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mt-words · 3 years

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This post is my attempt at making sense of why people were dissapointed by c!Techno and c!Philza’s reactions to c!Tommy’s death yesterday and why their responses make sense both in character and in the meta.

I'm making it out of desire for understanding within the fandom. I tried to reach out to people who were upset with the reactions because the last thing I want is to strawman anyone, but if you feel like I misinterpreted or missed anything please feel free to add on in the comments. I’m not here to judge morality or anything, just to show why things make sense from each character’s point of view.

TLDR; cc!Philza and cc!Techno chose this reaction and they had meta reasons to do so. It’s ok for characters to process things in different ways. It makes sense from the characters points of view to have conflicting or negative feelings about c!Tommy. Head canons are awesome, keep drawing and writing whatever makes you happy! That said, the creators are the authority on their characters as canon goes. Please respect them.

(for this section all names refer to ccs unless otherwise specified) In Philza’s Friday stream he mentioned that he had put some thought into how his character would respond to c!Tommy’s death. Based on all the donation asks he’s been getting in relation to c!Tommy and his reactions, I think it’s safe to say Philza is tired of people seeing his character only as being a bad father for c!Tommy. If you listen to his reaction, before c!Ranboo breaks the news he clarifies who they’re talking about with “that chaotic child?” His reaction was chosen to try to help people recognize that any family relationship between the two is not canon.

This can be confusing. As someone pointed out to me yesterday, there are a lot of moments that make it seem like c!Philza and c!Tommy have an important relationship like the friendship emeralds and him checking on them after the butcher army execution. There are also moments from the same time period that make it seem like they are total strangers, such as c!Tubbo asking for his opinion on L’manburg and c!Philza saying he disagreed with some things their vice president was doing.

It feels to me like Philza was trying to leave things open so that Tommy had room to do whatever he wanted about their relationship, but because no one clarified and no defining actions were taken he decided that the only relation between their characters is knowing each other through c!Wilbur (which honestly makes the most sense for his choices). The actions he takes now are to solidify that choice, and it feels like I’m still getting mixed signals on Tommy’s end but I’m sure the creators will work it out between themselves. Whatever they decide on, I’ll just be enjoying the ride.

Also, Techno and Philza needed to react in similar ways or whichever one didn’t show grief the way people wanted was going to be attacked with the evidence of the others reaction used to show why they were a terrible person.

(after this point names refer to the characters unless specified) People have talked about reactions to grief far better than I can, so in relation to it being ok for the characters to have different reactions than what people might expect I give you three posts if you’re interested. Heads up, the tone of the second post is a lot more vitriolic than what I normally go for.

Neurodivergence in relation to grief and other reactions

Denial being a valid response to grief (with neurodivergent understanding thrown in)

The lines that people are quoting from their responses weren’t their first reactions. Niki, Philza, and Techno all initially responded with shock and disbelief.

The final point I want to talk about is that it’s understandable for the characters to have mixed or negative feelings about Tommy. Disclaimer, having negative feelings about someone doesn’t generally mean you should celebrate their death, but these reactions seem more to me like a mix of disbelief and “eh, it’s not my problem. Moving on.” Also take into account the linked posts.

As discussed, cc!Philza has chosen for his relationship with Tommy to be that he was a friend of Wilbur and Phil didn’t know him very well, but now that Tommy betrayed his best friend he doesn’t really care about him. Philza is ancient. He’s seen a lot of people die, it doesn’t make sense for him to have a super strong reaction to someone’s death if he doesn’t have much attachment to them.

Techno is a bit more complicated here, people were disappointed in his lack of mourning because we know he has genuinely cared about Tommy in the past. May I propose that that genuine care made Tommy’s betrayal (at least from Techno’s point of view) hurt worse? Technoblade shows that he cares about people through actions because it’s hard for him to open up and make himself vulnerable, especially to someone who (from his perspective) has already betrayed him in the past. He shows care by helping people survive and succeed, both giving them the tools to do so and fighting by their side.

On the day of the green festival he gave Tommy his axe as a sign of trust, defended him and his integrity from a large group of enemies, and was even willing to go after Dream to help him accomplish his goals. Within less than a minute of deciding he didn’t want to fight for the disks, Tommy left Techno to fend for himself from that same group of enemies and refused to give back the weapon that had been given to show trust saying that he was “worthy” of it. I think it was the best decision he could have made under the circumstances, but you have to understand how that looks to Techno. So yes, he cared, but every expression of that care was thrown back in his face the second he wasn’t useful (or that’s the reasoning Techno took from it, we can see that it was more because of Tommy’s care for Tubbo). Then when he confronted Tommy on Doomsday Tommy still brought everything back to the disks.

Since then they have only interacted through Tommy apologizing in a way that seems pretty insincere (from Technoblade's pov) as a distraction while stealing from Techno and the invitation to the hotel. People are always talking about character development, let Techno have more than two streams to try to get through all those complicated emotions. Of course he isn’t going to process all of this in front of two people he only recently started to trust.

We know that Tommy has regrets on how their relationship ended, but Techno doesn’t know that and even if he did it would make sense for him to have reservations.

I’m not trying to say anyone is a good person because of how they reacted, their failings make them interesting. This post was made out of genuine confusion that people expected or wanted different reactions from what we got. I hope this clears things up a little, please feel free to share your own opinions!

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fancytrinkets · 3 years

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First kiss cutscene (Dorian/Trevelyan - location changed)

The sun is low in the sky when Dorian approaches the gates of Redcliffe.

"You didn't have to wait for me," he says. "I would've made my way back to camp on my own."

He sounds exhausted.

"I know," Trevelyan says as he hops down from the stone wall where he's been sitting. "But Cassandra asked me to check this place thoroughly, so I've been talking to the locals. I helped a few of them and got a free lunch out of it. Not bad, for a day."

Dorian doesn't answer. He seems inclined towards silence. Understandable, Trevelyan thinks, for someone who's just spent hours in conversation with the parent who would have forcibly altered him by way of blood magic. Trevelyan follows his lead and stays quiet. As they pass through the gates, the long shadows of late afternoon stretch out on the road before them. The day fades to evening so beautifully in this wild, green countryside. Trevelyan is content to take in the landscape, not saying another word.

Once they've walked for a while — more than halfway to their campsite — it's Dorian who breaks the silence between them.

"So let me see if I understand this properly," he says. "You're telling me that the leader of the Inquisition spent his time running frivolous errands for villagers all day long?"

Trevelyan grins at him, thoroughly overjoyed to be teased so unexpectedly.

"Frivolous errands? How dare you — I assisted the locals in an adventurous fashion," he says.

"Adventurously gathered elfroot, did you?"

"The mockery hurts," Trevelyan says, entirely insincerely. "I'm a sensitive man."

"Oh, are you? I'll bear that in mind," Dorian says.

Trevelyan doesn't fail to notice the look Dorian gives him — a quick, appreciative once over — before turning his attention back to the road ahead.

"I'll have you know, my adventures took me all over the Hinterlands. I gathered quite a few varieties of herb — not only elfroot. And after that I tracked down a lost sheep for its distraught human companion."

"How thrilling that must have been for you."

"Mmhm. Lord Woolsley. May he rest in peace." Trevelyan presses his hand to his chest as though he's sincerely moved by the loss.

This has the intended effect of piquing Dorian's curiosity.

"Wait — the sheep died?" he asks. "After you rescued it? Or did you somehow manage to kill it in the attempt?"

Trevelyan grins and evades the question by heaping rapturous praise upon Lord Woolsley.

"Dorian, you should have seen this majestic animal. Wool like the color of the sky at sunset — reds and oranges, a hint of purple. He was wily, too, but I tracked him down, way high up in the hills. He didn't want to go home, but I figured out how to nudge him along with a spell or two."

"So you accidentally killed this animal with your magic?"

Trevelyan gasps in mock indignation.

"Don't insult me, I have better control than that!" he says. "I killed him on purpose because he turned out to be a rage demon in disguise."

Dorian groans. "Were you sitting around all afternoon thinking up this ridiculous story?"

Trevelyan's about to explain that it really happened. It sounds like a fabrication, to be sure — but like most things that have occurred so far in Redcliffe, the truth is stranger than stories. He pauses, however, when he sees that Dorian's expression has shifted. The amiable facade falters, and beneath it, he looks truly devastated.

"Are you alright?" Trevelyan asks.

"No," Dorian says. "Not really."

And Trevelyan would leave it at that, if asked. But instead Dorian stops at the edge of the empty road, turns towards him, and opens up about all of it — how it felt, and still feels, to have been rejected and betrayed so thoroughly by his own father. And then, to Trevelyan's utter surprise, he apologizes — both for dragging the Inquisition into a private issue and for the things Halward said and assumed about Trevelyan personally. He apologizes for putting his own rage on display in a humiliating spectacle.

"I can't imagine what you must think of me now."

For a second, Trevelyan's left at a loss for words.

How could Dorian possibly think that any of this reflects badly on him? To Trevelyan, it's quite the opposite — a true measure of his strength and resolve. It's also the confirmation of everything he's been feeling towards Dorian thus far. Attraction and camaraderie are wonderful things, but his feelings go well beyond both — Trevelyan deeply admires this man.

It's time to tell him so.

He puts his thoughts to words, not as eloquently as he'd like, but he manages to convey the sentiment. The effect of those words upon Dorian is immediate. His troubled expression changes to relief. He smiles, and looks genuinely hopeful. The next thing Dorian says is about the importance of staying true to what's in your heart. It's fucking romantic, is what it is — and Trevelyan's not about to let the moment pass unanswered. He steps forward, palms up, entreating. He's not even sure what he's asking for until Dorian meets him halfway.

Before Trevelyan's thoughts can catch up with him, he's holding the man and being held. Standing at the edge of the road under a darkening sky, he kisses Dorian for the first time. It's more gentle than anything he's imagined. Trevelyan's fantasies — when he's alone at night with the privacy to indulge himself — have been lustful and unrestrained. He's imagined nothing of the soft, almost tentative way they take hold of each other. Dorian seems cautious in this, and Trevelyan meets that caution with a kiss that's well-paced to be careful and slow. Their mouths open not to devour in a passionate frenzy, but to taste and to savor.

Oh, Trevelyan thinks, I've missed this.

Because while he does remember the last time that kissing someone lit a spark in him with this same intensity, it's been years since it's happened.

Trevelyan pulls back, not because he wants it to stop — quite the opposite in fact. He'd like to begin moving lower, kissing along the line of that beautiful jaw, learning what sounds of pleasure he can wring from this man by kissing his throat. But he steps back to check in and make sure this isn't too much too fast on an already overwhelming day.

Dorian doesn't look troubled at all. But he shivers as Trevelyan pulls away, and it's unfortunately not from the good kind of chills. With the sun gone down, the temperature has dropped precipitously.

"You know, I'm much more skillful at this when I'm not freezing half to death in the wilderness."

"We can pick this up again back at Skyhold," Trevelyan says. "I mean, if you'd like?"

"I would like."

"Good," Trevelyan says. "So would I."

(I really love these two in a solid, friendship-based romance. Read more of my long, weird fic here if you like)

#dorian pavus #pavelyan #dorian x inquisitor #dorian x trevelyan #dragon age inquisition #dorian/inquisitor

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sovonight · 3 years

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(sith exile au)

recruit

potential

approval

rejection

truth (end)

✧ — ✧

When Revan arrives, fashionably late, upon the ruins of Malachor V, Cela does not welcome her.

"You know you made the right call," Revan says.

Cela does not respond. The emptiness within is too great, and she will never be whole again.

"Don't be dramatic," Revan says, reading her accurately as always. "Come on, Pace. We've won. And if you need it..."

Revan puts a gloved hand on her shoulder. She can't help but flinch, still tender from the wound, and knowingly, Revan says, "I'll show you how to fix this."

✧ — ✧

"You're interested in my side projects?" Revan asks, delighted. She grins, pulling up her plans on the display between them, and motioning Cela over to explore them. "Finally, maybe someone around here will appreciate my work."

Cela moves forward but doesn't take the invitation, keeping her hands clasped behind her back, instead.

"Just one of them," Cela says. "Your hunters."

"Oh," Revan says, then, "Oh. You're not still thinking about what I said yesterday, are you? It was just a thought experiment."

"It could happen. You rely too heavily on your ranks to report each other."

"Well, what am I going to do, have someone go in and assess all of them?" Revan says, with a roll of her eyes. She shuts the display down with a wave. "Anyone who's left is sure to have a weak connection to the Force."

"Any weakness can be improved," Cela says. "These are still valuable assets—ones whose potential you may actively be ruining."

"Fine, fine. Let's make that your project, Pace," Revan says. "I didn't know you had so much time to spare from training our fresh recruits, but go ahead."

"There are no fresh recruits," Cela says, quiet but steely. "As I said, you rely too heavily on your ranks to report."

"Then go with my blessing," Revan says, and waves Cela off, ever reticent to admit her oversights.

✧ — ✧

Cela's back within a week. Revan's still enjoying brunch.

"Hey, Pace!" Revan calls, as Cela enters. "You know you're one of the few I let walk in here when I'm busy."

That could change, is the warning that lies beneath those words, but Cela ignores it. She has always won Revan's favor back, and will again.

"I found one. A Force sensitive," Cela says.

"Just one?" Revan says, through a mouthful of bread. Swallowing it, she gives a smug smile, "And what's that you said about my reliance on reporting?"

"I've looked only through your hunters thus far."

Somewhat disappointed that Cela didn't take the bait to banter, Revan sighs.

"Focused as always, Pace. Well, let's hear it."

Cela hands her the datapad. Revan takes one look at it and drops her cutlery, appalled.

"Rand?! No, you can't. Reports say he's one of my best!" Revan Force-pulls a datapad over from half the room away, nearly knocking over a decorative Sith artifact. "Look at this. Performance, skills, kill count—"

"He's Force sensitive."

"He's a prime example of how well my tactics work!"

"I want to take him as an apprentice."

"...What?" Revan breathes, surprise overriding her protest. "You? Cela "I'll never get close to anyone again" Pace?"

Cela looks very much as though she'd rather not be having this conversation. Nevertheless, she presses on.

"If you are right about the effects of his training, and you often are," Cela says, as patiently as she can manage, "Training him in the Force will require a personal touch."

Revan takes another look at Cela's datapad, zooming in on the display.

"I guess he looks nice enough, if you're into that," Revan says. Cela pulls the datapad away with a scandalized expression, and Revan adds, "Come on, Pace. For you do to something like this? You must finally be getting lonely."

"Do I have your approval?" Cela says formally, deliberately ignoring her. Revan takes one last wistful look at her prize hunter's stats, and sighs.

"Sure. But look, Pace, if you need someone to talk to, build a droid," Revan says, getting up and pulling Cela in familiarly by the shoulders as she gestures with her other hand. "They're customizable. Better than people. And if you let any sensitive information slip, they've got a built-in memory wipe."

Cela remains silent, her shoulders stiff under Revan's weight. Revan studies her.

"Does he have a nice voice?" Revan asks. "It's got to be his voice."

"Everything I do," Cela says quietly, "I do for you. I am training him to add another powerful Force user to our ranks. I am trying to meet your goals."

After one last look, Revan lets Cela go.

"Alright! I get it, no more questions," Revan says. "He's officially your responsibility now. Go claim your new apprentice."

✧ — ✧

A Jedi, bruised but very much alive, is shoved to the ground at the General’s feet. Bound tight, and with the barrel of a blaster trained on the back of his head, the Jedi speaks through gritted teeth.

"You will never—"

"Any trouble?" The General asks, ignoring the Jedi in favor of the hunter holding the blaster.

"None," Jaq says. The Jedi on the ground groans, saying something about "the right thing," and Jaq nods towards him. "Want me to shut him up?"

"No need. Leave us; I will be done in a moment."

Outside, two guards already frame the door, so Jaq leans against the opposite wall in the narrow hallway, arms crossed. For all the resources that had gone into this place, the walls still bleed noise from within, and in a few moments, a terrible wail of pain seeps through the cracks of the room he'd just left.

One of the guards winces.

"What do you think she does in there?" The guard asks. "That's not enough time to interrogate."

The other guard, wisely, keeps his mouth shut, and so does Jaq. The first guard tries again.

"Sith lords, they... they thrive off pain—"

"Are you a Jedi?" Jaq interrupts. The guard stutters.

"W-what? No—"

"Then you've got nothing to worry about. She's only interested in Jedi."

The guard falls silent as he mulls that over. Then he says, "But why only—"

"It's not your job to ask questions," Jaq says. He's not sure why he's helping; this guy doesn't seem like he'll last long, anyway. "If you want to last around here, you'll shut up. Like your colleague over there."

The other guard gives the first guard a sidelong glance and furtive nod. The first guard, thankfully, shuts up—and just in time, because the doors slide open, and the General emerges from the room. Beyond the dark sweep of her robes, Jaq can the limp, crumpled body of the Jedi left behind. He's no stranger to death, but lately something about the sight of her work has begun to unnerve him... some quality beyond the physical.

The General walks away without pause, knowing that he'll follow. Ignoring the odd feeling in his gut, Jaq jogs to fall back in step with her.

When he's back by her side, she glances at him.

"You've done everything I've asked of you," the General says.

"I was assigned to you—" Jaq hesitates; he's tested many terms, none of which have felt right. "...Ma'am."

The General sighs, seemingly out of patience for his attempts. "Call me master."

Privately, he rolls his eyes. He guesses he should expect as much, from a former model Jedi—the self-importance just transfers over. He can't believe that, when they'd first met, he'd thought she could prove to be anything different.

"You have not once questioned my instructions," the General continues, oblivious to his detour of thought. "Why is that?"

"You know best," Jaq answers, automatically. It's such a safe answer that he doesn't anticipate when the General comes to a complete halt, leaving him walking a few steps free. When he turns back, confused, she holds him with her stare.

"Do I?" The General asks. "You must have other thoughts. I know your mind is not as empty as you purport it to be."

She steps closer; he can do nothing but stand there, a predator turned prey in her sights, as she tilts his chin down with a gloved hand to look him seriously in the eyes.

"If you are to learn, you will question the world around you," the General says. Her eyes are dark and cold, but not insincere. "Never follow an order you do not trust, or understand."

"I trust your judgment," he offers; another safe, empty answer. The General draws away with something akin to disdain, edged with a touch of disappointment.

"We have your performance to discuss," she says, instead. It seems her tangent is over.

#sith exile au #*very loosely throws revan over the setup* this is close enough #sovo writes

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kybervisions · 3 years

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abuse of power [din]

summary: din has an encounter with a semi-unhinged new republic pilot.

author’s note: an idea that popped into my head while watching chapter 10 ,, bored new republic pilot reader. WARNING, reader really likes murder

With the fall of the Empire and the rise of the New Republic, anarchy has reigned king. Five years have gone by and remnants of the Empire continue to appear, though sparsely. Each passing moment makes you question your decision of taking such a boring job. The recruiters said you would be helping restore the Galactic Republic and they made it sound exciting. Now, you're a glorified bounty hunter for the New Republic, and it’s been months since you last shot down a TIE fighter or encountered Imperial troopers.

If there are any Imperial holdouts left, they’re well hidden and small. The only crafts you’ve encountered are those of beings that simply forgot to run the beacon. Which appears to be the case right now, as you spot an old ship to your right. You try to get in contact with the pilot of the craft but there is no response.

You fly closer to the craft, “Y’know, I have no problem shooting down this craft. It’d be a serotonin boost.”

That would be a lot of paperwork, though. On the off chance that the craft is not Imperial, you’d be suspended and an investigation would begin. Come to think of it, the New Republic has taken the fun out of your threats.

“Hello? Come in?”

“This is Razor Crest. Is there a problem?” The pilot of the craft finally responds.

