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twelvedy7 · 3 years

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Twisted - One shot

warning: sensitive topics (drugs).

I just wanted to write something a bit different. It might be a bit OCC but I thought it might be a great fit for the manga universe. This story won’t be published anywhere else than tumblr so feel free to save the story if you like it.

Oh and also english isn’t really my native language so sorry if there are incoherences.

Takano had no sense of self-control. From a very young age he has been a witness of the sheer harshness of his mother and the complete indifference of his father towards their family. Despite how much he tried to convince himself of his difference he inherited from most of their flaws, which filled him with anger every time he thought about it.

No wonder that whenever he met someone bright, kind, generous and appreciated he became more aware of his whole dark gloomy personality. That was the case with Ritsu he was still viewing today as the 16 year-old teen he used to be a decade ago.

No wonder that when he met this bright, kind and generous highschool kid he had become more aware of his dark gloomy personality. He was still viewing Ritsu as the 16 year-old teen he used to be a decade ago and yet he couldn’t understand for the life of him the reason why such a lovable person would waste their time with him rather than finding another likeable person that would be such a better companion than him.

If all the open rejections from the brunette could make him believe he hated him, he was at least smart enough to read between the lines and see what the other tried so hard to conceal under feigned anger and flustered reactions.

What seemed to be like a bitter-sweet genuine love story from two ignorant teenagers who lost each other from a foolish misunderstanding was driving him straight into madness. Ritsu was constantly on his mind, invading his thoughts at any time of the day, reminding him of the terrible person he was and how he will never be nowhere near enough for him. Even in the poorly credible reality where the younger one would actually build up the courage to admit his feelings, he knew that their relationship was sealed to failure.

One day Ritsu would mature and realise how incompatible they were and how idealistic they’ve been this whole time before leaving him to find another person that could offer him the support and love he needed. Maybe one day Ritsu would find the man of his dreams, different from senpai in every way, to finally live the blissful life he aspired to. That’s what broke his heart the most: they were not made for each other. No matter how hard he tried, it will never be enough because they were simply not meant to.

He imagined Ritsu’s soulmate to be fun, social, caring, communicative and considerate which would make him forget all the turmoil he went through for all this time. His parents might be so enchanted by their personality that the fact they weren’t An-Chan wouldn’t even bother them.

The truth is he was physically and emotionally drained. He couldn’t feel a thing if it wasn’t his love for Ritsu and sometimes he felt as if that was his last tie with sanity. There were times where he would shut down his emotions. When it became too difficult to confront their inevitable fate, he would put himself in a semi-automatic mode working up to 15 hours straight without paying attention to anything or anyone, only accomplishing what he ought to.

Over time, he came to accept that he wasn’t able to love anyone without causing them a great deal of pain and suffering. That’s why he decided to distance himself from the few people who actually cared about him in his life and managed to bring him some split meaningful moments of happiness. It was like a lightning bolt shaking him from side to side, making him surrender to the hope of one day being able to spend the rest of his life with Ritsu and recovering from his long-lost friendship with Yokozawa. He hurt them both and didn’t deserve to be part of their lives.

His phone vibrated. He broke off his thoughts to center his attention on the alias displaying on the screen: “Taisho” along with a message “I’m here.”

He stood up from the floor, came up to the entrance of his apartment and opened the door. A man of average-height in his mid-thirties was waiting for him. At first glance, he gave the impression of being a regular salary-man coming back home to his family after a long day of hard work. However, he came to discover that the man likely had a long history of debt behind him involving matters such as a costly divorce and low paychecks.

Not bothering to greet him, he pulled out 6,000 yen from his pocket and handed it to the fearful looking man who replaced the notes with a small transparent plastic bag containing a white powder.

“Same thing next week?” asked the anxious black-haired man, his light blue eyes too faithful to be a dealer squeezing behind his oval glasses.

“Yeah. See you.”

Without giving him a second glance, he double-locked the door and came back to his dimly lit living room that felt so lonely without Ritsu here. It would take some time, if not forever, to prevent this heavy load in his heart from manifesting every time he would find himself alone without the prospect of his first love joining him any time soon.

