idea had been to make you sit in a time-out in our room until the other two brought the finished food to us. I had just shut the door behind me when a very shrill shrieking began all throughout the manor, followed swiftly but the clamoring of my men, this was exasperating...thinking up a plan to find whoever had cursed my staff and girlfriend was put on hold when I was pulled forward by an unexpectedly heavy weight in my arms.

I looked down and there you were, right as rain. There was confusion then, at the same time as I, you noticed the child’s clothing you were wearing earlier no longer sufficiently covered you. You scrambled out of my arms in an attempt to find something more suitable to wear, eyes darting around the room, frazzled movements barely keeping up with your mind I’m sure.

“Princess, you’re acting as though I’ve never seen you so immodestly dressed.”

“Mitsuhide.” they straightened looking me dead in the eyes. “That wasn’t a dream was it?”

“It was not…” I closed the gap between us, elated to see them as they normally are again “and you were quite the ornery child.” grabbing a lock of familiar silk tresses.

“Crap, crap, crap, crap…” you pulled away again, this time I stopped you, grabbing onto your wrist. your eyes met mine pleading with me.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you later. Pizza doesn’t take that long to cook and if you don’t let me get dressed everyone is going to see me ‘less than modest’ do you really want to deal with that right now?”

They had a point, reluctantly I let go of your wrist and made my way into the hallway, a safety measure to make sure no unneeded visitors arrived before (YN) was decent.

…

The pizza was commendable, I couldn’t taste it, but the texture was pleasant enough. It was an oddity here but I had been reassured it was a very common food where they were from.

Dinner flew by, surely because of the company, and I saw both Masamune and Sasuke out of the manor.

On the way back to my room, several of my vassals stopped to report that all of the maid staff had returned to normal and everyone was working double to get all of the household chores complete that had gone untouched since they ‘disappeared.’ Thanking them for their statements I headed back to (YN).

As I slid the door open they stood to greet me with a smile and a slight bow, walking forward to take one of my hands before raising onto their toes to offer me a kiss as I wrapped them in an embrace.

“I never did get to tell you earlier. Welcome home Mitsuhide.”

Tagging @little-mini-me-world, @kthomas325 have a nice Friday!

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikésen #ikémen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen mitsuhide x reader #cybird #fanfic #finished request #short story #one shot #my story #fan fic

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goy-bullshit-translator · 6 years

Note

I'm not the anon who asked about Purim but what is the Purim story?

ALRIGHTY *cracks knuckles* I got off mobile and on desktop for this so you know it’s serious.

Purim Story: They tried to kill us, we survived, let’s eat.

The year is 367 BCE. The town is Shushan, Persia. The scene zooms in on a large castle in the middle, big, decadent, just the right amount of finery and prestige for a king who’s a complete asshole. The king Ahashverous is sitting on his throne, lording over his subjects in the way only a completely pompous and detached king can. His wife Vashti is off in her rooms, chilling, doing something, enjoying her queenly life. King Ahashverous decides he’s in the mood to party, so calls up all his dudebro friends, they’re chilling, dancing, drinking, having a great time, when King A gets this great idea to call his wife Vashti down for a little entertainment, a little dancing for his guests. Wearing only her crown. So, for reasons obvious to all but the most entitled frat boy (Ahashverous), Vashti declines and refuses to do as he asked. He gets super pissed by this and demands her killed, which is promptly followed out. Vashti is out of the picture and villianized in children’s purim skits for eons to come.

So the King is sitting there, having just disposed of his unruly wife, when he realizes he needs a new queen. Well shit, how’s he gonna get one on such short notice? He calls up his right hand man, his advisor Haman (BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO), and tells him to go fetch all the women of Shushan, as he will hold a beauty contest and whoever wins will have the blessing of being the King’s wife.

Enter Esther, a young Jewish girl, orphaned at a young age and who has grown up with her uncle Mordechai (THE JEWISH GUY), who works in the Palace. She’s young, sweet, innocent and pretty, so of course she’s a prime subject for the King’s beauty contest. She shows up, struts her stuff, and lo and behold, the king has a new wife! They get married, and she’s trapped in a world of pompous royalty and anti-semitism. Oh yeah, no one knows she’s Jewish.

Meanwhile, Mordechai, on his daily trip to the palace, overhears two guards, gossiping about how they’re gonna murder the king, just gonna kill him brutally and painfully and all that good stuff. So, let’s be real, the king probably deserves this, but that’s besides the point. Mordechai is shocked and appalled, and rushes immediately to notify the court of this impending murder plot, the guards are taken and executed, and life goes back to normal.