“Looks like your transponder isn’t not emitting.” You comment.

“Yes, I’m pre-Empire surplus. I’m not required to run a beacon.” He replies.

He is very cautious with his words. You take note of his hesitance to emit the transponder. He’s hiding something. When creatures see an X-wing, they are compliant, it’s one of the best parts of the gig, but it this pilot has no respect for the New Republic.

“Yeah, that was before. Y’know, when the white devils patrolled the galaxy.” You remind him that times are different. “And, unfortunately, there are rules now. All crafts are required to run a beacon. Makes it easier to identify Imperials.”

“Thank you for letting me know. I’ll get right on it.” The Razor Crest pilot gvies you an insincere thanks.

“Safe travels.”

“May the Force be with you.” The phrase feels empty coming from the pilot. He’s probably never even met a Jedi. There is not too many of the left.

“And I’m gonna need you to send me a ping if you see any Imperial holdouts.” You silently hope to find a couple TIE fighters. Shooting those ugly spheres makes you feel alive. No drug or partner has been able to make you feel like that.

“I’ll let you know if I see any.”

“Still waiting on that ping.” You remind him after a few seconds of silence.

“Well, I’m not sure I have that hardware online.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that bullshit excuse before. Try harder.” You’re no longer entertained. You’ve already begun checking off items in the Rules of Engagement the New Republic officers forced you to memorize after a few accidents.

“I...Doesn’t seem to be working.” He sounds a bit defeated, and it makes your smile.

“Awe, that’s too bad. If I can’t confirm you’re not Imperial, you’re gonna have to follow me to the outpost at Adelphi. They’ll run your tabs.” You follow the procedure.

“Oh, wait. There is it. Transmitting now.” You hear some clicking from his end a a voice. “Be quiet.” The pilot hushes, earning your curiosity.

“What’s that?” You ask.

“Uh, nothing. The...hypervac is drawing off the exhaust manifold.”

“Yeah, uh, give me a minute. Wait or I shot ya down.” That is most definitely an abuse of some power. Oh, well. He won’t be around to file a complaint.

You change channels and contact Wolf. “What did you say the antique ship at the prison was called?”

“Uh, Razor Crest. I think. Why, what’s up?” Wolf asks as your lips form a mischievous smile.

“Because I’m about to add another tally mark on my wall.” You respond. “Over and out.” You return to the channel with the Razor Crest pilot and switch your X-wing to attack mode. The wings of the ship scissor open.

“Now, answer honestly.” You warn the pilot. “Was your craft in the proximity of the New Republic Correctional Transport, Bothan-Five?” You ask.

Instead of replying, he takes off. You laugh and immediately follow the Razor Crest. “This is turning out to be a great day.”

You chase the Razor Crest to the icy planet of Maldo Kreis. Watching the ship struggle to fly in the harsh weather almost made you pity the pilot. It also made you laugh. A lot. “It’s not even funny.” You say to yourself, tailing the Razor Crest.

The snowstorm makes difficult to follow the Razor Crest, and you lose it after a couple minutes of high-speed chasing. “The adrenaline is certainly up.” You smile to yourself as the speed of the X-wing reduces. It seems only murder can boost the serotonin levels.

Wolf keeps you company during your search. He does further research on the ship, running tabs and checking the security footage. How he got the clearance for that, you’ll never know. As it turns out, events at Bothan-Five happened differently than described in the daily report.

It takes you nearly half an hour to find the Razor Crest. It’s surrounded heavily damaged and by hundreds of spider-looking creatures. You take the opportunity to practice your aim and use your blaster cannon to clear out the spiders.

Within seconds, they’re all dead. You unlock the canopy and hop on the edge of the ship. You have your blaster rifle aimed at the only possible exit for the pilot of the Razor Crest. “I just wanna talk.” You shout.

A Mandalorian takes small steps out of the gaping hole in his ship. He’s showing you his palms and has his blaster facing up. You haven’t seen a Mandalorian in years. Like the Jedi, there are not too many left.

“Toss your weapon, Mandalorian.” You look through the eye scope of the blaster rifle. Now, he is very compliant.

“What are you smiling about?” The Mandalorian questions.

“Power play.” You respond. “Just the last time I ran into a Mandalorian I was the one with the gun to my head,” You inform the stranger.

“You’ve met other Mandalorians?” He asks with a tone of hope in his voice.

“One.” You respond honestly. “I’m technically a contracted bounty hunter. For the Republic. It’s a bureaucratic mess. We don’t get any benefits. Honestly, I think it’s destined to fail, so I have a side hustle.” You ramble. “Had.”

“The Mandalorian?”

You shake your head. “I’m the one asking the questions.” You remind the Mandalorian pilot. “I ran the tabs on your ship. Looks like you’ve got an arrest warrant for the abduction of prisoner X-Six-Nine-Eleven.”

“However, onboard security records show that you apprehended three priority culprits from the Wanted Register. Security records also show that you put your own life in harm’s way to try to protect that of Lieutenant Davan from the New Republic Correctional Corps. Is that true?”

“Am I under arrest?“ The Mandalorian asks.

“Technically, you should be.

But I don’t really care.” You shrug. You drop the blaster rifle on your seat and hop off the ship.

“Happy to see the galaxy is being protected by stable minds.“ He says sarcastically.

“Protected? Try being held together with glue and tape.” You chuckle.

“What say I forego the counties on these three criminals, and you help me fuse my hull so I can get off this frozen rock?” You laugh at his proposal.

“What say you fix that transponder and I don’t murder you the next time I’m patrolling the Rim?” You smile and hop back down into your seat, setting the blaster rifle aside and bring down the canopy.

You’ve got a feeling that won’t be the last time you encounter that Mandalorian.

#din djarin x reader #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian oneshot #star wars one shot #sw fic

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ohnobjyx · 4 years

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Plum blossoms in the snow (II)

Part 4: April and May (II)

Disclaimer: I try to keep things objective (if I include my personal opinion, it’s in cursive and in brackets), but I’m biased because of the XZ friendly content I’m usually exposed to and by my own views of their situation. Open to discussion, but please make sure you’ve enough information to do so.

(There was a mistake in the last post, that an anon pointed out. I’ve edited the post. Thank you!)

In May, some of the controversy resurfaced, in the topic of how idols and celebrities affect the younger generations, and, even how they affect younger generations by affecting those in charge of their education.

TV documentary

At the beginning of May, a documentary appeared on the news about a mother worried for her high school daughter, who neglected her studies “because she was infatuated with XZ”. Among other things, she’d ask for money to buy XZ’s new song (0’5 by the way) and she’d borrow money from her classmates to buy things he endorses.

Her daughter also appeared on the documentary, saying that her academic performance has nothing to do with XZ, but rather with the pandemic situation, as she’s not used to online classes. It turned out that she had skipped a grade, and entered high school directly from 2nd year of middle school, so she lacked the support of a network of friends and encouragement in her new situation. She said that as soon as she got her motivation back, she’d keep studying.

However, general public sided with her mother, and said that this kind of obsession with an idol was leading the youths astray.

Interview with Economic View

XZ also gave an interview, for the first time since 2/27, for Economic View, alking about many topics, the “XZ fans incident” among them (I found this video with subtitles, and I think the subtitles are quite good).

youtube

He said, among other things:

“Everything happened in the climax of the country’s fight against the epidemic. I was deeply troubled and worried while I was quarantined at home. I also felt very if this incident has brought trouble to netizens. If that’s the case, from here, I want to say a sincere ‘I’m sorry’.

Since my debut to now, I’ve never ceased to receive well-meaning criticism and guidance. I went from being a normal person to go on to the stage. From my friends, from seniors… I’m always open to them. But of course, there is malicious criticism, some fake rumours and slander, that I think don’t affect just me, but also my friends and family. I don’t feel wronged. I just don’t understand.

When I was 19-20, and I first used w/ibo, I didn’t realize. That in such a public platform, I made inappropriate comments that have hurt other people. I apologize for the consequences of the inappropriate comments I’ve made in the past.”

He also said that the fans always did public welfare projects in his name, and that he got energy from them.

“I hope fans can live their own lives well, and don’t resort to extreme actions to hurt others or themselves.”

This interview was of course praised for showing responsibility and answering almost all questions. We can all notice that his responses are very carefully worded, that he takes his time thinking about what he’s going to say and how, and that his answers are very calculated. Don’t misunderstand me. He did it very well in this interview, and I don’t think he was insincere, but he needed to be very careful about what he said at the time.

Other idols and their sasaengs

On the 9th of May, WYB posted the following:

“I work very hard, can’t I even nap for a bit in the car? My staff stood in front of your car, and you still dared to drive forward? For a long time, strangers come and knock my hotel room’s door, they install tracking devices in my car, there’s people following me no matter where I go… unbelievable! I really can’t understand you!”

A crazy fan had followed him on her car. When the security had tried to stop her, stepping in front of her car, she still tried to drive forward.

To this, UNIQ OFFICIAL account expressed their support like this:

“Against this kind of vile behaviour, report to the police! Let the law investigate their legal responsibility! To those who go against other people’s security and don’t respect your privacy, zero tolerance!”

The teacher’s incident

On the 10th, XZ posted:

“Please listen to me carefully once more! I wish you to take good care of your studies, careers, personal lives, and to place them before “chasing stars”. Study hard, take your job seriously. Be responsible and assume your obligations, follow the rules of your career and abide by professionalism. I don’t your help.”

This message may seem harsh to some of their fans. So, why did XZ publish such a comment?

A primary school teacher had posted a video of his students cheering for XZ. This angered a lot of netizens, who said that she was using a position of power to “indoctrinate” young children to like this idol. The haters affirmed that she was guiding the children to “chase” stars, and that she’s a bad influence (I actually agree with this one, you really shouldn’t do this in a classroom, but to involve XZ again is going too far).

XZ and the teacher were reported to the authorities. The Ministry of Education answered that the teacher had been suspended from her job and the school’s director had received a formal reprimand. The teacher’s w/ibo account had also been blocked. This is the main reason for XZ’s post.

Talking about unreasonable responses, after this incident with the teacher, the next day the topic “XZ’s supertopic teachers group” went on hot search in w/ibo. A group consisting of more than 1000 teachers, all fans of XZ, had been formed inside the supertopic. This was widely questioned by the netizens and haters.

To be fair, this didn’t happen just to XZ. Around the same time, another video emerged, with a teacher encouraging his kindergarten students to cheer for Wang Junkai. So with this incident, the Ministry of Education started to pay attention to similar content.

On the 14th, XZ forwarded an article by People’s Daily about teachers using their students to cheer for their idols and asking

“Don’t go beyond the limits of your professionalism. Don’t leave the circle of rationalism. The fan quan can’t circle everything” (”quan” means circle)

Many more teachers were reported, and in response, the XZ’s fans association posted this:

“There are many voices criticizing XZ’s fans right now. We accept the criticism. XZ has told his fans to “pursue the idols” in a civilized and rational way, but some still display unreasonable behaviour. These actions have a great negative impact on him. We apologize to him and to other fans in their name.”

This even extended to a teacher teaching a course of cyber-violence. She used XZ as an example of cyber violence and haters’ attack. This was brought again to the authorities by the haters, and she was suspended from her job. Luckily, her students and their parents were very supportive and defended her, so she came back to her post.

(This was just ridiculous. Really).

This is quite a curious thing: even though we can see that objectively, this teacher didn’t do anything wrong, the department deemed her at fault due to the large number of reports.

(It’s a thinking that goes along the lines of “if a lot of people think she has done something wrong, then she must have done something wrong”.)

So if haters can’t find anything to criticize in XZ, they’ll turn to his fans.

More support...

15th of May. A screenwriter and director posted a comment praising XZ and lamenting about his situation. The next day, he updated saying that he had been attacked in private comments because of his post, so he was very angry by it (he was angry with haters, not with xz).

On that day a photographer that had worked with him also praised him, saying he was humble and polite. He was also attacked by haters and antis, saying he had only praised XZ out of all the idols he had worked with, so he had to have ulterior motives, such as being paid by his studio or insulting the other idols in disguise.

People noticed that if someone defends XZ, no matter who they are, they’ll be attacked. No matter what XZ does, he’ll be criticized by some. If he doesn’t do anything, the haters turn on to his fans. Hater were trying to destroy every effort he made, and they managed it easily at first. After each appearance in public, he faces all kinds of comments. So conspiracy theories surged, about a mastermind behind the haters.

Even the lawyer that was managing XZ’s case was attacked by haters.

(Who in his right state of mind calls a lawyer with their own mobile phone to insult them? This logic and rationale amazes me…)

... and a little disappointment

At the end of May, the photos of him filming a episode of the season 2 of 青春环游记 were leaked on S/na News. He did participate in the recording, but the episode didn’t include him in the end (aired mid-June). A worker said they had been feeling pressure from various fronts, and finally felt that it’d be best not to include him (I suppose they feared the pressure from the antis).

In the midst of disappointment, his fans mostly reacted by keeping a positive attitude: “he posted two selfies lately, he shot a cute video making a drink (the douyin video), he seems in a good mood in all them. With them he was trying to cheer us fans. He has told us not to be used by others, not to get carried away by antis, not believe rumours, and to not be suspicious of his studio. What’s an episode in a variety show? He got paid anyway just for recording it. Let’s not cry over it.”

Truly, in spite of everything that happened at February and March, I think this is the kind of comments he deserves from his fans: people who are a little bit sad because he didn’t make it to the episode in the end, but who are still supporting him, waiting for his next project and listening to what he says.

←Part 4 (I): Plum blossoms in the snow (I) | Part 5 and 6: A snowy summer→

#gg's situation #part 4 of 7 (II)#my post

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maple-writes · 4 years

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WHG 13: Day Four + Escape

tagging @concealeddarkness13 (still not 100% over what Skylar did to Holt) @ratracechronicler (Absolon and Jaden) @onmywaytobe (Logan and Margot) and @nightskywriter (Clovis) (let me know if I got something wrong about them and I’ll change it up!)

Skylar woke them all up early the next morning, all chipper excitement and smiles. It was much earlier than Skyler would have liked, but between their enthusiasm he couldn’t really be upset about it for long. As they made their way through the marsh towards the barrier, he grinned, holding his net over his shoulder as he walked. Who would have known he’d be getting out of the games not only alive, but with seven friends?

They conjured up a door in the barrier of the arena, and opened it up. The real sun made Skyler squint, but he couldn’t stop smiling. They actually did it, they’d actually gotten them out of the arena. The all of them stood, marveling at the real air, the real breeze, and the fact that they’d actually gotten out of there with their lives.

When he turned back to the arena, Skylar and Holt were still inside wrapped around each other in the kind of kiss pulled straight from the movies.

He rolled his eyes in mock irritation towards the others, a smirk creeping across his face. “You think we should get the wedding bells ringing now or—"

Skylar shoved Holt through the barrier and the door vanished.

For a moment everything froze, and then Holt started screaming. He yelled and slammed is hands against the barrier, shouting at Margot when she tried to talk to him. All Skyler could do was stare, frozen with his heart pounding in his throat.

What were they thinking? They still had their tracker in, didn’t they? The capitol was going to kill them. They didn’t have a chance. Skyler’s face wrenched and his chest tightened. They were safe, they got out, what was Skylar thinking? Why? Why?

Margot stuck Holt with something, catching him as he fell unconscious. “We have to go.” She said, a serious edge in her voice. “Now.”

Logan rushed to her side, helping her drag Holt along. She was in on it too, wasn’t she? Was this what they’d snuck away to talk about last night?

“What’s going on?” Skyler yelled, hands clenched to fists, looking at anyone for some kind of answer. “We can’t just leave them in there!”

“We have to.” Margot sounded like she didn’t like it either, but her tone was final. “If the capitol has a scapegoat to pin this on they’re less likely to come after us and our families.”

Skyler swallowed, turning back to stare at the solid barrier. Skylar wasn’t even there anymore, already vanished somewhere further into the arena. How could they? Everything was going so well. He didn’t want to leave them there, alone against the whole of the capitol. It wasn’t fair.

But Margot was right. They couldn’t stay here, and there was nothing any of them could do here to help them. Not yet. Reluctantly, he turned and followed the others away from the arena. He clenched his teeth, seething with every step. That damned weasel didn’t even give him a chance to even say goodbye. If they expected him to just let them die they were dead wrong.

But as the minutes turned to hours, it was becoming apparent that the arena wasn’t quite as close to the Capitol as they’d all assumed. The lights shone bright and glimmering against early twilight clouds, but each step didn’t seem to take them all that much closer, and it was looking more and more like they wouldn’t make it all the way that night.

Skyler had lost a lot of blood yesterday, and the wound was still sore on his back. He refused to admit to anyone that he was exhausted, but it didn’t look like he was alone. Logan’s ankle seemed to have started bothering him again, and while Jaden’s injury didn’t seem to be as much of an issue as it was before but he’d still slowed enough to be noticeable. Clovis seemed to be hampered too, though Skyler suspected he was no stranger to pushing through injury. Even Margot and Absolon, the only two who hadn’t been seriously hurt, were slowing down. They took turns with Holt, who still hadn’t completely come back around after Margot tranquilized him.

They couldn’t stop yet though, not here. It was too open. Sure there was some tree cover, but they were sparse, young trees, and none of them really knew what was out here. Though at this rate, they wouldn’t really have a choice. At least they’d been left alone since their escape.

Floodlights flicked on from a ground vehicle camouflaged in sparse bushes, catching them all in their light. Skyler jumped, turning to face the vehicle. It was one of the capitol’s, no doubt about it. How hadn’t he noticed it before? He swallowed, glancing around at the rest of them. The racing of his heart told him to run as fast as he could, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave the rest of them here. They’d faced enough together to abandon them now.

He tensed, holding out the rod end of his net, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Margot do the same with her spear, passing Holt off to Logan and shielding them both. Clovis braced with the stance of a trained fighter, and Abosolon looked ready to go down swinging.

The side door opened and a woman stepped out. Blinded by the floodlights, Skyler couldn’t see much more than her silhouette of a long jacket and hair tied back. But when she signaled for the floodlights to shut off in favor of gentler headlights, his blood ran cold.

Indigo Carmine.

She gave a too-sweet capitol smile, but her eyes rested sharp on the seven of them like a hawk upon and injured rabbit. “Good evening.”

“What the Hell are you doing here?” Skyler yelled. “If you so much as touch any of us I swear I’ll—”

“Stand down Bluebird, I’m—.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Fine,” Indigo conceded. “Stand down Dewpoint, because I’m not here to capture you.” She looked over the rest of the group. “None of you actually. That being said, there are people looking for you.”

She looked up at the darkening sky, a look of thought crossing her face. “Hmm… They’ve probably searched most of the perimeter by now. If they haven’t been here yet I doubt they’ll be long.” She paused, crossing her arms and tapping a finger against her cheek. “If they’re smart they’ll have brought some of my sprinter-wolves with them.” Indigo turned her focus back on them with a cruel grin. “Who do you think would come out on top: you, or a pack of wolves with the legs and speed of cheetahs, and a taste for human flesh?”

Skyler stole a glance at Holt, limp arms draped around Logan’s shoulders. Holt was helpless, Logan probably couldn’t run far, and even if they were all unhurt and well rested they probably wouldn’t stand a chance… At the same time though, Indigo was known to lie.

“Just thought you should know what you’re up against before I explain my offer.” The smile returned to her face, just as insincere as before. “I have a place in the capitol tucked away from prying eyes. It’s yours if you want it.”

Skyler snarled. “Sure there is. You’re just going to hand us over to whoever pays up first.”

“Believe whatever you want.” Indigo said. “But trust me, if I wanted you captured we wouldn’t be talking.”

“Sounds like something someone who wanted to kidnap us would say. Let me guess, you've got candy and puppies in the back of your van?" Absolon joked. “Give us one good reason we should believe you.”

