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lgist · 2 years

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A lesson in experimentation.

13/30

It’s time to delve deep into my personal inhibitions. I want to find out more about myself so I will just write what comes to mind and see what happens. Perhaps in the blurt of words there is a lesson that remains. This is my experiment.

A friend asked me recently “have you ever hated or loved anyone” and for some reason the hate part of the question was very simple to answer, I don’t hold grudges and I believe people can change so hating anyone was out of the question for me but love, Love is different, there came a realisation when asked this question. I have never truly loved anyone in a romantic way. This part of life is blind to me. I am not ace, I feel attraction but there’s something that stops me everytime. Like a ball in my throat that prevents me from saying anything risky. It’s this overbearing fear. Fear of rejection, fear of being hated, fear of causing an inconvenience. Maybe many more that aren’t present in my consciousness. I don’t want to lose anyone in my life but they will always be stuck as friends and family. I ponder will my fear ever subside enough for the courage to even begin to build. People say, “man it’s just your social muscle, you’ve got to train it like any other”. I don’t think that’s how it works for me. My muscle, no matter what I do, is anemic. It’s weak at all times. This is further propagated by the dilemma that I presented to you a couple of blogs ago. The cycle I am always experiencing within the confines of my brain. The lonely socialite. Don’t you always love callbacks? The lonely socialite longs for that connection and that warmth love brings to the heart but the heart is so cold in those situations of social interaction. The heart freezes in moments of discomfort for the lonely socialite and they become numb. Numb to that discomfort of being with other people. Numb to the desire to be home all the time but the one persisting feeling that never numbs is that loneliness. That loneliness scars the heart and scars repeatedly. It forces you to curl into a ball and go into the darkest corner of the room while doing the same in your brain. It tells you how much you are worth, it tells you what you have to offer in this world and it also tells you the most painless way to go. The loneliness is this monster I’ve yet to conquer in my conquest of life. Perhaps this is my kraken. It is wrapping its tentacles around me as I sink deeper into the pacific of my mind. That isn’t to say I don’t love my friends, the people I regularly hang out with, it’s just difficult for me to do so with any amount of comfort for a longer period of time. I become silent, my mind as deep as the well is, is closed. I barricade it closed for no one to see because, what if I say something so outlandish people will think less of me? What if I don’t add anything to this conversation that is seemingly productive? What if I try to be funny but the humor doesn’t come across? What if I begin to open up to someone I am interested in, only for them to not feel the same? Then everything is ruined. Yes I realise these are unrealistic and quite silly. It is quite silly to think about life this way. Maybe it’s a product of staying inside as a child. I loved being on my computer and wasting days away, in fact I still do. As a kid before the age of 11 I was outside nearly everyday. Just doing what kids do. Playing sports, causing mischief, going to my friends house to play his new game. That childhood I look back on fondly. Things were simpler, the complication never came into the equation. As I child that sense of wonder, what am I going to do today? Drove me. I wanted that feeling of excitement at all times. Now I know the drill. I know what is going to happen tomorrow. I wonder will that sense of wonder ever return, ironic. Wondering about wonder, it’s only human.

I have had crushes. I have had those people that take up that part in my brain for longer than a day. I have had butterfly’s to ask someone the first crucial question yet the butterfly’s are murdered by that monster. The monster that wants you to stay in place. The monster that puts you in a cage and swallows the key as it laughs. The monster, this selfish reflection of your ego, wants you for itself. The loneliness feeds it, it feeds it ammo to use against you and as it gets larger in size and more dominant the less you can do about quelling the beast that whispers into your ear. It will lie to you for you to feel horrible about yourself. It will want you to relapse into an addiction you’ve since moved past from. It will look over a bridge or out a window of a tall building and will imagine for you how you would look down there. It will want you to go missing for it tricks you into believing your self worth and your worth to others is negligible at best. “The world is better off without you” it will say. You are not deserving of love, it will say, selfishly. That way of thinking is selfish. To believe you deserve love, that love is an entitlement, is inherently selfish yet the monster will still use it against you for it is the embodiment of selfish tendencies. It is the embodiment of negativity and it is so tyrannical in its rule of your mind that you are forced to shut down and recuperate any sense of worth or being, while it sleeps and when it sleeps is in those moments of elation. Moments where you are in the moment. Where you fly high above expectation. Where you are with that someone or multiple someones that just make you forget. Be it a deep, passionate conversation. Be it us dancing to some amazing music. Be it just sitting quietly. In that moment I forget about the monster and as I sit here, writing this, a tear forms. Is the tear reminiscing as well? Is the tear afraid? I don’t know but forwards we move. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. I will press forward. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. I will press forward. Know it to be true, reader, I will press forward. No matter how hard the monster might beat me into submission I will stand up and turn the other cheek. For I have work to do. I don’t want to feel this way. But I have work to do. It’s only a matter of time. I don’t want to feel this way. One day will be my day. I don’t want to feel this way.

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So the lesson here was:__________? Up to you my reader. For not even I have a definite answer. Up to interpretation I guess. I deeply enjoyed writing that. Just know that I am ok, reader. I am happy, I am healthy for the most part. I ain’t leaving anytime soon because I have work to do yet I do not want to feel this way. I suppose there’s my lesson that has presented itself. That feeling of not wanting a feeling is strong within me but my drive to do this, what I am doing now actually overpowers it. The power of passion. That fire can set ablaze any negative within your life. That I know now. I urge you to find it for it has helped me immensely. I hope my passion bleeds onto you, even just a little bit. I hope I can inspire you to find it, I am here to help. Now if you don’t mind I need to return some video tapes. Much love - S

#philosophy #leftist #mental health #mentalheathawareness #positivity #love #mentalstrength #mental help

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eponymous-rose · 3 years

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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E123 (Feb. 2, 2021)

After last week’s thoroughly relaxing and brief episode, tonight’s guests are Sam Riegel and Liam O’Brien!

Brian, to Sam: “You look like Tim Curry moved to Nantucket to become a sommelier.”

How did Caleb and Veth approach the ally-ship with the Tombtakers? Sam: “I mean, we got some information, and I think we got a little closer to Lucien and knowing whether he has any of Mollymauk inside of him, which is I think the most important knowledge that we’re seeking right now. Is there someone to be saved inside there? We got glimpses, and we got a little hint that Mollymauk is maybe still in there? Maybe? And we got a little more insight into their plans, so that was useful.” Liam: “We know why we were having that fucking dream.” Sam: “But other than that, it was just a road trip with assholes.” Liam: “All our plans have been ripped in a new direction, and it’s just been improvisation.” Sam notes that it feels like we’re always about to rip into Caleb’s backstory, but haven’t yet followed that thread all the way through. Liam: “It’s partially frustrating, to be sure, but also I like the idea that-- his whole shit has been selfish, it’s been dealing with the trauma that he’s been through and not the greater world, and that’s been shifting somewhat.”

Does Caleb think the book was worth it, and is he still interested in reading more? Sam: “How do you ask Caleb not to read a book?” Liam: “Caleb has spent enough time with the Nein to know you shouldn’t put a hand on a hot stove. After what happened with the book, he knows it’s a terrible idea. But maybe. But it’s a really bad idea. But reserve judgment, but it’s a really terrible idea. I think that Caleb is very aware that mages and people like him very easily fall prey to their curiosity and it can lead to bad places. But there is still that amount of scientific endeavor where you think there is value in knowing and learning, and maybe we can ride that line. He was True Neutral at the start of the campaign, and maybe he’s Chaotic Good now, but part of him is hubris, even if it’s a little bit, still.”

What about Otis has drawn Veth’s focus? Sam: “I mean, he’s a little shit. She was curious about Otis because he’s a small like she is, and in talking to him, he seemed to be real creepy, but he was just creepy and distant and didn’t value his past or family or anything like that. She sees someone who’s like her, but so not like her, and maybe that scares her a little bit more.”

How does Caleb feel about Beau being on this ride with him? Liam: “The dream is another example of how Caleb had very narrow vision of the things he wanted to do. It used to seem so massive to him, but now... To have Beauregard involved feels right. If anyone in the group is going to stop him from grabbing something he shouldn’t, it is probably Beauregard. She’ll punch him in the fucking face to stop him, which I think he needs, to a certain extent. They’re two different kinds of nerds, and I kind of like that, that this group of nine philosophers, they’ve reached out and somehow grabbed the two nerds in the party.”

How do Caleb and Veth see the Somnovum? Sam: “I mean, they seem real bad. Anything that’s a quorum of powerful entities heading towards your planet to unleash an energy of any kind, typically bad? I assume they’re bad, or at least the Tombtakers wish them to do ill.” Liam: “I think they want the kind of peace that comes from snapping your fingers and turning people to dust. Caleb sees them as a cautionary tale; they’re the worst-case scenario for arcane inquisitiveness.” He sees Allura Vysoren as the antidote to that.

Why the staunch refusal to use Halfling Luck? Sam: “I don’t like Luck! I just don’t like Luck. I think it’s cheap, I think it’s a cheat, I think it’s stupid. It just feels like a do-over.” Liam: “I am your antithesis! If I ever voice a halfling, I am going to hammer that feature!” Sam: “What I love about D&D is that you don’t know what’s going to happen. If you roll bad, okay, that’s it. If you roll well, it makes the success more enjoyable to know that it’s a pure success and don’t one where you’re like well actually... it’s so stupid. If someone was about to die, I would probably use the fuckin’ Luck feature. Well. It depends who. If it was Travis, yeah, no, he’s fucked, sorry.”

Liam drops that he’s picked Sam’s character class and race again for a hypothetical campaign three. Sam: “It’s not what I was thinking for future characters, but I’m excited to explore.”

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Mollymauk by KatofValkyrie!

What was it like to bring the Tombtakers into the tower? Liam: “It is complicated, because he does not like him. Lucien’s just a fucking dick. But Caleb also knows that Molly’s in there somewhere. That tower’s only for the M9, and Lucien’s not in the M9. Their situation with these people is shitty, it’s terrible. Caleb doesn’t feel like they have the upper hand. He doesn’t like that they’re even going on this journey per se, because life is bigger than his bullshit. He feels like they’ve been losing over and over again, so it was a gamble to try to get on equal footing.

What spurred Veth into making sure she and Yasha have some one-on-one time? Sam: “Yasha hasn’t been getting a lot of moments to shine. Now that she’s back, I just got the impression that Yasha feels out of place sometimes, or timid, or unsure of herself. When Veth was Nott, Nott certainly had her share of those moments. I think she sees a kindred spirit and wants to make sure that she’s been giving all the opportunity she can to flourish and thrive. Dani, you’re just laughing at my mustache, aren’t you?” Dani: “Yes, that’s the only thing I’m laughing at through this whole bullshit.” Sam denies all knowledge of trolling, but eventually admits, on the topic of Yasha and Beau getting together: “They’ve made me wait this long... I’m going to make them wait a little bit longer!”

What was it like to show his friends the upper floors? Liam: “I kinda expected somebody to sneak up there before that. That being part of the tower is not even a conscious choice of his, it just is. The reason Caduceus has creeped Caleb out for a long time is because he talks about how-- Caduceus is a really kind person and wants Caleb to let go of the past. And in a really simplistic way, turn that frown upside-down. And that’s just not who Caleb is, and it’s not who everybody is. There is something to be said for trying to stay open and positivity, but thinking you can shut out the past, especially a traumatic one, is just not true. When things happen to us, we carry them. But to candy-coat it and say, ah, I’m free, or everything is good, or I’ve turned the corner... life is way messier than that. It’s not flipping a switch, it’s not bad-to-good, it is such a work in progress. Even when you make strides and start to get to a better place, you can backslide a lot. So the tower is who he is, and the tower is 7/9ths love for his friends, and 1/9th hope, but there’s still a percentage of him that carries everything from the past, and knows that he should, and knows that he should not go back to where he was. And the way to do that is not to say everything is rainbows, but to remember it. The tower is just like an extension of who he is. He’s never going to forget the past, and he’s never going to be like, I’m good, or I’ve turned a corner. He should remember the past, and he should do better, always.”

Does Veth still believe it’s possible to get Molly back? Sam: “Well, she was a person trapped in another body for many years, so has some experience there, and definitely believes that the spirit and soul of Molly is in there and just needs to be unlocked somehow.”

Fan Art of the Week: an amazing group shot by HarpySN!

How are Caleb and Veth dealing with their guilt and fear about being in the middle of this? Sam: “It definitely was a deep conversation that might have repercussions going forward. The problem with all of what we’re doing now is that we don’t have time to deal with our petty problems anymore. It’s all high tension all the time!” Liam: “It’s true; they’re not in control of their situation at all anymore.” Sam: “It’s good to have these check-ins, but it’s not like we can do anything about them. We’re reactive right now.” Liam: “He’s not happy with where they are, but they wouldn’t even be this far if the goblin hadn’t pulled him out of the mud. So part of it is, you saved me from where I was and got me on my feet again, and now it’s disconcerting to see it all just get knocked sideways by something he never could’ve predicted. I think Caleb felt nostalgic for when things were simpler, in a way, for them, when we’re both troubled drifters.”

What was it like to see Gelidon’s return? Liam: “I am the least superstitious person at the table. Ashley’s dice suck.” Sam: “It was fun fighting a dragon!” Liam: “Two massive battles in one episode, neither of which came away with a victory. I guess surviving is a victory.” Sam: “I’d forgotten about the dragon, honestly.” Liam: “I loved it. I was so upset at the idea that we were going to stealth and not get into it.”Sam: “Mercer doesn’t keep a live dragon around and not do something with it. That dragon’s coming back.”

How do Caleb and Veth feel about going to see Essek? Sam: “He can be very helpful, I believe, but as Sam Riegel, a player of D&D, I’m super suspicious. What the fuck is Essek doing up there, so close, now? I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. And I can throw him pretty far because he floats.” Liam: “I 100% agree with you. I do not understand what Essek could bring to what we are going through. I know the audience loves him, I love him too. He’s a really cool character. But he’s fucking toxic. He out of curiosity caused a war between two nations. And Caleb has been changed for the good by the M9 from months of travel with them. Essek has had none of that. Caleb has changed for the good, but not because of people like Essek. Essek is where Caleb came from. We kept the lid on the pot during the whole treaty at sea and it almost all went fucking sideways, and only because we pressed him into a corner. I hope that guy finds some sort of balance and peace for himself, but I do not see how his input here would be helpful. There’s other heavy hitters that I would try to pull in.”

Liam notes that the Cloven Crystal is in the Bag of Holding. Sam: “Do I have Fluffernutter, or is Fluffernutter gone?” Liam: “Nope. 300 pounds of fireworks? Gone. A dead mage, a threshold crest, and fireworks.” Dani: “Your basic essentials.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

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justasimplesinner · 3 years

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Almost forgot about this!

Can I request headcanons of Venom, Carnage and Spawn getting the most sincere, loving kiss and "I love you" from their male s/o.

(Can you even kiss Spawn🤨 I mean I did see some official art of him with a venom mouth, so I guess)

okay, i did my fair share of research about Spawn but that motherfucker has a history so complicated and so detailed i'm not nearly as knowledgeable about him as the other two, so i'm sorry if my take on his character sucks. if ya'll got any tips on how to write him, please share

and, as i promised before, i'm making this request GENDER NEUTRAL fo everyone to enjoy

Venom not knowing how to handle love hcs:

Venom is a simple creature. they take what they want whenever they want, they're not afraid to destroy whatever stands in their path - in short, they're not exactly a good creature. not necessarily bad but not necessarily good either. their life wasn't exactly filled with love and affection. Eddie's might have, but the alien itself finds love a pretty foreign concept. but thry know when they feel love, and it certainly is around you

it's not like it's their first time being kissed. you've kissed them before. they know how it feels to have your lips against theirs, and it feels good. but you've never kissed them like that. you've never looked at them like that, never cupped their face like that, never... never said it out loud. they don't find words nearly as meaningful or powerful as actions, but hearing that from you... it's different. it was different. something changed and it was a good change. it felt like they were truly allowed to feel. you made them feel something. you always did, but not so much. you made them feel guilty, you made them feel happy, sometimes you even made them feel angry, but this time, you made them feel... loved

it takes them a moment to calm down the emotions raging inside them. it's like they didn't know it meant so much but their heart did, their soul did, and they understood the true significance behind your words. they now understood how it felt to be loved. this is something new to them, so don't be surprised if they practically pounce on you, engulf you in their body, lick you all over like an excited puppy. they can't quite handle that feeling yet, so you have to deal with all that

Carnage not knowing how to handle love hcs:

while Venom is a simple creature, Carnage is an even simpler creature. they just don't care. they don't give a shit. they do whatever the fuck they want whenever the fuck they want. they don't give a shit about morals, they don't give a shit about feelings, they don't give a shit about others. and then you made them care. you made them want to do something good. just for you, of course, not for some fucking society. you made them want to protect you, you made them care about someone other than themselves and Cletus, you made them scared for your well-being. and let me tell you, it was fucking hard for them to accept and handle all that

they have no fucking idea what love even is. they heard about it but they laughed at it. they stopped laughing when they met you. you made them scared, you made them feel guilty about some things, you sometimes made them hurt because you didn't accept all their advances (and those advances include but aren't limited to: being gifted dead animals, being randomly picked up and taken to the roof of one of the highest buildings in the city and basically being endangered in at least one way). and if that wasn't love, they didn't know what was. if that burning need to be around you, to be with you wasn't love, then nothing was. but, despite realising that this might've been a deeper feeling than just "tolerating" you, they never really admitted it. they never said it. but most importantly, they never expected you to say it

what you said, what you did, hit them like a ton of bricks. all at once. just like that. three simple words. just a stupid fucking "i love you". and it made their head spin. it made their heart beat faster. you didn't just "tolerate" them either. you didn't put up with their bullshit because you thought you had no choice (although you really didn't), and all that affection you spoiled them with wasn't empty or out of pity or some shit. you looked at them, you saw the true monster that they were, and yet you had it in you to love them. for all they were and weren't, you loved them whole. they won't just let you go after that, you're tied down for life. you're fucking theirs now. and they're going to show you just how much they love you back

Spawn not knowing how to handle love hcs:

Spawn has his experiences with love. well, he has Albert's memories of love, at least. he knows how it feels, and for him it feels meaningless and hurtful. it means pain and disappointment and wasted effort. in the end, it means nothing. he doesn't trust anyone, he doesn't feel for anyone, he doesn't love anyone. anyone but you. you don't bring pain or disappointment. of course, sometimes he hurts because of you and sometimes you hurt because of him, but that's normal. he feels for you, but he wouldn't dare call that feeling love because it'd feel insulting for you. in his eyes, love is nothing good, it's all bitter, no sweet. so he tries not to label that feeling

he recognizes the gestures you do as some from Albert's past, as the gestures he did for his wife and his wife did for him once. and it... scares him. it does. Albert has loved and lost, and he doesn't want to repeat that story. he doesn't want to depend on you, he doesn't want to seek you out, he doesn't want to associate happiness with you, because what if you left? what if you were gone? what would he have then? nothing. but it's too late already. it's too late, and he realises that the second you cup his face so gently. he realises that the second you kiss him, despite him not really being able to kiss you back. he realises that the second you say that wretched word, "love", right to his face. because he realises that he fucking loves you too and it's utterly horrifying

he will be still for a moment, he won't say it back. instead, he'll look at you and ask you why. you will have to make him understand that love doesn't only bring pain and guilt and disappointment, and that love doesn't always end in a disaster. worst part is, he immediately believes you. he doesn't even question it, because he... trusts you. love is trust, and he trusts you, he... loves you. it's terrible but he's never felt better. he's never felt more like he belonged somewhere than when he pressed his forhead to yours and held you close. and in that one moment he decided that, even if it was going to hurt in the end, he wanted to love you like this forever

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lia-jones · 3 years

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Growing Together - Chapter Twenty-Seven - Footsteps

Before you start:

This work is unbeta'd and English is not my first language. I apologize in advance for any mistakes you may find.