It still pained him… Nao came unannounced in the office earlier in the morning and asked Ritsu out for something that too likely looked like a date. A walk in the city center, a restaurant, and a nighttime exposure. That bastard.

The rare times he had managed to take Ritsu out for a date was by forcefully dragging him out of his apartment or bluntly lying by message playing the card of ‘emergency’. He remembered the dull ache he felt in the morning as he realised how easy it was for his “best-friend” to take him out to a full outing while he had to prepare a strategy days ahead just to drink a coffee together.

Opening the tiny bag in his hands, he chased away his dark thoughts and kneeled in front of his coffee table, pouring half of the powder out on its surface and realigned it in two fine lines with the help of an old credit card. He usually didn’t take such high doses in one shot, but tonight he knew that he needed it. The accumulated pain and overthinking were taking a toll on him. Rolling a paper, he brought it to his right nostril and sniffed the first line, ignoring the burning pain in his cavity before passing it to his left one and repeated the action.

A few seconds later he started feeling the tiny molecules flowing through his blood system, noticing the faster pace of his heart beat and the gradual relaxation of his muscles as the drug invaded his mind.

He closed his eyes.

As always, the thrill was exquisite. The far away sounds of ambient city noises echoed and at some point the only thing he could decipher in the absolute silence was his own breath. His body was soft and any psychological pain he felt instantly disappeared. It was as if someone had covered him with a warm fluffy blanket while stroking his hair with a gentle grasp, providing him an endless feeling of comfort and security he so desperately needed.

At that moment, everything stopped and all his troubles went away. Nothing mattered anymore. He was back being a young child pampered by a protective mother he never had with an unconditional sense of love. Pleasurable sensations coursed through his body from head to toes until his spirit went numb and he lost any notion of space and time.

He reached that moment of nothingness that he wished could last forever.

___

“Takano-san!”

...

“Takano-san!”

Who was it?

The voice seemed so far away he wasn’t even sure it was real.

“Masamune!” Why would someone try to break the silent darkness that was surrounding him?

For what seemed like hours, he felt himself trapped in-between the process of gaining and losing consciousness. He didn’t want to be drawn from his deep slumber yet.

He recognized some familiar voices in the background but it was hard to put a name on them as they seemed to continuously echo.

It took him several more minutes to realise that people were present and it shook him. He became hyper aware of his environment.

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was a bunch of white blouses around him scampering around the room at a feverish speed.

His mind whirled. The world seemed to be going so fast but his brain was so slow.

His golden eyes blinked several times to adjust to the brightness of the room. In an instant he was blinded by the artificial light of the leds on the ceiling.

In the chaos of all the fast-paced strangers around him, he felt a delicate hand fondling with the hair on the short back of his neck and let out a soft tired moan escape his lips.

“Takano-san can you hear me?!”

He groggily stretched out his limbs while burying his head on the petite body frame behind him and looked up to see who was the kind stranger offering him such soft intentions.

Above him were two wide teary green eyes displaying a worried expression. Despite his blurry vision, he could recognize the refined and familiar traits of the man he loved. It looked surreal, having the both of them like this sharing such intimacy in a restless atmosphere.

Next to him was standing Yokozawa in his usual professional attire. He could only watch them through half-closed eyes all the while trying to figure out what they were doing in his apartment in the first place.

“He’s stable now. Overdoses happen regularly when cocaine and other powerful stimulants are added to the equation. That’s what producers do nowadays to boost the effects”. Said a firm feminine voice. He could see the lady in white gesturing around to her colleagues and immediately realised what just happened. She was staring at him, probably trying to jauge how awake her patient was.

“You were lucky Takano-san. This could have been much more serious.”

He saw his friend sitting next to Ritsu, his usual severe expression ruptured by the deep crease in his eyebrows.

“How did you find me?” asked the raven, his voice so weak he wasn’t sure the two others heard him.

The brunette brought his face closer to his ear, petting his forehead as he replied in a shaky shy voice: “Yokozawa-san found you like this…” he heard a sneeze. “The front door was unlocked and your phone was ringing without you answering it. You… You stopped breathing.”

He felt absolutely miserable.

Trying to shift his position to have a better view of his comrades, he caught the look of utter disappointment and guilt from his older friend. He probably thought that he was long done with this dark hazardous period of his life.