Mordechai continues his walk around his Shushan town, when he happens to cross paths with Haman (BOOOOOOOOOO). Haman, being the asshole he is, insists that everyone who he walks past must bow to him. Mordechai, being the Jew that he is, refuses. Now Haman fucking hates this. If Mordechai won’t bow to him, then all the Jews won’t bow to him, so he must not be the most important person in the world and that’s simply not permissible. So he sidles up to his personal pal the king and is like “hey. hey bud. hey my dude my pal there are people who don’t respect my authority or yours. They won’t bow to me what kind of filthy rats.” and the king’s all “holy shit there are people who wont bow to you we gotta do something!!” and H*man smiles and goes “yeah dude i got the perfect solution. Let’s just kill them. Kill them all. There’s no way that could go wrong.” And the king, (who’s probably still drunk), is like “Yeah dude sounds cool!!”, and willingly signs off on the order to murder all the Jews. Now, H*man is a little bastard who doesn’t give a shit about what he’s doing, so in order to decide when he’ll commit this mass murder, he rolls some dice, called Purim, to choose a date. (Hopefully you see the obvious connection to the holiday). The dice land on the 14th of Adar, the decree is made and sent out into the city, and the Jews of Shushan collectively go “oh fuck we’re gonna die.”

Back to our good pal Mordechai, who’s walking around Shushan again (he seems to go on a lot of walks), when he notices one of the posters declaring the murders of the Jews, and is like SHIT SHIT SHIT WAIT my niece lives in the palace. She’s the gotdamn queen. She’s gotta have some sort of power, right? So he runs over to visit Esther, and is like Esther sweetie babe please go talk to your husband please make him reconsider mass murder maybe? Thanks? and Esther’s all “what the fuck i haven’t seen my husband since the wedding if i enter his quarters without an invitation i’ll be fucking murdered” and mordechai, who’s had enough of his niece’s wishy washy shit, goes “YOU”RE GONNA GET FUCKING MURDERED ANYWAY IN CASE YOU FORGOT YOU ARE ALSO A JEW” and Esther’s like “okay yeah i’ll see what I can do.”

Zoom in on the king, who’s trying to go to sleep in his big kingly beds, and just can’t fall asleep. So instead of suffering through insomnia like the rest of us plebians, he calls for someone to read to him from the royal records, cause they’re so fucking boring they’ll have to put him to sleep. So one of his servants is doing so, and he stumbles upon the time when Mordechai saved his life. He realizes that Mordechai never actually got an award for all that snazzy shit, so calls in his boy Ham*n. “Hey. Haman. My dude my bro my man. If there was someone I really liked, who did a huge huge favor for me, like, yaknow, really helped me out, how should I reward him?” Haman, the stuck up brat that he is, of course things Ahashverous is talking about him, and so says “well…. i would dress him in the king’s finest robes and put him on the king’s finest horse and have someone parade him around the streets of Shushan yelling “THIS IS A MAN THE KING WISHES TO HONOR LOOK HOW GLORIOUS HE IS” and Ahashverous is all “dude you’re brilliant. Okay tomorrow afternoon, get that Mordechai dude and have this done to him. You’ll be leading the horse and yelling.” Haman realizes he fucked up. Haman reaaaaaaaaaaaaally hates Mordechai now. He hates him so much in fact, that he builds a set of gallows specifically for murdering Mordechai alone.

Esther, meanwhile, is trying to build up courage to go see the King and explain the whole “I’m Jewish please don’t kill my people” issue. First, she fasts for three days to be ready, and asks all the Jews of Shushan to fast with her. Once those three days are up, she figures she can’t just waltz right in to his quarters and say “don’t kill me”, so instead she dresses up all fancy, and waltzes into his quarters with some fancy (skimpy) clothing on and an invitation to a party. The king is thrilled to be invited to a party, and manages to overcome his instinct for murdering his wives to accept the invitation. At the party, they’re chilling, they’re laughing, they’re having an all around wonderful time. when Esther goes to make an announcement. “Hem hem hem” she coughs. “I brought you here today for something very important.” Everyone is paying attention. “I’m having another party tomorrow night and you’re all invited!!!! And so is that Haman dude. Make sure he’s there. Really.” Well of course our frat boy king is delighted and agrees that he and Haman will absolutely 100% be there.

Cut to the next night, where they’re at the party and Esther goes to make an announcement. “hem hem hem.” she says. The king gets ready for another party announcement. He loves parties “Someone” says Esther. “Someone, in this very room, is trying…. TO KILL ME!” Shock! Terror! Awe! Emotions! The party guests are very confused, until Esther gives the full explanation. “I’m a Jew… Haman’s a dick… etc.” So of course the King is so distraught, because he can’t have his lovely wife that he loves so very much (that he thinks looks hella hot) be murdered! But he’s also in a bind. Cause here’s the thing about kingly orders, like the one about killing the Jews. They can’t be undone or retracted. Looks like the Jews are still screwed. That is, until Mordechai gets this great idea. More murder. “Look.” he says. “People have been given legal permission to kill us. I propose you simply do the same. Write out a little kingly decree, saying that the Jews have the legal right to kill anyone who attacks them, and can fight for their lives. Then, it’ll just be a battle of the strongest and of course the Jews will escape just fine. We’re good at surviving.” The king, who’s really just a pawn at this point, is all “well that’s a MARVELOUS idea! Let me write up this order immediately, I’ll get right to it!” This second kingly order gets written, the decree goes out, and the 14th of Adar rolls around.