Victor sighed in relief as he placed his keys on the plate in the hallway, finally finding himself at home after a terrible day at work. It had been meeting after meeting, barely having time for lunch, his phone ringing off the hook, numerous emails waiting for him when he dared to look at his inbox.

To add insult to injury, his day wasn't exactly over. Victor couldn't wait to lie on his sofa and simply enjoy the evening nursing a glass of brandy with his wife in his arms, but he would have to spend it on his study instead, all alone, to attend a conference call with the team in Paris, who was in a different timezone.

His bad mood was somewhat eased with the aroma of delicious food being cooked, his heart taking solace in the sound of his wife and son's voices bantering in the kitchen. At least he was finally home, he comforted himself. For the time being, he would indulge in a hot relaxing shower and a nice dinner with his family.

Owen was always the first to notice when Victor or Andrea arrived, and as usual, he was the first to greet him, running to his arms. Although Victor had been feeling back pain pretty much all day, a customary symptom when he was overly stressed, such was immediately forgotten the moment he had his son in his arms. With heartfelt laughter, Victor threw the boy in the air, having him land safely in his arms with a very tight hug. And just like magic, Victor immediately felt better. His family was all he needed to recover from that awful day and get back on his feet to face another battle.

"What is your mother up to?" Victor asked, playfully disheveling the boy's red curls.

"She's in the kitchen, making dinner. I helped." He beamed at his father. "It's Mom's special fish and shrimp stew."

Bouillabaise, one of his favorites. Comfort food was exactly what he needed. Putting the boy down, Victor moved to the kitchen to find his wife minding the large pot on the stove. He hugged her from behind, his chin leaning on the top of her head.

"Hello, handsome." She turned her head to look at him.

"Hmm." He groaned, burying his face in the nape of her neck, taking comfort in her scent and the softness of her skin.

"Long day?" She reached back to run her fingers through his hair, slightly scratching his scalp, making Victor almost purr in delight.

"Hmmmm." He moaned, too entertained with how she was making him feel to form a proper answer.

"You’re tense." She declared as she reached back to feel his shoulders.

"Just a little tired." His arms circled her waist, as she turned to him.

"Dinner will be ready in 10." She spoke while she continued to work on the knots of his shoulders. "Get yourself out of that suit and have a shower. We got it covered here."

She playfully hit him in the chest, pushing him away from her. As revenge, Victor stole a kiss, a soft sweet kiss that made her sigh when he broke it. Feeling smug with her reaction, he left Andrea to her own devices, heading for the bedroom. A steamy shower definitely sounded very good. Despite Andy's massage, his shoulders still felt sore.

"Owen has some news for us today." His wife declared at the dinner table, winking at their son.

"Let's hear it." Victor lifted his eyes to his son, giving him his undivided attention.

"Next week it will be Career Day at my school." Owen said, excited. "They want us to bring one of our parents to class for Show and Tell, to explain to our classmates what they do for a job."

"What an excellent initiative." Victor nodded in approval, reaching for his glass of wine. "You could ask your mother, she will have a lot to talk about, between her study and LCG."

Owen didn't reply, looking down instead.

"I'm not the only option on the table here." His wife intervened. "You could go."

"Nonsense, you are clearly the best option." Victor retorted. "You could bring the GESA award to show the kids, talk about the study, your work at LCG, how your ideas may change the economy as we know it. Besides, you are practically their size. I bet they will find that both amusing and inspiring." He teased.

His wife was glaring at him, probably not happy with his witty remark.

"I think your mother should go, Owen." Victor concluded, trying to diffuse the tension his joke caused. "I'm sure she will do an excellent job."

"Would you mind coming, Mom?" Owen mumbled, looking down.

"Of course I wouldn't, Bug. It will be my pleasure." She caressed the boy's hair lovingly, a hint of sadness in her smile.

Victor watched both of them, somewhat intrigued. Why were both so morose? Weren't they happy with his suggestion?

"May I be excused?" Owen placed his napkin on the table. "I need to feed my ants."

"You may." Victor smiled. "By the way, how is the colony going?"

"Well." Owen left the kitchen without any other word.

Victor furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. When it came to his ant colony, Owen was usually a lot more talkative.

"What's the matter with him?" He almost whispered to his wife. "Did something else happen at school?"

"You are a clueless idiot." Andrea threw at him, irritated.

"What!? Why? What did I do?"

"Don't you think that if he wanted me to go, he would have asked me already?" She scolded him. "He wanted to invite you, and you shot him down before he had a chance."

"Me? You are obviously the best choice, why would he want me?"

"Because you are his father, you big moron!" She almost yelled, carefully adjusting her tone after. "Look, you are his father figure, his male example, the one that he looks up to. He never really had anything like that before. This is important for him, he finally has a father he can be proud of. Basically, he wants to show you off to his friends. God only knows why, you’re an idiot in a suit."

For a brief moment, Victor recalled the moment he sought out for his father's attention and approval, only to be met with closed doors and reprimands on how children shouldn’t waste an adult's time with trivialities. He remembered how much it hurt him to be ignored, to not be important, to be treated like a nuisance. Victor refused to let his son go through the same thing, but most importantly, he refused to be the one making Owen feel like that.

"I see."

"Finally. Now go fix it." She urged.

He found the boy sitting with his legs crossed on the floor, staring absentmindedly at his ant farm. He could see himself at that very same age, and almost guess what was going through his son's mind. Owen was probably blaming himself for not being interesting enough, trying to find a way to make his father notice him.

Victor sat silently on the bed, waiting for Owen to acknowledge his presence. The boy looked at him with sad brown eyes, deep and dark, making the freckles on his nose stand out.

"Is it bedtime yet?" Owen asked, getting up from the floor.

"No, I just wanted to have a word with you."

"Am I in trouble?"

"Do we only talk when you're in trouble?" Victor couldn't help but feel slightly offended. "Sit beside me."

Owen obeyed, sitting next to his father, an expectant look on his face. Victor took a moment to think about how he would approach the subject. He couldn't tell the boy about the conversation he just had with his mother.

"Maybe we made a hasty decision regarding who is coming to Career Day."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I did say your mother was the best choice. However, after careful consideration, I think I may be a very interesting choice as well. I mean, I know most of your friends from playing soccer in the park, I'm fairly popular already. One could even say I'm... cool."

"You want to go?"

"That is for you to decide. But I would be honored if you’d take me."

"I was going to ask you." Owen confessed. "I even asked Mom if that would hurt her feelings, and she said she would be happy if I chose you."

"Why didn't you say so, then?"

"Because I know you are very busy, especially now that you are opening that new business in France. I overheard Mom scolding you the other day for not getting enough sleep. I thought you were saying Mom could go because you were too tired. And if you are too tired, it's selfish of me to ask."

Victor smiled at the little boy as he pulled him into his lap. He was barely five, and he could be so considerate. He playfully poked his little freckled nose.

"Even if that was the case, even if I was too tired, I would still go. You know why?"

The boy shook his head.

"Because I love you." Victor replied in a soft voice. "You are my son, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

Small arms wrapped around Victor's neck in a tight hug. And the sweetest voice spoke the sweetest words.

"I love you too, Dad. Thank you for doing this, it will be so cool!” He jumped excitedly. “I can already imagine what my classmates will say about the cool things you do at work! Do you know what you will bring to your presentation? Megan's father is a trainer at the zoo, she says he may bring a parrot!"

Victor's stomach turned cold. Only at that moment did he realize what he truly agreed on.

The task sounded fairly simple: to explain his job to a room full of five-year-olds. It turned out, it was a lot harder than he expected.

His job entailed many complicated concepts, like risk assessment and profit analysis, and had big words like enterprise value, equity, and horizontal integration. Those things were already hard enough to explain to a child, but worse than that, they were boring. He had to make his job look interesting, and although it would be fairly easy to seduce an adult by showing profit, children didn't respond to money. He had to make it entertaining, and simple. Yet, he had no idea how. Nothing about his job would seem entertaining to a child.

But then one day, while running, he recalled his Economics teacher’s words from one of his lectures: Economy has existed since primitive times, where things were much simpler, and an economic transaction meant trading meat for animal skin or a cutting tool. The act of trading baseball cards during recess could be considered an economic transaction. To explain it, he would just have to trade the fancy terms for things children could relate to.

Finally, he had a plan. A good one. That didn't mean he wasn't nervous.

“Do you want to call Mom and tell her to come instead?” The boy asked from the backseat as they were driving to school.

“What? No, I’m fine.” Victor gripped the wheel tighter, trying to steady himself.

“Are you sure?” Victor saw his boy frown from the rearview mirror. “You look like you have a tummy ache.”

Did he? He immediately relaxed his face, trying to remain expressionless.

“Mom told me you would be like this.” Owen smiled with a knowing look. “She told me to tell you that you just need to use the charm you used on her.”

Yes, Victor could do that, he had some good moments with Andrea. Well, apart from the interview, and when her car broke down, with the heavy rain and... nipples. And being so embarrassed he could barely speak. The memory only made him more nervous.

He marched bravely into school with a box full of containers with cherries and a bag full of lollipops. Owen was exhilarated to have his father with him, jumping happily in the halls, showing him every piece of art he had made that was on display. Victor, on the other hand, was sweating from nervousness, hoping the AC in Owen's classroom was freezing cold. The teacher jumped on the spot when she saw him.

“Mr. Lee?” She came to him hurriedly, looking puzzled when she saw Victor place the containers in one of the empty desks. “The Principal didn’t tell me you were visiting. By the way, where is he? Are you here unattended? Is this about a fund or something? How can I help you?”

“I’m here for Career Day. We still haven’t had the pleasure to meet.” Victor extended his hand to the teacher. “I’m Victor Lee, Owen’s father.”

“Owen, you didn’t tell me your father was Victor Lee!” She looked down on the boy, flushed.

“I told you my father was a CEO.” Owen quipped, frowning slightly.

“Well, still, how would I know it was Victor Lee?”

“My name is Owen Lee.”

The teacher fanned herself, eyeing Victor with a weird smile.

“Mr. Lee, I know that our installations aren’t quite what you are used to, but I hope you do feel welcome.”

“I’m sure they will do perfectly, thank you.”

Victor was wrong. The chairs were too small for an adult, especially one of his stature. However, standing up was also not an option, as he would be beside Owen and he would block the view, so he had no choice but to sit on the tiny chair, with his legs awkwardly crossed, looking like an idiot.

Megan's father was the first, and he did bring the parrot, making him do all kinds of tricks. The children and the teacher laughed at the animal's shenanigans, and Victor couldn't help but feel disheartened, knowing this presentation would be very hard to top.

Then came Caleb's mother, who was a physician. She taught the kids the many functions of the main organs in the human body, bringing with her a kidney in a jar. The class was rowdy as they passed the jar around, amazed to be able to see a real kidney, like the ones they had in their very small bodies.

"Next we have Owen's father, Mr. Lee, a very successful entrepreneur in Loveland. He will talk about his job as a CEO of an investment company." The teacher announced.

Victor faced the twenty children in front of him, who were looking at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to start. In almost 15 years of being a CEO, he had attended important meetings with notorious businessmen, oil tycoons, rulers and politicians. He had dinner meetings with the mafia and other shady characters, people that held incredible power and precious information, but could also kill him without a second thought.

He could conclude, without a shadow of a doubt, that children were scarier.

For a second he wished he could be like Andrea. She would know what to do. She would probably greet the children with a goofy gesture, making them all laugh. She was fun and witty, she knew what children liked. Victor paused, remembering his wife’s words through his son’s mouth. He could be funny too, he always made her laugh, it had become one of his favorite hobbies. Maybe she was right. Maybe he could do this. With a new sense of confidence, and with a side note to thank his wife for her encouraging words, Victor approached his audience.

“Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen.” He started, ceremoniously. “First of all, I would like to thank you for your time and attention, and the honor of your invitation. My name is Victor Lee, and I’m the CEO of Loveland Financial Group.”

Encouraged by their teacher, all the children applauded.

“Before I begin to explain exactly what I do, let me start with a question. Who knows what an investor does?”

All the children were quiet until a little girl spoke.

“Is it someone who goes to the market and screams ‘Buy! Buy!’ and ‘Sell! Sell!’?

“You mean the stock market?” Victor chuckled. “Yes, it can be, although there are many kinds of investments. At LFG, what we do is help companies grow by lending them money, which they pay us, but with interest. Does anyone know what interest is?”

Many kids raised their hands.

“Is it when things aren’t boring? Like, they are interesting?”

“Ha. No.” Victor forgot that the words would have a different meaning to five-year-olds. “For example, someone asks LFG for ten dollars. The company lends it but asks in return for eleven dollars. That extra dollar is the interest.”

“That’s not very nice.” A freckled boy raised his hand. “Sharing is caring.”

Victor felt himself blush slightly. The boy had made a perfectly logical remark that unfortunately didn’t fit in the financial world. And he didn’t have the faintest clue on how he could explain it better.

“It is nice, because my dad doesn’t just give the money. My mom and dad work with the companies to help them grow, and they get to keep the tools she gives them forever. My dad gives them the money and asks for more because he also helps them get better.” Owen chimed in, basically saving him. Although it wasn’t exactly accurate, it wasn’t wrong either. Victor couldn’t be more proud.

“That is correct and beautifully worded, Owen, thank you.” He smiled at his boy. “Now, to fully understand the kind of work that a CEO of an investment company does, I would like to invite you all to be, for ten minutes, CEOs.” He ceremoniously declared. “Owen, could you help distribute the boxes and the candy to your friends?”

Owen quickly obliged, and in a moment, all the kids had with them a box of cherries and a lollipop.

“Ok, imagine you are the CEO of an investment company-”

“What is the company called?” The freckled boy asked again. Victor suppressed a sigh of exasperation.

“Whatever you want to call it. It’s your company.”

“Can I call it Unicorn?” A little girl raised her hand.

“Yes, you can. Now…”

“Can I call it Wayne Enterprises? Do you think I could be Batman?”

Victor’s memory took another trip down memory lane, to the day his wife blackmailed him into making that ridiculous Batman recording. He felt his cheeks getting slightly warmer. Luckily, the teacher intervened.

“Alright class, it’s nice to see you this excited but we need to let Mr. Lee speak, alright?”

“Thank you. So, as I was saying, imagine you are in a meeting, as CEOs, and two different companies are asking for investment: a lollipop factory and an orchard that grows cherries. You can pick only one. Which one would you pick? Place your hand on your choice.”

Every single child, except for one, held their lollipops. He turned to the girl that picked the cherries.

“Interesting choice. Why would you invest in the cherry producer?”

“Because I want to invest in a company that makes a lot of money. Cherries are more expensive than lollipops.”

Victor smiled at her insightfulness. She was probably a CEO in the making.

“True, but cherries only grow in the spring, that’s why they are more expensive. The candy factory can make lollipops all year.” He retorted. “You still think the orchard makes more money than the candy factory?”

“Yes, because my mom will let me have cherries but won’t buy me candy.” A boy chimed in, and other children agreed.

“Demand, very good, we need to see what sells best. What else would you use to make a decision?” Victor was excited, watching the proverbial wheels turn in their little heads. “What does it take to produce each of the products?”

“You need a factory to make lollipops. In an orchard, you just need to water the trees.”

“Very well, and you need sugar, and flavors and other ingredients, while in the cherries’ case, is given for free by nature. So, have we decided on the orchard?”

“Yes!” They screamed in unison.

“Seems like we have a unanimous decision. And for the record, what we just did here is a very simplistic version of a risk assessment, a study every investor needs to make to know if the investment is worthwhile. Of course, there are other things I do as a CEO, but I can’t possibly describe them in such a short time.” He paused for a moment, all the children’s eyes on him. “Does anyone have any questions before we finish?”

“Are all CEOs men?” A girl asked from the back.

“Of course not. Women can be CEOs too, my wife is a CEO from a different company. And if you ask me, she’s more successful than I am.” He made a silly face, and all the children laughed.

He couldn’t believe it was going so well.

“Anything else?”

“My father says businessmen are dicks in a suit.” A boy declared, while his father looked like he was close to infarction.

“Timothy!” The teacher chastised.