“I’m… I’m sorry... I didn’t want to…”

His battle to stay awake was getting harder and harder.

“It’s okay Masamune. Just rest for now.”

The nurse took a hold of his wrist and stuck the intravenous line with a patch.

“We’re going to transfer you to the clinic as you need to take several tests. You’re safe now but your body needs to recover.”

The hand that was playing with his hair resumed and he let his head fall back on his lap. This combined with the liquid in his body led him to a sleep without dreams.

___

When he woke up again, he found himself buried under the sheets of a hospital bed. It took him some time to become accustomed to the artificial lighting of the room. Gathering enough energy to finally keep his eyes open, he gazed at the clock at his right indicating 4:55AM.

The first thing he felt was an atrocious headache that hit him with a massive chest pain undertaking his whole body. He noticed the numerous wires connected to his skin accompanied with the steady regular bips of a machine.

He heard a light snore on his right. Shifting his head, he immediately saw the small fragile figure crawling up into a ball on the couch. A cheap blanket was covering him from toes to his neck. This sight made him feel so terribly selfish. As seconds went by he started getting back to a normal state of awareness despite a fizzy pang at the back of his skull.

With as much strength as he could gather he sprawled a hand towards him and rested it on the others’ laps. He stroked his thigh lightly with the help of his thumb and stared at his seemingly exhausted resting face. He felt so worthless. He knew he had hurt him badly in the past already and the only thing he could think of is that this was too much.

“I’m so sorry Ritsu…”.

After reuniting with his first love following the 10 years they had spent apart from one another he had started to believe in fate. Yet he had been too trustful, using it as a justification for every one of his impatient and inappropriate moves towards the younger one. Everything became painfully obvious. This whole thing they had was destructive and that was mainly his fault. It was time to finally respect the distance that Ritsu wanted and deserved. He could not go back to these college years pretending that nobody cared about him.

Now Ritsu would need him.

Still, they were nowhere near close from getting into a relationship. Too many mistakes had been made. It was crucial for both men to work on themselves first as jumping the steps one more time would only bring them unhappiness.

That day Takano swore he would stop pursuing Ritsu. He’s forever been broken and finally accepting to get help was a start towards a less twisted life.

“It’s okay Ritsu.”

One day they would be okay. They would get the life they both secretly wanted.

#sekaiichihatsukoi #Sekaiichi Hatsukoi #junjou romantica #Ritsu Onodera #Takano Masamune #yokozawa takafumi

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stargazedmoony · 3 years

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Excerpt from a story I’ll never write: A day at the Muggle-zoo.

“We’re going to have him for a whole day!”

Sirius was bouncing up and down next to Remus, who was styling his hair in the mirror. Remus snickered. “Would you knock it off already— you might poke my eye out.” Sirius laughed widely at him, exposing his freshly-brushed set of perfect teeth. “I can’t help it!” he said. “I’m just so excited. I can’t believe it!” He threw his hands up in the air so that Remus really had to duck this time to avoid having his eye poked out. “A whole day spend with the love of my life!”

“Oh, well, that’s sweet of you,” Remus said, grabbing his toothbrush. “But don’t you think Harry—”

“Oh no, I meant Harry!”

Remus opened his mouth, surprised. “Well, shit,” he said, grinning. “I’ve got competition.”

Sirius threw his arms around his husband, kissing him in the neck. “Oh, don’t you worry, tiger. My love’s up in the universe for you. Harry’s just a tiny star.” Remus smiled. “Makes me feel a little bit better,” he said, shrugging Sirius off of him so he could move his arm to brush his teeth.

“Alright, lover! Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done,” Sirius said, happily. Remus hadn’t seen him glow like that in a while. “I’ve got breakfast ready.”

Breakfast was done in a nick of time for Sirius was too excited to eat his burned toast in peace. He gulped it down and then just sat at the dining table, looking so restlessly at Remus that Remus put his half-eaten piece of bread in a sandwich bag to take with him on the road. He rolled his eyes as Sirius cleaned up the table in a rush so Remus could put on his shoes. He didn’t know what Sirius was more excited about: the fact that they were going to spend a whole day with Harry or that they were going to a real Muggle-zoo.