Indigo thrust a pointing finger in the direction of the arena. “I spent months improving the jabberjays before the games. They’re the best they’ve ever been! They sound more real, they remember more sounds, they’re louder, they’re faster, they’re relentless in their harassment, they’re a masterpiece. Hell, their voices can break glass now.” She crossed her arms again. “But President Snow, you know what he said? He complained they didn’t look good anymore. They were a bit too colourful, not scary enough, a waste of time.”

She gestured to herself, a hint of anger breaking through her indifferent mask. “He even had the nerve to imply that he could find someone to replace me.” Indigo took a deep breath and faced them again, quickly regaining her composure. “Long story short I think he needs a reminder that he’s not as powerful as he thinks.”

A howl rang out somewhere in the dusk, followed by a chorus of others that sent a chill down Skyler’s spine. He swallowed, and glanced back at the others. They’d heard it too.

Indigo glanced down at her watch. “I’d give them about two minutes.” She looked up again. “I’m going to get back into the van and unlock the side doors. Feel free to join me, otherwise I suggest you start running.”

Before any of them could say anything, Indigo turned and did exactly what she said she would. The seven of them didn’t debate for long before taking her up on the offer. What other choice did they have? She’d planned it that way, hadn’t she? Waited until the last second to force their hand. Typical. Skyler held his tongue though as they loaded into the back of the van. He didn’t want to say anything that would change her mind about protecting them from whatever monster she’d created. As soon as they were alone again though, he’d make sure to warn them about her, and what kind of a person she really was.

As soon as they closed the doors behind them, the driver drove them away and Indigo turned around in her seat to face them.

“Good choice. I usually introduce myself as Ursa Major, but given that I know all your names it only seems fair I let you call me Indigo. May as well get comfortable, we’re about an hour out.”

#writeblr hunger games #writeblr hunger games 13 #Skyler Dewpoint #indigo carmine #it's escape time!#Indigo is not very nice

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platypanthewriter · 4 years

Text

The Keg-King of Elfland’s Sword

Chapter One: The Arrival

for @ihni

It wasn’t like a party in New South Wales, nor yet was it like the parties Billy had attended in London, where everyone had seemed to blur together in endless lines of pearl buttons and curly white wigs. His first sight of Hawkins society was a confusion of colors and heights—the person offering to take his coat, he realized, pulling his eyes from the constellations of candles, was at least partly horse, and clapped their hooves over it, bowing. He bowed back, pulling Max forward through the doorway—she was as wide-eyed as he, her eyes catching on a woman floating near the punch bowl with a face either covered in moss, or made of it.

He wondered, watching the dancers, whether he could be less careful here—whether iron was more easily avoided, and he could apply himself at a stranger’s dinner table without burning his hands.

In the center of the room, surrounded by the most candles—and, he noted, after some consideration, floating flames with no visible source—were two empty ornate chairs, like thrones. Between them was a huge head, cut and seared bloodless from some hairy, fanged, one-eyed beast, on oilcloth, and he registered how many of the dancers had bandages. The dance shifted to pairs, and a young man with a bloodied face, a flower crown, and a wide grin spun his partner down the room. Billy stumbled as Max drew him, wide-eyed, towards a person whose silvery ruffles matched their wheeled ambulatory device. Billy glanced at them, then back to the dancer, whose teeth and eyes gleamed in the candlelight. “I—I have to—” he whispered, yanking at Max’s grip on his arm.

She hissed, “No, wait, we have to find the sheriff, he’s—”

“I have to go dance with him.” Billy pointed, and Max stood on her toes, until he lifted her by her securely corseted waist, and she kicked out.

“Unhand me, or I’ll unhand you—” she snarled, then narrowed her eyes. “Oh, there, with the flowers?”

“With the flowers,” he agreed, “—and the smile.”

She folded her arms, comfortable with the boning supporting her weight. “...at least turn around a few times, Mr. Hopper did send a sketch—”

Billy laughed, spinning slowly with his sister’s feet swinging against his knees, until she yelled, pointing, and smacked his head. He sat her back on her feet, but she held onto his jacket.

“Take me over there, or he’ll think I’m a lost child. And I can ask about your dancer.”

“No need.” Billy allowed himself to be dragged away, eyes on the spinning white flowers and gleaming dark hair. “I’ll ask him myself.”

“What if he’s married?” She rolled her eyes, and nearly jerked Billy’s shoulder out of its socket when the idea spurred him towards the dancing again. “Walk, idiot. If he’s married, he won’t be less or more so in the time it takes to greet Mr. Hopper.”

“How do I look,” he muttered, frowning down, and she groaned loudly, putting an arm through his and spinning him to see a man about his father’s age, who looked as though he half thought they were entertaining—after watching Billy progress across the room like an untrained dog on a lead—and half wished they’d leave him to his conversation with a tiny dark-eyed woman who kept laughing, tears in her eyes.

Billy blinked at them, and the man’s smirk widened. Max kicked his leg, aiming unerringly at the bone. “Sher—Mr. Hopper?” he tried, saving his revenge for later.

“I am, and this is Ms. Byers.” Mr. Hopper nodded at the small woman, and she blinked at them, laughing again, and wiping her eyes.

“Mr. William Hargrove and Ms. Maxine Mayfield.” Billy offered the woman a hand—her fingers trembled against his—then shook Mr. Hopper’s, as Ms. Byers shook with Max, and asked how far they’d come. Max explained the speed of the newest dragon-craft, getting distracted, as usual, describing her continuing attempts—thwarted by crew—to climb the rigging, and speak to the dragon.

Billy listened with a smile, his mind half soaring between shining ocean waves and gleaming dragon scales, and half watching the dance floor. When he heard the word “pirate,” he rolled his eyes, imploring, “Good sheriff, as a man of the law, try to discourage my sister. She’s never more than three dull conversations from stealing a dragon ship and raising a flag with a skull and crossed swords.”

“A temptation shared by us all,” the sheriff replied, toasting her, and Billy made a fist and thumped it on the top of her head.

“Look, now you’ve corrupted him.”

“I would never!” Max grinned. “We saw the Pirate Queen, you know.”

“We may have done,” Billy interrupted, sighing. “At the very limit of our telescope, we saw a dark blotch—”

“She was standing on her dragon’s head,” Max said, twining her fingers together, and stretching, her eyes focused on visions of piracy.

“Every hour it was the Pirate Queen, listen.” Billy yanked the chain of his keepsake out of his shirt, and held up the battered shell, despite Max trying to smack it out of his hand. Her cheeks were reddening until they nearly competed with Ms. Byers’ gown. Billy held it out of her reach, and ran his thumb around the edges, and Max’s voice came out with the watery echoes of low-quality keepsake enchantment.

“There, that’s her,” echo-Max said. “There! Billy! Billy, it’s—oh. Oh, no, it’s—it’s not.”

Echo-Billy’s voice joined her. “Max, that’s an albatross.”

“No, wait! I see her! I see her now!” echo-Max cut off, muffled, as actual-Max climbed her brother like a tree, grabbing the keepsake. She dropped to the floor, feet wide-set, her arm up to guard, and Billy laughed, raising his hands.

“You’ve disarmed me. Return my keepsake, fierce Amazon, I’ll keep your secrets close.”

“I’ll record something over it first,” she hissed. “Something flatulent.”

“Give it back,” he pleaded, circling her and grinning.

Max tossed her head, crossing her arms. “Because it was your mother’s. I’ll surrender it for her sake, not yours.” She held it out by the chain, and he put it back on.

Ms. Byers was staring at it. “I suppose her message was too—familiar? That you would erase it?” Billy laughed, clearing his throat, and Max rescued him.

“She gifted only the keepsake, it came with no message. If it had,” she confided, cocking her head to grin up at him, “—he would not have filled its chamber with my nonsense about an albatross. I would be safe from his brotherly abuses.”

“I received word only of Ms. Mayfield.” Mr. Hopper raised his eyebrows, and Billy bit his tongue on an explanation of his father’s low regard.

“I am grateful for my brother’s company.” Max gave her most even and insincere smile, “—as it would be hazardous, for one of my youth, travelling alone.”

“We are relieved you have him,” Ms. Byers said, her eyes searching the room. “It is not safe, alone, always. Though the Hunt does its best.”

“I am here as her shield.” Billy patted his belt, where his sword would hang, and he saw that she took his meaning.

“Get much use, does it?” Mr. Hopper asked, his brows drawing together. “I’ll take no issue with a hand raised against the wilds, but we’ve had too many fights, as of late.”

“I’ll keep him in line,” Max promised, elbowing Billy when she realized his attention had strayed.

“Do I look as well as I may,” Billy whispered out of the side of his mouth, watching the dancer—he’d finished the dance, and his friends were carrying him around, along with someone else.

“I beg your pardon, Ms. Byers,” Max sighed, “—my brother has seen someone on the dance floor, and he’s having heart palpitations.” Ms. Byers snickered, steadying her hands on her glass of punch, as Max looked Billy up and down, then smacked his shoulder until he was low enough for her to assess. She fluffed his cravat, and pulled forward some of the curls he’d carefully combed back, tucking them to hide the almost-points of his ears. She pinched his cheeks. “Bite your lips ‘til you get over there,” she advised, and pushed him back. Ms. Byers was cackling into Mr. Hopper’s shoulder, but Billy ignored them, bouncing his heels to try and track the bright-eyed dancer.

By the time he’d sidled through the crowd, the flower crown was twirling again on the dance floor, its bearer laughing with—Billy tore his eyes away to inspect the partner—a human woman, he thought, though her ears looked rather pointed, from across the dance floor, and through the largest flower crown. He couldn’t tell whether the crown had antlers, or she did.

“Thomas Hall,” said a voice in his ear, and Billy smirked to cover his start, turning to see a freckled grin. “But Hall ‘the Elder’ s are everywhere, so Mr. Thomas, to most. You are watching Harrington.”

Am I, now, Billy thought, raising his eyebrows at the memory of the name in his father’s leftward slanting script. “William Hargrove.” He cocked his head, letting his gaze drift back to the dance floor. His target careened his partner with the headdress towards the musicians, spinning away every time at the last minute, and no one faltered, though all were laughing.

“Those two fill most of each other’s dance cards,” Thomas told him, and Billy nodded, watching the partner crouch, jump, and get spun over Harrington’s head. He’d shed his jacket, if he’d ever worn one, and rolled up his sleeves, so the muscles of his arms shone in the candlelight.

“...he’s in love with her,” Thomas tried again, and Billy nodded again, appreciating the angle the light had on flowers, and gleaming dark hair, and gleaming leather breeches. “He won’t want you.” Thomas punched his shoulder, and Billy raised his eyebrows, glancing over, and considering whether it was worth punching back.

“Hasn’t said so yet,” Billy replied, rolling his shoulders as the music came to a close. He angled himself to intercept the blur of golden waistcoat, flower crown, and bloodied face he could see through the crowd.

After sidling through what was probably the entire population of Hawkins, Billy spotted his dancer again. He finally got in front of Harrington by the punch, and took a deep breath, his eyes following a trickle of sweat down the side of the man’s face. It dripped into the unbuttoned neck of his shirt, and Billy shut his mouth and swallowed, nearly having drooled. “Dance with me,” he blurted. “...Billy Hargrove.”

Harrington had just tipped in a mouthful of punch, but he held out a hand, swallowed, and wiped his mouth. “Steven Harrington.”

Billy was watching the wetness of the punch on his lips. “...Mr. Harrington. May I have this dance? Or any.”

“Why not,” Harrington laughed, chugging another glass of punch, and then took Billy’s hand in his, cold and damp from the punch glass, and dragged him back to the dancing.

The complex pattern kept whirling Harrington away, but he kept returning to grab Billy’s hands and spin him around, all smiles and shining eyes and warm muscles under Billy’s hands. Billy breathed in the smell of white flowers, and felt dizzy.

The next dance the antlers returned, and Billy wandered off to the punch, took a deep, steadying draught, and remembered he had a sister, because she punched him in the side.

“Max,” he wheezed.

“My thanks for escorting me to the ball, sweet brother.” She raised her eyebrows, and took his glass of punch. “I have appreciated your company at every divine moment. Ms. Byers said to watch the punch. Since they ride out on the morrow, it was supposed to be all sugar and mint, but that just means everyone with a flask dumps it in. She said by an hour in, it’ll be alcohol enough to fuel a dragon ship. When are we going to dance?”

“I can still smell flowers.” Billy watched for the flower crown, and Max groaned.

“What are you doing? Did you even get his name? Make sure when you’re walking towards him, it isn’t through a road.”

Billy laughed, shoving her head down. She flailed, nearly spilling the punch, and he mussed her hair. “I’m not—”

“Or into a river. You’d probably forget to swim.” She held the sloshing glass of punch at a wary arm’s length with both hands, glowering up at him.

“I’ll push you in the river,” he growled, swiping a hand at his cup again, “—and I did get his name, as it happens. It’s, ah. It’s Harrington.”

“How’d you know?” She blinked up at him, and automatically took a swig of the punch, before coughing. “Dear god.” She wiped her eyes. “—that’s not for fueling engines, it’s for cleaning them. How’d you know it was him? You already got a dance with him?”

“I…” Billy swallowed, yanked the cup back, and drained it. “I didn’t know it was him. I can’t—it won’t work, anyway. He’s engaged, or as good as. The one with the antlers. I’ll just—I’ll have to write.” He took a deep breath, staring into the cup. “Tell him I failed.”

Max rocked sideways, thudding her shoulder into his ribs. “You did get a dance with him. That doesn’t sound hopeless.”

“It was never going to work—” he hissed back, and then the music stopped abruptly, with the musicians joining in cheering and clapping with the crowd, as the floor cleared around Ms. Byers. She was carrying a flailing, giggling child a bit smaller than Max to one of the thrones, while another with close-cropped hair furtively approached the second throne. A thin woman waved and cheered at the second child, who flashed a smile.

“Come sit with me, this chair is huge!” yelled the one Ms. Byers was holding, and she kissed his cheek, squeezing him so hard he squeaked. The other kid nodded, flashing a quick smile, and skirted around the enormous severed head, nervous glances fixed more on the crowd than the dead monster. Harrington and his antlered partner stepped up next to Ms. Byers to lift the chair, along with another few people who ran out of the restless crowd, all bandaged in various places.

“...I should have run out,” Billy told Max, watching, and she snorted.

“I think it’s invitation only.”

“Maybe he needs help. Maybe he needs me to carry him—”

She smacked his thigh, and he snickered.

Once they had the chair aloft, they carried it around, amidst whoops, and whistles, and drunken shouts like, ‘King and Queen of the Hunt Ball!’, ‘Welcome home!’, and ‘So glad you’re safe!’ The crowd smacked Harrington and his cronies on the shoulders and back, as they whirled the laughing children around in the chairs. Ms. Byers cried, and so did her kid, slinging his arm over the arm rest and clamping his hand over hers.

“What are they doing,” Billy leaned to ask Max, finally realizing there was more happening than Steve Harrington lifting something heavy over his head.

“They fought that,” Max whispered, pointing at the enormous head, “to get them back. The townschildren.” A tiny crab scuttled out from under its eyelid, and then a few more, and Billy’s mouth fell open again.

“They…” He frowned around, cataloguing the bandages, and Harrington’s scraped knuckles and scabbed-up face. “What?”

“Apparently the boy—his name’s Will Byers, I met him after you went off all starry-eyed—was missing. The girl was missing even longer. Usually it’d be the hunters in the thrones at the Hunt Ball, but—” She jerked her head at the procession, and Billy nodded, eyes lingering on Harrington’s biceps. Max rolled her eyes, sighing. She waved to little Byers, and dragged Billy closer when Byers waved back.

Billy echoed the motion, and Harrington waved back, grinning over.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Max whispered, as Billy kept waving, until Thomas grabbed his hand.

“Noticed he danced with you. Hargrove.” He leaned in, and Max leaned around to give him a puzzled glower.

“Lucky me.” Billy tried to pull his hand back, and winced at Thomas’ grip.

“He’s King of the Hunt Ball, you know? He’s always King. Nan Wheeler sits next to him as Queen.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine how grand it would look—Harrington in his finest, instead of sweatstained and bandaged, and Wheeler at his side, borne through the air on the shoulders of their friends. He must have made some kind of face, because Max elbowed him.

“Byers wants her,” Thomas whispered, “—but she’s not for him.”

“Little Byers?” Billy raised his eyebrows at the laughing, crying child, and Thomas squeezed his hand until the bones ground together.

“Who the hell are you,” Max muttered.

“The elder Byers, Jonathan. Steve dueled him.” Tommy leaned close. “—he was watching her, with a telescope. Sketching her through the window.”

“Why didn’t she duel him?” Max wrinkled her nose. “I’d have—”

“Steve found out first, didn’t even wait for me, his second—” Thomas hissed back at her. “He fights for her—”

“I hear you.” Billy shifted to slam their shoulders together, and yanked his hand loose at Thomas’ stagger. “—would you like to match steel to your words?”

“No! Billy,” Max hissed. “You’ll be thrown out. You’ll miss the dance. Billy.”

“They wouldn’t dream of stopping us.” Thomas bared his teeth in a grin. “An exhibition match, to first blood.” He spun away, shaking his fists in the air, and shouting, “A sword! And a referee!”

“What is this place,” Max whispered to Billy, her eyes shining. “Instead of dancing, we can duel?”

Another antlered person wafted towards them, the silvery train of her dress shining after her. “As it’s my house, I’ll keep watch.” She held out the hilts of two fencing sabres, and looked Billy dispassionately up and down. “...They’re dulled, as humans are fragile.”

He took a deep breath before accepting one, wondering whether he’d feel the dull, frozen ache of cold iron—but either the blood he’d inherited from his mother was indeed as fae as the Lady offering the sword, and it was some fae metal, and harmless to him; or else the madness rotting in his blood acknowledged that the sword was probably not iron, and didn’t set fanciful pains running up the veins of his arms.

He whipped the sabre through the air a couple of times, eyes narrowed. Thomas struck a stance, his off hand up in a pointlessly stylish wave, and Billy tested his defense. It wasn’t terrible, for a man who smelled more of whiskey with a dash of punch than the reverse, though he was focusing too much on trying to end the duel. Billy raised his eyebrows, dancing away from a wild swipe near his knee.

It became apparent pretty quickly he was in no great danger from Thomas, who seemed continually surprised to find his blows swinging into thin air, and was beginning to pant.

Billy spun to the side, and realized they’d been surrounded. The dancing had stopped. Harrington was watching, and Billy called for a pause, and stripped out of his jacket, tossing it to Max. She glared at him, rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms. He was somewhat hoping it hit her in the face with a brass button, and then Harrington leaned out and caught it, grin wide.

Billy bowed again, then pointed his sword, holding Harrington’s gaze. “For you.” Harrington laughed, shaking his head, but saluted back, and then Thomas was attacking again.

The rhythm was easy, once Billy settled into it—simpler than the dances, just practiced muscles stretching and flexing, and Harrington’s grin, and cheering. Thomas was starting to look a little wild, drenched in sweat, and when he stumbled backwards, wiping his brow, Billy realized the fight was nearly over.

He was irritating Thomas into ever more desperate swings, enjoying his growls, when a new round of whoops and cheers went up to his left, and the crowd parted to admit another fencer. She walked in and threw an arm around Thomas’ shoulder, tossing back a cup of punch. She stared, smiling, at Billy, and unbuttoned her jacket. Thomas yowled like a cat, and she tugged her sleeves off in turn, without breaking eye contact with Billy. He couldn’t help but grin back, even as she walked over to Harrington, handed him the cup, and tossed her jacket over the man’s head.

As the crowd whistled, Harrington growled, trying to free himself from the jacket without spilling the cup.