“Well, I can tell you that can definitely be true in some cases.” Victor spoke wholeheartedly. “In any area, you can find good and bad professionals. But let me tell you all about the three qualities I feel a good CEO should have.” Victor raised his hand, lifting his fingers as he spoke. “Intelligence, resilience, and responsibility. Intelligence because we need to know where we stand at all times and make quick decisions, and they better be the right ones, or else we can lose our business. Resilience because the financial world is a fluctuating one, and everything may change in a blink of an eye. We must be resilient enough to embrace the change, and make it work in our favor. And lastly, responsibility, because as we invest, we are not only dealing with our money or a faceless company. We can change the world with our choices, allowing technology, health, and education to evolve so there is improvement in everyone’s lives. I personally invest only in companies where employees are treated with fairness, and environmental rules are respected. We need to put the power we hold to good use and make this world a better place. If we all understand the smallest of our actions can impact the world tremendously, I’m sure miracles will happen.”

“Well, that was brilliantly said.” The teacher cleared her throat, starting to clap. “A big applause to Mr. Lee, thank you for being with us today.”

Victor returned to the car with a smug smile on his face, and a sense of accomplishment he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He had done well, he had honored his son and made him happy. However, as he started the car to leave, he saw his son through the rearview mirror, lost in thought.

“Everything ok back there?” He frowned at the mirror. “Is there something upsetting you?”

“No, I’m ok.” The boy looked up.

“You’re happy?”

“Yes.” The boy smiled.

“I think the presentation went well.” Victor started the car. “Your friends seemed to like it.”

“Yes, it was fun! And we had candy and cherries as a snack, none of the other parents brought snacks.”

Victor smirked, adding that point to his mental scoreboard.

“So why the long face?”

Owen seemed to momentaneously return to his thoughts before he answered Victor’s question.

“I don’t think I want to be an entomologist anymore.”

Victor gave his son a knowing smile.

“I knew the parrot would interest you.”

“No, parrots are dumb!” Owen seemed slightly offended. “I want to be a CEO, just like you.”

Victor could remember himself, at the same age, saying the same thing to his father, to get his approval.

“Owen, you can be whatever you want to be. I will still support you, no matter what you decide.”

“Then you’ll teach me?”

Victor smiled widely, his heart filled with pride.

“I will teach you everything I know.” He was about to offer the keys to his kingdom, but then remembered how he refused the same from his father, wanting to make his own path.

The epiphany came suddenly, clearing his vision and the fear he couldn’t shake from his heart: he had traveled a different road from his father in so many ways. He was a present and loving husband, with a healthy relationship with Andrea. And he was a present and loving partner, caring and supporting his son in every step of his life.

And that meant so much more than being a powerful CEO. Those were the footsteps he wanted his son to follow. The ones that led to happiness.

Author's Note: This project has been going for a year now (it started in February 2020) and it won't be over any time soon, so I would like to ask you, as much as possible, for your support, because we still have a very long way to go. So, if you enjoy the work, don't forget to comment and reblog. It gives it traction and enables other people to learn about it, and for me to get more excited about what I do.

#victor mldd #mlqc victor #love and producer fanfic #li zeyan #Growing Pains - Series #growingtogether #victor x oc #dad victor

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literallymechanical · 3 years

Note

Well, are you going to fill us in on "why we are morally obligated as a species to some day blow up the Earth"? Sounds like a supervillain backstory

(This was originally inspired by qntm’s fantastic satirical essay, “To Destroy The Earth,” but I disagree with him on a few key points. I highly recommend checking out qntm’s fiction, particularly Ra, Fine Structure, and There Is No Antimemetics Division. Disclaimer: this is a thought experiment, I’m not actually going to destroy the Earth.)

Let us begin with this: you want to destroy the Earth.

That’s not a question or an instruction, that’s an axiom. A fundamental truth from which a logical system is built. It’s your Statement Zero, the singular concept from which the rest of these instructions are built: you want to destroy the Earth. You might not know why, and you certainly don’t know how. Trust me, you really don’t know how. Take all of your cultural knowledge of Death Stars and hyperspace construction crews and throw it out the window, because it’s not worth a clipped penny.

That being said, here are a few reasons to somebody might want to destroy the Earth:

You want to wipe out humanity

You want to wipe out some other species

General misanthropy

It’s obstructing your view of the Moon.

You want us to colonize Mars or Venus, and you figure this is the best way to get everybody on board.

These are bad reasons to destroy the Earth. If any of these sentiments resonate with you, please stop reading this essay. This isn’t for you.

Anyway, let's put a pin in the “why” for now. We'll get to it later. Let's tackle the "how" first.

To destroy the Earth, you need a Plan, with a capital P.

The shape of the Plan is extremely simple to define, much simpler than the relatively detailed (and, in my opinion, fragile) instructions others have outlined. It has just two parts.

Figure out how to destroy the Earth. This is defined as the Earth not being there when you're done—any chump with nuclear weapons can scour the Earth, you're trying to make the entire thing go away.

Destroy the Earth.

However, a lot of shapes are simple to define, but hard to draw. The Mandelbrot set can be defined by a single equation and a couple of instructions, but the result is a fractal. This Plan will be fractally intricate as well. We certainly can’t draw up the full Plan right now. We can barely even begin to draw the outline. Let’s take a quick stab at it anyway.

First of all, I don’t know how to destroy the Earth. We can speculate a bit, but we certainly can’t choose a method yet—you'll likely need multiple redundant strategies anyway. “Blow it up” is one idea, but the gravitational binding energy of the Earth is about 2*10^32 joules, and there is no conceivable technology that can handle that sort of power right now. “Launch bits of it into space one by one until there’s nothing left” sounds promising, though it will take a while. “Mess with its orbit until it’s close enough to the Sun’s Roche limit to get ripped to shreds” is a fun idea. Or maybe in the next million years, you'll come up with a better way.

The most important part of that statement is “the next million years.” It will take a very long time to figure this one out. A million years is a pretty good estimate, though if you'll proactive it might take as little as a couple hundred thousand.

That brings us to the hardest part of the Plan: making sure the Plan survives a million years.

Right now, you're in a precarious position. Climate change probably won’t entirely wipe us out, but it will likely disrupt civilization enough that the Plan will be lost. Nuclear war might actually cause us to go extinct. A killer asteroid certainly would. Therefore, the first thing the Plan needs to do is save the world. Reverse climate change, or at least halt it. Nuclear disarmament. Peace, or as close as we can get to it. Medicine, spaceflight, art, prosperity, happiness, survival—all part of the Plan.

Colonizing other planets, and eventually other solar systems, is also in the Plan. Not just for a backup in case of killer meteor, but also because when you do destroy the Earth, you’ll need somewhere to stand. Remember, you're not trying to wipe out humanity here! Just destroy a planet. This will be tricky. It’s very likely that there’s no such thing as faster-than-light travel, so it will take a while to spread across the galaxy. This might take up the bulk of the million-year timeline.

(Quick note: you may be tempted to conquer the Earth, or set yourself up as some sort of galaxy-spanning God-Ruler. In my personal opinion, this is a bad idea. Right now, empires typically last a couple hundred years before falling. Do you think it would be easier to hold on to multiple planets than just a bit of land around the Mediterranean? I believe that it’s best to have your Plan set up a system where people can survive and thrive without needing you.)

But as tricky as interstellar colonization may be, it’s still the easy part. The hard part is that the entire Plan has to reconstruct itself from scratch if everything goes wrong.

The Plan has to be the most massively redundant, self-repairing, and robust project humanity has ever undertaken, or will ever undertake. The Plan needs to be able to resurrect our entire species on its own, without human intervention, in case something goes wrong (e.g. nuclear war) and we all get wiped out. Here’s one idea: computerize the Humanity Reboot Protocol, stamp the code onto platinum bricks, launch a million copies into deep space and onto every rocky body in the solar system, and have it check back in every once in a while. You can have that one for free.

The Plan also needs to have a way to re-motivate humanity to destroy the Earth. Maybe that’s as simple as posting it to tumblr and having a lot of people read it, but it will probably be a bit more complicated. Crucially, the Plan does not have to be visible. Nobody actually needs to know that the Plan exists, if you’re clever enough. You might be tempted to turn it into a religion, but religions change and die. Remember: the Plan has to eventually pop off, no matter what we do to ourselves.

The Plan is now its own entity, both distinct from and deeply intertwined with humanity.

(As a side note, this begs the question: What if the Plan is already in effect? If it’s a good Plan, we wouldn’t be able to tell. What if some sufficiently motivated creature set things into motion ten thousand or a hundred thousand or a million years ago? Food for thought.)

Alright. So, enough time has passed, and you’ve figured out how to destroy the Earth. I use “you” loosely at this point. Maybe, against all odds, you’ve figured out immortality, or mind-uploading, cloning, whatever. More likely, you’ve been dust for a million years. That’s not important. Regardless, “you” are standing on Mars or wherever and your metaphorical finger is hovering a metaphorical big red button marked “DESTROY THE EARTH.” Step 2 of the Plan.

Let’s pause here and go back to that pin from before: Why? Why are you destroying the Earth?

Well, a lot of reasons. If I were doing this, my Plan would include abandoning the Earth for other star systems and setting it up as some sort of museum. I'd take all the biosphere with me, of course, and make better Earths elsewhere. Imagine a hundred Earths, each of which are perfect nature preserves, or more! Imagine finding a good silica-heavy planet, turning it into molten glass, and sculpting it into something beautiful. Imagine spelling your name in an Oort cloud. Imagine an ocean planet full of whales.

Imagine coming back to a deserted G-type solar system with a few dusty rocks, an asteroid belt, and a handful of gas giants. Imagine breaking them down to make raw materials for a Dyson sphere.

Bam! Earth destroyed! You did it!

Maybe a paleontologist somewhere will figure out that this might be the planet where we first evolved, and it would be nice to put it somewhere safe. Hey, does that count as destroying the Earth? Where the Earth once was, there is now empty space. No more Earth! That sounds pretty destroyed to me. Bam! Earth destroyed! You did it!

Maybe your Plan is different, and the Earth is still inhabited. For what it’s worth, I hope you’ve made it a paradise, one of a thousand Edens across the galaxy. It would be a shame to blow it up… but if Sol-3 is just one paradise among many, what makes it significant? “Earth” is our homeworld, but now there are a thousand homeworlds, so what is “Earth?” What makes this one rock special? Nothing! You’ve successfully destroyed the entire concept of “Earth.” That might be harder than blowing up a planet! Well done! You did it!

In conclusion, here is why I say it’s a moral imperative to destroy the Earth:

Eventually, a baby bird has to leave the nest. Somebody needs to be the mom bird who lures her chicks off the edge, and it might as well be me.

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wolfish-trickster · 3 years

Text

Advent kisses

24/24

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 2 796 (I regret nothing)

Summary: Instead of chocolates, kisses are going to be recieved everyday until Christmas.

Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @modestlyabsurd @winterfrostsarmy @spaceyempress @thefridgeismybestie @laramoonworld @birdgirl90 @nickkie1129 @loki-yoursaviourishere @hard-to-be-the-bard

Y/N POV

The warm water around you felt nice. You were positive you could fall asleep, here in your tub surrounded by soap bubbles. After Loki's yesterday visit and cuddling no cramps came back to you. That doesn't mean you can't spoil yourself with a nice hot bubbly bath first thing in the morning.

Today was the day. The day you'll be honest with him.

Or not.

Your insides hurt from anxiety and fear. What if all those kisses and hugs were his way of warming up to the human contact? What if he sees you as just a cuddle buddy and things will get weird between you two?

'Stop it Y/N, it's going to be okay. You'll be okay. You got plenty of time to calm down.'

You stood up from your warm bath and wrapped yourself in even warmer towel. Still wrapped in it you looked through dresses you brought with you spread out on your bed.

You got a soft creamy one, elegant black one, forrest green and kinda extravagant one and the simple but pretty one with different blue hues with black fluff around the neckline.

At first you wanted to go for the green one. But after further thought you chose the blue one. You're not going to dress yourself in his chosen colour. You'll be wearing the colour he was born in, the one he hated and was affraid to show for god knows how long, until he had accepted himself. You hoped his sharp mind will understand.

You hung the blue dress in your bathroom for later and threw on a simple plain sweater and jeans. The plan for today was to finish little details and make food for the evening.

Everyone has placed the wrapped gifts under the tree. This year was purely your decision. No secret Santa. You guys always argued afterwards, for whatever reason.

You being you bought little meaningful gifts for everyone (except Laura and kids, you didn't expect them to spend Christmas with the Avengers, but you had a feeling Clint will spoil them rotten, so it's fine). You started placing all the colourful boxes you brought among others under the tree. All but one. The one you wanted to give Loki in private was still hidden under your bed. You still didn't know how you're going to do it. Today or tomorrow? Tomorrow will be a chaos with gifts and you two won't get any privacy. So you settled for today, in the evening.

You were excited, but also scared. 'Is there even a name for this emotion?'

Loki POV

Loki just got from the shower. He was drying and brushing his hair. He knew he had to look good in the evening and not right now, but he wanted to look as charming as ever. For you.

Tony told all boys to specifically wear white shirt and black pants, nothing else. Loki was torn between wearing clothes from his or your realm. He looked best in his Asgardian royal attire, but he wanted to look like he was from your home when he confesses his love to you. Decisions...

He'll leave them for later. Right now all he wants is you in his arms, your head on his chest, the smell of your hair in his nose. He dressed himself in his casual asgardian clothes and went looking for you.

He checked your room first, just in case your body was beating you up from the inside like yesterday. Thankfully not. The second place he checked was the living room.

He found you there. Kneeling on the floor, placing gifts under decorated branches of the giant tree.

Quiet as a mouse he crept towards you. He saw his chance when you stilled after placing the last present. As if you were thinking about something important. He quickly picked you up by your hips and spinned you around. Your startled scream turned into laughter when you realized it was only him.

He stopped spinning and held you close to him, your back to his chest. "Hehe, I'm so sorry darling, but I couldn't help myself. Your laugh is so adorable and I wanted to hear it."

You turned around in his arms and put your own around him. "I forgive you trickster, but only because it's Christmas," you winked at him.

He hugged you even closer, inhaling the scent of you. "Merry Christmas my darling," he whispered against the top of your head.

Y/N POV

You felt his hot breath on the crown of your head and smiled into his chest. His hearbeat was fast, still from the little spinning stunt he pulled, you assumed. You loved these hugs. If he didn't feel the same way and rejected your romantic feelings, would he still hug you like this? Would he hug you at all?

Your chest hurt. You can't lose him. Not today. Not ever. 'I guess I'll be satisfied with only friendship for the rest of my life, rather than risking losing this.'

You pulled away from him far enough to still hug him but also to look him into eyes. "Have you put gifts under the tree yet?"

Loki looked at you seriously. "Darling, do you even know me?" he snapped his fingers and a giant green box with yellow bow appeared next to both of you.

"Wow, who's that for?"

"Everyone. I put all of it in one box. To save the paper."

"And what's 'all of it' ?"

He smirked. "A trophy that says 'you're not as annoying as I thought you were'."

You started laughing uncontrollably. That's so Loki thing to do. Even though it hurt a little knowing this is what you're gonna get from him. And as always, your coping mechanism tried to turn something sad into a joke. "At least I'll have a trophy for something, and I didn't even have to try."

"You're not getting a trophy."

"Then what, a medal?"

He moved your hair out of your face and caressed your cheek. "No my darling, you'll recieve a much more meaningful gift."

You opened your mouth to ask, but he shut you up with a single finger on your lips. "I can't tell you, it's a surprise."

You pouted against his finger. "No pouting my dear, patience brings roses."

You pulled his finger away from your lips. "So another ice rose? Good. I like the one you gave me. Did you know it's practically imposible to melt it? I've accidently left it inside yesterday and guess what? Not a puddle."

Loki POV

"-and guess what? Not a puddle."

Can his ice power really be that strong to keep it frozen the whole night? In a warm house? He'll think about it later. "No. And stop being curious. You'll find all out in the right time."

You both stood there. Gazing into eachothers' eyes. Into eachothers' souls. After a while you spoke up. "I think I'll go into the kitchen. To help them with- ahhh- whatever they're doing."

"Oh, okay then," he reliesed you from his embrace. "I have to go and check up on something too. So... eeehh, I'll see you later?"

You smiled warmly at him as you moved towards the kitchen. "Yeah, see you later."

Loki sat down on the couch. Why did you flee so suddenly? He doesn't get it. Human emotions are so complicated. So are asgardians'. Emotions overall are complicated mess.

He sighed and wondered around the place. What else could he do? There were still hours until the official celebration began.

Grunts and huffs were coming from the gym as Loki was passing by. He peeked in and saw his brother. Working out as always. How better kill some time than with a little chat with his beloved brother?

"Hi Thor."

Thor put down those weights he was lifting. "Oh, hello Loki. Blessed Yuletide."

"You too. When are we going to celebrate it properly? It's unlike you to left out getting drunk on that festival," Loki pointed out as he sat on a nearby bench press.

"Hard to tell. Maybe after all of the 'Chistmas' is over," he wiped his sweaty face with a towel.

"What are you doing here. Why are torturing yourself like this? Isn't this day supposed to be a day of relaxation? Dedicated to spend meaningful time with your loved ones?"

"Jane called. She'll come today, I have to look my best for her. And what are YOU doing here? Aren't YOU supposed to be with your loved one?" he asked with a knowing smirk.

"I'm with you, am I not?" his voice dripped with sarcasm.

Thor rolled his eyes. "We both know I didn't mean it like that. What are you going to give her? Jewelry? A book?"

"She's not shallow. My gift for her tells her I know her. That I view her as a wonderful person she is. I think- no I know I'll give it to her today. And I'll tell her how I feel. Do you think she feels the same?"

Thor put a reassuring hand on Loki's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. You said it yourself. She's a wonderful person."

"Thank you, brother," Loki felt like a teenage boy again. When he and Thor used to be so much closer. When they were telling eachother about a girl they liked and gave eachother advices. He missed those times, when it was simpler.