Sirius had been so impressed when Remus had suggested the idea to him and James and Lily, only knowing of it for having studied Muggle Studies at school. Lily had immediately backed him up of course, remembering her own good times visiting the zoo with her parents and sister. Remus wasn’t really that much of a fan, to be very honest. He didn’t like the idea of animals being kept in cages, because of the fact that the Ministry of Magic did the exact same thing with werewolves at the night of the full moon. Registered werewolves, at least.

But for a toddler, he’d thought that it’d be fun. And by toddler, he meant Sirius as much as Harry.

“Ready?” Sirius said, handing him the sack of Floo Powder.

“Come on, get moving,” Remus said, smiling and pushing him in the back. Sirius grabbed him by the hand and together they stepped into the fireplace that had been magically enchanted to fit the both of them. “Count to three,” Sirius said. “One, two, three— The Potters!” The words hadn’t even completely left their tongues yet, but their home vanished away and instead of their living room, they saw multiple other blurry wizarding homes. The simmering sparks of fire didn’t hurt one bit and in less than ten seconds Remus and Sirius stepped out of the fireplace onto a nice and clean red carpet.

“Oi, Moony! Padfoot!” James came walking into the living room of his home as Sirius and Remus brushed the rest of some ashes off of their shoulders. “What’s poppin’, Prongs?” Sirius said, nodding his head. James looked at him in horror. “What’s what now?” he asked, looking at Remus as if he would have some kind of cure to fix whatever just came out of Sirius’s mouth. Remus shrugged his shoulders in a way that said: “I’m as lost as you are”, but he opened his mouth to say: “Something he picked up in the record store in town. Apparently, it’s the slang kids use these days.”

Sirius shot him a look. “Apparently,” he said, mocking Remus. “It makes me sound dope, so shut your face.”

James’s eyes were now really wide with disturbance. “Pads, if you talk like that in front of my child, I swear to god—”

“No, no! I’m sorry, I’ll act normal,” Sirius said, quickly. “Well—” He very attractively flipped his hair over his shoulder. “—As normal as I can be, of course.” He winked at Remus, who felt his stomach flutter at this. Handsome devil, he thought.

“Where’s Harry, anyway?” Sirius went on, looking around the room as if Harry was hiding behind some cushions. “Is he—” But suddenly the door flew open and Lily came in, carrying Harry, an adorable miracle of a small child, on her arm.

“I thought I heard some annoyingly familiar voices,” she said, nodding to Sirius. The long-haired boy scoffed, but his eyes were far too distracted to pay any attention to her. They were on Harry, who had his tiny arms stretched out to his godfather ever since he’d first laid eyes on him. “Hello, my darling!” Sirius said, enthusiastically. “If your dear mother would let me— that’s a good girl. Hi, Harry!” Sirius had gracefully taken over Harry from Lily’s arms and held him high up in the air. “How are you doing today?”

“Paddie!” Harry cooed. “Mummy said zoo?”

“Oh, you just keep on getting better at talking! Remus, do you hear that?” Sirius was delighted, looking so full of pride, Remus couldn’t help but wonder why his chest was not bursting yet. But Remus was very proud as well— Harry spoke much more articulately since the last time they'd seen him.

“Mummy was right,” Sirius said. “Do you even know what a zoo is? James, how can you teach him words and not—”

“Remus?” As Sirius kept on talking to James and Harry, Lily turned to Remus. “You’ll take good care of them, right?” she asked him. He nodded. “Of course, Lils, there’s no need to worry.”

She smiled gracefully, her freckles sparkling on her nose and a laugh filling her eyes. “I’ve packed him some lunch and he’s got his own cup to drink from, but you can buy him something at the zoo as well, if you want. He does like chocolate ice cream a lot. I think he’s got that from you—” Remus smiled apologetically at this. “—I’ve packed him some cookies, you know, those cute star-like ones? I chipped in a few for Sirius as well, just so you know.” Remus smiled at her and then leaned into her and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. She blushed.