Billy raised his eyebrows, licked his lips, and dropped his sword on the ground. He turned to stare Harrington in the face, peeling out of his shirt and sauntering over to drape it over the man’s arm. Harrington was laughing, his smirk widening as his gaze traced the sweat gleaming on Billy’s chest. Billy leaned in close to tug the flower from Harrington’s jacket, and breathed in its fragrance. Harrington watched, mouth hanging a little open, and Billy spun back to the duel, tucking the flower into the curls over his left ear.

The crowd was beginning to chant “Carol! Carol!”—and he could immediately see the difference, as she shoved Thomas out of the impromptu arena with her foot. Her stance was deep and steady without being showy, and she didn’t try for the obvious openings he gave her.

A good opponent was a heady pleasure, letting him show his best side to Harrington, and soon he and Carol had matching grins, circling each other. She was tired, though—her flowing shirt showed the same patches of dried blood as all those who had carried the thrones around in triumph, and she had a purpling bruise along her hairline, from her eyebrow to her ear. The point of her sword drooped a couple of inches, and she narrowed her eyes, sinking her stance deeper as though it had been on purpose. She tossed her sword into her left hand—Billy raised his eyebrows—and wiped her right on her trousers.

“Harrington,” she growled. “Candelabra.”

Harrington spun to grab one of the heavy brass candelabras off the dais by the thrones—a low one, its flames gleaming off the sharp teeth of the monster—and tossed it to her. The wax sprayed across her chest and face, but three of the five candles stayed lit, and she laughed low in her throat, holding the candelabra in front of her at arms’ length like a buckler.

“My lord is fickle,” Billy protested, flashing a smile at Harrington, who did a weird curtsey with all the clothes he was holding, like they were skirts.

Billy hadn’t had much faith in a lit candelabra as a buckler, but her stance was sure, and it was more effective in her hand than many a buckler he’d seen, turning his blows aside with the slightest tilt of her extended arm. With the candelabra at arm’s length, though, heavier by far than the sword, he could see the barest tremble beginning in her wrist and elbow, and he pressed forward to end the fight. The still-lit candles dazzled him—her, as much as him, he thought, nearly slipping on spilled wax, and parrying her immediate thrust.

He flicked his saber to cut the two remaining lit candles, and one toppled. Carol kicked it away, swinging around to nick the leg of his trousers, and he spun away.

Max whistled with two fingers in her mouth, and the candelabra tinked against the edge of his sword again, just nudging it the half-inch over so the tip went well wide of her thigh.

After the dancing, and the hours, days, and weeks of travel, Billy was growing winded. Her blade nearly took his ear off, and he scuttled backward, as her next swing scraped across the chain of his necklace.

Thomas cheered. “Carol!” he yelled, at the ceiling. “Carol, my sweet, my song!”

She was panting outright now, her arm shaking with the candelabra. The people around them were yelling both their names—Max the loudest, with his.

Billy let her chase him a bit, sidling around the edge of the laughing crowd until she pressed in, baring her teeth in a wide grin, the melted wax hitting his arm and chest as he ducked along the throne to block her swing, and flicked his blade to draw a few drops of blood from her shoulder.

“First blood!” cried the antlered woman, like a bell, and the tip of Carol’s blade stopped, hovering in a blur in front of Billy’s left eye. She staggered back, dropping both the sword and the candelabra, but Thomas and another woman were there to catch her. Nan Wheeler was leaning against Harrington’s shoulder—but he waited, watching Billy, so Billy picked up the sword Thomas, then Carol, had used, as it rattled across the floor, and scooped up the candelabra. The other antlered woman stepped in front of him to accept the swords, so by the time he reached Harrington, all he held was the candelabra.

“I gift to you my spoils of war,” he said, bowing with every flourish he could manage, and Harrington’s grin widened.

“The Hargrove Candelabra,” he laughed, and Billy stumbled closer, as though the floor had tilted—or Harrington were the kind of celestial body to affect the tides, and the moon, and pull comets around to light his way. “Am I your lord or your porter?” He tossed Billy’s shirt in his face, and then his jacket, but his cheeks were flushed. Billy caught them in one hand, and stretched, peeling wax from his pectorals. He used his thumbnail to scrape at the rest. Harrington bit his lip, but drew Wheeler back to the dance.

Billy allowed Max to pull him away, and thus made the aquaintance of one Lucas Sinclair, a boy who came up and bowed to her. She accepted a dance—though the music was unfamiliar—so he stayed close and showed her, and reluctantly Billy, the steps. After two songs, they pulled each other off into the dancing. Then she accepted a dance with another boy, turned to frown at Billy, and stuck out her tongue. The boy half-collapsed with laughter, and Billy went to get more punch, ladling a massive ice cube into his glass and tossing back the horrible mix of flavors with a grimace.

When the antler crown—Nan Wheeler—stepped away from Harrington again, and he turned away from the dancing, panting for breath, Billy stepped into her space. “Free again?”

“Ha,” Harrington panted. He threw an arm around Billy’s shoulders, leaning into him, and Billy felt himself flush at the proximity to Harrington’s grinning face. “Little worn out.” He was watching Wheeler dance with someone else—the same someone as before, Billy thought, possibly, trying to remember. Harrington shook his head, turning a somewhat stiffer smile on the world at large, and laughed. “He’s doing a better job lifting her spirits.”

“...I understand that’s your sacred duty?” Billy asked, wondering if a kiss would get him a meeting of steel at dawn, more serious than his earlier sword dance with Thomas and Co.

Harrington bit his lips, and when he stopped, they were pinker, and moist. Billy licked his own, trying to pay attention to what Harrington was saying. “Ms. Wheeler...lost someone, as well. She is—thinking only of the search, until her friend is found.”

“...but she sits aside you, as Queen,” Billy offered, disliking the set of Harrington’s jaw.

“I suggested the children sit the thrones,” Harrington said with a laugh, “—so she would not have to choose a King of the Hunt to sit beside her—me, or Byers there—”

Oh ho, Billy thought, eyebrows raised.

“—or maybe she would have left it free, for Barbara. Barbara Holland. There...” Harrington swallowed, watching the antlers waltz with the elder Byers, and Billy watched the movement of his throat. “There’s no formal arrangement. Between us.” Seeing the muscle work in Harrington’s jaw, Billy tried not to hope.

They didn’t dance long, Wheeler and the interloper—the interloper Billy was grateful for—before stepping away from the dance floor and consulting closely, their faces within an inch of a kiss.

Harrington cleared his throat, and laughed. “We’re—we’re riding out again at dawn. To look for Ms. Holland. They—they’ll be planning, for that.” He didn’t look like he believed his own words, and Billy put an arm around him.

“I think I know the steps, now, if you’d admit another partner,” he said against the side of Harrington’s head, and didn’t press a kiss to his jaw, despite the fascinating trickle running along it.

“I’m tired,” Harrington whispered, watching Antlers Wheeler, and Billy sighed.

“Perhaps some punch?” he whispered back, his entire awareness on Harrington’s weight against him, the smell of sweat, blood, and flowers, and the shiny depth of Harrington’s smiling brown eyes. Whatever the strain of perilous lunacy fermenting in Billy’s blood, he thought, it was a marked improvement on Ms. Wheeler’s, for her to have Harrington ready and willing and yet be disinclined to pluck him like a ripe fruit.

“Today’s been a day longer than some years.” Harrington gritted his teeth, finally looking away from Wheeler. “Might need to sit down.”

“Where?”

“Maybe the balcony? I can dance aft—”

“I hear you’ve a fine hand with steel.” Billy thumped their hips together, his arm securing Harrington as he nearly toppled.

“A better one with a club,” Harrington said with a grin, frank, before nodding at the monstrous head, “—and I was not unaided, in that battle.”

“How is it there are many here, that are not, ah—” Billy’s eyes flicked from an owl in a hat, serving itself punch with the spidery arms it kept under its wings, and then to the grisly trophy between the thrones. “—that I would not call—precisely—I haven’t met many—”

“Fair Folk,” Harrington snorted. “We are invited to their ball, in thanks for aiding them against that villain. They prefer we call them fair, over mentioning what they are not.”

“And Wheeler is also...fair?” Billy grimaced, but Harrington just sighed, casting his gaze again upon her.

“The fairest. Really, it—it was she who felled the beast.” He hauled Billy around to the side of the head, now dripping silvery, long-legged crabs as though they were blood. He waved his free arm at a cluster of arrows. “—her arrows strike true, no matter which, I mean, whose heart she aims her—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll empty my stomach on yon beastie,” Billy cut him off, wrinkling his nose. “Let me distract you. Before you fall out a window, sighing into a rose.”

Harrington laughed aloud. “I think...I—I’ve no dances left in me—”

“Then a fight—” Billy leaned to take the lobe of Harrington’s ear in his teeth, letting them graze over it as Harrington startled. “—or a fuck.” Billy smoothed a hand down Harrington’s spine, and squeezed him through his breeches. “Let me drive you to distraction,” Billy whispered against his ear, and felt Harrington’s skin heat.

“Wait.” Harrington turned away, lifting his hand to cover his face. “Wait, wait, wait—”

The music paused, the musicians meandering—or floating, or in one case, clambering up the wall and across the ceiling—towards the punch, and in the sudden milling crowd, Harrington pulled him away. They ducked and wove past the thrones, away from the light of the candelabras, and into a darker, narrow hallway.

#harringrove #harringrove bang #platypan #platypan fic #Dark Fairytale Edwardian romance #Like you do #Max and Billy are allies #Steve is King of the Hunt Ball #Billy duels with swords instead of fists #Mostly #Probably seven chapters?#Six written #Apologies to Lord Dunsany for riffing on his title

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twatd · 4 years

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Getting TWATD at the Wake, ii: The Eulogies

Every month, two writers returned to this blog. They did an essay each. For five years. And now it’s all over.

The Wicked + The Divine #45 came out a month ago, and we’re still at the metaphorical wake. In this part, we pick out two characters we haven’t written much about, consider the paths their lives ended up taking, and write their obituaries. It could get emotional.

Spoilers for... well, for the entirety of WicDiv, I guess, below the cut.

Tim: Endings are bittersweet things at the best of times, and for a series as preoccupied with death and heartbreak as The Wicked + The Divine, we were never going to reach a conclusion without shedding a few tears. Still, there are many ways in which #45 is a happy ending for several of the characters – and that’s truer for Aruna, the god formerly known as Tara, than possibly anyone else.

Looking across the span of the series as a whole, she is a character who has suffered abuse, indignity and manipulation. But here at the end, Aruna is free from many of the troubles that plagued her life both before and during her time as a god. I don’t know if the Aruna we see in 2055 is living her best life, but it seems infinitely better than we could have expected after #13, the issue which gave us a painful glimpse into a character who had remained a mystery up to that point.

Pre-Godhood, Aruna had been made to feel uncomfortable in her own body by sexism and misogyny. That feeling was amplified by her divine transformation and the increased celebrity that came with it, culminating in her begging Ananke for the mercy of death. But Ananke’s manipulation accidentally set up Aruna to transcend the cruelties inflicted upon her. As a miraculously preserved head, she was free from the burden of her body, and free to reinvent herself.

With the help of Jon, Aruna she was able to reject a new form when she wasn’t ready for one – and, once she was, to create one that existed beyond the constraints of traditional biology. Her story touches on themes of transhumanism, not an area that WicDiv has traditionally dabbled in, but one that has some interesting connections with the themes of people seeking immortality. As you might expect given the ideas of gender and bodily autonomy at play, it’s also easy to read through a queer lens.

I’m glad that, while it’s clear Jon and Aruna have developed a close partnership over the years, Gillen and McKelvie chose to leave the exact nature of their relationship open to interpretation.

Aruna’s previous discomfort with the spotlight, and Ananke’s subsequent exploitation of that fact, also ended up benefitting her in other ways. Her distance from the rest of the Pantheon meant she avoided jail time after the events of #44 (it probably helped that it’s hard to handcuff someone when they’re just a head).

You could also maybe draw a line between the sudden outpouring of appreciation following Tara’s death and the way she was able to successfully campaign for the Pantheon’s early release, performing benefit concerts and raising awareness. This goes some way to colouring the previously devastating ending of #13 in a new light, as the insincere chorus of Twitter observers become a platform Aruna is able to use for good.

There’s an important distinction, though – this time around, she was able to approach a musical career and fame on her own terms, as Aruna rather than Tara. Also, the fact that her ‘death’ wasn’t a permanent one doesn’t take away from the tragedy of it, or how the comic made us complicit in the culture that led to it.

Aruna’s story following her ‘death’ could be called WicDiv’s ultimate triumph. The old truism about suicide being a permanent solution to a temporary problem feels especially apt here. Ananke took someone who was miserable and vulnerable, and proceeded to place them in a situation that they couldn’t cope with. Ananke became Aruna’s sole source of ‘support’, isolating her from the other gods, amplifying her insecurities until Aruna felt the only solution was to take her own life.

Strip away some of the details, and the story starts to take on some truly dark parallels, but unlike so many real-life stories, there is a second act to Aruna’s tale.

Once the true nature of Ananke’s plans are revealed, Aruna is eventually able to escape her role in them, retake control of her life, and eventually thrive on her own terms. WicDiv may be a story that largely approaches death as a firm reality, but by giving Aruna a reprieve from her seeming demise, it allows us a glimpse of a real happy ending, in amongst the more complex feelings the final issue evokes.

Alex: Aruna’s story is a happy one because she escapes the cycles that life locked her into. But the god I want to talk about, I’m not sure they ever did. Which might not be a terrible thing – it was always a little different, with Dionysus.

We don’t get much time with Umar before he goes all Olympian, but the moments we do get suggest there’s less of a gap between his two identities than there is for most of the other gods. He’s the guy who drives his friends down to London so they can get wasted on the way, who asks sensitive questions of strangers.

When he becomes Dionysus, the difference is mainly a question of scale. The group of people he’s trying to do right by gets bigger and bigger, and that makes this behaviour unsustainable. That first time we meet him, in issue #8, we get pretty much the whole Dionysus story. Dude takes on everyone else’s troubles, exerts himself to make them feel better, and makes it look breezy – only occasionally cracking and showing the weight of it all.

I’m not sure that ever really changes for Umar. He keeps using his powers to make people happy for a night, even as it starts to take a toll. He waits in the darkness, lets The Morrigan attack him, just to be there for Baphomet. He has faith in the power of the crowd, even as they crush him. He just keeps giving and giving, and it lands him in a coma.

This is Dionysus’ hamartia – the fatal flaw built into every one of WicDiv’s gods, the thing that ensures their downfall. As these things go, it’s not a bad flaw to have.

It marks him apart from the other gods. Gillen has talked about the Pantheon all being aspects of himself, his own flaws built out into characters, people he’s trying not to be anymore. But Dionysus’ flaw actually makes him someone to aspire to.

A spare Gillen quote from my Polygon interview that didn’t make it into the final article: “Umar is someone I'd love to be now… But Umar's a fictional character. Therefore, it's easier for him to be Umar than for Kieron to not be a shithead.” Even in the comic, we see how Dio’s behaviour is unsustainable – but to try and live that way, all of the time, in real life? It’s impossible.

I say this with authority, because in many ways I spent my twenties trying to be a Dionsysus. I’m an Inanna by nature – a pleasure seeker who tries to be kind but can sometimes forget that having the best possible time can have consequences on the people around them. (And, sidenote, it’s a fascinating twist on the archetypes that the god with these traits isn’t the one who, y’know, gave us the word bacchanalian.)

But, to be uncharacteristically nice about myself for a second, my idea of having a good time does tend to include bringing as many people along with me as possible. The version of me I like is the one who always opens up the circle on the dancefloor to sweep up strangers and stragglers. Or spot someone who seems left out and work to change that. Or pour hours into a project that’ll be seen by just a handful of friends, or just one.

I kind of buried that person this year.

This wasn’t an active choice, or something I was even conscious of doing at the time, but looking back I can see the reasons behind it. Firstly, because it’s not always clear whether people actually want these things done for them, or if it’s an unwelcome overreach, and that thought makes me to want up curl into myself and just die. And second, because I’m not good at knowing how to apportion effort, meaning it can involve frankly life-damaging amounts of preparation for very little payoff.

It’s not a sustainable way to live. Dio might be the best possible version of the WicDiv god, but he’s still someone sacrificing his self to become an idea. It kills him, eventually, and #37 shows how he’s remembered for it by the public, the people he gave everything he had to: ‘that guy on drugs’.

But eventually he is repaid by one of the recipients of his kindness, as a little bit of that selflessness rubs off on Baphomet. And Umar joins the rest of the Pantheon as they step back from their defining flaw, allow themselves to become more than an archetype. “I thought it was my job to save everyone,” Dionysus says, and I cry my little eyes out.

Maybe that was the moment I started to realise I’d been stepping back from that version of myself. Or maybe it was talking with Tim (my other, non-fictional model for the sort of person I want to be) about issue #45, when he explained how he read the older Umar: someone in whom all that kindness turned a little bitter. Aged like vinegar, not wine.

My reading is more hopeful than that, I think. The final issue trades in hints and suggestions of lives, but with Umar more than most. And personally, I fill in that blank with a different story: someone who has tempered his need to always put others first, and become more judicious about when and how and to whom he gives himself. And that? That is someone I’d really like to be.

#WicDiv #The Wicked and The Divine #The Wicked + The Divine #TWATD #Tim + Alex Get TWATD

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holidaywishes · 5 years

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It Had To Be You XXIX

Chapter Twenty Nine: Who Are You?

Summary: After the Vow Renewal, you head back to Dallas while Tyler heads to Vancouver to play the Canucks and you meet his friend, Kate, and suspicions threaten your relationship (I said I was gonna do it, so might as well get it out of the way now, right?).

Warning: a whole lot more angst than I thought there would be...

Author’s Note: I just finished re-reading this series to see where I left off and it looks like the last time I wrote something was back at the end of March -- so like right before playoffs. It’s funny to see how much my writing has changed over the course of 29 chapters, if any of you have written a series, I urge to read yours over; it’s quite a ride. That being said, these next few chapters may be a little rough because I haven’t dipped my feet into this series in so long, so, please, just bear with me. This one’s a bit of a filler but a filler with a lot of angst! Hope you enjoy!

Song Credit: Who Is She 2 U -- Brandy, Who Are You -- Svrcina

masterlist

You couldn’t help thinking about how Tyler was with the kids at Chris and Karen’s vow renewal reception and how sweet he was with them. You hadn’t thought about whether or not you wanted kids in a long time; not since you were a teenager when your sister told you she wanted four kids and asked how many kids you wanted.

“I don’t know, maybe two? A boy and a girl?” was your response but since then you hadn’t thought about it because the relationships you were in didn’t really seem like they would make it that far. But, of course, seeing Tyler with small children made you think that the two of you could grow into wanting that together. You tried to put the thought out of your mind because it wasn’t a discussion you were ready to have, either with yourself or with Tyler, so you walked over to the couch to find something to watch before you heard a knock on the door.