There’s mass murder. Everyone is fighting or killing or dying. Mostly goyim are dying though. The Jews successfully manage to protect themselves, keeping their culture alive, turning what was supposed to be a day of mourning into a day of wildly happy celebration, the Purim festival we know now. They also found and seized Haman, hanging him upon the gallows he built for Mordechai. And to this day, we eat hamentaschen to mock this fool’s hat/ears/pockets. Whatever we’re mocking, Haman was a dick who looked ridiculous. And we’re still here bitch, so ha. You lost.

#long post #seriously i took a nap in between starting and finishing this post #a 1.5 hour long nap #jewish #jumblr #purim #the purim story #not a translation #anon #ask

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angustdtt · 6 years

Text

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Summary: The arrogant Dr. Kim Namjoon has gloated of his superior intelligence all his life. Always in the pursuit of his own realization as an inventor one day he finally manages to shape what he believes, is the culmination of his life’s work.

But at what cost, and under what consequences.

Now he will be willing to break any barrier in front of him- even putting his own work at risk with only one goal in mind: Power the clock, turn back time and fix the fault.

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

TimeTravel!AU | Steampunk!AU

wordCount: 1.7k

pairing: namjoon x reader(she)

genre: angst| fiction| fluff

triggers: mentions of severe health condition and mentions of death.

tarot cards: the chariot | death

masterlist | Ch 1 - 2 -3 - 4

A Dead Writers Co. Collaboration - Masterpost

Who takes the poison so the other person doesn’t have to?

“Just breathe, ok?”

“Take my hand you’re gonna be fine”

“Somebody help!”

“You are okay! I’m okay, We’ll be okay.”

“Focus on my heartbeat, just focus on that.”

The dust from the storm hadn't yet settled. The untamed power reverberated and echoed across the barren land. While standing at the top of the gritty hill, it was easy to see over the horizon the big gray upcoming stormy clouds leaving towards the north, and the thunder rolling across the malevolent sky.

Clenching his fist strong enough to turn his knuckles white he raised the device constricting his wrist to look at it.

‘It’s no use.’ the weary footsteps of the adventurer stopped making a subtle noise while stumping over the dried sand. ‘We can’t chase that storm forever.’ The voices on his head tangled as one by one tried to take control of his actions, to make the venturer stop his mad quest and actually think for a moment. Namjoon cast his eyes to the charcoal sky, his attention held by a golden streak, a crack in the cloud layer where the sun should peek.

“I need the power of that lightning,” the mad-man stepped forward, the decisive weight of his stride leaving a rooted mark over the sand. “I need to make amends for my mistakes.” Without waiting for the storm to break he hurried forward, only paying attention to one thought that conveyed him forward.

Power the clock,

Turn back time,

Fix the fault.

The gods must have felt merciful and obedient after seeing the storm-hunter exhaustive journey.

The only way to escape was to go in the storm. In the middle of the desert, he had nowhere to safeguard from the rippling waves of wind. He had to be fast, otherwise, his risk would be without a point. If he died now then it would all be lost.

Thunder cried out from the blackened sky and a growl so low that would scare the heart of any sane man. Oh, but for Namjoon the more brutal the storm, the more hopeful his heart. He feared not what was ahead, only what was left behind. The brass goggles protected his eyes from the grains of sand biting and leaving marks over his skin. When the rain began to howl and lash the lightning conductor was finally placed firmly, the only thing left to do was connect it to the wrist-watch and pray somehow he'd make it alive to the other side.

Time is of the essence, the dampened sand could potentially ruin everything. But if Doctor Kim Namjoon calculations were correct, the big lightning that gave life once before to his time-jumper ticker was close. And so, he raised his eyes as thunder rumbled and a bolt of lightning cracked the sky in two behind the droplets of rain hitting the goggles. Jagged flashes of pure light cast a glow against the monochromatic background that reached the metal stick settled on the ground. The charge was complete in less than a second, and he pushed the small copper button in the side.

He was left blind by the intense light, but it was only for a few minutes.

There was now no rain, no sand, no storm- but a big dinner table set for two people on a large and elegant hall, outside the oriel window there was healthy green grass as far as the eye could see, and somewhere, on the upstairs floor a waltz played from a gramophone, and the sound of heels moving to the rhythm.

“It worked.”

The water dripping from his long jacket was making a mess once they touched the dainty floor. In haste, he sprinted towards the back of the cottage where the kitchen was- he could use the door leading to the backyard and drop outside his soggy clothes. Namjoon knew very well the handmaiden would be upstairs taking care of dusting the top floor while the miss of the house practicing her dancing so the kitchen would be empty.

While making a beeline for the door and taking off his coat, the rich aroma of something being cooked over the stove beckoned him, triggering so many senses at once that even his tongue circled the edges of his fleshy mouth.

In his trance, he accidentally tripped with a small wooden bench which crashed into a milk bucket, which in turn met with a tall coat rack making a whole domino of pretty noticeable noise.

"Miss Y/n?" called the grating voice heading fast down the stairs. "Miss Y/n is that you, M'lady?"