“We’ll be fine,” Remus assured her. “I’ll have us all safely back at the end of the day.” He then turned to the boys. “Pads, you ready? Our bus leaves in ten minutes.” Sirius nodded. “Moowy!” the boy in his arms said, happily. “Oh, I’m being noticed,” Remus chuckled, walking over to the both of them and taking Harry over from Sirius. “Hi, lad,” he said, softly. Sirius watched him in loving awe. “C’mon, give your mummy a kiss goodbye.”

They bid everyone goodbye and then, finally, they were on their way to the zoo. It wasn’t really a long ride, but it was a tad awkward for the two boys for they had never in their lives used a buggy before. Harry was still too small to walk around on his feet for a whole day.

Once they arrived at the zoo, Sirius was glad Remus knew how to work with Muggle-money, because the little coins and shiny money notes made him dizzy and there were simply too many other distractions around him that he had to contain already. They followed the signs that were on either sides of the paths and those lead them to a small area with cages full of owls and very extraordinary looking birds.

“Bird!” Harry exclaimed, happily pointing at a great white owl who looked proudly around its cage. Its feathers were unnaturally clean, but gorgeous. “No, Harry. Owl. A snow-owl, actually,” Sirius read off of one of the signs. “Makes sense,” he nodded agreeably, looking back at the owl.

“Swow owl,” Harry said, and Remus chuckled. “Good job, lad,” he praised the little boy. For some reason, Harry couldn’t quite pronounce the letter ‘n’ yet. It suited his adorable, young face and in a silent moment, Remus wished Harry wouldn’t have to grow up and that he’d stay young forever. But, on the other hand, it filled Remus with intense happiness to know that he’d grow up to be there with him, and Sirius, too, and that one day, they’d be called uncle Padfoot and uncle Moony.

With that thought forming a smile on his lips, Remus let his hand slip into Sirius’s. Sirius seemed quite surprised by this for a second, but kept holding onto it. They never really showed off their relationship in public places, because they never really felt like they had to— it was enough that they knew one another’s love. The rest of the world had no business in it.

But, today it felt right. It’s like having a family of my own, Remus thought, delighted.

They had ice cream for lunch, chocolate flavour for Harry, and Sirius was overjoyed with the cookies that Lily had packed for him. “I must buy her a souvenir!” he said. “Maybe that stuffed animal-penguin we saw earlier? Oh, she’d love that!” Remus snickered at his enthusiasm and wiped Harry’s lips clean.

Suddenly, a shadow covered the sunlight from their view: “Excuse me.”

An older-looking man stood in front of them. “What a lovely son you have there. Here, I noticed he let his rattle fall onto the floor.” The man held out his hand and Remus took over the toy. “Th— Thanks,” he said surprised. “But it’s not our son, really. We’re just babysitting.”

“Oh, so you’re not—” The man seemed to be looking for words, but he didn’t need to. Proudly, as he always was, Sirius wrapped an arm around Remus’s shoulders. Remus started blushing immensely as Sirius held him close and said: “Oh, we are, yes.”

The man chuckled. “How endearing,” he said. “Oh, to be young and in love. Well, I wish you all a happy day.” He gave them a small wave and stroked Harry’s little bush of black curls. Sirius let his head rest on Remus’s shoulder. “I love those kind of people,” he sighed. “Can you believe he thought that we were… you know. Parents?” He chuckled at this.

“Well, what if we were?” Remus suddenly asked, carefully. Sirius looked up to look him in the eye. “Are you s—?”

“Padfoot, I will not make the joke.”

Sirius smirked. “Oh, you’re no fun,” he said, eyes twinkling. His face got a bit more serious again, before asking: “Do you mean it, though?”

Remus shrugged. “Would it freak you out that much?”

Sirius started shaking his head wildly. “No! No, not at all!” he said, squeezing Remus’s hands. “Moony, that’d be so lovely! Me, a dad! Harry, do you hear that?” But as they turned their heads, they saw that Harry’s chin was softly balancing on his chest, his eyes closed and snoring a bit. “Oh, what a weakling,” Sirius said, pursing his lips together.

“Sirius! He’s a kid!”

Sirius shrugged. “You’re calling me a kid all the time, but you don’t see me beauty sleeping here.” Remus disapprovingly shook his head at him. “Okay, sorry!” Sirius laughed. “Harry, I love you.”