“Who could that be?” you cooed to Gerry, eyes wide as you leaned close to him before kissing his nose, “are you expecting someone Gerry? Huh? What about Marshall or Cash? Where are your brothers anyway?” you continued in your puppy voice as you walked over to the door to answer it

“He- oh hi..” a smiley blonde said from the other side of the door before a look of confusion swept across her face, “is.. Tyler here?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” you asked, stepping to the side to lean against the door frame, keeping the dogs from running out the door

“Kate” she stated matter-of-factly, but when you raised your eyebrows questioningly she realized you hadn’t heard of her, “Kirchof? I’m a friend of Ty’s”

“Nice to meet you, Kate Kirchof,” you said, clearly annoyed at the fact she was trying to nudge her way inside, “I’m (Y/N), Ty’s never mentioned you before, not that it really matters because he’s not here right now. But I can leave him a message for when he gets home…”

“Sure,” she started, “just get him to call me?” You hummed at her request and told her you’d do your best

“Have a nice day”

“Are you sure you’re gonna be here when he gets home? I could just wait here, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. I mean, I don’t mean to sound rude or anything,” she popped her hip to the side as she stood in front of you, “but who are you?” As soon as the words left her mouth, you scoffed in her direction, confused on so many levels but getting more and more annoyed by the second

“I wouldn’t want you to waste your day waiting for him, sweetheart,” you chided, “he won’t be getting back into town until late tonight. But don’t worry, I’ll let him know you dropped by.” You went to close the door but she brought her hand up to stop you

“You still didn’t tell me who you are…” she urged

“I’m his girlfriend” you gave her a sarcastic smile as you shut the door, leaving her with an overly shocked expression on her face. Great, you thought to yourself, now I’m going to be thinking about who this chick is and what she means to Tyler. Why wouldn’t he tell me about her? How have I never met her before? I mean if she stops by here unannounced… does she do it often? GOD DAMN IT TYLER! Your thoughts were getting the better of you but you knew there had to be an explanation, so you waited for Tyler to get home to talk to him about it.

“Who is she to you, don’t lie to me, who is she to you, my eyes can see, something’s going on between you two…” The song played in the background as you looked through Tyler’s Instagram, desperately trying to find something to hold on to, when the dogs ran to the door to greet Ty and you changed the song, turning down the volume when he came into the room where you were.

“Hey babe” he said happily

“Hey” you replied, coldness to your tone

“How are you?” he creeped beside you, kissing your cheek before jumping over the couch to sit next to you

“I’m good, yeah, how are you?” you kept your eyes on your phone as he pushed your hair from your neck

“I’m good…” he faltered when you shifted away from him, as if he was waiting for a response from you

“That’s good” you smiled knowingly and Tyler furrowed his eyebrows at you

“Okay, what’s wrong?” he asked, peeling himself away from you to slump back into the couch

“Nothing, baby,” you started, insincerely, and Tyler let out a sigh of relief, getting up to grab something to eat. You smiled to yourself, letting him have a second of peace before starting a potential yelling match. You turned around to see his reaction when you finally spoke again, “Kate dropped by today.” You saw his body tense as his hands rested on the counter, pushing his body up, keeping his body turned away from you and you waited for him to say something

“Tyler?” you called, thinking he’d say something, anything, but he stayed silent, “who is she?”

“No one” he finally said, quietly and under his breath, without turning to you

“No one?”

“No one, our families know each other. I haven’t seen her since before I played for Boston…”

“So why is she popping up at your house here? Does she live in Dallas?”

“I don’t know why she dropped by here, but yes she lives in Dallas”

“You’re lying!” you shouted

“No I’m not!” he shouted back, “I gave you the answers you wanted…”

“The answers I wanted?” you scoffed, “no no no no, I asked you very simple questions and you gave the bare minimum. One of those questions was a simple yes or no, so it’s not like you could’ve hidden from it. But there’s something you’re not telling me about her”

“I don’t know what you want me to say? I don’t know what she was doing here, she never comes by but I know she lives in the city because she’s sent me messages on Instagram saying we should meet up”

“And what you just gave her your address?!”

“Not just like that…” he sighed, “she came to a game a while back, you know when you weren’t”

“Don’t do that, don’t fucking guilt me for not coming to your games by saying some ‘stranger from your past’ does”

“I’m not doing that. Just..” he tried to compose himself, “she came to a game and stopped by the locker room after. She was talking to Katie, like Jamie’s Katie, and then the four of us kinda hung out for a while. You weren’t living with me yet, you were just visiting here and there, so you weren’t here. She ended up coming back here. And staying the night…”

“Wow..” you gasped quietly, “so.. What does that mean? I wasn’t living here, I was back in Calgary, doing some stupid term paper or something while you were doing what? fucking some ex-girlfriend?”

“She’s not an ex-girlfriend!”

“You did fuck her then?”

“No!” he yelled, watching you pace around the house, “I didn’t fuck her, I let her stay the night because it was late and I was trying to be responsible. She slept on the couch.”

“How fucking old is she Ty?” you countered, “she looked awfully young to be an old family friend”

“I said our families knew each other, not that she was an old family friend”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right. My bad. How do your families know each other again?”

“She went to South Methodist University, my Mom met her Mom somewhere.. then they came to a Canada Day/Fourth of July weekend thing that we had in Dallas a long time ago.”

“I don’t buy it”

“BUY WHAT?!”

“THAT SHE DOESN’T MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU!”

“SHE DOESN’T!”

“THEN WHY AREN’T YOU TELLING ME THE TRUTH?!”

“I’VE TOLD YOU EVERYTHING!”

“WHO IS SHE?!”

“I TOLD YOU!”

“I MEAN TO YOU, TYLER! WHO THE FUCK IS SHE TO YOU?!”

“(Y/N) I HAVE TOLD YOU A MILLION TIMES, SHE’S NO ONE! JUST SOME GIRL”

“Just some girl?” you said surprisingly quietly, “just some girl you’ve known for years but never mentioned? Just some girl who looks like she’s been pulled from the cover of a magazine? Just some girl who can’t be more than 21? Just some girl who is literally everything I’m not but everything I used to be?”

“(Y/N).. baby..” he walked slowly toward you when he noticed a small tear fall from the corner of your eye but you pulled away

“Don’t. I can’t right now, Ty.” You started, eyes locked on a speck of dust on the floor until you were forced to look up at him to break the silence, “I don’t believe a word you’re saying to me right now, I’m sorry, but I just.. I need some space.”

“Are you serious right now?” he squeezed his eyes shut as he tried not to yell at you, “what are you gonna do? Lock yourself in a room and just ignore me until you decide to trust me again?”

“Of course not, that would be ridiculous,” you said, wandering over to sit at the kitchen island, waiting for Tyler to sit in front of you, “there’s a hotel nearby, I can get a room for the night or for as long as I need to. I’ll have my phone, we can text. I’ll be at the game on Tuesday, cheering you on, but I need to just be away from you, be alone, for a bit so I can focus on this event tomorrow.”

“Fine, whatever” he said, tossing his hand in defeat

“Tyler..”

“No you know what? You do this. You make up these insane scenarios in your head, get yourself all worked up over nothing and when they don’t turn out like you expect them to, you run. You did it with James and now you’re doing it with me.”

“Don’t talk about James like you give a shit about what went down between us”

“Don’t act like what I’m saying isn’t true!”

“No, you’re right. I do do this. I put myself in the position to get irreparably hurt by people I trust. It’s a huge character flaw. But this isn’t all about you. Or her. Or you and her. This is about the fact that I have a huge event that I’m in charge of tomorrow, for an internship that, half the time, I have no idea what I’m doing. And I need to be on my A game tomorrow or who the hell knows what will happen to me. I need space from you so I don’t spend the entirety of the next 12 hours fighting over whether or not I should believe what you’re telling me.”

“Fine.” He stated bluntly, anger engulfing every letter as you walked past him to pack a bag. Every room was so silent that making any kind of sound -- zipping up a suitcase, footprints through the hallways, sniffling to hold back tears, -- was like blaring angry death metal in both yours and Tyler’s ears. When you finally got to the door to meet your Uber outside, you looked back at Tyler once more and a million thoughts rushed through your head;

Maybe this is a mistake

Maybe I am just being overdramatic

Maybe she really is just some girl

He still loves me

I still love him

We can work this out, calmly and maturely, can’t we?

Maybe he’ll tell me he’s sorry and ask me to stay

Maybe he’ll say he loves me and I’ll forget everything that’s happened

Maybe…

You noticed Tyler take a step toward you and you thought that he might say something to make you stay but he just stood in front of you, with his hands in his pockets, and raised his eyebrows before making his final statement to you.

“She. Doesn’t. Mean. Anything. To Me.” His words were pointed and angry, Even if he was telling the truth, which you honestly couldn’t tell anymore, it was clear that he wasn’t going to change his tone and the argument would continue the way it had been all night. So, you nodded slowly before leaning down to pick up your bag, a single tear falling to the floor as you did so and you turned to walk out the door

“I hope you’re telling me the truth, Ty,” you said with your back turned, “because I really love you and I don’t want you to hurt me.” You ran out to the car before he could say anything else or see the stream of tears falling down your face, convulsing in uncontrollable sobs as soon as you sat down in the dark backseat of your Uber. What you said was true, you didn’t want to get hurt, and you knew that getting hurt by Tyler would break you more than anything else had broken you before.

#Tyler Seguin #masterlist #It Had To Be You #It Had To Be You series #long time no post #Tyler Seguin Imagine #Tyler Seguin series #NHL imagine #NHL series

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edennohebi · 5 years

Text

The Winter Solstice Celebration

Some may have learned to fear the television buzzing to life while others will simply ignore it at their own expense ( Though it rarely does any good: Choices matter not here, & the snakes will force you to listen to their demands ), but the sing-song ‘hello’ from a lesser-heard voice does wonders to catch the attention & snap a soul up by the ear.

Your greeting comes from the Princess & the elder Prince rather than their progenitors -- & it seems in good spirits, which couldn’t mean anything other than something awful was bound to come… right?

“ Hellllooo -- can you hear me? Testing, one, two -- well, it’s not like you can answer back, huh? ”

“ Haa? You never know -- They may very well try to throw themselves through the screens one of these days. ”

“ Wuuh? No way! That’s like something from a horror movie Onii-chan, it’s not a fun thought at all! ”

“ Ne? & here I thought you’d enjoy something as gruesome as that,” His palms splay out as his shoulders rise & fall in a careless shrug, one that’s far too relaxed. “Oh well ~. ”

Maeru only offers a close-mouthed snicker in apparent amusement before crossing her arms & casting a pink-hued gaze camera-bound yet again. This banter between the two felt unprofessional, but at least the comedic value made it feel more like a light-hearted channel than two murderers running a podcast.

“ They’re not terrible , but creepy little kids are a whole different thing! But we’ve wasted enough time -- so guess what, guys~? ”

“ Though a Christmas celebration would be absolutely blasphemous for us lovely serpentine hosts, we ARE happy to introduce you all to our culture’s winter solstice celebration~! There’s nothing bad and you get to dress up too, so it’ll just be a nice break from all the torment you’ve been through lately ! -- Right, Onii-chan? ”

Although his eyes had rolled during Maeru’s monologue -- whether it be in genuine exasperation or harmless teasing between two siblings was unclear, & truthfully, didn’t matter all too much -- he offers the camera a much more coy, crooked grin and a narrowing of his eyes that was all too much like his father’s.

“ Right, right -- It really isn’t all too bad, you know. Celebrating death & being reborn certainly sounds grim to you humans, I’m sure, but any fear you all have is way too hypocritical! That is what your,” He waves a finger as his brows knit together. “ Own holidays celebrate, isn’t it? ” His shoulders raise in another shrug, & his head tilts to the side slightly. “But of course, who are you all to say no at the offer of food? There is a promised feast, drinks, & activities -- though I wouldn’t consider it kindness on our part. Just tradition. ”

“ Even so, this isn’t one of those things you’re FORCED into either -- so just come to Hanami Recital in Invidia if you want to have some fun & relax with your friends or get to know those who’re still strangers! We’ll play Three Kings to exchange gifts, decorate a tree, have a dance… it’ll be great~! That’s just the beginning of it too, so just come & see for yourself -- but bring a coat! Shiro is a good snow maker with a little assistance, so maybe it’ll help you feel at home? ”

The two exchange a glance, red eyes meeting pink & their smiles parallel before they turn their focus back onto the camera once more. With the briefest of snickers hissed behind their teeth, they offer the camera a wave each --- Maeru’s with the daintiest wave of her hand that one would figure she’s mocking you, & Toumetsu with an insincere salute as the screen fizzles into nothingness.

UPDATES :

✘ all around the invidia ward are fairy lights of different colors that will flicker to life once the sun sets -- which it will . for the duration of the event the invidia ward solely is on a proper 24-hour cycle. ✘ there is a large tree erected in hanami recital and multiple boxes of decorations can be found by a few picnic tables along with all the materials and fabric needed to make your own. the tree already has lights on it, but is otherwise bare. you wont find anything remotely religious in the boxes however, so no angels nor crosses -- mostly things like poinsettas, stars, and other traditional ornaments. ✘ it’s snowing throughout the duration of the festival as well. the royal family is kept warm thanks to kagerou, but all snakes outside of it may feel themselves slipping into brumation because of the temperature, making them lazy and otherwise overly relaxed. the snow does stick to the ground except for on the walkways of invidia, so by the 21st there will be at least over a foot high of snow -- perfect for snowball fights or building snowmen! ✘ there’s a large feast of meats, fruits, and desserts galore with no strings attached -- but... huh, where did seto’s cow go? ✘ finely aged wine is provided to everyone courtesy of Favoring Eyes -- but any muses under the age of 15 can’t have more than a half glass. ✘ at 3PM EST there will be a three kings (secret santa) event, so feel free to either send an ask or message a mod on the discord what gift your muse wants to throw into the “pot” so that we can randomly generate who gets what gift. even the snake NPCs can join in! ✘ from 5:00PM EST through 12:00AM EST there will be a dance! it’ll be in hanami recital with a live band of snake npcs playing songs in the style of Hadestown. ✘ your muse is provided with traditional clothes to wear for the duration of the festival upon entry into invidia -- so you can choose what outfit they get, but just make sure it’s either MEDIEVAL or GREEK in design! ✘ gattaisareru and saeru seem unrecognizable -- they’ve reverted to their true appearances just as yakitsukeru has and dressed for the occasion too! it’s almost jarring how amiable they’re being by taking part in the festivities, but you could almost aliken them to mirror images of persephone and hades judging by saeru’s horns and gattaisareru’s crown of pomegranate blooms. ✘ the fighting ring won't be up this weekend, so all asks are on hold until the following weekend! ✘ this is only part one of the festivities -- the second and main event will happen sometime on the 21st, however!

#mod kita #mod kitsu #prince toumetsu #princess maeru #ENH Events

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choisgirls · 6 years

Note

Requests for Saeran you say? Hmmmm... What about some Fouran aka the amazing otp

a-mess-of-a-princess said:Uuhhh can i get some… fouran?? And a milkshake shanks :3

i love hate both of you and I full on wrote one

I used this prompt HERE

and yeah its a self-insert so if you guys are reading and don’t /like/ it, that’s a-okay, feel free to change the name and appearances to match your own ^^

Words: its uuuuuuuh 3,546 words

Pairing: Saeran x Four so viva la fouran

Masterlist~

The bell over the doorjingles.

I look over the counter- afairly tall figure started to approach fairly rapidly. As they got closer, Icould see full hips being hugged by black leather jeans and a long, silverwallet chain swiftly bouncing off of them. I felt my face get hot and ducked backdown to finish cleaning the previously spilled soil before they got closer. Anotherglanced revealed their leather coat, grey tank top and- God, Saeran, don’t lookat her chest, what is wrong with you! Now you have to look her in the eye,knowing you already looked at her chest. Wait- oh she’s really close now, Ishould probably stand up. She looks angry, is she alright?

Standing up, I open mymouth to welcome her to my shop before being cut off by her hand slamming a $20bill onto the counter. Looking through her long lashes, her electric blue eyespierced right through me- I couldn’t tell if I was infatuated, or genuinelyterrified. I was starting to feel sorry for whoever made her this angry.

“How do Ipassive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower?” a smooth voice passed byher lips.

“Good morning to youtoo, miss” I say, watching as she closed her eyes for a second whiletaking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, I’mjust… so pissed off. You’re right, I was being rude. You deserve better thanthat, let me try again,” suddenly she crouched down on the other side ofthe counter, startling me when she popped back up with a bright smile now gracingher features. “Good morning, Mr. Shop keep!” she bowed with anexaggerated flourish, “How might one say, oh I don’t know, ‘Fuck you’ inflower, all mighty flower God?” She giggled at herself after, covering hermouth before continuing. “No, but really. Is there a way to do that? I’dreally like a bouquet like that.”

With a thoughtful smile ather enthusiasm, I lean against the counter with my chin in my palm. “Hmm,I think there’s a way to do that, yeah. Mind if I ask why?” I watched herfake smile turn down to a frown before moving her hand to move her bangs awayfrom her eye- I felt my own smile falter.

“Ah, just… some exboyfriend of mine. It’s- It’s a long story,” she stammered, looking at herfeet. Well shit- I didn’t mean to do that.

“H-hey look, no needto tell me, just trying to make conversation,” I said, standing straightand rubbing the back of my neck. I’m starting to get nervous and tense, butwhy? I looked at how distant her eyes seemed now, thinking back to her previousrelationship. 'Damn, I don’t want to see her like that,’ I thought to myself,looking away from her before she noticed me staring. With a soft sigh, Icleared my throat and glanced her way again. “I don’t normally let peopleback here, but…” I started, walking to the greenhouse door, “Youlook really determined to tell this dude to fuck off. Want to come back with meand watch?”

Her whole face lit up likethe sun- her eyes brightened up like the blue sky to match. There- I like thatlook a lot better than the last one. Wait, maybe I like it a little too much- Ican feel my face heating up again, dammit! I gestured for her to hurry up andget through the door before closing it behind us, using that time to take adeep breath. What was I doing? What’s happening? I never let anyone near myflowers- what is this stranger doing to me all of a sudden?

Behind me, I hear a soft'wow’ pass by her lips. Over my shoulder, I can see her profile as she looksaround the room at all of the flowers.

“There’s so manycolours in here. And you take care of them all? By yourself?” she asked. Iwalked up next to her and started to beam with pride.

“Yup! They’re like mybabies. Come on,” I lightly brush my fingertips against her hand before Iretract my hand. What did I just try to do? Hold her hand? Saeran, get a grip.I find my hand scratching behind my neck again, nervously trying to redeemmyself. “L-let’s go this way. The ones we want first are gonna be overhere.” I lead her to some bright red geranium’s, watching the corners ofher mouth curl upwards.

“Wow!” shecrouched down to get face to face with them. I noticed she got as close aspossible, but didn’t touch them. She seems to have high respect for theflowers, or maybe for me? I watch her smile face up at me- if she keeps thisup, my face will be as red as these flowers. Crouching down next to her, I pickthrough the geranium’s and cut them with long stems. “Hey, I never caughtyour name?” she said, as I stopped mid-cut. Shit, that’s right. I mentallyface-palmed myself.

“I-it’s Saeran.Nothing special,” my eyebrows drew together as she groaned indisappointment. “I’m… sorry?” I turned to look at her in confusion.I came face to face with this adorable pout and had to move back a little bitto slow my heart rate.

“Nah, it’s alright. Ijust thought maybe it was some sort of flower pun,” she started, glancingto the flowers before looking back at me. I immediately shot her a deadpanstare- she returned with a slight shrug and a smirk. “You neverknow!”

“Haha, reallyfunny,” I finished clipping the stems and stood up, watching as shefollowed. “So?” I raised an eyebrow, “What about you? What’syour name?” She tilted her head to the left- I watched as her longer,side-swept bangs fell across her face. What an idiot.

“My name’sFour,” she muttered, tucking her bangs behind her ear- the curls causedthem to bounce right back out.

“Four? Like thenumber?” I shook my head with a chuckle. Was that a slight blush on herface? “And you thought my name was going to be funny?”

“Hey! It’s anickname!” there was that pout again. She had naturally pouty lips, Ipreviously noticed, so her pouts seem very dramatic. I raised an eyebrow ather.