"Go take a shower or you'll scare Jane away from you," he told Thor before he got too sentimental.

Thor playfully smacked his Loki's head. "You're not the boss of me," 'you'll still obey my comand as if I was' Loki thought.

And yes, Thor did take a shower.

Loki was looking himself over in his mirror. Black hair slicked back, white (too tight) shirt on, Asgardian trousers and boots as well. He came to a compromise.

He took the box containing your present out of his pocket dimension and nervously played with it. The moment he waited for the whole month was nearing. His palms got sweaty.

'Breathe. Just breathe. Everything will be alright,' he told himself as he put the wrapped box back into the pocket dimension and exited his room.

The christmas music got louder and louder as he approached the living room. Everyone was there. Having fun with kids, drinking or talking and having a good time. His eyes were searching for you. With dimmed lights and the only light source being the tree it was harder than he expected. Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Loki smiled. He knew exactly whose fingers were this gentle. He turned around. "Took you long enough my lo-" he lost his abilty to speak. It rarely happens, but you made it happen with how you looked.

One word: gorgeous. Your hair was adorned with a blue headband with two big white snowflakes on the left side. It matched your blue dress and blue glittery high heels. The black fluff went from your neckline around your shoulders. A red necklace hung on your neck, completing the look of an ice goddess. With this colour scheme you almost looked like-

Jotun. Like him.

You chuckled. "What? Cat got your tongue?"

Loki blinket few times to ground him in reality. "I-I-I, wow. You look absolutely magnificent."

Y/N POV

Magnificent? That's more than you could ever hope for!

You felt your cheeks heating up as you spoke. "Thank you. I tried my best to look good tonight," 'for you'.

"You certainly achieved it," the music in the background suddenly changed from a happy melody to slow and romantic one. As if someone-

Loki outstretched his hand towards you. "May I have this dance?"

"Why not?" you smiled at him and let him lead you to an empty spot in the room.

Loki hugged you by your ways with both hands, your arms snaked around his neck and started swaying to the tune.

More pairs soon joined you. You were thanking all gods no one was teasing you two. You felt how he was rubbing his fingers behind you. Was he nervous? Why?

He leaned down and whispered into your ear. "Darling, what do you say we get ourselves some privacy after this song ends?"

Now you were the nervous one. "O-okay."

Loki hummed and rested his chin on top of your head. "Wonderful."

The end of the song came. A new faster melody resonated from speakers. Loki took your hand and started walking towards his room. What is he planning?

He shut the door after you. He didn't turm on lights, just the small one on his bedside table, giving the whole room a cozy atmosphere.

He took your hands and looked into your eyes. "My lovely Y/N. There's something I wanted to tell you for a while now. I never expected to meet someone like you in this team. Someone so strong, graceful, passionate and sweet. You've caught my attention from the very first time you laughed at one of my jokes and it only grew after you showed your interest in literature, just like me. Now I have to be honest. You see I had this plan: give you one kiss everyday from first of december to Christmas Eve. My love for you only grew with each passing moment we spent together. I love you Y/N. I love you for your kindness, your gentleness, your intelligent mind. Please, allow me to give you this," he placed a neatly wrapped box into your palm. With shaking fingers you opened it. Inside sat a lovely green candle. It smelled like pine tree, snow and leather. It smelled like Loki!

Tears gathered in your eyes as he continued. "If you don't return my feelings, it's okay. I won't preassure you. I just want to let you know I'm always here for you. Anything you need, I'll be there to help you. And if your mind tortures you, this candle will remind you you're not alone. I put a charm on it, no matter how long it burns, the wax will not recede," you were full on crying now. How can he be so.... this? You don't even know how to name it.

Loki noticed your tears, cupped your cheeks and started wiping them away. "My love, forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you."

You shook your head. "It's not like that. I wanted to tell you too, but I got so scared you'll reject me. I love you too Loki. I love you so much," you threw yourself into him, face hiding in the crook of his neck.

His own head dipped into ypur shoulder and his arms held you close to him as he whispered 'I love you' one more time.

"I got you a gift too, I'll go get it," he didn't let you.

Hugging you even closer he murmured into your skin. "Tell me where it is."

"Under my bed," with a snap of his fingers it appeared in your hands.

You unwillingly pushed him off of you and gave him his present. His long fingers tore the wrapping paper apart to reveal a cardboards box.

You spoke up as he opened it. "So you could look cool during storms."

He pulled out brand new headphones. Custom made, with small golden horns, just like his helmet. One on each side of the earpiece.

"It's not as meaningful as yours, but-"

"I love it. It's amazing, thank you," he pulled you into another deep hug.

You heard little cracking above you. You pulled your head away from Loki's chest and looked up. He made an ice mistletoe grow from the ceiling.

"Would you look at that, your infamous murder weapon. Wanna smooch?" you asked in joking tone, however you were dead serious.

"I'd love nothing more," he cupped your cheek, his other hand pulled you close to him.

His lips touched yours, soft and careful, as if he was affraid to break you. You eyes fell shut as you tasted him. Fingers got lost in his hair, pulling him even closer, deepening the kiss. Your tongues dannced together, stroked eachother. The hand on your cheek moved to the back of your neck and you moaned into the kiss.

Eventually you had to part in order to breathe. Your foreheads were touching, Loki's cheekes were flushed, his hair messy from your hands.

He softly pecked your lips again. "I love you, my darling."

"And I love you. Always," and you got lost into another deep kiss.

A/N: thank you all for reading ❤️ I wish you beautiful Christmas and blessed holidays!

#loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #the avengers #christmas fic #fluffy loki #loki fluff #loki (marvel)#fluff

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hb-writes · 3 years

Text

The Firstborns

A Sylvie Bridgerton Story - 1815

Sylvie (OC) is the eldest child of Hugo Bridgerton, the older sister to George (OC), and a cousin raised alongside the infamous Bridgerton brood. Born in-between Daphne and Eloise, Sylvie has made it her mission to delay her season again and again. Will 1815 be her year?

A/N - I’ve read the books and watched the show, so fair warning there are likely spoilers and it’s also likely a mix of both media because my mind honestly didn’t separate them - it just choose what it wants from the books/ tv show.

---

It was often said that elder brothers could be the worst sort of thing to happen to a young woman of marrying age, but Sylvie Bridgerton had three elder male cousins and could rightfully attest to the fact that they could be similarly problematic.

Sylvie supposed they were essentially siblings, the Bridgerton brood labeled tidily from A through H, because she had been raised mostly by their side as an alphabetical outcast, the elder of the two children born to Lord Hugo Bridgerton, left in the care of her Uncle Edmund at her father’s passing, the responsibility then left to her cousin, Anthony, only a year after that. At least that was the way society dictated it.

Sylvie had always been quite certain it was really her Auntie Vi who was in charge of her and her younger brother, George, though. Or more precisely, Sylvie was quite certain that Auntie Vi was in charge of everything, her Viscount of a cousin included.

But as Sylvie sat twiddling her fingers in Anthony’s office for the third time in less than a week, she was starting to question that certainty.

Sylvie had assessed that her cousin looked rather disgruntled, though she supposed Anthony had simply had that look about him for about a week or so now.

“So, are we to have a little chat or…?”

Anthony had ignored his cousin from the very moment after instructing her to take a seat a little over a quarter of an hour before. He focused instead on whatever was keeping him chained to his desk at this time of night, some paperwork regarding the estate and the family finances.

“If not, maybe you’ll allow me to borrow a book to pass the time?” Sylvie gestured to his brimming shelves.

“Sylvia.”

Anthony set down his pen, eyebrow raised as he interlaced his fingers, settling them on top of the papers before him. He was surprised she’d humored his silence for so long, nearly fourteen minutes when he’d expected no more than three to seven.

“Is my given name truly necessary?” she said, allowing only a moment of silence before continuing. “I suppose from that alone I should gather I’m in some sort of proper trouble?”

Anthony only stared at her and then, despite himself, he sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples and rolling his neck.

If anyone thought raising girls was an easy business, they’d clearly never done it themselves. They’d never met Daphne or Eloise or Francesca or Hyacinth Bridgerton. And they’d certainly never met Sylvia.

It still shocked him a bit, the differences between the Bridgerton girls, his younger sisters and his younger cousin. It was impressive, the way they could each vex him in such creative and distinct ways, their ability to bring him to laughter matched equally by their making him wish he had remained an only child, and entirely cousin-less as well.

On some days, Anthony wondered if every Bridgerton below him in age didn’t actually gather in the drawing-room at an agreed-upon hour to arrange a schedule designed solely for agitating him, deciding who would next take a swing and what technique would be employed. It seemed that Sylvie had been assigned extra vexing duties as of late, though that was not entirely surprising to him. She had always seemed to enjoy it a bit more than the others. And she was bloody good at it too.

“Are you ever not in trouble, Sylvia?”

Her eyes longed to roll, his continued insistence on using her full name bringing her the slightest bit of frustration, because despite all of the evidence otherwise, she did prefer when Anthony wasn’t lecturing her. She actually quite enjoyed his company when he wasn’t scolding.

“On those precious few evenings when you actually do go out, or better yet go to your own home, I find myself in a distinct lack of trouble. No one else deems me fit to be scolded, however—”

“However—” Anthony sat up and straightened his jacket. “—I am seemingly required to do so three...or four,” he said, allowing for the chance they’d find themselves in the same situation the following evening, “nights a week, all because you think a little untoward behavior will allow you to put off your season for another year.”

Sylvie was left with her mouth open, her elder cousin’s words an effective silencer and stunner, finally coming straight to the point after the two of them had danced around it for weeks.

“I—”

“Hear precisely what you are saying, my dear cousin, and will stop all this nonsense at once?” Anthony suggested.

“That’s—That’s not what I wanted to say,” she answered.

“No, of course not. I would never dream to expect as much.”

Sylvie took a breath as she considered her options. She wanted to ask for another year of reprieve. That’s what she had planned for, waiting at least another year before subjecting herself to the same torment Daphne had endured only two years prior.

She was still young enough to justify a delay and she’d successfully done so for two years already, citing a need to finish out a few academic endeavors the first year and an ankle injured in a particularly ruthless game of Pall Mall the next, but she hadn’t postured herself correctly for her cousin to be amenable to a conversation on delaying yet again. But then again, Sylvie hadn’t truly postured herself very well for Anthony to be amenable to her requests for nearly a decade by this point.

“But Georgie—”

“You do not need to concern yourself with matters concerning your brother. The boys will be at Eton come the next fall. They’ll be home for the summers. No matter who you marry, you shall always be welcome to visit him here or at Aubrey Hall, and I’m sure George should like to come to visit you as well.”

Sylvie’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she cleared her throat and regained the ability to form proper words. “Actually Anthony, I had expected that Georgie would be living with me.”

Anthony shook his head, sitting up in his chair. “George will be at Eton. He and Gregory will both be at Eton and then—”

“He is my brother,” Sylvie answered. “My responsibility.”

“I think you’ll find that both you and George are both my responsibility. And that responsibility extends to seeing you settled in a comfortable marriage and your brother receiving a proper education before, when he is ready, he also settles into a comfortable marriage.”

“When he’s ready?” Sylvie repeated. “Why is it that you boys get to marry when you’re ready and we young ladies are simply commanded to join the parade when you men determine it’s the proper time? Why do you get to decide everything?”

Anthony could have been honest and told Sylvie that he wanted them all tucked away into the safety of marriage because he didn’t know that he would be around to see to it if there was a delay.

Or he could have spoken to her from firstborn to firstborn, appealing the fellow eldest child he found in his younger cousin, aligning them through their common thread, and insisting that he only did these things because it was what he thought was best for them, same as she did for the younger ones and George especially.

Or he could have been quite frank and informed her that he had no desire to have multiple Bridgerton girls in season at the same time, though the prospect of settling Sylvie, Eloise, and Francesca down all in one go was enticing.

But Anthony didn’t tell her those things. He offered a much simpler explanation, one which he suspected would allot less room for argument on the part of the cousin who was testing his capacity for patience at such a late hour.

“Because I am Viscount, Sylvia.”

Sylvie released a quick breath and turned her face down to focus on her fumbling fingers as she considered it. Anthony had only uttered four simple words, but there was a whole lot of complicated meaning built up behind them.

Because you are Viscount.

And a man.

And I am nothing.

A woman, and therefore, nothing.

Property.

A dowry.

A machine for use of creating an heir.

Meant to be seen and not heard.

Nothing.

She found it all hard to swallow after her upbringing even though she knew Anthony, and the other male Bridgertons, didn’t truly live by those beliefs. But society did. The ton did. And so the second she entered society, it would become reality, in a way.

Sylvie had never before been discounted on account of being female. As a young Bridgerton girl, she had frequently gone out into the fields tagging along behind her older cousins, playing the very same games as the boys, climbing trees and forging streams. Even once they moved to London year-round, Sylvie had retained a certain amount of autonomy.

And though they often went toe to toe, Anthony had always respected Sylvie’s position as George’s older sister, and he’d always acknowledged the importance of the common ground that stood between them, that of the firstborn sibling, affording her an extra measure of respect that he’d not afford to even Benedict in certain matters. It often came out in shared glances across the room, or their lending one another support with simple nods in response to “Right, Sylvie?” or “Right, Anthony?”

Although they had never explicitly discussed it, Sylvie assumed when she did one day marry, her brother would come to stay with her, assumed that if he were still of a certain impressionable age, George would officially become the responsibility of her and her future husband.

And if she didn’t marry until later in life, until her younger brother was fully grown, or if she never married at all, she was alright with those scenarios as well. She loved Bridgerton House and Aubrey Hall and being surrounded by family, her wild cousins and brother running about and shouting at all hours. She didn’t long for the solitude of marriage. And despite loving children, she wasn’t entirely sure whether she wanted to bear her own.

“But—”

“What could you possibly have to say to argue that point?”

“I’m not going to argue whether or not you’re the Viscount, My Lord.”

Anthony rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment. He rued the day that his cousin learned that she could somehow twist his title into an insult.

Sylvie smiled, considering his silence permission to continue, not that she was truly waiting for it.

“I’m going to argue against this season. Daphne didn’t meet Simon until the season in which she turned one and twenty, and your own wife didn’t have her season until one and twenty, and—”

“And you’re telling me that I should allow you to wait until you are one and twenty?”

“No,” she said. “You, my dearest cousin, are the Right Honorable Viscount Bridgerton, and I am well aware that I cannot tell you what to do. I am merely asking that you consider my humble little request.”

Anthony snorted. “Sylvie Bridgerton? Humble, eh?”

“My ability to be humble is not the question at hand, Anthony,” she muttered. “And neither truly is the time at which my season should take place because... well, your wife has already agreed with me. Kate thinks one and twenty is the perfect age for a first season.”

Anthony’s thumb rubbed at his temple, an entirely subconscious gesture on his part. “My wife has already agreed with you?”

“Yes, the Viscountess has agreed that I should be allowed to wait a year. We had tea this afternoon while you, Ben, and Colin were at the club.”

“Of course you did.”

“She also said that you’ve lost a bet to her and as such, you will have no choice to go along with us.”

Anthony closed his eyes and his nostrils flared before he released a deep exhale. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“Me or Kate?”

Anthony waved a hand in the air. “I’ll let the two of you work that out. Not as if my opinion on the subject matters.”

“So, you’ll tell Auntie—”

Anthony’s booming laugh cut off Sylvie’s words. “No, no, my dearest cousin. I shall leave that particular discussion for you.”

He stood up from his desk then, taking his hat as he stepped towards the door. “Best of luck. Do let me know how that goes.”

#bridgerton #bridgerton oc #bridgerton one shot #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton #sylvie bridgerton

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shirophic · 3 years

Text

close nights | mm!naegiri fic

here’s the mastermind!naegiri fic i promised BAAHAHAHA VERY INSPIRED BY SONGS AND THERES A FAMILIAR QUOTE AT THE END IM PRETTY SURE MOST OF YALL HAVE HEARD ngl i feel like it went too quick but honestly idc give me feedback warnings: mentions of death, blood, stabbing, major character deaths

The night was cold, colder than usual.

Kyoko Kirigiri entered the security room, sighing as she sat down in the cool, blue chair. As she scanned her eyes across all the different cameras, quite a few things were on her mind. The 4th trial had ended, with alter ego’s death replaying in the minds of the students. Despair rotted within the students as fear shook them. Alter ego was their only hope, and now they were crushed.

Kirigiri watched as Asahina sobbed in her pillow, Hagakure trying to calm himself down, Togami reading as if nothing happened, Fukawa having a panic attack... Kirigiri bored her eyes into each of the footage from the cameras. Careful trying not to miss anything. Up until she reached a certain CCTV footage caught her eye.

A boy holding up a sign. The boy was Makoto Naegi, Ultimate Lucky Student. Kirigiri knew better than that, she was the Ultimate Detective for a reason. She knew that talent was a deception, after all, what kind of talent is the “Ultimate Lucky Student”?

Kirigiri knew his real ultimate was despair, a sickening depth of darkness, tearing down others.

To put it down to simpler words, It was his specialty.

Kirigiri never really understood the reason for despair. Sure, without despair there is no hope, but what was the real meaning behind it? Her ultimate was the Ultimate Detective, aren’t detectives supposed to be fighting against despair in the name of hope? Oh well, she was pretty much forced into this.

Turning her attention back to the green-eyed boy, she noticed there were words on the sign, with a grinning Naegi as he tried to stand tall enough to show the message.

“What an idiot. How did he become the Ultimate Despair again?”

The sign said “Come meet me in our special spot! Wear something pretty!” with a lopsided smiley face.

Once holding it for about 10 more seconds, he ran with the sign. Kirigiri had no idea what he had stored in that deceptive of a mind, but probably something not good.

- - -

As Kirigiri strode over to their “special place” Naegi was setting up something. Something like a room filled with candles and roses.

Rose petals and rose vines adorned the walls and floors. Candles were set up as yellow light shown in the darkness. Vodka and other drinks were lined up on a table, all set up for the night. Sure, it was cheesy, but something he put too much effort in. About a minute passed until Kirigiri arrived, Naegi staggered to fix his tie and suit, waiting at the entrance. As he looked up to meet with her eyes, he paused in amazement.