Without trying to rearrange anything, Namjoon opted to get out the house completely and hide under the kitchen window instead- he had no other chance but to wait until Ms. Hill went away to re-enter afterward.

A stompy pair of steps entered the kitchen. "Good lord," she exclaimed presumably due to the turmoil found.

"Ms. Hill? Oh dear," a softer, calmer voice entered just behind. "Did you fell again, Ms. Hill? Are you okay?" Namjoon's pulse accelerated just by that elegant, tone.

A desperate need formed inside his heart, scorching everywhere. He needed to peek, to see that face he had been chasing after, throughout time, throughout his painful memories. 'It's dangerous.' The voice inside his head warned 'too dangerous.' -and it was right. If Namjoon was discovered outside the window his journey would come to an end. He couldn't meddle, not yet at least—or not like this. He was after all now a mere intruder, still a stranger to both of them.

“It must've been the stupid dog again running about.”

Oh, but the temptation. How much his poor, and lonesome heart missed her. How many days he had cried over her before planning this escapade through time. Not caring for anything else, not even his own life, only to make things right again- to save her.

His legs moved faster and made a choice on the behalf of his head. Chatter was still going inside the kitchen, he can now only pray both women were looking away from the window as his eyes scanned to meet hers.

There is an ache once he is able to see her, something that comes as goes, somewhere between complete blissful happiness and a blackness so deep that devoured every color in the world.

She talked to her handmaiden in the most natural way, because of course, it was. But for Namjoon her silhouette resembled a photograph. She was there again, present right before his eyes, but in a time where both still haven't met. Where he still hadn't changed her, where he hadn't hurt her to then reassemble again like a toy, so insensible and detached from human emotions as he was before.

“You need to change those clothes, Miss,” Hill mentioned, giving a little nudge to her waltz practice clothes. Namjoon couldn't help but smile, remembering how she absolutely adored that copper-colored striped dress, even if the corset Hill made on her own was a little too tight for her figure. “Chop-chop! Or you’ll miss the tinker’s fair.” she hustled Y/n outside the kitchen.

Namjoon tilted his head, did she just said...tinker?

“It's not a tinker’s fair,” she chuckled rolling her eyes, but with an amused expression. “It's the ‘Age of Steam: Inventors Fair’, Ms. Hill”

“Same difference,” The handmaiden insisted. “It’s just a bunch of old off-their-rocker people showing off their fancy and not too reliable knick-knacks.”

“Not all of them are-,” she stopped mid-sentence.

Ms. Hill cocked a brow up, crossing her arms over her prominent chest. “You were saying, Miss?” she taunted.

“Nevermind.” she turned around and began walking away.

“Was the lady about to mention... Dr. Kim Namjoon?”

From his hiding spot Namjoon opened his eyes wide at the mention of his name, he traced the steps and watched as the two ladies left for the front part of the cottage.

His curiosity kicked: Why was she trying to dismiss it? Did she knew him?

A little more dare wouldn't be dangerous, right? So Namjoon took the opportunity to stealthily move under the windows to where they both had went, his eagerness to powerful to be countered. His ears perked up trying to locate from under the windowpane her voice.

“I’m simply saying Dr. Kim Namjoon is a well-respected member of the inventor's society,” she argued, with a much more deliberate and conscious form of speaking.

“...A dapper young member,” Hill inserted.

She gulped a visible blush forming at her delicate cheeks, whilst she continued speaking voice trembling just a little. “ And I do not think he deserves to be under the same light as other, less-respected, members of the socie-”

“Just go and get changed, Miss. The Chariot will get here in an hour.” Hill interrupted after giving a look at the father clock on the center of the living room.

“Yep, I’ll do that.” She let out relieved of the interruption, that hard and stern washing away from her face while darting to the top floor where her room was.

So it was a lie when you assured never to have heard of me before. he thought remembering specifically the first time both met. After the—

“Welcome to the aether!” Namjoon entered the big, ornate, waiting room greeting with a prideful smile that grace his features.

A figure, sitting by the massive windows, gazed at the flourishing gardens beyond the tinted glass. She didn't turned her head at the sudden interruption.

“My humble home.” Namjoon continued speaking while he strode across the room, coat-tails swingin behind him with his every step.

Stopping right in front the wheelchair he towered the girl sitting on it. Her whole body still wrapped around in meters of bandage and patches of gauze. Her dead eyes reflected the green of the garden. They seemed without soul, so voided of emotion that Namjoon couldn't help but to think they fitted perfectly what she was now- an incredible biological contraption- a machine so exquisite -so rare- so formidable and beautifully strong that saved her life at the very door of death.

The project that promise, his name to endure through history. The very first fusion between human and automaton- The everlasting White Rose.

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awkwardtimezone · 6 years

Text

My Fault: Part 1 (Laz’ab/Aawari)

Laz’ab was having a very hard time concentrating on business.