“A nickname, huh? Areyou sure it’s not your age-” another pout, “Alright then, Four, it’snice to meet you,” I threw a wink at her before turning my back to her,where she couldn’t see my face turn maroon and horror being painted across it.Where did that confidence come from, Saeran?! What is wrong with you? I couldn’thelp but wonder if she was blushing too. With a shake of my head to clear mythoughts, I started to lead her over to the foxgloves instead.

“Um, so..Saeran,” she mumbled, “You seem to know a lot about these flowers.How do these specific ones say 'fuck you’ to someone?” I chuckled- this isone of my favourite parts.

“Ah, each flower hasa different meaning!” I saw in the corner of my eye that she started towalk by my side. Her hair seemed to bounce with each step- the sun keptcatching both her eyes and her hair- both shining with different breathtakingshades of blue. Damn, they really were breathtaking- I forgot to finishanswering her question. Swallowing the newfound lump in my throat, I turn thecorner and finish. “Like the geraniums- they mean 'stupidity’. And thesefoxgloves,” gesturing to the bell-shaped, cream coloured flowers,“mean 'insincerity’. So we’ll just get a few other ones to, as you said,passive-aggressively say 'fuck you’ to your ex boyfriend!” I went aheadand picked a few stalks, handing them over to her to carry. She seemed to getreally interested in her surroundings all of a sudden- pointing to differentflowers and asking me their meanings.

“Wow, you really doknow all of their meanings,” she said as I stood up, throwing her an unblinkingstare.

“Did you think I wasbluffing?” she shook her head and smiled at me.

“No no, I justthought maybe you were making them up as you went, but you seem prettyconfident that they’re right,” she giggled at the unamused look I threw ather, “Okay! To be fair! There are a lot of them, I could never rememberthem all!”

“So you thought Imade them up?! That’s a little rude,” I said, jokingly.

“And you’re a littleshort!” her giggle grew uncontrollable at her own joke and I whipped myhead to furrow my eyebrows together and sneered.

“Okay, now THAT wasrude,” I shook my head and muttered a soft, but playful 'bitch’ under mybreath- her giggles started to get higher in pitch once she heard me, she triedto wave the laughter away so she could breathe. I rolled my eyes and turnedaway so I could hide my amusement from her.

We moved from thefoxgloves to the meadowsweets- her nose scrunched at the bunch of purplepetals.

“That just looks likecrumpled up petals glued together,” turning her head and squinting at theplant- it looked as if she was trying to imagine what shape it may have beenbefore.

“Hey, don’t judgethem by how they look. They’re still beautiful- and they mean 'uselessness’,which I figured you would appreciate.”

“I do appreciatetheir meaning, god that’s so accurate. But they still look weird,” shesaid with a coy smile. I scoffed to hide my laugh and side-eyed her.

“You look weird too,but I didn’t judge you by your looks,” why the hell did I say that? I turnmy attention back to the flowers in front of me, hiding my blush behind thebushy petals and bunches of the previous flowers.

“Hey! I don’t lookweird!” I could hear the pout in her voice. “Okay.. I may look alittle weird. And… intimidating, but that’s not the same!” I stood upand handed her the bundle of flowers in my hands, giving her a cheeky grin andan eyebrow raise.

“Yeah, whatever yousay. I don’t think you’re that intimidating.”

“That’s because youhaven’t seen my sick-ass ninja moves- HYA!” she cried, kicking high in theair as she started to topple over. I caught a hold of her wrist and got herbalanced, unable to hold back my laughter. I don’t think I remember the lasttime I laughed this hard.

“Wow, what greatninja moves,” I said still a little breathless, “I take it back. I ama little intimidated by you.” Her smile radiated pride as I kept hold ofher wrist, leading her to the yellow carnations. I let go at the very lastmoment, immediately missing the warmth of her skin in my hand- the stem of theflowers feeling colder than usual. I gave the yellow petals an absent look- Icould feel her crouch down next to me again, her presence surprisingly calming.“So… you said it was a long story- y-your ex-boyfriend. I’ve got thetime if you want to rant about it.” I heard a soft sigh pass her lipsbefore I turned to give her my full attention. My heart almost broke intopieces when I saw how sad her face had become- how dark and stormy her eyes hadturned.

“He.. well he washorrible. I didn’t see the signs beforehand when I should have- he was alwayschecking up on me and would get extremely upset when I didn’t answer him foreven 20 minutes because I was hanging out with a friend of mine. Very long storyshort- he told me his friend said he should break up with me. His FRIEND. Hecouldn’t even talk to me about it,” she seemed to bite the inside of hercheek- she also seemed to dig her fingernails into the palm of her hand. Myeyebrows drew together as my head tilted- why would anyone want to break upwith her? My questioning stare must have said it all since he decided tocontinue her explanation. “He broke up with me because he 'wasn’t attractedto my body’ and he’d 'stay if I would work on losing weight’, apparently. Nowhe’s invited me to this dinner with him and his mum, and told me last minutehis new girlfriend would be there- the previous friend he told me about.” Sheplaced the flowers on the floor to hug her knees, her cheek laying on top ofthem. The completely dejected look on her face completely pissed me off.

“Who the hell doesthis guy think he is? First of all, he has no say in your body, no control overwhat you do, and worst of all, he must be completely fucking blind becauseyou’re gorgeous,” I knew my face was growing hot but I was angry. Thisgirl didn’t deserve to go through something like this- and that dude definitelydidn’t deserve her. “I haven’t known you very long, but I can read youenough to know that this guy obviously doesn’t deserve you. Maybe he was upsetyou had better kung-fu moves than him,” her eyes shined as the sun hitthem, a faint smile gracing her lips once again- a soft laugh bubbling out.

“Maybe. I don’t thinkI helped my case when I picked him up over my shoulder when he got mad oneday,” I couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of this girl just tossing agrown man over her shoulder- but it felt good to see her bright smile return toher face. I thought for a moment before handing her the bunch of flowers,pulling her by the hand back to her feet.

“Hey, I’ve got theperfect flower to finish this bouquet off,” I used every ounce of myconfidence to place a hand on her lower back to lead her towards the orangelilies. She didn’t seem to mind, in fact, I thought I saw a faint blush acrossher face- then again, I couldn’t see clearly due to my own embarrassment. Asoft gasp escaped her when she saw the flowers, immediately leaving me and myhand behind to run up and crouch down in front of them.

“These are beautiful!Oh, they’re great! What do they mean?” she asked, looking up at me withchild-like curiosity. Handing her the scissors and taking the flowers inexchange, I gave her half of a smile.

“Hatred.”

“Oh… fitting!”she seemed so excited to add these to the bouquet and that was a relief- I wasworried she would think it was too harsh, I didn’t want to step over a line.Why didn’t I want to cross that line? What does it matter? I was zoning outuntil she lightly nudged me, asking, “Is this enough?”

“A-ah. Yeah, that’sgood. Hey, you aren’t so bad at this,” she actually picked really niceones that fit size-wise and a variety of lengths- not that I was surprised, shehad been watching me do that for quite a while. I helped her back up to herfeet and started to take her back to the front of the greenhouse, alreadystarting to feel lonely once again at the thought that she would be leavingsoon- but at least I can spend some more time with her as I wrap the flowers,right? Walking to the counter, she points out which ribbon she’d like and jumpsup to sit next to my work station.

“Hey, Saeran? Yousaid these flowers were like your babies, yeah? Why do you like them somuch?” she tilted her head to the side, her hair dangling away from herface and her feet swinging in unison. I bit my lip before thinking about myanswer- should I lie? Should I tell her the truth?

“I didn’t grow up inthe best conditions,” oh god, I’m going to tell her the truth. Why am Idoing that? “I-it’s a long story. But there was a garden where I was, andI got to plant and raise all of the flowers I wanted. They were the only oneswho would listen to me, without judgment. The only ones who I could trust, andconsider my friends. They’re beautiful and soft, with such deepermeanings,” I turned to glance at her- she had a raw, genuine emotionpainted on her face. “Look, I don’t like pity, so if you’re going to thenjust-”

“No no,” she cutme off, “I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking that it’s actuallybeautiful to think that way. I’m glad you can find yourself happy amongst yourcolourful friends,” she closed her eyes and gave me a soft smile. A smilethat I wouldn’t hesitate to drop everything to see again. “I don’t knowwhat you’ve gone through, Saeran, but…” she opened her eyes, her starepiercing straight through my own, let alone my heart, “You kind of remindme of some flowers. You’ve got a few thorns, and some of your petals may not beperfect, but you’re colourful, beautiful, and full of a deeper meaning.”

I thought my heart hadjumped out of my chest.

I’ve never felt like thisbefore- I’ve never heard such sweet words from a person, let alone a stranger.What.. what was this? My face started to grow hot and I was shaking, but mybody started to move on its own. My hand found its way to her cheek, my lipsjust barely grazing her other one. It was only a moment that I was close to herface, but it felt like forever. Being this close, I could see every gleam inher eyes. I could feel her breath on my skin. I could count every freckledusting across her cheeks and nose like stars. I didn’t want to move away, butI knew that I had to- I couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore. My heart wasracing and I could feel my legs trying to give out when I pushed myself away,busying myself with tying her flowers together.

“Thank you..” myvoice came out soft, I could feel her gaze on me, but it was comforting.“I’ve.. never been talked about that way before. It’s.. nice to hearsomething positive about myself instead people focusing on the negative andassume they know me.”

“Now that’s justsad,” she said with a hint of playfulness in her voice. She was trying toease my embarrassment, and I appreciated it tremendously. I let out a smalllaugh, finishing her bouquet and handing it over. The minute the flowers leftmy hand, I was struck with agonizing loneliness. I knew she was still sittingright there, but now she had no reason to stay. All I could do was hope she’dcome back some time- I could ask her on a date- no no, can’t do that. I usedall my confidence to kiss her cheek, shit. She was going to leave and I wasgoing to be here all alone again. I watched silently as she jumped down fromthe counter, walking around to the other side and flashing me a bright smilethat I struggled to return with my own faint one.

“Well, I guess Ishould get going, gotta make that dinner. Maybe it’ll end with me smacking himwith some of my ninja moves!” her light giggle was like music to my ears,please don’t leave. “It was really nice to meet you, Saeran! Thank you somuch for your help, I had a great day. And uh, thank you… for making me feelbetter. It means a lot,” another bright smile. She’s trying to kill me.

After placing more moneyon top of her initial $20, she turned on her heel and started to walk out. Itfelt like my heart was on a leash and she was dragging it right out of the doorwith her. I couldn’t move- I just stood there behind the counter, looking downat my feet. Were those tears? They started out slow, picking up their pace likea faucet has been turned on. I didn’t even hear the bell above the door jingleagain, or the sounds of clunky boots running back up towards me. I felt softhands on my cheeks, brushing tears away by their thumbs. Before I could react,soft lips met my own for a moment before the warmth of her hands slid down tomy own and she pulled away. I came face to face with the sky and I couldn’tlook away. She gave a goofy half smile and tucked her bangs behind her earbefore turning to walk back out again, a slight bounce in her step.

In my hand was a crumpledup slip of paper with a string of numbers, the word 'Fuckface’ and a hastilydrawn doodle of not only herself winking, but of me blushing as well.

I couldn’t type thenumbers into my phone fast enough.

#writing a self insert is hard when you fuckin hate yourself :')#but i did it!!! and i hope its okay #and i hope people like even if its a self insert and yeah #admin 404 #mysme self insert fic #mysme #mystic messenger #mysme writing #mystic messenger writing #mysme fic #mystic messenger fic #saeran x oc mc #saeran x custom mc #custom mc #saeran choi #flowershop au mysme #viva la fouran

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featherwriter · 7 years

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Fandom: Destiny Point of View: 3rd Person Past Tense, Female Warlock Characters: Sylvanni Duv (Female Awoken Warlock Guardian), Brother Vance, Osiris Rating: SFW Chapters: 1 - Complete Words: 4,426 Warnings: Spoilers for Destiny 2 story campaign

Read On AO3 // Read on FF.net

Life begins to return to normalcy in the Last City after Ghaul’s invasion. When a fellow Warlock offers to purchase a bowl of noodles as a gesture of thanks for the City’s savior, what begins as a simple meal quickly becomes far more complicated, as tangled acquaintances from the distant past emerge and a Guardian’s will is forced to face the truth of her heart.

“Lady Restorer, please, may I buy you a meal?”

Sylvanni had to force herself not to grimace at the title as she looked up from the menu the waitress had just handed her over the counter. Ever since the City had been retaken, she’d started becoming a bit of a celebrity as Guardians and citizens alike heard the story of what she’d done. There were many impressive achievements over the course of her long second life, but none had netted her the same level of notoriety as defeating Ghaul.

They called her things in the streets now. Restorer. Light-bringer. Champion of the Traveler. Some of the more passionate had started using the epithet Red Breaker.

She still found the notoriety uncomfortable.

Still the man who’d walked up to the counter beside her had a kind air about him, someone grateful for her service to the City who wished to give a small token of his gratitude. He was a Warlock, like herself, if his robes were any indication. They were well-made, of a solid black with gold trim, hung with draping fabric and tied with cords.

He waved for her to enter the little shop before him, which she hesitated to do, as she’d originally planned to sit outside at the window counter. Still, he was buying her meal, and perhaps it would be nice to sit in an actual padded seat indoors rather than on a tall stool. He held the beads covering the doorway aside and she ducked into the depths of the little steam-shrouded shop, making for one of the booths.

“It’s very kind of you to do this,” she said as she slid into the booth.

He sat down across from her, having acquired a menu of his own along the way. “Please. It’s an honor after everything you’ve done for us.”

Sylvanni offered an empty smile at the compliment, placid and polite, because that was what one was supposed to do when a stranger said something nice. After weeks of attention, however, she was truly beginning to miss her anonymity. She could play the part of the heroic yet humble champion if that was what people needed her to be, but the mantle was too heavy and the mask of it chafed in its insincerity.

A part of her wished she could just go back to being herself, just Sylvanni Duv. Another part of her cruelly reminded her that she hadn’t really known who that was anyway.

The waitress stopped by to take their order, an Exo with forest green plating in a short sundress. Conscious of the fact that she wouldn’t be paying, Sylvanni ordered one of the less expensive noodle bowls, beef with scallions and spicy broth. Guardian hot, the kind that required Light-based healing to not damage one’s mouth. A good dose of spice always helped clear her head.

Her companion’s generosity continued, as he ordered not only noodles with chicken in a sweet peanut and kiwicumber sauce, but also a plate of steamed buns, no coriander leaves, presumably for them to share. As the waitress left, Sylvanni frowned as the order pulled up old memories.

He noticed. “I’m sorry, is that okay? I should have asked.”

“It’s fine,” she said, waving off his concern. “I just used to know someone who ordered buns the same way. Made me think of them.”

He folded his arms across the table in a relaxed posture. “I appreciate the chance to speak with you. I have heard stories of how you brought the Light back, each one more stunning than the last.”

“To be honest,” she said, nodding in thanks as the waitress brought glasses of water for the table, “I just held the gun. The Traveler brought itself back. Or perhaps something Ghaul did restored it.”

He chuckled. “Forgive me if I don't thank him with a bowl of ramen.”

That pulled a smile from her. “Were you in the City during the fall?”

“No, though we felt it all the same. I thought it was the end of everything, losing the Light like that.”

“I know the feeling.” Sylvanni looked out through the curtain of beads, watching people pass outside. “He was right there when mine was taken. Ghaul, I mean. Zavala sent me to disable the flagship's shields from the inside and I was standing on the top deck as the cage constricted around the Traveler for the first time. Ghaul and his retinue just watched as I crumpled in pain, as my Ghost fell to the ground with a hollow clink.”

Her dining companion seemed content to let her continue, and so she let her mind drift back to the terror and pain of those moments, putting herself back in the thick of remembrance. There was something meditative about it, experiencing the emotions from a distance.

“He seemed so dismissive, so utterly unthreatened by me as he walked up and kicked me across the deck. I barely felt it, even though I'm sure he broke bones. The pain of that just seemed so insignificant compared to the agony of having my Light ripped away from me.

“He said I needed to be reacquainted with the fear of death, then planted a massive foot against my helmet and shoved me over the side. I assume the last bits of Light I had saved me from the fall, because I woke up broken and beaten in the ground.”

The other Warlock nodded along. “It’s brave of you to have gone back to face him again after something like that.”

Sylvanni pursed her lips. “I’m not certain I would call it brave, exactly. It was simply something that needed to be done, and I had Light, so I was the one to do it.”

“Very humble of you,” he said, shaking his head. “He mentioned that and yet…”

“Wait,” Sylvanni said, frowning. “Who mentioned something?”

He was spared from answering her by the return of the waitress with their food, two steaming bowls and the plate of soft buns. Sylvanni eyed him, her intuition starting to make her suspicious, something familiar pricking her instincts.

Before she could say something, he nodded his head toward her slowly, an approximation of a bow. “It’s been an honor speaking with you, Lady Restorer. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

“You sound like you’re leaving,” she said, narrowing her eyes. Something golden flashed on his finger, a signet ring of a sun inside an eye that she hadn’t noticed before. “Hold up, I do know you! I’ve seen you in the Reef. You–”

“Thank you, Brother Vance,” a smooth voice said behind her, “I can take over from here. Would you watch the street for us? I’d hate unexpected company.”

Sylvanni’s blood ran cold.

She wanted to scream, to run, to fight, to do something, but she was so stunned she found she couldn’t move. Once Vanguard, now exiled pariah, Osiris himself patted Vance on the shoulder as the cultist stood and slid into the booth seat across from her. He had picked up the chopsticks and was lifting the first bite of noodles to his mouth, watching her all the while, before she managed to find her voice.

The hissed snarl of words that finally escaped her would have impressed the Fallen. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His mouth quirked slightly, trying not to smile. “Hello, Sylvanni.”

He seemed utterly unperturbed, sitting in the middle of the City he had been explicitly forbidden to return to. Then again, he’d always had a way of seeming in control in any situation. It had made him a good leader during his time in the Tower, a handsome charismatic who drew followers like moths to a flame.

The problem had been, of course, where he’d chosen to lead them.

She was surprised—though she shouldn’t have been—how unchanged he seemed from his years of exile. For a moment, it was like no time had passed. They could have been back more than a century ago, with him, still the Vanguard, meeting up to talk about her research into the Ahamkara, or telling her about latest project he’d been working on. His smile was still kind, his sun-dark skin smooth, eyes as black and fathomless as the void. A dangerous kind of beauty.

“How did you get into the City?” she demanded.

He shook his head, tsking softly. “Such an uninteresting question. There are many Guardians returning to see the Traveler reborn. It’s a simple thing to stow away.”

He, like Vance, did not wear the customary bright yellow robes of his order, but was instead clad in similar nondescript black with golden trim. Perhaps it would have made him noticeable to wear his own colors, but there were many among the Guardians who flaunted the gifts they’d won in his Trials, those who carried gifts from Osiris’ followers as a trophy without truly understanding what they meant.

“The Traveler’s rebirth didn’t lift your exile,” she said coldly. “The Vanguard will come down on you if they discover you here.”

“Ah, the Vanguard are so fond of ignorance,” he said, twirling another tangle of noodles around his sticks. “It would be cruel of me to disabuse them of it. They cast me out because I wished for knowledge. I must assume then, that they prefer things left unknown.”

Sylvanni’s brow drew to a hard line. “You were exiled because you threw away lives and resources at a time when they could not be spared and you know that. You let your selfish curiosity get in the way of doing what needed to be done.”

“‘Selfish curiosity?’ What an interesting oxymoron.” He watched her with that gaze that seemed to understand too much, to be able to see things better left hidden. Beneath it however, his smile was fond. “Dear Sylvanni. Ever dutiful. You have not changed.”

“Unfortunately,” she said flatly, “I must say the same of you.”

He picked up one of the buns, holding it towards her before taking a bite. “You should have some. They're very good.”