Kirigiri was wearing a deep purple dress that went just above her ankles with long gloves. Purple heels allowed her to have a little more height against Naegi. And her hair was up in a ponytail, with a purple bow to match. In all words, she was stunning. Naegi stood there agape as he looked at Kirigiri (respectfully of course.)

“Well? Are you just going to stand there looking like a reincarnation of Kuwata’s hair? Or are you going to explain what this is?” smirked Kirigiri, Naegi could have sworn he saw Kirigiri blush.

“Ah yes of course..” Mumbled Naegi as he looked down. “I.. I wanted us to take some time alone with each other, seeing as we get too caught up with the killing game and making sure none of them finds out about… about us..” spoke Naegi, softly.

Kirigiri’s smirk softened, seeing a side she saw many times, but not like this. Was this a confession? Perhaps a prank? She had known the boy for far too long to just not expect this wasn’t one of his other little pranks.

“Well then… In that case, let us take some time with each other.”

With that, Naegi and Kirigiri spent time talking and letting out their struggles. “It’s hard to keep track of what I've said and what I've not! It’s like I have to create a mental script..”

“You.. don’t have a mental script?” “You do!?”

As the night went on, Naegi played some music.

“Oh.. Isn’t this Lacrimosa?” questioned Kirigiri.

“Yea! Sometimes it calms me down when times are rough for me,” exclaimed Naegi.

Kirigiri didn’t respond as she looked like she was lost in thought.

“You’re thinking about your past again, aren’t you?” whispered Naegi.

Kirigiri turned to glance at Naegi, a stoic but slightly saddened expression on her face, “You.. You don’t need to worry about me. I can handle myself perfectly fine, just some… memories.”

Naegi examined Kirigiri for a while before standing up and lending Kirigiri his hand.

“Hey, I’m no doctor or therapist but, maybe a waltz will get it off your mind,” suggested Naegi.

Kirigiri opened her mouth for a bit, but completely drew a blank. Eventually, she surrendered and took Naegi’s hand.

They danced to Lacrimosa until it came upon an end.

Naegi slightly lifted his head to Kirigiri’s lavender eyes, yet couldn’t make out what was in them, sadness? Regret? Anger? He’ll never know.

Kirigiri had many thoughts as she slowly danced with Naegi, but she held them off for the time being, as they both wanted time together. And she didn’t want her depressing thoughts to ruin it.

Kirigiri and Naegi made eye contact as their thoughts disappeared, only focusing on each other now.

Kirigiri suddenly stopped, being aware of her surroundings and what she was doing - dancing. And with whom she was dancing with. “I.. Don’t you think it’s a bit… well, late for this?” Kirigiri questioned, “I wouldn’t want to be caught, god knows what they’re up to…” Naegi paused and chuckled for a bit. “We’re the ones in charge, aren’t we? Where is their god now?” Kirigiri looked down, not saying anything. “Where is their god now?” typical Naegi…” “if you don’t want to do this right now, why not grab a drink with me?” Kirigiri looked at Naegi with slight amusement, “why the niceties now?” but gave in, as her throat ached with thirst.

Naegi laughed quietly, then led Kirigiri to the food and drinks stand. Naegi grabbed a bottle of vodka and poured

“Hm, don’t you think we’re too young to be drinking?” “We’re 18 now, did you forget? Oh yea, Junko erased your memories as well.”

Kirigiri got lost in thought as she remembered the previous ultimate despair Junko Enoshima was the previous despair. Keyword: previous. Naegi and Enoshima had been partners for quite a while, a feared duo. After “The Tragedy” and after class 78 got converted to a new school for a safe shelter, Enoshima and Naegi were already putting their plan into action. They made sure everything was sealed and “safe” and after about a year, Enoshima forced them into the killing game. Unbeknownst to the other 15 students, Naegi was also in this plan from behind the scenes. And after the first death (Ikusaba), Naegi and Enoshima got into a fight.

- - -

An angry Naegi burst through the doors of the security room, opening to a gleeful-looking Enoshima.

Naegi never had any thoughts on Ikusaba, she was just another pawn in Enoshima’s plan. But she always had to make things complicated for him.

“Enoshima!” Naegi yelled, “How could you just let Ikusaba die like that? Do you know how risky that was.. If they found out-”

“Which they won’t, honestly Naegi you’re too paranoid,” Enoshima said unbothered. “And If they did I’m sure you can just kill them off like a fly.”

Naegi had a dark look on his face, “And what would be the explanation for that? Tell me.”

“I-”

“Oh! Togami just pissed me off! So I killed him in cold blood, upupupupu!”

Enoshima took a stand, an annoyed look displayed on her face.

“Look Naegi, if you’re just going to argue about the past, fuck off, it can’t be changed and you know that.”

Naegi quietly chuckled, which turned into full-on laughter.

“AHA- HAHAHAHA, you think I’m just going to accept giving up like that? Well unbeknownst to you, Enoshima, I have a few cards up my sleeve as well..”

Naegi swiftly threw a card at Enoshima’s face, giving a fresh cut to her cheek. Enoshima looked at Naegi in disbelief, gently touching her face.

“H- How dare you,” Enoshima said, bewildered.

Naegi looked at her in amusement, “Was that not entertaining for you enough, Enoshima?”

Enoshima growled, spitting at Naegi.

“Fuck you,”

“Pay me.”

Naegi quickly moved behind Enoshima, slicing the back of her neck, then putting her up against the wall with a knife under her chin, complimenting her facial features.

“Well now, the shorty finally decided to grow some balls, huh?” Enoshima teased, wincing as the cut behind her neck burned.

“You know damn well I grew some balls ever since I even started our little plan. Have a nice time in hell, Enoshima.” Naegi sneered, looking up at the despair twin.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be saving you a seat.”

Naegi then sliced her neck, pink blood dripping from the knife and onto Naegi’s hand.

Naegi hummed, dropping Enoshima on the floor, disgust filling his senses. “As much as I love bringing people into despair, the stench of blood is disgusting.”

Naegi then washed his hands and ordered monokuma to clean the mess up before heading towards his dorm room, pretending as if nothing happened.

- - -

“Hello? Earth to Kirigiri?” Naegi waved his hand in front of Kirigiri’s face.

Kirigiri was brung back into reality, realization striking her that she was lost in thought.

“O-oh, Naegi. Sorry, I was lost in thought… again.” Kirigiri said rather embarrassingly, glanced at the shot she was holding, and gulped it down.

“It’s okay Kirigiri,” Naegi spoke as he had doubt in his eyes. He then took a shot, shaking his head.

“Hey Kirigiri, I know I invited you here myself but, there’s another place I wanna show you, care to join me?”

Kirigiri pondered for a minute, should she really go with a murderer who killed the ultimate despair only just to become the ultimate despair himself? Kirigiri sighed, he couldn’t kill her because of her secret anyways. Kirigiri remembered how desperate he was to know the secret.

- - -

(beginning of chapter 3)

Naegi whined as he followed Kirigiri around pleading.

“Oh Kirigiri pleaaase!” he begged, “Let me know your secret!”

Kirigiri stopped and looked at Naegi, “why do you want to learn my secret so much?”

Naegi scoffed, “Well obviously because you’ve mentioned it once before and never told me! I thought I was your best friend..”

Kirigiri shook her head and continued to walk towards the physics lab, a click in her steps.

- - -

Oh well, it’s not like she has much of a choice.

Kirigiri sighed and followed Naegi, hoping that it would mean something good.

- - -

Naegi led Kirigiri up to the roof of the school, looking back from tie to time with a smile on his face.

Once on the roof, Naegi invited Kirigiri to sit down. The area was outgrown, plants growing everywhere. Fires all around the building, blazes and flames of fire all around the base of the school, the sun setting with a red aura.

Smoke filling Kirigiri's senses, she coughed. “W-Where are we Naegi?” she said as she looked at Naegi. Naegi’s face was lightened with red, orange, and yellow hues as he grinned down upon the world, eyes sparkling with delight.

“We’re.. We’re at the top of the world,” Naegi smiled.

Kirigiri glanced at Naegi with a confused expression but stoic eyes as she looked Naegi up and down.

“Quit the act, why did you bring me here?” Kirigiri demanded.

Naegi turned around, surprised. “Kirigiri, I just wanted to spend time with yo-”

“Stop, I know you’re lying to me. Spit it out.”

Naegi sighed with an annoyed tone and looked Kirigiri directly in the eye.

“I want to know your secret.”

Kirigiri was disappointed, but not surprised. Naegi was an awfully ambitious person and would go to extraordinary heights to get what he wanted, but Kirigiri was awfully stubborn.

“And exactly why should I tell you? For all I know, you could kill me instantly after.” Kirigiri doubted.

“Well for one, you can get out alive!” Naegi laughed, “But you’re not getting away this easily, Kirigiri.”

Kirigiri carefully examined the options she had; A: make a run for it, B: punch him and run, C: tell him and live. She knew with plans A and B he could easily either send monokuma after her or just kill her himself. And with plan C he could also be lying. So in all, it’s a win-lose situation.

Kirigiri sighed and made up her mind.

“I’m not telling you, whether you kill me or not. And besides, even you don’t know the secrets of this school, you need me.”

Naegi examined her closely again, then swiftly took out knives, throwing them all at Kirigiri. Which she dodged them all, even catching one. She threw the knife aside and stepped forward towards Naegi.

“You know you need me, you can’t do anything without me. Give up.”

Naegi growled, “shut up, shut up, shut up!”

With a few knives cutting Kirigiri’s dress and skin, she fell on the ground, backing away from Naegi.

She winced in pain as she looked up at Naegi, her vision blurring as she tried to make out what to do. Naegi stopped in front of her, playing with the knife in his hands before kneeling down in front of her face, lifting her chin up with the knife.

“You know Kirigiri, you’re an intelligent person with lots of room for improvement. I never wanted to come to this conclusion, but if you’re not going to work with me here, we’re going to have a problem.” threatened Naegi.

Kirigiri glared up at Naegi, keeping full eye contact.

“I’m not giving in, no matter what little tricks you have in store.”

Naegi rolled his eyes in annoyance, then putting his knife hard against her neck, “if you oblige, I’ll make your death quick and painless, if you don’t - well then you’re gonna have a fun time suffering.”

Kirigiri stared at Naegi in silence watching as her blood dripped down from her neck and onto everywhere.

Naegi then grew tired of waiting and sliced Kirigiri’s throat leaving her dead blank face the last expression she’ll ever make again.

He then stood up and started walking towards the exit down back to the school, when he heard something.

“I-Ikusaba… she’s alive, an…” Naegi whipped around, anxious, as he urged Kirigiri to continue. “And… she’s o-out for you..”

Naegi was stunned into silence. Ikusaba.. was alive? And she wanted vengeance? Naegi was very confused about this whole proposition. This was Kirigiri’s secret? Naegi then looked at Kirigiri again waiting for more information. But to no avail, Kirigiri’s eyes rid of the light and grew dead.

Naegi then started pacing around, wondering what to do next. Should he try to find Ikusaba? Should he kill Ikusaba once and for all? Should he-

Naegi was then interrupted by a figure in the shadows. He turned around to look who it is, but he couldn’t make out who it was until they stepped into the light.

“Naegi,” a cool monotone voice spoke, “We meet again.”

The figure then stepped into the light - a face known too well.

Mukuro Ikusaba. The other despair twin. Also known as the ultimate soldier. The last time Naegi and Ikusaba met was when they were putting the plan into action and putting the students in the classrooms. After that they barely interacted.

Naegi knew Ikusaba was dangerous. Her talent gave it away, after all. She knew tons of different strategies, and while Enoshima liked to say that the strategies were hers’ - spoiler alert: they were not.

Turning back to reality, Naegi began thinking of different tactics to well ah, slaughter his close friend.

Ikusaba read Naegi like a book, and took out her dagger - to which Naegi replied to taking his own out as well.

“Impressive, I saw what you did with Kirigiri. You’ve worked on your reflexes.” complimented Ikusaba. “But you’re no match for me.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Alright, let’s dance.”

#look i did something! 🕊️ request accepted #🙤 · mod tsumugi #mastermind naegi #mastermind makoto #mastermind kyoko #mastermind kirigiri #mm!naegiri #naegi x kirigiri #naegiri #makoto naegi x kyoko kirigiri #makoto naegi #makoto x kyoko #kyoko kirigiri #dr1 #dr1 kyoko #dr1 makoto #tsumugi-mikan

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cerastes · 3 years

Note

Imagine W's ultimate show of trust to the Doc, if she ever decides to bring herself to that point somehow., being inviting them to share a ration with her out in the field. Or sort out some munitions over a chat about the places she's been. Or, as you said, indulging in the peace of just peeling some potatoes. I blame you for infecting me with W enlightenment.

! Yo. That’s some actual 200% Trust stuff right there.

W vaguely, casually inviting Doc out for a walk, telling them that if they decide to come, to give word that he’ll come back later. Doc says they’ve got a lot of work to do. W insists that Kal’tsit won’t give ‘em hell since she’ll explain. Never once has Doc seen Kal’tsit actually reprimand W, or W fail to finesse her way out of a lecture, so sure, why not? W’s reply is simply a smile, one that looks infinitely similar to her usual mocking smirk, but somehow, this time, it reaches her ears, and yet, it feels like it could deflate any time. Doc has seen this emotion before, and while they can’t put a name to it, they know it to be mutually exclusive with joy.

The ensuing chat is meaningless, but not unwelcome. Something about the Penguin Logistics girls being really good in a brawl for mailwomen and tour guides, something about the music room being quite lively, what with Vigna, Courier and Blue Poison habitually going there to play the guitar, with the “kiddos”, as she calls them, looked with admiration, Frostleaf trying to mimic them with her air guitar as Ifrit headbanged, something about how it was funny to see Aak and Warfarin wheel a very unwilling Fang into the infamous Doctor Blood’s lab, right before Dobermann and Kal’tsit caught them red-handed and dole out the appropriate pay docks and, worse still, lectures that seem unending as they are redundant, but ah, see, that’s the thing with Kal’tsit, she may say the same thing for the course of 3 hours, but she somehow keeps using different words, never sounding too redundant, it’s just like that time years ago when Kal’tsit caught raiding the pantry in the wee hours of the morning. How could Doctor not remember that one, it was a classic in Babel! A legendary pursuit that lasted two hours and was followed by four of lectur--

And then W stops.

That’s meaningless.

They don’t remember that funny anecdote.

And if they did? Then she surely wouldn’t be walking down memory lane with the “Doctor”. She surely wouldn’t be here right now.

It’s because they’ve lost all of that, that they have gained this little space, away from the mobile city, in the middle of nowhere, where they can talk.

They sit down across from each other, with the camp’s fire between them, on boxes tastefully labelled “Doctor” and “Me” with black paint. W throws Doctor a potato and a knife. There’s no Gummy or Matterhorn here, buster. You want food? Better get peeling while the water comes to a boil.

So they peel in relative silence. Potatoes. Onions. Dicing some carrots. Uncorking some cheap Kazdel ‘vintage’, if unused sewer lines from long-devastated cities could be considered casks, but hey, it’s got a nice kick and you can pick it right up after wandering back into an old campsite if you leave it fermenting before departing for the next battlefield. Just one of those nomad’s secrets, wink wink. Or do they call them “lifehacks” now? Reunion didn’t exactly have the latest in lingo, W laments.

Throughout all of this, Doctor cannot help but feel a certain tightness in their chest and a hollow pit in their stomach. It’s a feeling Doctor has heard others describe, but they’ve never been able to put a name to it, but they know it to be strange bedfellows with joy. Was this the same pain holding a tight grip on W’s smile before?

“Have we done this before? You know, before.”

But W only chuckles. “Maybe we did. Maybe we sat right here, maybe we had the very same cheap liquor, left to ferment in the same circumstances. Maybe we fixed the very same stew, maybe that knife feels oddly comfortable because that was the one we’d lend you.”

She stresses the plural, and the Doctor, too, stresses. She continues.

“Maybe you earned our trust, maybe you were just the way you are... Superficially, at least. Maybe that’s still something exclusively superficial. Maybe I’m intentionally tripping on the same stone twice, and if that’s the case, this time, it’ll cost me less than before, as it’ll be only one life.”

“As opposed to how many?” the Doctor doesn’t ask, doesn’t dare ask.

“This stew is perfect: Cheap, easy to prepare, nutritious, filling, and the pot is easy to clean afterwards. We make this stew a lot since it reminds us of ourselves as Sarkaz mercenaries... Convenient, gets the job done, and then you can just move on with your life after disposing of it. You used to love this stew.”

W gets real close to the Doctor, face to face, potato and knife gripped still, close enough that her warmth permeates through their mask, breathing audible, blood a frenzied mix of boiling and frigid.

“Do you still love this stew, Doctor?”

W’s explosive charges are less loaded than this question. Agonize, they did, trying to find the right way to diffuse this situation, but she doesn’t give them time to respond, fortunately. A dud, perhaps?

“If you still like the stew, then perhaps we can’t be friends, but... If you don’t find it to your liking, perhaps I can show you other rations and dishes we make out here, ones more nuanced, ones packed with a little more care, you know?”

Instead of sitting on a box across the fire from Doctor, W sits next to them now, finally abandoning the Doctor’s personal space.

“I’ve just been thinking very seriously about this, see? You really... And if I’m wrong about this, heh, shame on me, but you really don’t seem like the kind of person that likes that stew anymore. Just something I’ve learned from watching. Watching you. Watching the new blood. Watching the trust they place in you, the affection, the laugh and cajolery and jocosity of it all. And in the center of it all, what is it that you do? You reciprocate, and it drives me crazy.”

The Sarkaz’ voice raises just for a second.

“Because this could be much simpler, this could be as easy as click click boom, you know? Hit the switch, have a laugh, carry on, but no, you’ve made this far more complicated than it had to be. If you had remembered the anecdote, I could’ve just hit the button half an hour ago, and by now, I would be done picking up whatever was left of you, hiding it in an abandoned sewer line and then sealing it, and I’d be on my way to Columbia right about now. I hear they got some nice new settlement for Infected there now. If only you had remembered.”