What had he been thinking, letting her wander about on her own? Yes, Nar Shaddaa was not the worst of the Hutt planets, but then considering the state most of them were in that didn't exactly say much. Still, this was neutral space, and his right hand Creden Sorvik had convinced him a little solo time was just what the girl needed after so long cramped on their ship. This way the two of them could conduct business without their unique little Force sensitive drawing attention, and the girl was getting older. She was already fifteen, going on sixteen, and growing more and more curious about the world.

Still, the thought of Aawari wandering the darkened streets on her own made the Sith’s skin crawl and his stomach churn in a way that made him feel physically sick. It was not a particularly new experience. Laz’ab constantly experienced an innate sense of dread by default whether she was involved or not, but if they were separated too long or work took them to dangerous places, the knots and doubts grew worse. Now she was older and on her own in this shithole of a city, and it was making his lekku twitch.

“Is that agreeable, my Lord?”

With a start the tattooed Sith pulled himself from the dark myriad of thoughts and worst possible outcomes, forcing his mind back to the present. “Er, yes … perfectly fine. Can we … can you go over the details again?”

- - -

Aawari had been to Nar Shaddaa before, and had visited many other city-planets in her lifetime. She had seen central planets so sleek and clean, with magnificent skyscrapers that put the cobbled apartments and neon signs to shame. She had experienced pirate backwaters manufactured from the spare parts of hopes and dreams and abandoned ships, nurturing a culture built from desperation and circumstance. Still somehow none of them had the same chaotic buzz as the Hutt-moon. Nar Shaddaa was as vibrant as it was deadly, but somehow it filled her with an excitement she could not contain, and she struck out alone down the brightly lit streets.

The clouds were beginning to turn from mottled maroon to bruised black as night crawled across the sky. There would be no stars here, just the thick smog choking the city, lit by a million lights from casinos and neon glares as Nar Shaddaa’s nightlife stirred into wakefulness. Shops sealed shut while yet other establishments unlocked their doors for the first patrons of the night. Women of every colour and race appeared at tinted windows, arching and twisting their bodies for the men gathered below. The young nautolan flushed and hurried forward.

She had wandered far from the space port where her Master would be conducting his affairs. As much as she had come to trust Laz’ab as a guardian, the idea of witnessing any more of his ‘work’ than she had to made her skin crawl. Even now, years after he had taken her under his wing, memories of the carnage he had unleashed left her dreams awash with blood, and her pillows soaked with sweat.

She shivered, nervously tugging at her sleeves as she suddenly became aware of a presence. She was beginning to attract more attention than she would like, spotting shifty glances in the corners of her vision, from seats and benches outside, from darkened alleys and corridors. But that wasn’t it. She thought she felt a disturbance.

Perhaps it was simply paranoia. Laz’ab was not exactly the poster boy for trusting one’s senses, but there it was again! The prickling of nerves at the back of her neck, the sensation of sweat beading on her brow. A face that ducked behind the crowd a little too quickly when she turned to glance back.

Feeling her heart begin to hammer in her throat, the young nautolan ducked into a nearby bar and attempted to lose herself in the throngs of patrons. The music was loud, tacky, and blasted her eardrums until they hurt, but she found a dark corner and pressed herself into the wall. She waved a small hand and the Force rose up around her.

As far as the patrons were concerned, that corner was empty, just as it had been the entire evening so far.

- - -

Laz’ab’s eyes had been wandering away from the presentation, as twitchy and as restless as his lekku now. His anxiety only worsened the longer this meeting dragged on and absently he wondered how bad the fallout would really be if he just gutted this gassy sithspawn where he stood. Then at least they could be on their way.

Creden must have noticed his inability to sit still. He leaned in close and muttered under his breath, “she will be fine, my Lord. She has our comms if she wants us to pick her up. She is a young woman now and needs some autonomy. Besides, she has the best mentor in the galaxy, she can take care of herself.”

The twi’lek tore his gaze away from the door and the reunion it promised.

“Yes, of course. You’re right.”

- - -

Aawari watched the entrance to the club and waited, breath echoing in her head as she counted to ten. It was exhausting to mask one’s presence from an entire room of people, and her hands were beginning to shake. Five minutes ticked by, maybe ten, but still no shady figures appeared at the door, no unscrupulous faces scanned the crowds. With a sigh of relief she shed her disguise and stepped back into the room as though she had never left.

She squeezed through the throngs of night dresses and alcohol breath, casting furtive glances at the women on the tables, unable to help but wonder exactly how close she had come to a similar fate. Assuming she had lived this long at all. Shoving free of the bodies and stepping into the cool night air, she forgot for a moment the grimy smog of Nar Shaddaa and breathed deep as a cool breeze played across her face. The streets seemed clear, though there was still that lingering sense of unease. She decided to head back the way she came.

No sooner had she stepped away from the crowds than a rough hand grabbed her by the wrist, another clamping down over her mouth and lifting her bodily off the ground. She thrashed wildly but an extra pair of arms crushed around her chest, holding her tightly as she was dragged down an alley. Three tall figures detached themselves from the gloom, heavy armour flashing beneath tattered capes and assault weapons in their hands. Aawari’s eyes went wide with terror and for a moment she was a small child in the bowels of the lab again.