She ignored him. “What are you doing, Osiris? Sneaking into the City? Sending messages through the Vex networks?”

“I might point out that you were also in that Vex network.”

She grimaced, feeling her confusion over this whole situation turn her stomach. “No, no, this is wrong. I shouldn’t be sitting here talking to you. You shouldn’t be here at all. I should call the Tower Garrison and have you arrested for breaking exile.”

“Over a bowl of noodles? I wasn’t aware a meal was such a threat to City security.” He gestured toward her bowl again more insistently. “Please, it’s just dinner. I promise I won’t topple the infrastructure of the Tower or stage any violent revolutions from this noodle shop.”

With a terse sigh, she relented, picking up her own chopsticks while glaring at him. “You're mad. But fine. One meal. Then you leave again.”

“Very well.” He seemed saddened by her hostility towards him, as if somehow he’d expected she’d be pleased to see him. “You’re quick to quote the Vanguard’s rhetoric against me, but I cannot believe these things you say. We worked together for decades. Look me in the eye and tell me you think I’m the madman they claim.”

She did meet his eyes, but she couldn’t quite say it. There had always been something powerfully manic to Osiris, but never unhinged. He believed everything he did deeply and ignored logic and common sense in pursuit of his goals, but the true threat that Osiris posed was not insanity, but rather a dangerous level of sanity.

It wasn’t that he was manipulative, per se. It was simply that he understood people in a way that gave him the ability to make them listen. He connected with others in a way that made them feel important, that validated their thoughts and insecurities. He could speak with such passion that one couldn’t help but start to see things his way.

That was something far more perilous than a lunatic.

“Fine,” she admitted. “I don’t believe you’ve lost your mind, no. But you insult me if you believe I’m simply parroting the Vanguard. My words and thoughts are my own, no one else’s. You are many of the things that they say.”

The bun grasped in his chopsticks threatened to fly free as he gestured with that hand. “What threat do I pose to the Vanguard? I’ve attacked no one. I make no actions against the Tower. Guardians who choose to follow me do so freely, because they’re tired of getting missions and targets instead of answers and truth. They understand that there is knowledge worth seeking beyond what you find at behind the trigger of a gun. They’re tired of feeling more like a weapon than a person.”

“No one’s saying that knowledge is bad,” she said, after finishing a bite of her own meal. The burning in her mouth was a mild counterpart to the burning frustration within. “There are things that are more important than answers! There are duties you failed to fulfill as Vanguard because you put your questions above everything else. And there are things out there, like your precious Vex, that are too dangerous to be used! The damage you’ll cause far outweighs any meager benefit you might glean from it!”

A thought began to coalesce, like a matrix of data lattice branching from thin air. The more she spoke the more she realized what this was reminding her of. Osiris opened his mouth to respond, but she continued on, not letting him have a word in edgewise.

“You’re… Osiris, you are an Ahamkara to the Tower. You and your cult are that mysterious, distant thing that lures in the unwary with the promise of granting wishes and giving the answers everyone’s always wanted. You are a temptation, a seduction–” His eyebrow raised at her word choice and she instantly regretted it. “–a siren call that steals away needed fighters from the front lines. That is why you’re a threat. Because of that, you must be stopped, just like the Ahamkara were.”

He mulled that over for a long pause, not denying her accusations, but neither did he concede to them. Finally, he gave her a long, steady look. “Do you still question? Wonder? I remember a newly-raised scholar, desperate to learn, fascinated by the world and its secrets. What happened to the woman I knew, that relentless seeker? What have they done to her?”

“She grew up, Osiris. She realized there were things more important than secrets. She stopped questioning and started doing because there were things that needed to be done.”

He shook his head slowly. “You may have convinced others here that you are this hollow creature of orders and laws that you pretend to be, but I don’t believe you. You and I are birds of a feather, cut of the same cloth. You think like I do. You question, and the questions haunt you, demanding satisfaction. You always have always been as I am, and you always will be. You cannot deny your nature, Sylvanni.”

The words stung with a truth she’d long tried to deny about herself. That was the problem with Osiris: he’d always known her far too well.

“Perhaps you’re right and I am like you, deep down,” she quietly admitted, looking down at her bowl because it was easier to face than his eyes. “The difference between us, Osiris, is that I’ve learned that wandering curiosity is a weakness, something I shouldn’t indulge.”

His voice dropped quietly, as he slid a knife of words through her armor and plunged it deep into insecurity. “Don’t you still wonder if we’re real? Don’t you still question if we are people chosen or things created? Aren’t you worried that your obedience is because It created you to obey?”

She stiffened, every existential doubt she’d suffered clawing at her, begging for acknowledgement, seeking to tear her apart. Her thoughts attacked her in the dark, empty hours of the night when there was nothing to distract her from them. And he knew, because he was right, of course. She was the same, deep down.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, gritting her teeth, as though doubt were something she could kill with force of will alone. “It doesn’t matter if I’m a real person or a clever weapon. It doesn’t matter if my obedience isn’t a choice when the orders given are to protect people.”

She swept a hand toward that beaded curtain and the City beyond, still looking anywhere but at him. “That, out there, is what matters. Saving lives, stopping our enemies, keeping the City safe. Nothing else. Not what I want, or what I feel. Not who I am or the things I still wonder. I will be whatever the City needs me to be. If all the Traveler needs is a weapon, then a weapon I shall be. Caring about anything else is indulgent selfishness. If my heart seeks to pull me astray with questions, doubts, wishes or dreams, I will smother it until its insubordination is silenced.”

He understood what she meant, and that was the worst part. He knew that when she spoke of her traitorous heart that the halcyon past between was the thing it longed for most. He knew that his allure was so much more than simply his ideals. He knew and he sat there and looked at her with that sad gaze that she couldn’t meet, lest his eyes convince her of what her heart could not.

He leaned forward—the table narrow enough between them to allow closeness—and it was a motion that she felt, more than saw, with her head still down.

“Sylvanni Duv, I believe you may be the greatest tragedy of my exile. To see a mind such as yours, locked away in blank, unquestioning service to them, to It, is a failure for which I must blame myself. You deserve to think, to feel, to question, and to dream, and no one should have taken that from you. Not the Vanguard, not the Traveler, not even you yourself.”

Before she’d sat down at this table she would have sworn that she was stone from her skin to her core, her insecurities locked away deep where they couldn’t sabotage her. But now Osiris was shattering her walls, her prohibitions, her self. He’d done it centuries ago and he was doing it now. Never malicious, never manipulative, but so intensely earnest the words couldn’t help but be compelling. He won souls because he made you see things his way.

It was why she’d been both heartbroken and relieved to see him leave the Tower in exile, hundreds of years ago: He was the most dangerous temptation she had, the thing she desired most to have and be and trust, and the thing which she could never allow herself to have. His pursuit of his own ideas had nearly broken the Tower. She had sworn to herself that she would be stronger, that she would never become what he was.

Never let him turn her into the thing he’d longed for her to be.

And she knew, if she gave him an inch now, she’d give him everything.

Her confused nausea became a tangible weight in her stomach, and though she’d never had claustrophobia, she suddenly felt as though the walls of the shop were closing in on all sides. She needed to be away. It didn’t matter where, so long as it wasn’t here.

She stood, suddenly, banging her hip on the table in her haste to free herself from the booth, speaking with an almost frantic desperation. “I can’t… Osiris, I can’t do this. I can’t just pretend everything hasn’t happened. I have to… You shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake, and I’m leaving. I should have left the moment you appeared.”

She took only two steps before his hand wrapped around her left arm like a second bond, holding her in place.

“Sylvanni, wait. Please.”

She could have pulled free, kept going, run to the side of the railing and flung herself over just to feel the wind in her face and hope she would wake up from the resurrection and find that none of this had been real. But she hesitated, and damned herself instead.

“I didn’t tell you why I came,” he said softly. “You asked why I was here, and I didn’t answer. Allow me that much at least.”

His fingers might have been tongues of fire, flames eating through her sleeve, for the heat they brought to her skin. She could feel each finger individually. The whorls of his fingerprints would be burned into her skin, she was certain of it. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to break away.

She looked back, hating herself for it.

He was so beautiful in sincerity. “The Light. When it was suddenly ripped from us, I feared it could be the end. Yet you returned it. Every Guardian is indebted to you for it.”

She shook her head, confused that he would come so far for something so simple. “What?”

“I came to thank you, Sylvanni Duv, for saving us all.”

Their eyes met and she felt the moment upon her, her chance to pull away, to run and flee back to safety.

That moment passed.

Osiris pulled her gently forward and pressed his lips to hers. And she let him. She stood in that moment and kissed him, hearing the person she’d tried to be screaming in her head. He tasted of sunlight and salt, and as his grip on her arm relaxed, his other hand moved to cup the back of her head, keeping her close.

It was horrible, and it was bliss. The former Sylvanni, a silly girl from centuries ago with silly ideas about her handsome Vanguard, was resurrected within her again, just briefly, when that naive optimist should have been long dead. The current Sylvanni, the the logical pragmatist she’d built herself to become, wailed in silent agony that she was tearing down everything she’d worked so hard to achieve. Decades of discipline, destroyed in one moment of emotional weakness.

But Traveler’s scars, how long had it been since anyone held her?

For a few precious heartbeats, right and wrong fell away and she simply let herself feel something, let her breath mingle with his, let her thoughts twirl aimlessly around nothing but the pleasure of the moment itself and nothing further than that. Duty, consequences, within that embrace, those foundational pillars of her life had no purchase on her and she floated on the ecstasy of it all.

Reality though, was far too weighty to be held at bay by something so fragile as a kiss.

The pragmatist won the fight in her mind, the idealist struck down and locked away once more where she could cause no further damage. Just as quickly as the wonder of the moment had consumed her, crippling guilt washed over it, drowning everything. The nausea returned once more, now arm in arm with a new companion: disappointment in herself, that she’d succumbed so easily.

She broke away, the taste of him souring already, and pushed herself back, suddenly desperate for space between them. “Osiris, I can’t… This was…” The steel mask began to slide back into place, the walls repairing, traitorous emotions executed for their treason. “This was a mistake. You coming here. Me not leaving the moment I saw you.” Her heartbeat still pounded in her ears. “Nothing but a string of mistakes.”

He didn’t seem hurt by the words, though there was that twinge of sadness in his eyes again. He’d expected this, though he’d hoped for something different. She turned away, intending to leave before she could fall any further—before he could drag her further down—but this time he caught her hand instead.

“Wait, before you go,” he said calmly, pressing something small and metalic against her palm. “Take this. A symbol of my favor. That any of my order who see it will know you are to given every courtesy.”

She gritted her teeth, not trusting herself to look back at him again. “I don’t want your favor. Keep it.”

“Please,” he said, stepping close to her again. “For my peace of mind if nothing else.” With his hand wrapped around hers, he folded her fingers around the little object. “It’s a gift.”

She snatched her hand from his, clenching it to a fist around the coin as she kept her back to him. “Leave the City, Osiris. Within the hour. Do not return.”

A sad puff of a laugh escaped him, an amused resignation. “As you command, Lady Restorer. The journey begins with doubt, but ends with solace.”

“Leave.”

“It was good to see you again. Our paths will cross again soon,” he said, still so casual about it all. “I’m looking forward to it. I think I’m going to need your help, though it’s always hard to tell with things like this. Vex minds are, ah, how was it put? ‘Not quite as intuitive as you might think.’ But, then again, that’s what makes these things interesting, isn’t it?”

Sylvanni froze as she recognized the phrase—Cayde’s words—from a conversation Osiris shouldn’t have known about. Meeting again? She spun, a demand for an answer already on her lips.

There was nothing there but empty air.

The table looked lonesome. Two bowls, still slightly steaming, a plate of buns, half eaten, and a glimmer credit in the middle as payment. She stood, stunned. There hadn’t even been a sound as he vanished, no telltale shimmer of a transmat field. A thought occurred to her, and she pushed her way to the front of the shop, emerging into the street. Vance, too, was nowhere to be found.

Guardians and civilians parted around her as Sylvanni stood in the midst of it, a stone around which the currents broke. The world continued on but she stood still, trying to make sense of what had happened, what it had meant. What it had revealed about who she really was.

No answers came, only further questions. The endless, dangerous questions, distractions that she couldn’t ever fully banish. She’d gotten so good at keeping those in check, ignoring their call over the years.

Now she felt lost within them once more. Of course, she thought, that was what he wanted, wasnt’ it? Osiris always gets what he wants.

Always.

#Destiny #Destiny fanfiction #Osiris #Destiny 2 #Destiny the Game #Destiny 2 spoilers #Sylvanni Duv #My Fanfic #Sorry that this is not a Recompense update #but apparently it's Shiptember #and that means I'm going to write relationship drama over ramen #The DLC is going to come in here and wreck my headcanons #but I don't care #I'm having self-indulgent fun

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captainjosephwojous-blog · 4 years

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Joseph Wojciechowski: What’s Happening This Year? - My ELA Blog

Dec. 9

“Semester 1's End: Semester 2″

With semester one of tenth grade ending, I'm beginning to look forward to what's going to happen next semester. I don't think it will be much different then first semester, or more difficult. There are the obvious changes such as what we are learning, but I think the biggest change will be the fact that cross country season is over and track season will begin when we get back. Besides that another change could be in language arts, we may finish The Count of Monte Cristo, move on to another book, start a big project or anything in between.

Dec. 4

“Happiness: What Can We Do About It?”

When I think about being especially happy, the thoughts that come up usually have something to do with family. Most of my family lives far away, or at least used to, so anytime we’d visit them it’d be special. One time that stands out was when I visited my cousins in Arizona for two weeks. There wasn’t one good moment though, I was just happy being there. I was happy to be with family members that I didn’t see often and to be in Arizona, even though I know that if I wasn’t visiting family or a place that I liked because of the memories I wouldn’t have liked the trip. It was a hot, sometimes boring place, but I liked being there nonetheless. That is why I believe our own happiness can sometimes be up to us, sometimes we just have to look at the bright side of situations, or just try to think about the good times. What’s exciting is the fact that I know I can reach that happiness again, I’m only 15 and I know there’s much more to life than just visiting family in Arizona.

Dec. 2

“Compliments: Why You Should Give Them Out”

“Compliment three people everyday”- H. Jackson Brown Jr.

Compliments are a small but powerful way of making people feel better about themselves and a good way of showing kindness to someone. The reasons you should compliment people, at least three times a day, are because of this. Not only does it make you seem kind, it also helps the other person, but this can be hard for some people. Sometimes what holds people back is just shyness or fear of sounding weird, however the simple gesture is almost never taken that way, and no one should fear being kind. Some people believe that it would be a chore though, to set a fixed amount of compliments to give or that the compliments would get old, and to that I would say it depends on the person. Not everyone would want to be complimented daily because it may seem repetitive or insincere, while others would love the attention. Overall I believe giving compliments daily would be thoughtful, but I can see why some wouldn’t want to do this.

Nov. 18

“Characterization: What’s New?”

So far, I’ve learned a little about characterization, like the fact that you should try to avoid using simple adjectives like “kind” or “evil”. You should be more descriptive and that description should be an overall trait, not something the character is like for a few days. A trait is not a mood or feeling, it’s what the character is, for example, insincere, vindictive, and or humorous.

Nov. 18

“Speaking And Listening: What’s There To Take-Away”

Through listening to stories and reading one myself, I’ve learned a lot about all of my classmates and told them about myself. This project helps us understand our classmates better and open ourselves up to each other. We’ve also all gained experience with presenting through this project and hopefully, all learned that presenting isn’t as bad as it seems.

Nov. 11

“Personal Pride: How May It Effect Others?”

I take pride in myself and my identity, but I don’t really express it towards anyone. Because of this, I don’t make anyone feel inferior about themselves. I also do not perceive people as inferior or less than me because of who they are because I was raised to be accepting of everyone, no matter their ethnicity, gender or status.

Oct. 24

“Language Arts: Advantage Of Having It For Four Years”

Four years of language arts in high school to many people has its’ problems but it’s not all bad. Four years of language arts is good for many people because it reinforces their speaking and writing skills which are important for many jobs. Not only that, but language arts also helps people who weren’t raised in an English speaking family to learn the language’s intricacies and ways to improve speaking it.

Oct. 17

“Goal Making: Be SMART”

A goal I hope to achieve this quarter would be to improve a certain aspect of my writing. I want to be able to write more for detailed passages. I want to go beyond just a few sentences or a paragraph for my rising action and climax as well as have smooth transitions between them. To do this I believe I just need to see examples of it done right and practice and because it’s a relatively tame goal, I hope to see drastic improvement this semester.

Oct. 10

“What Did I Expect: Language Arts”

My expectations for ELA were nothing special, I assumed it would be like most years where we write, do vocabulary and probably never use our notebooks, but this year has started off differently. Though we have written, it was different from most papers because we learned new concepts and improved our writing as we went along, also this year has made doing vocabulary cards optional and we write in our notebooks almost every class. I hope the class continues to be like this because we have learned a lot and, in all honesty, haven’t gotten much homework.

Oct. 7

“How To Blog: Don’t Forget To Format”

I would advise a blogger to learn how to set up a blog before anything else, I wish I had done so. This is especially important the more posts that you have because if you have hundreds of posts and realize you’ve been formatting them wrong, going back and fixing the posts will take a while. I would also tell them that formality isn’t necessary; the blog can be conversational and entertaining.

Sep. 30

“The Count Of Monte Cristo: The Story So Far”

In chapter three of The Count Of Monte Cristo the main character, Dantes meets his soon to be wife, Mercedes, and Fernand, Mercedes cousin. Fernand proposes to Mercedes multiple times before Dante arrives and she always answers no because she loves Dantes, so when he meets Dantes he is enraged and runs away to his two friends Caderousse and Danglars. After some time, Dantes and Mercedes walk by where the three friends are and they speak about their wedding date and Dantes’ need to go to Paris, through this conversation Danglars gets an idea about how to stop Dantes from becoming the Pharaon’s number one.

Sep. 23

“The Count Of Monte Cristo: What Is A Strength In The Writing?”

Some strengths the Count of Monte Cristo has would be the book’s exposition. This is because the book does not spend an excessive amount of time working on the exposition and the exposition is well implemented. Its’ placement is natural and it keeps flow in the writing; it’s cohesive. What's more, I personally did not find the exposition boring, instead, I thought it was interesting because of the time period it was set in.

Sep. 19

“Past High School: 2022”

In 2022 I see myself being done with high school and on my way to college. My dream college would be MIT, and because it’s difficult to get into, I'm trying to get into STEM to build my resume. Past that, right now I want to major in engineering, but I’m not really sure what branch of engineering I want to major in, construction, engineering, etc. These plans could change, but right now they serve as some direction.

Sep. 16

“My Life Written Down: Is There A Theme?”

If there was a book detailing my life, the main theme would most likely be the search for moral structure or a purpose. The reason it would be on these two is because I’m a teenager, and most teenagers look for a purpose in life and start to think about who they are and how they should act; what is wrong or right, and how you should act to have good character. I’ve hit the point in my life where I start looking for a direction, and with that comes the development of my character, or my moral structure.

Sep. 9

“Standards: What Am I Being Held To?”

Of the six current standards, the hardest standards for me are identifying any mistakes or tampered with evidence when someone is speaking, using technology to produce, public and update writing products, and finally, analyzing the cumulative impact of specific word choices on meaning and tone.

Aug. 26

“Marking The Text: How Do I Do It?”

Knowing how to annotate is very important and through the years I've developed some strategies to make the process a little bit easier. One strategy I use is to limit the amount of highlighting I'm doing by only highlighting keywords and parts of sentences. Also, if I don't understand some vocabulary I'll look up the words and find examples or definitions.