But the Doctor did not remember. Not about the time when Kal’tsit lectured W for hours on end, nor about the time they disposed of the leftover stew. Not about a damn thing. The bombs in the box labelled “Doctor” were almost comically redundant, for whatever firepower they could hold, they’d never compare to the edge of Doctor’s conscience, twisting from within.

“...I heard you carried that FrostNova girl’s body. Thanks for that,” carried on W. “And for that, in addition to everything else, I’ve decided that maybe we ought to eat more than crummy stew next time. Which side of you is the real one? I guess I’ll -- we’ll -- find out soon enough.”

After that, no more words were traded. Peel, they did, and eventually, dinner was ready. The stew was somehow bitter and bland. Doctor couldn’t be happier, and was already anticipating what they were going to make next.

Maybe they’ll have anecdotes the both of them remember to fill the silence while peeling potatoes next time. Not that silence is unwelcome. Silence is meaningful, and a surprising amount of times, what unveils the truth behind someone’s heart.

#oh I thought this was shorter #arknights #operator w

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mysteira6 · 3 years

Text

FukaFlower - Different

Summary:

How did he fall for the red-haired, red-finned gentleman again?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Happy MerMay everyone! (or pretty much the end of MerMay; I apologise for my lateness ><;;)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“What is it like? You know, living underwater.”

The somewhat naïve question sent the boy laughing, his melodious voice like a tinkling bell. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, surfer girl.” He commented as he swam over to the short-haired ‘surfer girl’ sitting by the low-lying pier, stopping near her legs that were dipped into the waters. If it weren’t for the small lamp she had brought with her, it would have been much harder to see his head of ruby red curls sticking out of the surface in the midst of the night.

“Besides, it’s not like I know what it’s like to be a human like you.” He noted with a wink, bringing her attention to his strange mismatched eyes. Although both of them were of a dark scarlet red, his left eye stood out like a sore thumb; a fully red sclera with no visible indication of where his iris was, a ghoul’s eye if one was imaginative enough to point it out. The human girl had pondered many times if that was the reason why he was never seen alongside any other merfolk like himself.

Though, she should be the one to talk, given that she too was often isolated amongst her peers. It wasn't rocket science or anything; Flower just didn’t like talking with people. It didn’t matter if it was another boy or girl, a child or an adult. She always had a hard time voicing her thoughts in a way that didn’t offend the other party or make them feel uncomfortable, a habit that persisted through her teenagehood as she matured into the adult she was now.

Deep down, she held tight to her belief that people just didn’t like how… un-feminine she was, and maybe that was why she would avoid them no matter how nice they were.

Of course, that all changed when she met the merman wadding in the water before her.

“You didn’t have to laugh at me if it was such a stupid question.” She berated bluntly, though her tone suggested that it was for her own ears to hear. “I just wanted to know what life under the sea is like.”

“It wasn’t a stupid question, Petals.” He corrected her, a gentle smile on his face. “In fact, I kind of expected it. For someone who usually doesn’t care about a lot of things, you have a deep fascination with the sea, don’t you?”

Normally, she would have taken that as an insult, considering the cheesy pun and his rather straight-forward assumption that she didn’t care much. But that only would have happened if he was another human. On the contrary, Flower found it reassuring that this creature knew about her with such closeness, since it was only through her many conversations with him that made him realise how different she was from the other surfers that frequented the beach.

While they were out riding the waves for the thrills, the skills and the occasional glory that came with the annual competitions, she only surfed to get closer with the ocean. To run her hands against the current as she sped across the water’s surface, listening to the crashing curls of the sea echoing all around her. Yes, it was a strange reason, but her astute and keen awareness while she surfed was practically the catalyst for her meeting with the merman, so maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Thinking of such made her feel nostalgic all of the sudden, making her turn back to her companion. “So from our conversations, you figured out that I don’t care about anything except the ocean.” She noted with the slightest of smirks written on her lips, almost as if she was testing his memory. “What do you make of that, huh, Fukase?”

The boy in question beamed at her mentioning his name, since it was a rarity for the normally shut-in girl to do so. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of!” He insisted, nodding excitedly. “I like it when you talk with me, even about the little stuff. It makes me feel happy.”

She internally cringed. For someone who was insightful enough to see through her tough exterior and appreciate their incredibly simple conversations, he sure was a dense fellow to not realise the intention behind his words. Or perhaps that was a trademark for people of his kind?

“You merpeople are so much simpler than us humans.” She muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

As they both remained there by the docks, laying on their backs and staring at the few stars that decorated the night sky, the white-haired girl pondered. Truth be told, it was entirely possible that her growing… feelings for Fukase were nothing but a trivial matter, a mere infatuation that blossomed only because she had never forged such a close bond with anyone, let alone with someone who wasn’t even human.

When she first heard his soft, enrapturing voice singing while out at sea, Flower had been so hypnotised by the tune that she lost her footing on her board for the first time, tumbling her into the ocean to be churned and tossed about like a rag doll. The current had been especially strong that day, too, and as she fell into the grey curling waves, Flower felt a lump in her throat at the prospect of being a goner right then and there.

And though she really did feel her body plunge into the water, only seconds had passed before the sensation of someone’s arms snaked below her shoulders, bringing her out of harm’s way and heaving her on the other side of the beach that was less populated, a safe zone for her to awaken and meet her mythical rescuer for the first time.

Their first encounter was rocky, as anyone would expect it to be, since she had never dreamt about meeting an actual half-human, half-fish denizen that hailed from the deepest trenches of the sea. In fact, upon awakening to the sight of the redhead with a scarlet tail and mismatching eyes, all Flower could do was stare eerily at the strange creature.

And though her stare had pierced through dozens of people who tried to get close to her, the redhead was barely fazed. Instead, he spoke with a jovial tone followed by the sweetest of laughs.

“Wow! You sure have pretty eyes!”

Needless to say, she was pleasantly surprised by his statement, perhaps too startled to dismiss it as a fake comment, and instead found herself blinking at finned young man who was still smiling innocently. Judging by the physique of his upper body, he couldn’t be any older or younger than she was, and yet…

In the days that passed after being rescued by the siren, Flower would always find herself hearing his voice when she was near the ocean, as if he was calling for her to visit him again. The first few times, she had passed the offer, reasoning with herself that it was nothing but her imagination playing with her senses.

Then came the evenings and nights when she was frustrated at the people around her and she would rush to the beach to kick the waves only to find the redhead wading the waters nearby.

Which ultimately led to this… relationship that they had. If she would call it a relationship.

“Flower?”

The girl in question quickly sat up at the mention of her name. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

She nodded eagerly, seeing that Fukase was always so curious about human life as much as she asked about life under the ocean.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?”

The abrupt nature of his question had the girl frowning, a usual staple in her everyday life though never in front of him. She couldn’t help but blurt out a question with a clear reply. “Why would I be scared of you?”

Though Fukase was still smiling, his tone was laced with melancholy. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m not a human like you. I don’t have lungs, or legs… And instead of having normal eyes, I’m… what was that word you used before?”

She racked her head for the answer. “You mean… heterochromatic?”

“Yeah! That. I’m hetarochrimasic.”

“ … You mean ‘heterochromatic’, Fukase.”

He tilted his head slightly. “A… heterochromasic?”

His struggle to speak a long human word was likely due to him not learning the English language all of his life (according to his recounts, he had only been around humans for a few years), but it was such an amusing sight that Flower couldn’t stifle her giggles. “You know what, never mind… What were you trying to say?”

Fukase seemed hesitant to dismiss the matter, though he continued. “See? This is kind of what I meant. I can’t speak like you humans can.”

“I don’t see where you’re going with this.” She replied bluntly, now crossing her arms, expectant of a proper answer.

“Point is,” He stopped for a second, choosing his words. “Why do you talk to me instead of any other human when I’m so different?”

‘Different’. It was such a simple word used to describe simple things that stood out from everything else. But maybe that was exactly what Flower was looking for.

A few minutes had passed by and the water rippled for a moment before Flower spoke. “Maybe it’s because I like different.”

“ … Huh?”

“Maybe it’s because I’ve talked to every other human I could ever meet… And I’ve realised that I just don’t understand humans too well.” The girl mused, now being her turn to have a melancholic tone in her voice. “Maybe it’s because I find it so hard to put up a face in front of another human being while I talk, and I end up saying things that they don’t like to hear so I avoid them as they avoid me.”

In the midst of her monologuing, the red-haired siren had swam closer to her, anticipating her words like a child willing to learn. “Maybe it’s because humans are… complicated creatures who like to hide their true intentions with their sugary words and fake gestures, and that I don’t, so I stand out. Maybe it’s because humans always expect something from you, and I don’t like to follow people so blindly.”

Her eyes scrunched up for a brief moment before they relaxed and focused on Fukase instead, someone whom she had come to appreciate and care for. “But you’re not like humans, Fukase. You’re honest and sweet and funny… And every time I talk with you, I’m not scared to be honest, since you always manage to turn it around into a silly joke.”

The man in question didn’t say anything, though he did scratch the back of his head with his left hand, likely out of bashfulness.

“Besides, I love the ocean.” She turned to the edge of the horizon, barely visible in the indigo expanses of the sky. “So I guess… You being from the ocean is a bit of a plus.”

“And that’s why you’re not scared of me?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” She clearly left out the part of her admitting that she had come to really like the red-haired siren, partly because she was afraid that it was unrequited.

And the other part was because she was afraid of him misunderstanding the feeling altogether and mistaking it with something else. He wasn’t a human, after all, so how would he be able to differentiate between love or lust? How would they be able to spend time together without anyone else discovering the forbidden nature of their tryst? And perhaps the most important of all, was she, a person who had never been in a romantic relationship before, even ready for one?

Flower was an asocial person, that was no secret. But that did not mean that she was going to throw common sense out of the window just for a possible infatuation with a fantastical creature.

Meanwhile, Fukase had laid back on the sea’s surface, looking at the stars again. “I am a siren who’s fated to hypnotise humans and crash ships.” He mused out of nowhere in a somewhat matter-of-fact tone.

“But I ended up just really liking you, Flower.”

She willed her heart to not take the remark in the way she was wanting to. “Oh, really?” Came her snarky reply. “You like the cold, introverted surfer with a weird name and a weird voice that makes her sound like a boy?”

“I like the skilled, beautiful surfer with a kind personality and a fascination with the ocean… and a fascination with me.” He corrected her yet again with that same warm, innocent smile of his.

Nothing else was said as they continued their star gazing into the night, and it was only when Flower’s lamp was running low on oil that she had to return home for the time being, their secret meeting adjourned.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He should have jumped on the chance to tell her. The opportunity was out in the open the moment she told him why she liked him, and yet he did nothing to bring her closer to him.

No matter how many times he resisted the urge, it always came back to bite him in the tail fin. His deepest wish to tell that girl what she truly meant to him. How her continued interactions with him had been the first times he got to talk to anyone at all, merfolk or human. How she ignored his strange appearance and still spoke with him, bestowing him with the greatest kindness he had ever received.

That desire to sit next to her and lean his head against her shoulder… No doubt was it the most intimate of affections that he had ever felt for anyone.

Chase her. Catch her. Hold her.

But did she want him to? Was he even ready to dive in and lose himself to this desire?

He pocketed the thought for the night and tried his best to sleep again. Surely, tomorrow would yield better results for him.

#fukase #vocaloid fukase #vflower #vocaloid flower #mermaid AU #siren AU #fukase is a merman :D #and they're both very confused #about love and relationships #and humans too :'D #writing #fanfic #vocaloid #vocaloid fanfic

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farplane · 3 years

Text

DAY 3: SCALE

The captain had agreed to meet him off the coast of the Jade Sea.

It might have been simpler to choose any old plain outside of Radz-at-Han, but he had long since understood his home was no longer a refuge and harboured no desire for his dealings to take place in its proximity. And besides—the one who had gone through the most trouble getting to the meet was him.

He didn’t have a bloody airship to fly him halfway across the Continents in a matter of hours. When he lamented such woes to Nairel, she snorted and said, in that delightfully flat tone she took to put him in his place: “You are the very spirit of penury.”

“I am horribly skint at present, I’ll remind you.”

“But skint isn’t poor, is it?” Nairel retorted effortlessly, as if it made much of a difference to a woman who lived in the bloody woods.

She had a way of easing his nerves.

Though he prided himself on his ability to be in command of most situations, there were two things wrong with that belief: the first being that it had only been hammered into his mind since tender youth by a man whose word he wished never again to live by; the second that, of late, his life had been a veritable unravelling of any control he might have ever had over himself and his own fate.

It was as though he’d constructed the very circumstances that were sure to make him nauseous with dread. This was not Radz-at-Han, but knowing his family’s reach, he may as well have been standing right at the heart of it. He could have picked any place—distant Kugane, some miserably dusty point in Thanalan, even drab freezing grey Coerthas—and instead he had wandered so close to home, like a lost little boy running to the last place he had seen his nursemaid.

He was halfway through regretting his choice of locale for, oh, the eighth time when the Merlose touched down at a careful distance. Nairel, bless her heart, caressed the hilts of her knives as the captain approached.

To her credit, the Merlose party only outnumbered his by one—and their third member didn’t seem a fighter at all. She was slender, slighter than the aging captain—still strong with corded muscle, and no doubt as deadly as her reputation made her out to be—and wore a complicated loupe on a threaded silver chain about her neck. Most likely the captain had preferred an appraiser to a killer for these particular dealings.

It was the long-limbed Elezen at the captain’s right hand who concerned him, but Nairel at his back lessened his fears. Even with a mess of Void churning inside him, he could still bash heads in without magic, and he had the most vicious five-fulm-and-then-some(-she-insists) forestborn in Eorzea at his side.

“Pavane Malichar,” said the captain, as though the name meant something to her.

“Captain. I trust your journey was—”

“You’ve brought the payment?” asked the Elezen, no-nonsense, eyeing the very conspicuous coin pouch at his belt. Then, evidently critical of its size: “All of it?”

Pavane untied the laces, but didn’t part with the purse just yet.

“I understand and empathize with your wariness—in fact, I very much share it. Mine is a difficult package to conceal without glamours, and I neither see it nor sense its aether.”

The aether part was a bluff, but normally, it wouldn’t have been. And that was the reason Pavane had been grinding his teeth enough to ensure they’d be worn down to nothing by the turning of the next era.

“I am not in the habit of robbing downtrodden nobles just standing on a beach,” the captain said with a dangerous smile, and paused long enough to give power to the sound of waves breaking onto shore. “Not much challenge in it.” She turned her head to the Elezen: “Bring it over, Madelaine.”

Madelaine cast him one last dark look—a pirate’s trade-tool, he supposed—then turned on her heel. Pavane tossed the captain his coin pouch, but she didn’t hand it to the appraiser until her right hand had returned with a long coffer under her arm.

Already Pavane could feel some whisper of power stir within him, stoked by a boyish excitement for the relic that was so close to becoming his.

“I understand my first mate’s apprehension, lord,” the captain said, keeping her eyes on him as she passed the pouch to the appraiser. “That purse seems quite light.”

“Yours was a steep price, Captain. I’d have broken my back carrying the full payment if it was only in coin.”

He was confident in what the appraiser would find when she opened the purse, nestled among the absurd amount of gil that was only a portion of the price. The medallion had been forged, it was said, in the stone-heart of Mhach in the last days before the Flood—the first of House Malichar had made herself, then, the inheritor of her city’s great legacy. And it had been passed down through the generations, from heir to deserving heir, to wear her two-headed serpent upon their chest and signify their birthright.

Never had it been lost. Pavane, as a student of history, knew that it had changed hands outside of his family a number of times—but any thieves that stole it had only ever met gruesome ends. That was House Malichar: his ancestors had set a horrifying precedent for the exercise of their own power, all to the singular end of its preservation.

And he was giving his birthright away for another piece of Mhachi power—to make, on his terms, his own legacy.

The appraiser fumbled her loupe twice in her haste to inspect the medallion. She took a moment, her expressive eyebrows shifting, then whispered something in the captain’s ear; and, finally, dropped Pavane’s whole life into her weathered palm.

“This is a precious thing you are treating as currency, lord,” said the captain of the Merlose, weighing the precious metal in her hand.

“It more than covers your price.”

“To be sure. Even melted down or hacked to pieces, which would be the safest way for me to dispose of it.” Her grave eyes met his. “Are you prepared for that?”

Pavane didn’t waver, though it seemed to him she spoke from some deep place of knowledge for precious, irreplaceable things. He put on his best, most charmingly twisted smile. “Not to worry. I’ve another,” he said, pulling back his sleeve.

The black scales of the snake wound in ink around his forearm shivered and writhed, a mirage of badly-rendered aether. Even when it was wrong, it was precious. It was his alone.

Nothing showed on the captain’s face; her dark brow furrowed no more than if she were merely trying to read something in a viciously small script. Surely a woman of her age—a pirate, a liberator of immeasurably rare weapons; an Ala Mhigan, by the newly-familiar shape of her words—had seen her share of strangeness. With a small gesture of her head, she ordered her first mate to lay the coffer at Pavane’s feet.

“A deal well-struck, then,” she concluded.

Pavane crouched down with wonder coursing up and down his hands, weighting them as he opened the coffer to reveal his prize: a long-bladed scythe, unadorned in the Mhachi style he had come to know from his family’s archives, brimming with power to harness the Void.

“Indeed,” Pavane said as he rose with the scythe in hand. In his breathless appreciation for the weapon, he felt a twist of envy for the captain and her crew—and the adventure they must have had finding it. He pictured ruins, ancient knowledge, a dark thrill of threat.

The captain nodded to him, satisfied with their business, and said little else before she turned back towards her ship with the appraiser in tow. But Madelaine, the first mate, lingered.

“Thinking of all the harvesting you’ll do, lord?” she asked with a smirk. “Grass? Wheat?”