“Gotcha’,” a deep voice ground in her ear as her attacker hauled her back where they wouldn’t be seen. Alleys in Nar Shaddaa were long, and dark, and deep, and the windows and doors that opened onto them remained shut and barred. Civilians turned a blind eye, it was the best way to stay alive.

“Now then, you’ve been quite the difficult one to find,” the man hissed, holding her so tight her neck twinged painfully and she struggled to breathe around his fingers. His voice was distorted through a mask. “Yore scientist friends at the lab have been looking all over for ya. Luckily fer us, we found you first. The price on yer head has been hiking up with each year, we’ll be able to retire once we hand you over!”

Aawari felt her stomach drop like a stone as his cronies laughed and chuckled. Laz’ab had left no survivors, cut down everyone from the medical to cleaning staff as he tore their way out, and then burned the base to the ground for good measure. How could the project still be afloat after all this time? She struggled more desperately, attempting to bite his hands, but she was in the grip of a besalisk and he wasn’t about to let go. When he did release his hand from her mouth it was only to slap her so hard her brain knocked about in her skull.

“Still,” he murmured darkly, “they didn’t specify we had to return you … untouched.”

Fight or flight finally kicked in and her Force training rushed at her like a tidal wave. Panic clouded her mind but her body moved on auto-pilot. She bucked her head backwards and slamming the Force into his chin with the power of a sledgehammer, causing him to drop her, and her hands flew out even before she hit the ground. Shockwaves blasted across the ground before her, tossing crates and rubbish and discarded droids at her assailants as they sailed against the far wall. The bounty hunters collided with dull cracks and scrapes, but their armour took the brunt of the blow.

Despite being mute, Aawari thought she might shriek aloud when they opened fire, stun bolts echoing down the corridor behind her as she danced wildly away, deflecting the barrage with Force waves and shields, the lightsaber at her hip momentarily forgotten. These men must have hunted sensitives before to come at her with such recklessness, perhaps even Jedi or fully-grown Sith, but all doubtlessly much older than her, and much more experienced. What chance could she possibly stand?

She dodged away from their burly ringleader when he threw himself at her again, pelting deeper down the alley in a mad sprint even as blaster bolts rung off the walls. She almost tripped over herself when the road turned sharply, a stun ray bouncing past her head just a little too close for comfort.

Turning on her heels, she steeled herself and summoned another shockwave that shuddered through the ground and rumbled through the air as they rounded the corner. Two of her pursuers dropped their weapons as the Force slammed into them, and all were thrown back. Sparks began to crackle in her hands, flaring white and leaping with unpredictable energy between her fingertips. Before they had a chance to get back to their feet, she unleashed a cloud of lightning that illuminated the alley in blinding hot light.

One of them shrieked and collapsed as though his legs had turned to jelly, convulsing violently as electricity lanced up nerves and through his spine until his teeth rattled. The others were quick to activate their shields, taking damage as sparks flew through the barrier, but she didn’t stop until the other’s screams had died down. She felt his life dissolve back into the Force, his brain melted to the inside of his skull by a billion volts.

The transition to darkness when she released the spell was shocking. She had to get out, escape from these people. Heart still ringing in her ears she bolted, only to feel her ankles snap together and her legs give out. The floor sailed towards her and smashed her chin with a painful crack, tears erupting from her eyes, but she had no time fuss over cuts and bruises. She attempted to struggle free from the snare, only for the crushing weight of a heavy net to knock her to the floor. It attached to the ground with mechanized bolts, winding tight until she was pressed still with no wriggle room. The more she struggled, the deeper the garotte dug into her flesh, until it drew blood from her head-tails and began shredding her robes. The bounty hunters loomed over her, muttering like a pack of wild dogs.

“Killed Krigar--”

“More for us--”

“Grab the Force cuffs--”

“I’ll go first--”

Aawari’s eyes darted from side to side but were met by only shadows and gravel. If they got those cuffs on her it would sever her connection to the Force, and she would be completely helpless. Unable to defend herself, unable to contact--

Laz’ab.

She screamed the thought with every fibre of her being, shouting into the void and distance and great unknown spaces, but only silence greeted her. They were advancing on her, their brutish leader leering lecherously down at their tiny, quivering prize. But the most dangerous animal is a cornered one, and her Master had given her claws.

Gritting her teeth for one last hurrah, she channelled his terrifying energy. She drew on her anger, her fear, her loneliness, the emptiness of the void around her and gave it new form. There was a crack and a wave of destruction rippled out, filling the air with a thunderous roar as the ground cracked and split. The net fell away as the ground shattered beneath it, the bounty hunters stumbled as fractures zipped between their legs and knocked them to the ground. A second pulse threw one head over feet several meters back down the alley, another caught his ankle in the crack that opened beneath him and wailed in agony as his foot shattered in his boot.

The little nautolan didn’t pause to watch the confusion. She was up on her feet the minute the net slackened, slicing her bonds with her lightstaber and taking off running. A jewel bounced at her neck, glistening gold and silver even in the dark. She grabbed it as wracking sobs finally caught up with her, projecting her fear into the small object, one thought racing through her mind.