Aug. 22

“Public Speaking: Learning Multiple Subjects At Once”

So far, I’ve learned a little about writing through our presentations, and I like this because every day we are actually learning something new. We even combined learning with presenting, which isn’t anything new, but the way we combine what’s expected of us to learn and important to learn with it makes it feel new. I want to continue learning in this class, and want to learn a little about how to create a good first line in an essay and a good conclusion.

Aug. 19

“Me and Santiago: Are We Similar?”

Santiago at the beginning of the story is naive, very trusting of strangers, hopeful and almost antisocial because of the way he likes exploring freely with just the sheep that understand him. In the end, he is more spiritual and wiser, matured. I am similar to him in the way that I’m hopeful about the future, but unlike him, I’m not very trusting with strangers.

Aug. 15

“My Skills: What’s The Point?”

One thing I am good at in school is being in a sport, cross-country to be specific. I just joined this year, but I’m not too bad at running and the coach thinks I can make varsity by my senior year. One of the reasons I do well in the sport is because of the people on the team. They’re kind, supportive, and provide competition which makes me want to get better.

Aug. 12

“You Are Who You Are: Don’t Let Others Change You”

“No one can ever take your memories from you - each day is a new beginning; make good memories every day.” - Catherine Pulsifer

You are your own person and no one can change who you are, who you can be, or who you will be. One of my goals is to learn how to code. I want to know more about computer programming and this year I plan to focus on that. This school year I would also like to make good memories by meeting new people and possibly joining a club or sport.

#ela blog

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naturecpw · 5 years

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Why we Need to Stop Saying, “I’m Sorry For Your Loss.”

Via Ed Preston on Apr 2, 2017

There were about 150 people at my father’s memorial service.

Standing in the receiving line afterward it seemed like every conversation, whether it was with an old friend or a total stranger, began with the exact same phrase, “I’m sorry for your loss.” Most conversations didn’t go far beyond that, partly because there’s not much to say in response except, “thank you.”

A few people managed to mix in another platitude like, “He’s in a better place now” or, “At least his suffering is over,” but it all started to sound like a broken record pretty quickly; one that I had heard many times before, seen played out in movies and even unknowingly participated in myself. Now it was being played for me at one of the most painful moments of my life, and the hollowness of that experience would literally change my course forever.

Why do so many of us struggle with what to say to someone who is grieving?

Perhaps it’s because of our cultural death phobia, and the way it pathologizes everything related to sadness. If we’re not better at dealing with grief, then it’s because we’ve never been taught better. Unfortunately, that leaves the majority of people with only one stock phrase in their repertoire, “I’m sorry for your loss.” Grieving Needs More than Clichés.

One problem is simply the overwhelming use of this one phrase, while simultaneously reserving it almost exclusively for the family. It seems as the close friends aren’t really grieving at all, while family members get the idea of loss hammered into them over and over.

Saying, “I’m sorry for your loss” is a bit like the cashier saying, “Have a nice day,” at the convenience store. It betrays a lack of original thought and is so pervasive it has become irritating for many.

When responses are this programmed, how sincere is the sentiment? As more people start to become irritated by it, choosing this particular phrase because it feels “safe” isn’t really that safe anymore. Clarity Works. Euphemisms Don’t.

Using the language of loss as a euphemism for death is one of many ways in which our culture conceals the reality of death, perpetuates our phobias about it, and keeps us trapped. Spoken by a griever, “I lost my mother in 2015” is being used to avoid saying the word “died.” Spoken to a griever it expresses pity combined with distancing, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

The problem is that it’s linguistically incorrect. The verb “to lose” is active, something we do. The reality of grief is that someone else died. You didn’t lose them in the same way you would lose your car keys or your wallet, and depending on your religious convictions you may not feel like you lost them at all.

For most of my life, I definitely thought of deceased loved ones as lost because I was well trained by the culture to do so. Visiting a Native American friend one day I said something about losing someone and my friend responded, “You don’t have to lose someone just because they died.”

That was the first time I was exposed to the idea that it’s possible to live in the presence of the dead, not as frightening ghosts, but as honored members of the clan.

These days I’ve become accustomed to drawing comfort from the idea that I’m living in the presence of departed loved ones. Actually, speaking to them in quiet moments when I’m alone is one of several key components—like meditation, being in nature or remembering special occasions—I use to process my grief whenever it shows up. Whether one wishes to think about that in terms of psychology or in terms of the spiritual language, it seems completely irrelevant. All I know is that I find it helpful. It’s the Wrong Mental Programming.

Experts in the field of grief care (Stephen Jenkinson, for example) are starting to recommend using the language of suffering, healing, and overcoming challenges instead. The language of loss refutes the notion that there might be an upside to grief, a spiritual deepening that can result from being exposed to something that’s an inevitable consequence of being born and choosing to love each other. By shifting to the language of suffering, healing, and overcoming challenges instead, death and grieving can once again become the redemptive processes I’ve come to believe they were always meant to be.

After personally experiencing the old cliché and its real world application thousands of times over several decades, I remember quite vividly the first time someone said, “I’m sorry for your suffering. I’m here with you.”

How different those words felt!

I immediately knew the stranger sitting next to me on a park bench somehow understood something that had been missed by all the close friends and family who had been sorry for my loss, but not present with my suffering.

Firstly, she knew I was suffering, and her use of the word “sorry” came across as authentic compassion rather than pity. Second, there was no distancing or avoidance in the way she said it. She knew what I needed most: validation of my grief and someone willing to listen, even if that meant listening through some tears. Best of all there was no judgment. The Challenges Ahead.

Significant numbers of people are starting to open up about their dissatisfaction with this worn out cliché. Others seem almost determined to defend it as the ultimate expression of sympathy. What the defenders don’t seem to understand is that no one will ever be offended or hurt by not saying, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

For those wanting to improve their grief communication by eliminating clichés with more accurate, helpful, and authentic responses, but still aren’t sure what to say, here are a few other choices in no particular order. These are just a few of the many options available, and they can be combined in various ways to make them both personal and appropriate.

1. I’m sorry you’re suffering right now, but I’m here with you and willing to help any way I can. Is there anything you need right now?

2. I’m sorry for whatever challenges might lie ahead for you, but I’m here and willing to help. Would it be okay if I call next week just to check in with you?

3. Please accept my deepest condolences. I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now, but I know enough about grief to know that it can be very challenging. Don’t hesitate to call me if there’s anything I can do to help.

4. I’m so sorry to hear about _____. I’m sure you’re going to miss him/her terribly. How are you holding up?

5. I know there’s nothing I can say right now to make things better, but I also know that having someone to talk to at times like this is really important, so don’t hesitate to call me whenever you need to.

Follow any of those with what you loved most about the deceased or tell a story about a favorite memory of them, and I think most people will be pleased with the deep level of connection that’s instantly created. I’m absolutely certain the bereft will feel less isolated and better supported.

One reason is that the phrases above easily open into longer conversations, while “I’m sorry for your loss” tends to shut them down. In some cases, it’s even appropriate to simply remain silent and offer them a deeply heartfelt hug instead.

Most important of all is just being willing to listen and be present.

Author: Ed Preston

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2017/04/why-we-need-to-stop-saying-im-sorry-for-your-loss/

Ed Preston is a Certified Grief Recovery Specialist and mindfulness meditation teacher with over 20 years of experience. He is the founder of Triad Grief Recovery & Support Services in Greensboro, NC. He also has a degree in cultural anthropology and lived in the Four Corners region for 35 years, where he was a professional guide and bridge to the Navajo and Hopi cultures. Connect with Ed on his website.

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Comments

Deborah Crane-Foote I disagree. I lost my only child the day after this past Christmas. The loss is to awful to contemplate, let alone know what to say. I prefer it to " he's waiting for you" " he's in a better place" or other drivel. Im sorry means, I have no idea what to say, but I care that you hurt. I'm a substance abuse counselor and deal with mite loss and trauma than humanity should have to endure. My clients have all expressed their appreciation that people say that to them. Intentions can be communicated with more than words. The look on people's faces, their body language and their follow up efforts show that "I'm sorry" is deeper than those simple words. Like · Reply · 24 · Apr 2, 2017 6:20pm

Sylvain Thibault · John Abbott College Hi Deborah. I understand and agree with your point of view. Seeing, feeling and knowing that someone is genuinely understanding and "sorry" is very comforting. However, please read the article again carefully. I think you'll see that it's really about how the "sorry for your loss" phrase is most often being used in a way that has become meaningless, insincere, and disingenuine. I feel that many of us say it simply because it's easier, requires less effort, allows us to remain detatched and save our energy, rather than commit or "give" of ourselves to another human being. I feel the reason this often seems laborious and demanding. is that we have this idea, this notion, that we MUST "be", "feel" and respond in a certain way towards the other person, rather than just being ourselves, however we may be feeling in the moment, and extending as much as we can afford to give to the person in that moment. We often think this will not be enough, not be good enough, and then unnecessarily demand more of ourselves. This is taxing and draining, and so a quick and/or "easy" way out of this heavy, burdensome demand we place on ourselves is to say something that is "socially acceptable" and has become "the norm", and even expected. ...Until we realize that simply saying how we truly feel, and only giving as much of ourselves as we can, no more and no less, would be more than enough and greatly appreciated and accepted by the other person. In the end what we actually say doesn't matter, whether it's one thing or another, so long as it's sincere and genuine. The other will feel that and most often show thier gratitude and appreciation for it. I think this is what the article is really about. Someone who is genuinely sorry and understands us, and is able to show this is what we need and appreciate most. Like · Reply · 6 · Apr 3, 2017 9:29am

MaryBeth Whiting Walz · Freelance Writer at Writing and blogging Sylvain Thibault - Well, in a perfect world, that would be great. But this world and every person in it are imperfect. And so they say something that "sounds" rote to you. But you have no idea if it is, or if it took every ounce of their being just to say that! Most people do not handle words well, especially when someone is eminating stress and grief. And if you've never been there, how could you possibly know?

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Rachel Fuerstenberg Stewart I also disagree. While insightful in theory, for me the most comfort was in this simple expression. I did lose my husband, his warmth and physical presence is gone. Though I feel him with me, to say I didn't lose him is disrespectful. I may be a spiritual being, but I am also a physical being, suffering a physical loss. While it may be cliche, that simple easy phrase allowed me to accept the comfort of an endless stream of well wishers without requiring a conversation of me - a blessed gift. Every time someone asked what I needed, I wanted to scream, "my husband!!"

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newyorktheater · 5 years

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Amber Jaunai as Jesus H. Christ and Nate DeCook and Vince Ryne as two dumb, obvlivious Southern teens in “Sincerity, Forever.”

To appreciate these first two productions of the five-play Mac Wellman festival at The Flea, entitled “Perfect Catastrophes,” it helps to know that Wellman — the 74-year-old co-founder of The Flea, distinguished professor of playwriting at Brooklyn College; and author of more than 40 plays over the past 50 years – is a pioneer of what could be termed the WTF? school of theater-making. As Wellman told one of his former students interviewing him in American Theatre Magazine in 2016, he believes that “plays are not about plots. They are about moments”..and that the best plays give the audience “a slap in the face.” He is part of a generation of like-minded, now-revered theater artists who are labeled experimental and avant-garde — and challenging — such as Richard Foreman, Robert Wilson, and Lee Breuer and Ruth Maleczech of Mabou Mines, in all of whose work Wellman has said he’s found inspiration.

At the same time, at his best — and in 2016, I saw a new play of his that I consider one of his best, “The Offending Gesture” — his theater pieces are smart, playful, and clever, displaying a delightful ear for dialogue. If they are exercises in absurdity, they are rooted in the absurdities of the world in which we live.

“Perfect Catastrophes,” which runs through November 1st, will offer two world premieres. But these first two Wellman plays, “Bad Penny” and “Sincerity Forever” go back three decades. The plays are being presented separately, with separate admission, but I saw them one after the other on the same night.

Joseph Huffman (far left), Emma Orme (left), Bailie de Lacy (right), Lambert Tamin (far right) | Photo by Allison Stock

Bailie de Lacy (top far left), Dana Placentra (top center), Lambert Tamin (top far right), Katelyn Sabet (bottom far left), Alex J, Moreno (bottom center), Caroline Banks (bottom far right), Emma Orme (far right on table) Photo by Allison Stock

Bad Penny

“Bad Penny” was first presented in 1989 as a site-specific work in Central Park. Anne Hamburger’s En Garde Arts, the mother of all site-specific theater in New York, set it in and around Bow Bridge on the Lake in Central Park, with an 18-member cast of downtown stalwarts, including future luminary Reg. E Cathy.

In place of Central Park, The Flea has furnished their small outdoor theater (really just a narrow backyard) with a kind of Astroturf, and strings of Christmas lights overhead; the audience sits on blankets or around the periphery in a variety of mismatched lounge chairs. And instead of the members of En Garde Arts, The Flea’s production is populated by nine members of the Bats, its resident theater company, a group of mostly young newcomers that in “Bad Penny” generally show more promise than polish.

After several minutes in which the actors and the audience are one undifferentiated lounging mass, a woman pops up and starts speaking about the sky. She is Kat, (Emma Orme), and, though her monologue might feel unmoored if not unhinged, like the ranting of a mentally ill homeless person, there is something stimulating in her observations and speculations. The “true sky” may be a wonderful place “where all the lost things in the world assemble” – hats, socks, thumbtacks.

The man to whom she seems to be speaking offers a succinct rejoinder: “Go away or I’ll call the police.”

The man, Ray (Joseph Huffman), is carrying a spare tire. His car broke down on the East Side, he explains, and he couldn’t find a gas station there, so he’s going across the park to find one on the West Side. He has come from Big Ugly, Montana. He identifies himself as a “freelance memory fabulist and metaphysician and card player”

A second man (Alex J. Moreno) speaks up, doubting the first man’s story; a third man (Lambert Tamin) agrees it’s dubious; a second woman (Bailie de Lacy) attacks the third man, and defends the first man.

The kibitzing, if surreal, is quintessential New York.

“I knew I shouldn’t have picked up the goddam bad penny I found on the path, over there, near the big fountain. I knew it would turn out this way: bad,” the first woman says, which I suppose explains the title.

The arguing continues – over who’s normal, among other things – as these groups of strangers talk to each other, telling their life stories, and at each other, and about each other, joined by a chorus of three women who chant things like “Let the world be covered with rat fur” and “The Dead Boatman of Bow Bridge is coming…” And, amidst increasing cacophony, long overlapping rants and choral chants, the Dead Boat of Bow Bridge does eventually arrive, rather anticlimactically.

“Bad Penny” is a day in the park in New York, but it’s not a walk in the park, because, as any New Yorker will tell you, New York is not an easy experience. And that, I think, is what the play is about – a heightened dramatic distillation and affectionate parody of what it’s like to live in New York, and what it’s like to be a New Yorker.

Because it is so much about the city, “Bad Penny” would surely have worked better in a set, or setting, more recognizably New York.

Amber Jaunai (center left), Alex Hazen Floyd (center right), Vince Ryne (far right)

: Charly Dannis (left), Malena Pennycook (center left), Peter McNally (center right), Alex Hazen Floyd (right)

Sincerity Forever

“Sincerity Forever” was first produced in 1991, and dedicated to Senator Jesse Helms: “…for the fine job you are doing of destroying civil liberties in These States.” It’s surely no coincidence that the play takes place in a fictional Southern town named Hillsbottom (perhaps in Helms’ home state of North Carolina?) full of ignorant bigots. Thanks to recent events, the play feels newly relevant, and Wellman’s mockery is balanced with an undergirding anger. The playwright’s leaps and lunges in language can also be entertaining. But “Sincerity Forever” seems simultaneously too obvious and too abstruse to be judged a classic satire. And the acting in this production only intermittently rises to the level that the material demands.

In a series of two-character scenes on a summer night in the outskirts of Hillsbottom, teenagers talk to one another earnestly about how ignorant they are, but they do so in a contemplative, nearly poetic way:

“I don’t know the difference between good art and bad art. I haven’t a clue what a “hostile takeover” is, nor why junk bonds are junky,” Molly says to Judy. ” I mean why would anybody want them if they’re worthless?”

“I don’t know why the sky is blue, and I don’t know what “blue” is, and I don’t know why I don’t know,” Judy says to Molly.

But Judy and Molly (and the other teenagers in subsequent scenes) conclude that their ignorance must nonetheless somehow be God’s plan. All believe, as Molly puts it, “the most important thing is not what you know, but whether you’re sincere or not.” All of the teenagers are dressed in the white hoods and robes of the Ku Klux Klan.

In two subsequent scenes, first George and Judy confess they have crushes on one another, and then Tom and Lloyd, two male teenagers, have nearly the exact same conversation. Then two furballs rant about how stupid AND insincere the people of Hillsbottom are. These are supposedly the “mystic furballs” that the characters earlier discussed, expressing fear of their destructive power.

These two-character scenes repeat , and mutate – turning cruder, crazier and more confrontational.

Early on, a black woman (Amber Jaunai) comes a-visiting, but the Hillsbottom teenagers ignore her. She turns out to be Jesus H. Christ, and, just in case you missed the point just below the surface of playwright’s sardonic tone, at the end of “Sincerity Forever,” Jesus delivers with fire and brimstone a long corrosive sermon. I can’t help quoting a (relatively small) chunk of it:

“I came here to raise badass, obstreperous, antisocial, pestiferous, brutalitarian, loudmouthed and chaotic bloody hell. The roaring kind! You swinish, mealy-mouthed bunch of hypocrites wouldn’t know the Lord God of Hosts if he swope down and bit you on the ass. All you care about is what you look like, what you look like in a mirror, a mirror some monster furball dreamt up for you to look at to make you blind. America, you got your eyes open so wide you can’t see a fucking thing. America, you’re crazy if you think your limpdick, milksop, harebrained Christianity has anything whatsoever to do with Jesus H Christ, because that’s who’s standing here before you in the dusty ruination of the open road, because the whole point of what I am about is to shake up belief, to shake up belief and make people stop being so gosh-darned pleased with theyselves, and take a good look at what a sorry place this world is, what with all the jive-ass bullslinging and endless justifying….”

“Who was that African-American babe?” Tom asks. Jesus is still ignored.

Bad Penny Directed by Kristan Seemal. It features The Bats including Caroline Banks, Bailie de Lacy, Joseph Huffman, Alex Moreno, Emma Orme, Dana Placentra, Katelyn Sabet, Ryant Stinnet, and Lambert Tamin. The creative team includes Jian Jung (Scenic Designer), Emily White (Costume Designer), Daisy Long (Lighting Designer), Keenan Hurley (Sound Designer), Olivia Mancini (Stage Manager) and Lauren DeLeon (Assistant Director). Running time: 45 minutes Tickets; $17 to $102

Sincerity Forever

directed by Dina Vovsi. It features The Bats, including Charly Dannis, Nate DeCook, Alex Hazen Floyd, Amber Jaunai, Peter McNally, Neysa Lozano, Malena Pennycock, Zac Porter, Jonathon Ryan, and Vince Ryne. The creative team includes Frank Oliva (Scenic Designer), Barbara Erin Delo (Costume Designer), Becky Heisler (Lighting Designer), Emma Wilk (Sound Designer), Patricia Marjorie (Properties Master), Emma Sonricker (Stage Manager), and Will Steinberger (Assistant Director). Running time: 70 minutes Tickets: $17 to $102

Both plays are on stage at The Flea through October 7, 2019

Bad Penny and Sincerity Forever Reviews: Mac Wellman Revisited To appreciate these first two productions of the five-play Mac Wellman festival at The Flea, entitled “Perfect Catastrophes,” it helps to know that Wellman -- the 74-year-old co-founder of The Flea, distinguished professor of playwriting at Brooklyn College; and author of more than 40 plays over the past 50 years – is a pioneer of what could be termed the

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