Nairel, who until then had been so utterly quiet, said, “Or the one it will protect,” in a tone that gave nothing away. “Do Hearers’ daughters know much about harvesting, actually?”

A flash of irritation passed across her face, barely noticeable, before her expression settled into something else. Curiosity, perhaps.

“You’re Nairel?” she said, with an air like she was almost entirely sure of the answer.

“I am.”

A pause. Madelaine glanced over her shoulder at her retreating captain, then made half a step towards turning before stopping to look at Nairel again. “Is your brother well?”

“He’s alive. For now.”

“Aye,” said the first mate, nodding. She turned to walk away. “I knew he would be.”

Pavane blinked, trying to piece together the familiarity that had just passed between her and Nairel. Why had she asked about—

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Nairel stroked his arm. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you once we’re in the shade; my head’s bloody spinning in this heat.”

sigrid keane belongs to @onwesterlywinds; madelaine lachance belongs to @ink-long-dry

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #c:pavane #f:xiv

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comfy-whumpee · 3 years

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Polycule 3

Taglist! @lonesome--hunter, @iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektricwhump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @rosesareviolentlyread, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog.

“What is this?” Nic said, crossing their legs on the carpet beside where Ellis was already settled.

Iz was setting out a green-and-black box, scrawled with yellow writing. “It’s called Betrayal at the House on the Hill. You’re gonna love it. It’s a goofy monster movie game. We’re gonna explore a house, find stuff, and then at some point one of us is going to turn out to be the bad guy.”

Nic glances at Ellis. Ellis smiles tentatively back. “Are you gonna be okay with this, d’you think?” they ask tentatively.

He nods. It’s just a board game. There will never be anything more real than moving pieces around a board and rolling dice. He wants to try it; this is Iz’s thing, like Ellis plays video games, and Nic chooses films. It’s her turn to bring a thing for their Thursday night.

Iz talks them through the rules. They move a set number of spaces each, discover rooms, and there are events to happen. Some are good, some are bad, and others are just plain creepy. That’s what she says, with a smile and a bright light in her eyes, eager to see if her friends like it as much as she does.

Ellis listens carefully, and chooses the little boy. He’s wearing a green baseball cap backwards. Nic chooses the creepy little girl with ringlets, and Iz goes for an old man. “Father Longbottom,” she says, with a snicker in her voice at the name. Nic rolls their eyes and groans.

They move around the halls of the house, discovering rooms at random. Items are found. Events happen. Iz obtains a cursed knife, and is then forced to send it forward in time through a mirror. Nic discovers a room with a collapsed floor, and gets trapped in the basement. Ellis…

Nothing much happens to Ellis, except he draws a couple of the raven cards, the ones that bring the plot twist closer. His little boy in the baseball cap wanders around, and doesn’t do much of anything.

When Nic rolls the dice and triggers the haunt – the plot twist, the reveal, the bad thing – it involves a flurry of activity. Iz has to look in the rule book what happens. Then she looks in a different rule book. Then she hands out more rule books.

She makes Nic read the introduction from the page.

“The shadowmen are coming,” Nic whispers, leaning over the board with their innate sense of drama. “They’re climbing through the windows. They’re creeping through the doors. They want to take, take, take the living away from this realm…”

Iz looks up from the other rule book. She gives Ellis the third. There are so many, he’s glad she knows what’s going on.

“You’re the traitor,” she says, looking him straight in the eye.

Ellis knows what this means; she explained it earlier. He has to leave, go upstairs where he can’t hear them, so that they can discuss strategies for defeating him. It’s nerve-wracking, to be the bad guy, to be the one against their two. But he’s in a good position, and he gets to be the monster, which is simpler, in a way…

More familiar.

He goes upstairs and sits down on their bed, tucking his knees up against his chest in the middle of the mattress. He places the booklet on his feet and looks down at the blurb that introduces his side of the scene.

You were young, when you first met the shadowman. He showed you a world you’d never dreamed of. Terrible and beautiful. He was your best friend, and he took you from your dull and normal life, through to somewhere you never… Never were able to leave.

Now, your friends are going to experience that same dreadful joy. They don’t understand, yet. But they will.

The voices of Nic and Iz downstairs are inaudible. They must be whispering. He looks back down at the booklet.

Here is what you know:

Your friends are trying to destroy the shadowmen. They need light to do this.

Okay. So far, so good. He has monster tokens, which he can move around. They appear at doors and windows and they can move between the shadows, and appear when Nic and Iz won’t expect it.

The heroes. The booklet calls them the heroes.

Your connection to the shadowman means if he is defeated, your defeat is imminent.

That… That’s okay. A way for them to win if they can’t collect the items they need. The shadowman, the main one, with the bigger token, he must be harder to defeat. Yes, there are his stats, he is. He might be able to do this. It doesn’t seem too hard or too complicated.

You win when:

All the heroes are dead.

He doesn’t want to do this.

But he said he would. He said he’d be okay. He promised, looking at Nic’s worried face and smiling and nodding just as they wanted him to. If he wasn’t okay with this, that made it a lie. He must never – he couldn’t lie.

Nic and Iz want him to do this. They want to play the game. They want to defeat him and the shadowman who corrupted him. They want to escape the big house with the endless rooms. They want to run away.

There’s a bit that he hasn’t read yet. It’s flavour text for when he wins.

Your oldest friend sits with you on the porch of the house. All the rooms inside are thick with shadow. Nobody can be seen inside, anymore. Your friend the shadowman turns to you with black eyes and smiles, and says—

Ellis’s breath stops with a small, silent lurch, and the page blurs before him, black words melding into grey.

The booklet doesn’t say well done, darling, but Ellis can hear it, as clear as day inside his mind.

We don’t need them, do we? You know you can’t go home to them. You’re a monster.

He thinks it’s a memory. He hopes it is. He bends his head, cheeks against his knees, and feels wet patches settle on the fabric of his leggings.

Not pyjamas, but close enough that maybe he wouldn’t mind.

“Ellis?” Nic’s voice sails up from downstairs, as carefully light as they always are. “We’re ready for you.”

He still can’t quite breathe. There’s something stuck in his throat, a whimper or a plea, something he can’t loosen. He’ll make a noise, then, and they’ll know what’s happening, and they’ll hear him, and he hasn’t been invited, and they’ll be so disappointed that he got so upset and he can’t play the game because he’s too used to being a monster.

“Ellis?” Nic asks again, louder. The stairs creak. It’s the third step that creaks, the one he always has to skip in the mornings when they’re still sleeping. They’re coming up.

Ellis wipes his eyes, head starting to spin. He just needs to take a breath. Take a breath, steady his voice, and tell them that he’s fine.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do after that, but he’ll try.

They’re already halfway up the stairs, turning at the little landing. A couple more steps and they’ll see him.

He still hasn’t taken a breath. Can’t. The noise. He’ll make a noise, a sob, a cry, a plea.

They appear. Wide eyes in a concerned face. Slow hand curling around the doorframe. “Hey, h… Hey. What’s wrong?”

They won’t understand. They won’t. There’s too much to explain, too many words about himself, and the game, and the words that didn’t say what he thought they said but they were so close, and the house that he can’t leave, and the shadows.

“Okay,” Nic says, and they sit on the bed beside his little ball and tip him into their lap. “Let’s just take a breath, okay? Just one breath for me, you can do it.”

He shudders, hearing the gulp in the movement, and hitches in a wisp of air.

“Yeah, there you go.” Nic’s hand begins to stroke the back of his neck, gently. One of the only places without scars. “A little more. Keep going.”

The third stair creaks again. Iz has worked out there’s no game going ahead. Ellis doesn’t look, forehead resting against Nic’s burgundy overalls, eyes stinging and chest pounding.

The air escapes him in an almost-voiced wheeze. Nic feels the exhalation against them, and hums. “Yeah, you got it. In again, like I’m doing.”

Another weight settles on the bed. Iz scoots forwards, and after a nod from Nic, comes around to his other side. Together, they enclose him in a safe nest of warm limbs.

“Sorry,” Iz murmurs gruffly, confused but apologetic regardless.

Ellis wants to tell her not to be sorry. He wants to tell her that he loves how much she tries, how she always thinks of new things to bring, how she’s always looking for the next way to engage him and help him out of his shell, how she never takes a single hit too seriously, if something doesn’t work, because she just brings the next thing and the next thing and never gives up on him even though she has every right…

He can’t make that many words. He just shakes his head against Nic’s front, and feels her hands rest on his back, careful and light.

The skin itches under her hands, but he doesn’t want them to be taken away for anything.

“Take your time,” Nic murmurs to him, and a kiss presses into his hair. “You’re safe. We love you.”

Ellis nods, and tries to calm, and keeps breathing. He’s safe, with them, and they’ll never hurt him, and he can be as sad and upset and useless as he needs and they’ll never give up. They love him.

But he knows that the shadowman loves the little boy too. And the boy loves him back. More than anyone else.

#game details from memory don't @ me #whump #pet whumpee #recovery whump #ellis: polycule #my fic #angst #ellis #nic #iz #relapse #triggers #flashbacks #hallucination #(not actually #but he worries it)#past trauma #comfort

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a-secret-bolton-vampire · 3 years

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The Coming War for the North, Part 2: The Lost Wolves

In part 1, I talked about the coming battle of ice with Stannis fighting against the Boltons to take Winterfell. I discussed the situation there, the pink letter, and briefly speculated what the battle of ice will entail and who I thought would emerge victorious. If you read that, you know I argued Stannis would lose and the true battle for the North would be fought by Jon against Ramsay. In part 2, I'll dive into setting up the different factions left in the North (and beyond!) that I think will be integral to the northern storyline in TWOW.

A Trip to Skagos

Last we saw of Davos, he was not executed by Wyman Manderly, and Lord Manderly has sent him to retrieve Rickon from Skagos. Davos in TWOW is definitely going to be fun to read, as Skagos sounds like a very sinister place (or is it all that sinister?) and seeing Rickon again should be interesting. At the beginning of ADWD Davos was sent to parley with the Manderlys by Stannis, but the Manderlys imprisoned him, and per what we hear from in AFFC, executed him.

Of course, they didn't, and instead put him into the Wolf's Den, an ancient castle that is now used as a prison. Then Davos is freed and meets with Wyman in private, with Robett Glover in attendance, who say they are not with the Boltons, and were merely playing up the ruse so that Wyman's son Wylis would be returned safely without a hint of disloyalty towards the Lannisters. Instead, they are plotting revenge against the Red Wedding, and inform Davos that they found Wex Pyke, Theon's mute squire, who eventually revealed that Rickon has gone to Skagos. Wyman will support Stannis if Davos successfully brings Rickon back.

We don't know a lot about Skagos, and the little we do know paints it as a very sinister, savage place. They are rumoured to practice human sacrifice to the weirwoods and cannibalism in winter, and luring passing ships with false lights, more like tribes of raiders not too dissimilar to wildlings. They also rose in rebellion against the Starks during the reign of King Daeron II, which lasted years and claimed the lives of thousands, Lord Barthogan Stark among them, before it was finally put down. Also they ride unicorns, one horned shaggy goats.

I'm not sure what Skagos will ultimately be like, but I think it's probably going to be a weird mix of wildlings and northmen. There is also the question of their relationship with both. The northmen hate them and view them as savages, and they are built up as sinister people, but perhaps they only play it up in order to be left alone. Their historical connection to the North isn't very positive, so they might enjoy being isolated from the rest of the North, so long as they aren't disturbed.

That said, it is interesting that Osha chose Skagos to hide with Rickon. Anywhere in the North is dangerous for a loose wildling and a young Stark to be in... except Skagos, apparently. Do the Skagosi have good relations with the free folk? They seem to live more like the free folk and the island is further north than the rest of the North (bordering on the lands of the Night's Watch & even stretching beyond the Wall). Plus, Osha went there with Rickon to keep him safe, so the idea that the free folk and Skagosi have connections isn't too unikely.

The real question I am wondering is; how is Rickon doing? Last we saw him, he was only 4 years old, wild and untamed. I somewhat subscribe to the theory that the names of the direwolves hint at their future, and while there is a theory that Rickon is a shaggydog story (a long winded, complicated anecdote that goes nowhere), I think Shaggydog more or less foreshadows Rickon's wild nature. There is nobody training his warging abilities, and he was already wild to begin with, and now he's on a remote island in the middle of nowhere, so I only think he's going to grow more and more wild.

And, how are the Skagosi treating Rickon? Do they like him? They don't have good historical connections with the Starks, so they may not like Rickon when they first met him. Maybe they revere him since he is a warg? Or perhaps nobody truly knows who he is, but some kid with a giant wolf who knows lives on the island, and people give him offerings? Since we have little to nothing to go off, we have no idea what exactly Rickon has been up to since his exit from the pages in ACOK.

Regardless, Davos might find himself in a difficult position to convince Rickon to return. He's a complete stranger and nobody is going to trust his agenda, least of all Osha who was tasked with keeping Rickon safe. Given George has "important plans" for Rickon, I doubt Davos will fail to bring Rickon back, but it won't be easy, and probably will take some time.

From there, I see two possible places for Davos to go. While he would be tasked with returning Rickon to White Harbor, there is a possibility that the storms will force him to land in Eastwatch. Rickon could have a reunion with Jon Snow if that is the case, but I tend to favour Rickon being returned to White Harbor and used to rally Manderly and their allies against Ramsay. Wyman tells Davos all the value of having his House as an ally against the Boltons.

"I have been building warships for more than a year. Some you saw, but there are as many more hidden up the White Knife. Even with the losses I have suffered, I still command more heavy horse than any other lord north of the Neck. My walls are strong, and my vaults are full of silver. Oldcastle and Widow's Watch will take their lead from me. My bannermen include a dozen petty lords and a hundred landed knights. I can deliver King Stannis the allegiance of all the lands east of the White Knife, from Widow's Watch and Ramsgate to the Sheepshead Hills and the headwaters of the Broken Branch."

Stannis Baratheon

One thing to note is what Stannis will be doing. Say he, as I think happened, was defeated by the Boltons and faked his death. What is his next move? It's entirely possible that Stannis just retreats to the Nightfort, a location that he intends on sitting at one day, and in his desperation, burns Shireen to wake dragons out of stone (apparently people hate this take but it's a possibility in my mind). However, this isn't to say he is completely out of the game yet.

The Manderlys are open to allying with Stannis (should Davos be successful in retrieving Rickon), and they are part of the army sent in the battle of ice to do battle with Stannis. Could they possibly help fake Stannis's death in battle and have him retreat to a secret location? There is potential foreshadowing for this.

"White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need."

Could they have him retreat to the Wolf's Den, an ancient castle turned prison? There is a secret passageway connecting the Wolf's Den to the New Castle that Davos was shown.

While it might just be simpler for Stannis to retreat and die, this story is anything but simple, and I feel George is still having him around for a reason. He did send Justin Massey to Braavos to hire sellswords and sent them to him through Eastwatch (which is how I believe Arya will return to Westeros), so those might come in handy in the future. So while I believe the Starks will be the centre of defeating the Boltons and retaking Winterfell, Stannis could still have a role in this. One idea is that he actually takes the Dreadfort.

While the original idea posed by Arnolf was to merely siege it, and was supposed to undermine Stannis, interrogating Theon would be of some great use, as could the fleet of warships Lord Manderly has been building. Theon once escaped the Dreadfort through a postern gate that is either lightly or not guarded at all, with the help of Kyra, only for this to all be a game devised by Ramsay to hunt them back down. His knowledge of the Dreadfort could prove useful for Stannis to take it, while the Manderly fleet rows up the Weeping Water and lays siege to it.

A Blaze of Boltons

Now it's time to look at the Boltons. Say Roose is successful in holding Winterfell and defeating Stannis, and he gets rid of the Freys and Manderlys. What then? The northern houses are still only tentatively loyal to him, and he knows it. But the danger that poses to him is temporarily dealt with. The true danger was the fact that there was an option to join a new side against the Boltons, but once Stannis defeated, they are back to being all by themselves, knowing the Iron Throne is backing the Boltons and not risking their ire.

However, there is a distinct possibility that the Boltons will still lose support eventually, and by none other than their own hands, specifically Ramsay's. As a psychopath, Ramsay has an enormous ego, and is very concerned about his birthright, hoping he will one day be Warden of the North and Lord of the Dreadfort.

"My lord has a new wife to give him sons." "And won't my bastard love that? Lady Walda is a Frey, and she has a fertile feel to her. I have become oddly fond of my fat little wife. The two before her never made a sound in bed, but this one squeals and shudders. I find that quite endearing. If she pops out sons the way she pops in tarts, the Dreadfort will soon be overrun with Boltons. Ramsay will kill them all, of course. That's for the best. I will not live long enough to see new sons to manhood, and boy lords are the bane of any House. Walda will grieve to see them die, though."

Roose is aware of just how unhinged Ramsay is. He knows Ramsay will be upset if Walda gives birth to a boy, and knows Theon is reporting back to Ramsay. But Roose doesn't really seem to care all that much. Perhaps he would be amused if this did happen. Or perhaps he's just trying to comfort Ramsay to prevent this happening. Regardless, he also knows that Ramsay was responsible for his half-brother Domeric's death.

"Yes, m'lord. Domeric. I … I have heard his name …" "Ramsay killed him. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison. In the Vale, Domeric had enjoyed the company of Redfort's sons. He wanted a brother by his side, so he rode up the Weeping Water to seek my bastard out. I forbade it, but Domeric was a man grown and thought that he knew better than his father. Now his bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?"

It seems clear that Ramsay's murder of his half-brother Domeric is foreshadowing, not just for the eventual death of Walda's child, but for Roose as well. Ramsay is very close to one day snapping and doing something so horrible that he cannot go back from. And to make it more clear, there is a line at the end of ADWD that I completely overlooked that shows Walda is actually pregnant.

Roose Bolton entered, pale-eyed and yawning, accompanied by his plump and pregnant wife, Fat Walda.