Laz’ab

Laz’ab--

(Part 2)

#laz'ab #aawari #swtor #star wars the old republic #roleplay #rp log

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linssikeittomies · 6 years

Text

VR Chapter 1 - 0 hours

Despite the title this work has nothing to do with Virtual Reality... It’s a shortening of the original working title which not only fucking sucked but was also embarrassing as hell. The focus of the story also shifted as it went on and now has incredibly little to do with the original title. So it’s VR until I can come come up with something better or someone suggests a better title^^’ Masterpost Chapter 2 ->

I could see houses behind the trees. Weird, we were supposed to be miles away from civilization. Basic dad, got us lost again. I should ask the townspeople for the town’s name so we could try and place us on the map. Because God knows none of us wanted a repeat of three years ago – when three members of a family of four have the lousiest sense of direction, just driving down a highway can result in getting turned around. One of life’s greatest mysteries is how we’re still not dead of starvation from getting lost in the woods, two times just this summer alone. I’m probably the only thing keeping us alive, because I’m the only one who can read a map worth a crap.

And speaking of maps, this place probably didn’t show on many. This had to be smallest town I had ever seen – there wasn’t even a trace of traffic, anywhere. I couldn’t even hear cars. Each house was detached and had its own, huge garden. Looked like there wasn’t a single terraced house. Space is nice and all, but everyone having this much land has to mean it’s dirt cheap, ergo away from everything. Bet the town didn’t even have a grocery store. Must have been why no one was around, everyone was at work two towns over. Nice place to vacation at - total nightmare to live in.

Well, at least the weather was nice and the town looked pretty, taking a little walk wouldn’t be bad. If I found a park, I might sit down for a while and enjoy the peace. That was what we searched for on these camping trips. My phone had no reception, but that piece of crap couldn’t get reception in the middle of a metropolis, so I wasn’t too worried. After all, my family knew I could be trusted to find my way back. Mum always said I inherited my mother’s navigation skills.

So I wandered around for a fair bit, enjoying the warmth and clear air, though in the end I never did run into a park. What I did run into was about a dozen larpers. Weird that such a small town would have an event. Seemed to be the only event happening, too, since I didn’t see anyone out of costume. I just don’t get why adult people would be into it, it’s just so… embarrassing. Like, yeah, I get kids liking roleplay since they’re dumb and not terribly self-aware… but mature humans dressing up in badly sewn clothes and yelling “LIGHTNING BOLT!” while chucking bean bags at each other is so cringey. People, please just stick to video games!

I steered just as clear from the next four larpers as I did the last dozen, but in the end, I stooped to asking directions from two young women sporting wizard robes. Well, as long they didn’t expect me to play along…

“Excuse me?” I asked, and they looked at me quizzically. “Could you tell me the name of this town? Our family got a little lost.” Still, only that confused look, so I repeated my question, and they answered in a foreign language. New immigrants, apparently. Maybe Polish.

“That’s okay, I’ll find someone else”, I said and continued on. They bowed to me as I left. By then I wasn’t expecting to find non-larpers, so I just walked up to the next person I saw, a man in his thirties, dressed in several layers colorful, embroidered robes instead of a black one. He bowed deep before I even got a word out of my mouth. Larpers.

“Excuse me, what town are we in? My dad got us lost.”

He didn’t understand a word.

“Great…” I muttered. “Thanks anyway.”

He left in the opposite direction of the young ladies. The game must have just ended, and that was why there was such a concentration of these weirdos going their separate ways.

Maybe we could try and get back on the highway the same road we got here. I was pretty sure I could remember the way. I started walking back to the forest, but… I couldn’t find it. That made no sense. Right here was the tower I had passed on my way deeper in the town. I hadn’t strayed much from the street I originally followed, and found it easily. But the street no longer lead to a forest, only to more town. I couldn’t see the forest anywhere. And that wasn’t explained by apartment buildings – the highest structures were the one tower, and about ten two-story houses. I should have been able to see the trees from a mile away – but I just couldn’t.

At that point I figured a call would be in place, but of course my piece of crap phone still had no reception. Bloody great. I wandered around for a bit, trying to find a signal, almost bumping into several larpers along the way running around like a headless chicken on speed, because I only needed the one bar that’s all, just give it to me goddamnit! None of the townful of larpers were of any damn help either, I tried asking for help in English, French and German because I’m not stupid, you hear, all I got in response was jumbled up Chinese and bows so fuck that noise, I ran like a bat out of hell to the next one, getting the same nonsense so I ran again, what felt like a dozen dozen times, until some aunt-looking type donning bright orange pants paired with a dull brown tunic, her hair hidden under an oversizes white pillbox hat didn’t bother with it, just gestured for me to follow her. I did, because what else was I supposed to do? The building she led me to didn’t look like any police station I had ever seen, it was this super pompous giant mansion, but I guess it looked like some kind of official building, welp, guess I’d find out once I got in.

The woman explained something to the two guards standing at the gate (who, by the way, also didn’t speak English, wow what a surprise!), and they bowed deeper than anyone before this, and let me in. At the front door two more guards cracked open the giant double doors to let me slip in.

Something was wrong. Almost everything was wrong. Yeah, sure, I had ended up somewhere, but it couldn’t be of any help – museums aren’t known for their lost-and-found services. Because this was so clearly a castle turned museum I didn’t even need to see guide plaques to realize it. Opposite to the ridiculously huge double doors were equally huge curved marble stairs, and on the walls old, serious portraits of people. The hallway stretched on for like a 100 feet on both sides, and every inch of the walls was covered in decorative carvings. I saw eight doors, each a different color, and one open doorway at far end on the left, but not a single person.

“Hello?” I called out shyly. I didn’t feel comfortable somewhere so expensive-looking. It only took a few seconds, but it still felt like an eternity before someone emerged from behind the light green door – a young man, somewhere in his twenties most likely, with long, braided, brown hair and dressed in a blue bathrobe-like dress. Good lord, was this town founded by larpers?! Bloody dedicated larpers, as even this guy wouldn’t speak English, just that same old made-up scramble of sounds supposedly the mystical language of magic or some shit.

“Can’t any of you bloody idiots pretend for a second you have a translator spell or something?”

Of course the man only tilted his head like a puzzled dog. Clearly I wasn’t getting any help from anyone this whole fucking crazy town!

“Is it really that bloody important that no one ruin your immersion that you can’t even help out someone in trouble? Am I gonna have to starve to death before you people give enough of a shit to actually speak to me?!”

The young man was distressed by my tears of rage but still wouldn’t drop the act! Can you fucking imagine the technological advances we would have if inventors showed half the dedication to their job as this guy showed this lame game?

By then some more larpers had crowded around, all of them deciding it was more important to keep playing than helping a crying girl. Their lame attempts at trying to comfort me while still speaking that goddamn fake language only made me cry harder.

Finally the craziness was stopped by a young girl – a few years my junior, with blonde waves to her waist and innocent wide eyes. But that wasn’t what shocked me silent – no, it was that her face was almost a copy paste of mine. She screeched in delight and rushed forward to crush me in her embrace.

“Rititeea!”

There might have been a more mature response to this than shoving her off harshly, but honestly, can you blame me for doing just that? A stranger comes out of the blue and hugs you tight, would you just let them keep squeezing you? However, she didn’t think of that and was just confused, just like everyone else in this crazy town. She said something that sounded like a question, of course in that stupid fake language. At that point I was so mad I could only start crying harder, making speech impossible. A stern-looking woman came in, shooed out all but the blonde girl, and walked us both to a dining room. She offered me a fancy chair, and I sat down exhausted. A short while later I noticed a little pastry had been brought to the table, and the girl was pushing it towards me. Thankful for at least this little gesture of kindness, I took the frosted cake piece and started nibbling on it. No one talked for a long time. That was okay – it gave me time to calm down from that embarrassing display of emotion and start thinking logically again. Of course these people weren’t larpers – no game would encompass a while town, and no one would care about immersion enough to ignore a heartfelt plea for help. Somehow I had ended up in a foreign country, where English wasn’t a common language to know. Which country exactly, I couldn’t hazard any kind of guess. Everyone was white, so somewhere in Europe would be the obvious answer, but even in the most rural villages of the Alps the word ‘help’ should not be incomprehensible. Well, the question should be answered if I showed them a map and drew some question marks. Too bad I didn’t have any atlases with me. Hopefully my drawing would be clear enough. I dug my journal and pen from my backpack and drew a map of Europe. It was recognizable, at least. And it didn’t really need to be a masterpiece in the first place, just clear enough. I drew a stick figure representing me with an arrow pointing to England, and stick figures of the girl and the woman, and a question mark next to them. They looked at the crude map and shook their heads in unison, before drawing their own map on the next page – it looked a little like South America with a giant tumor growing from Brazil. Sure wasn’t any continent I knew. Maybe an island somewhere? Maps seemed to work, so I drew the world. For clarity’s sake I circled England, to let them know I meant for them to circle their own location on the map.

Unfortunately, they were apparently aliens. They frowned and shook their heads. The world map they drew was just a collection of islands, with the aforementioned cancerous South America being by far the largest.

This was fine. This didn’t need to be a catastrophe. Okay, sure, it might take a little longer to get back home, but for sure it wouldn’t be impossible, now wasn’t that a ludicrous thought! Earth existed in space, this place existed in space, home was just a simple space flight away! Ha! Such a comforting thought. I’d just build a space ship. From scrap metal. Quality material and engineering degrees are for chumps, anyway! And who needs food and shelter? All a teenage girl needs to survive is a purpose and a will, I’ve always said.

The girl offered me a cloth napkin to dry my tears with, and the woman awkwardly patted my back. I refused neither gesture since I was a little busy wailing away.

#VRbutnotlikethat #Mimi #Ritidia #Alele #wiptale #linssioriginals #original fiction

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