Later Ramsay and Roose are seen arguing, and Walda seems very frightened, but Theon doesn't hear what they say. It's possible they were arguing about Ramsay's inheritance given that Walda is now pregnant (although I think they were more likely arguing about what to do with Stannis). Regardless, I think that Walda giving birth to a boy would drive Ramsay over the edge. Despite him being impulsive and angry, he's still quite capable of covering up what he does. So I think, just as he did with Domeric, he will poison Roose, Walda, and his newborn half-brother, leaving him the only Bolton left and asserting his dominance over the North.

Of course, this is going to have serious consequences for Ramsay, something I will get into in part 3, where I will talk at length about the coming Bastardbowl.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #stannis #ramsay bolton #winterfell #the winds of winter #the winds of winter predictions #roose bolton #rickon stark #davos seaworth

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adiwriting · 4 years

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Sunday Mornings 5/?

Notes: This one is slightly more angsty than most as it’s a hurt/comfort ficlet dealing with Alex post a PTSD episode. But I felt it was still appropriate to include because who doesn’t need to see Michael being the soft, careful, loving boyfriend we all know he’s capable of being? And who doesn’t want to see Alex get loved on?

Week 5:

This is really not how Alex planned on spending their Sunday. In fact, Michael had specifically mounted a new television in their bedroom so that they could marathon Netflix from bed all day. They’d planned on grilling steaks for dinner and then were going to take a drive out to the desert to watch the stars like they used to when they were kids.

In absolutely zero versions of his plans did he expect to be sitting on the couch numb and trying to come down from an episode as Michael switched back and forth from doting boyfriend wanting to make sure Alex was okay, and cleaning up the mess that has become the living room.

See, approximately two hours ago, they’d been startled by a very large crash that had triggered a PTSD episode. Turns out, there was a leak in the roof and after the last few days of heavy rain, the water had eventually caused part of the ceiling to cave in. Which was all good and fine, nothing to panic over, truly. Except, for a moment Alex hadn’t been 30 years old and lying in bed with his boyfriend in his own home… Instead he’d been 17 and it hadn’t been a crash he’d heard, so much as the slamming of a door hitting the wall as it was thrown open. And that moment had been enough to cause Alex to be trapped in his brain for the next hour and a half.

Michael had understood in a way nobody else could. When the crash first went off, Alex has a foggy recollection of Michael jumping out of bed instantly and using his powers to throw the dresser against the door. After that, Alex had dissociated. Everything was blank and the only reason he knows that he had a panic attack is the way his body now aches in a specific kind of exhaustion that only comes after being in full blown panic mode for an extended period of time.

It’s funny, everyone is always careful around Alex with things like guns and fireworks. They always assume they understand what his PTSD triggers will be and relate it back to his time in the military. His triggers are both more complicated and simpler than that. They’re raised voices. Hands on his neck without warning. A hammer hitting a nail. And, apparently, the sound of the ceiling falling in.

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. He knows he needs to stand up and help Michael. The living room is filled with water and bits of plaster. There’s probably not any saving his keyboard, though Michael assures him that he can fix anything. The guitars had thankfully stayed dry despite their cases being soaked. There’s a crack in the coffee table and…

Honestly, Alex can’t bring himself to care. The entire thing, all of this, feels so far away despite the fact that it’s happening right in front of him.

He curls up on the sofa, lays his head down, and stares blankly ahead.

“Why don’t you go back to bed,” Michael says, kneeling right in front of him. “I can get this all sorted out.”

Alex just shrugs. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say what he should — that he doesn’t want to be alone right now. That he just needs Michael to hold him for a while longer. It’s stupid. Michael is doing what he needs to be doing. He’s trying to stop the water from continuing to come into the house and do even more damage. If Alex was more aware, he would care. When Alex comes back to himself, he will care. And he’ll be appreciative that at least one of them was cognizant enough to act.

But right now, Alex is alone and scared and just needs to feel like he’s loved by a single person in his life.

Michael reaches out to place a hand to Alex’s cheek, careful not to get close to his neck. “I’m going to get the water to stop, the rest of this will keep until later, okay?”

Alex nods.

“I love you,” Michael tells him firmly. It’s exactly what he needs to hear, but the words get lost in a fog before they reach his aching heart. He simply nods again, knowing he’s supposed to be saying it back, but unable to find the words.

Michael stares at him for another minute or two. Alex tries to call up the energy to say something, but he just can’t. Michael leans over and kisses his forehead before standing up and getting back to work.

Michael could have been working for hours. Alex doesn’t really know. Time passes and Alex feels all of it and none of it. Each second feels like a stab in the heart and each breath in takes a conscious effort on his part. But then, the sun begins to peek through the clouds and Alex could have sworn that Michael said it wasn’t going to stop raining until the afternoon. Regardless, time passes and eventually Michael is in front of him, pulling on his hands until he stands up and Michael leads him back to bed.

****

They are watching Netflix and Alex is settled in between Michael’s legs, laying back against his chest. Michael’s arms are around him, hugging him from behind while his chin rests on his shoulder. Every so often, Michael kisses his neck and whispers loving words into Alex’s ear. It’s exactly what he needed and he loves Michael that much more for knowing that without Alex having to ask.

“I’m sorry I ruined our plans,” Alex whispers. It’s the first thing he’s said since the whole ceiling incident.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Michael assures him, nose nuzzling into his hair. Alex can feel Michael trying to get him to look at him, but he can’t, not yet. He’s still too embarrassed over the entire thing. Both for the panic attack, and for how clingy he’s been since.

“We were supposed to go out and see the stars,” he argues.

Michael grabs his chin and gently guides him until he’s looking out the window. A flash of lightning lights up the entire room. Has it been raining long? he wonders.

“You were saying?” Michael says. It’s soft, he’s still being careful with Alex, but Alex knows if he were to look at Michael right now, he would be wearing that smartass smirk of his.

“I don’t want to be like this,” he admits.

Faster than Alex can process, Michael moves and is sitting in front of him, staring him down. The energy in the air is crackling and Alex should probably be scared, but it’s Michael, so he’s not.

He cradles his face with his hands and says very firmly, “You are not broken, Alex.”

“But I—” he starts to argue but Michael cuts him off.

“We all have shit. I wasn’t exactly chill when it happened either. There is nothing wrong with you.”

Alex wants to believe him, but it’s hard. He can still remember the ways in which his dad used to taunt him for having panic attacks when he was younger. Alex knows that it’s not his fault that his dad used to beat him and now he has PTSD from it. He knows that. But knowing something is logically true and really feeling it are two very different things.

“Listen, I can promise you that there is going to be a day where I lose my shit completely and you have to be the calm one taking care of my ass. And when that day happens, you’ll cuddle me, remind me that I’m loved, and do whatever else I need and never once judge me just as I don’t judge you,” Michael says with complete certainty. “We all deal with things in our own way. You and I had a shitty childhood, so of course we were triggered by a loud noise. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I just want to be past it,” Alex whispers, leaning his forehead against Michael’s. He closes his eyes and draws on Michael’s strength, it helps.

“You are,” he whispers back. “You became so much better than the man he tried to raise. You’re strong and fierce and yet still open and vulnerable and loving. So fucking loving.”

Alex takes a shuddering breath and allows Michael’s words to sink in. It’s easy for Alex to hear his dad’s voice in his head during his weakest moments… But even back when they were 17, Michael’s kind words always found a way to drown out his self-doubts. He takes several more calming breaths before he reaches out to wrap his arms around Michael’s shoulders.

He opens his eyes again, starting to feel more like himself again. Michael smiles at him and gives the deepest sigh before saying, “You’re so fucking beautiful, I just can’t.”

Alex blushes at that. Michael’s hands are at his hips and his thumbs have snuck under his t-shirt to rub soft circles against his bare skin.

“So what you’re saying is that you’re only with me for my looks?” he teases, tentatively, trying it out.

Michael barks out a surprised laugh, moving until he’s straddling Alex.

“Absolutely,” Michael says with one of his trademark cocky smiles. He runs his hands through Alex’s hair, settling at the back of his neck.

Alex tilts his head up to kiss Michael. It’s a slow kiss. Neither of them push for more, but neither of them rush to pull away either. When they do finally come up for air, Alex realizes that he’s still pretty tired from the day’s events, but he feels back to normal at least.

“Thank you for dealing with the ceiling,” he says, running his hands up and down Michael’s back, giving his boyfriend goosebumps.

“It’s not dealt with yet,” he explains. “I fixed it enough that the living room wasn’t going to keep flooding, but tomorrow, I’m going to have to get up there and patch the roof properly.”

“I can call somebody for that,” he tells him, wanting to make sure he doesn’t feel obligated. Tomorrow is Michael’s only other day off.

“Like hell you will.” Michael looks offended. “You think I want you calling Mrs. Ramsey’s son? I don’t need you mooning over some overjacked construction guy. I saw the way you used to look at him back in high school. No thanks. He does shitty work. Nobody is touching that roof but me.”

“I did not used to moon over Conner,” Alex argues.

Michael snorts at that and Alex rolls his eyes.

Okay, perhaps he’d had a mild crush on Conner back in freshman year. Who hadn’t? Conner had been a senior and the star quarterback and anyone with eyes could see how attractive he was. But it wasn’t like Alex had ever even talked to the guy.

“You just want me to moon over you,” Alex counters.

Michael has been consistently spending his days off finding various projects around Alex’s house. First it had been fixing the fan in the bedroom. Next, he’d worked on the plumbing to make sure that the bathroom sink could get cold water. Currently, he’s been slowly replacing the bad floorboards around the house. Alex hasn’t complained. He loves coming home from work and seeing Michael deep in whatever project he’s working on… And Michael caught on after the third time Alex had practically jumped him.

“Obviously,” Michael says, leaning in to give Alex another kiss before climbing off his lap and settling back against the headboard.

“Are you going to wear an orange vest and one of those tight little shirts?” Alex asks, snuggling into Michael’s side as he picks up the remote and resumes playing the show they’ve been watching.

“I’ll wear whatever you want me to, Babe,” Michael says, wrapping his arm around Alex and placing a kiss to the top of his head.

Alex is suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of love and safety and forever.

“I love you.”

“Yeah, you’d better,” Michael says with a laugh. “It’s gonna be hot as balls up on that roof.”

Alex sits up and shakes his head. He’s serious. Michael’s amused smile fades into a soft one that Alex knows he reserves just for him. “I love you too.”

Alex settles back into his arms and they watch the show until it reaches the opening credits. Alex is about to reach for the remote to skip past them when he hears Michael whisper a soft, “You scared me today.”

Alex closes his eyes in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, I’m not mad,” Michael says. “I just… I’m saying it wasn’t easy for me to watch you like that. I’m glad I was here and could help, but… it was still scary.”

Alex takes a deep breath. Yeah. He’s sure it was. “I’ll talk to my doctor about adjusting my meds.”

Michael doesn’t say anything in response, but if the way he squeezes Alex’s arm is any indication, it’s the answer he’d needed to hear.

The credits end and they both focus their attention back on the show.

Tagged: @callieramics

As always if anyone wants to be tagged, let me know!

#roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex #malex fic #fic: sunday mornings #michael guerin #alex manes #hurt/comfort #domestic bliss

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nellie-elizabeth · 3 years

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The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Truth (1x05)

Well, okay then.

Cons:

I've complained about the uneven time given to Sam and Bucky, and while I appreciate where this episode went with everything, it did shine a further light on how little Sam has had to do all season. How his growth has been happening in the background to other things. I wish the balance could have been changed a little.

I also continue to be less interested in the Flag Smashers than I am in anything else in the show. Not the ideology or how they function politically in this world, but the actual individual characters. Spending time getting to know them makes sense, it humanizes their struggles and what they're willing to sacrifice for their cause. But I just don't find Karli to be a particularly compelling individual, so it makes those scenes a slough to get through.

The opening fight scene between Sam, Bucky, and John Walker was good, but it wasn't great. The whole time I was watching it I kept thinking about the Tony/Steve/Bucky fight at the end of Civil War, three men fighting, the shield pinging between them. So much angst and desperation and history and weight to the whole thing. This fight should have been like that, but instead it felt a little more measured. Sam and Bucky are fighting to take the shield away from a dangerous man who has clearly lost control. It almost felt like they were just doing a job. Their connection to the shield was muted during the fight itself, which made that final beat, when Bucky throws the shield down at Sam's side and walks off, hit a little less hard.

And that's one other thing - I loved the Sam and Bucky talk, of course I did. Bucky needed to apologize and it was great to see. But what changed Bucky's mind? We see Sam's journey, but Bucky starts the episode still in that mindset of blaming Sam, and then he comes and helps with the boat, and then he apologizes. What made him realize that he needed to adjust his perspective? I wish I could have understood that a bit more. The only scene we get of him on his own is with Zemo, and that bit of closure seems wholly disconnected to the stuff with the shield.

Pros:

This is a small thing, but I've gotta bring it up: when Bucky is apologizing to Sam, he says "when Steve told me what he was planning"... and when I tell you I screamed... this is literally so important to me. I hate the end of Endgame for Steve. I truly do. The one thing that makes it bearable is the head-canon that he cleared it with Bucky first, that Bucky knew, before Steve left to go return the stones, what he was going to do. And now we have actual canon confirmation that that was the case! I am so incredibly moved by that, I can't even tell you.

But let's talk about that whole scene, shall we? I feel like I could ramble on about it for quite some time, but I'll just say that seeing them throw the shield around like a damn football was so... funny? But also sweet? There's something here about men and how they communicate and how hard it can be to break down the walls and be vulnerable. They manage it because they frame it around a physical activity, with the shared symbol of complicated national loyalties bouncing around between them. Also, the shared symbol of their dead friend Steve. It opens up something between them, allowing Sam to give his "tough love" advice. Allowing Bucky to give a heartfelt apology. It's the stuff they never would have said to each other in that therapy session, but they can say it now, and that's beautiful. The best moment for me, and it was really subtle, was Bucky handing the shield to Sam, saying sorry. Then Sam continues to throw it against the trees and let it bounce back, and he does it specifically so Bucky can catch it again. So there's this almost ceremonial hand-off, and then Sam, magnanimous, lets Bucky know it's still a part of him too.

And Bucky talking about the shield as his family? Yes please. I love it so much. This scene really wrapped up Bucky's arc for me on this show, in a way I hadn't known to expect. Sam tells him that Steve is gone, and that it doesn't matter what Steve thought, or what he meant. Bucky needs to stop defining himself solely by other people. This doesn't mean the struggle is over. Bucky's got a long road ahead. But he understands that road now, and Sam helped him to find his way, which I think is just the loveliest thing.

Another thing about the way these men communicate, is that the apology was necessary, and it was good that it happened, but even before that apology, Bucky showed up and helped with the boat. He fished for an invite to stay, and Sam gave it without question. They joke about being "partners", no, "co-workers," "just two guys who had a mutual friend," but the fact is, they're a part of each other's lives, and they come through for each other. Even with lingering resentments.

I'll talk briefly about Zemo here before we get into the Sam stuff in this episode... I kind of love that he went gently with the Wakandans. It was so different from what I expected, and yet it also followed logically from everything we knew about him from Civil War. It felt like a natural button to his arc on this show. And him telling Bucky that there's no resentment on his end... I mean, on the one hand, I sure as fuck would hope not, given what Zemo tried to do to Bucky. But also that's the point, isn't it? Sam says as much during the tough love speech. Bucky needs to make amends by being of service, by giving closure to the people he hurt as the Winter Solider. Even if they were bad people. Even if they don't "deserve" it.

I still worry about the optics of Sam taking on the shield instead of retiring it permanently. But I was impressed by how far the show was willing to go in explaining the weight of that choice. Isaiah doesn't say some party line like "I love America but these were some bad people." He doesn't say "things were bad then but they're better now." No. He says the truth, which is that America did this to him. It wasn't one bad actor sneaking through an otherwise benevolent system. It was a corrosive, systemic issue that ruined his life, separated him from his loved ones, forced him to hide away and live as a dead man. And he's telling Sam that it's still like that. Oh, sure, things have changed. But not as much as they need to, and not in the ways that really count for a lot, a lot of people.

I respect that the show laid this out, didn't pull its punches in stating this reality. Sam is being positioned as perhaps naïve, overly optimistic, in still wanting to take that pain and make something good from it. Overly optimistic? Willing to jump into situations that are too big for any one man to manage, no matter what? Well, if there's a list of qualifiers for Captain America, I'd say Sam fits the bill just as much, if not more, than Steve did.

And we see that Sam has a community, a history, a deep connection to his sister and his nephews and all the people his parents knew back in the day. I'm a sucker for a good moment like the one we got with the boat, everyone turning up to help. And then Sarah saying that they can't sell it after all... it's just so moving. Sam's fighting the big fights and the small ones, and that makes him worthy of being an exemplar of human excellence. If he wants to fight that fight while holding the shield, I would trust him to try and turn the symbol into something worthy.

Briefly, I want to talk about Lemar. That scene where John went to his parents was really interesting, because it showed that opinions on these very serious issues are by no means shared universally. You've got Isaiah saying that no black man with any self respect would ever take up the shield. Then you've got Lemar's parents saying how proud their son was to be Captain America's partner. It's a lot more complicated than people want to make it. Things would be simpler if we all agreed that America sucks and its history and legacy is negative and racist and therefore let's burn the whole thing to the ground. But there are a lot of people, a lot of black Americans, who like being Americans, who are proud to serve their country. It's not an attitude I know how to understand, but pretending it doesn't exist isn't doing anyone any favors. I like that we saw this aspect of it, too.

A couple last tidbits, moments I really enjoyed.

- Bucky flirting with Sarah.

- Sam's nephews playing with the shield, Bucky waking up and smiling at the sight.

- The super relevant, super hard to hear scene at the end of all the government officials getting ready to round up refugees and march them back across borders... like, damn.

- Bucky forgetting he has a metal arm, but then later using it to save Sam some trouble on the boat.

This was a great episode. Do I have qualms about the arc of the series as a whole? Yes I do. I'll be very curious to see where everything lands in next week's finale. But in all, this one was a winner in my books.

9/10

#review #fatws #fatws review #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier review #falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier review

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