“He can’t hear you.”

“Okay, then Remus, I love you.”

Remus started laughing. “You big goof,” he said, shaking his head. “Shall we talk about it later? Bit of big subject to talk about in a zoo, no?”

“What do you mean? They keep like 50 animals here, I think it can handle one big conversation.” Sirius laughed at Remus, looking happier than ever as he leaned in and stole a quick kiss from Remus’s lips.

“Can we go see the lions now?” he pouted.

Remus pulled him closer, not giving a damn in the world about people seeing them, and he kissed him gently back. “We can go see the lions now.”

— by: @stargazedmoony

in loving memory of Sirius Black.

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littlebluebarista · 3 years

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☕ animal crossing :D

Oh where to begin

This was a time before widespread internet, when culture was limited to your school, church, and whatever media an 8yo could get her grubby little hands on. In my case, that was a pink nintendo ds lite and a secondhand cartridge of Animal Crossing: Wild World.

But let's backtrack a bit. I came from a very achievement-driven family. Honors and As were the bare minimum, we were expected to graduate high school with an associate's degree, character and hard work were drilled into us from a young age. I was a highly emotional individual with not much of an outlet, and this silly little game gave me a chance to calm down when the feelings and stresses of being a high strung 8yo got to be too much.

What stuck out to me the most was the game ebbed and flowed with real time thanks to the ds internal clock function. Seasons came and went, villagers would wake up early while others stayed up late, and shops opened and closed on a regular schedule. However, probably the most impactful feature on my little kid soul was the museum, or more importantly, the roost coffee shop. See I played the game late at night when I couldn't sleep and was brave enough to risk being found out by my parents. I didn't have the good sense to shift the clock forwards so most everything in game would be closed. But to my little heart's content, the roost was open 24/7, along with access to our little pigeon friend.

Talkin to Brewster at 2am when I was full of little girl emotions made me feel much less lonely. I was afraid of growing up. I knew I had freedom and spirit as a child that I would one day have to give up and those thoughts would creep in late at night. As I played over the days, Brewster began to open up with new dialogue. I remember him ruminating and pondering about how he was lost in the big city surrounded by animals hustlin n bustlin. He would share how he wanted to create a space where people could get away from the noise of life and relax. And of course with me being so young and afraid of one day succumbing to the noise of life myself, it really made me think about who I wanted to be. I realised that I too wanted to one day create and harbor an environment for people to stop and contemplate the ethereal and eternal.

So the years went on and I grew up with that dream in mind. People heard my little dream and would instantly jump to me becoming a successful business woman making 6 figures when I just wanted to make a place where reality was warped and people wouldn't be so scared and stressed. I was coerced into attending university and majoring in business only to regret it ultimately. Now with the world in slight shambles I've begun to seriously rethink my choices and ponder of what to do from here. I'm done grinding my silly little nose into powder to become upwardly mobile. I miss feeling what I felt when I would stay up all night and talk to Brewster, knowing that there is an option to opt out of the rat race of the workforce and lead a simple life. And honestly I really feel that the world may need to know what that feels like too.

So I may not know what my life will look like from here, but I know that I have a piece of quiet eternity in me that people need a place to know themselves. And I wouldn't have it without a silly little ds game from 2005.

#thanks babe #this helped me remember what I'm about and what's important

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falloutforties · 4 years

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Five Years (Deacon x Sole)

CHAPTER ONE: TOTAL ATOMIC ANNIHILATION!

Description: The second she crawled out of that vault, dead cockroach meat in her pocket and tongue still not completely thawed, she knew she didn’t have to lie anymore. No more candy-striped wallpaper coating the halls, no more perfect wife and mother. She was no one. She was everyone. She didn’t sugarcoat her feelings, she didn’t hold her tongue. And it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate that honesty, it’s that he had to mix in his honesty with a little sweet prevarication, like rum and coke-- but she was straight vodka, and he was starting to feel a little dizzy. Set in a world in which David Bowie did exist at one time, because the author can’t imagine a world in which he didn’t.

Warnings: Swearing and some fighting as well, but aside from that, no real warnings. I’m shit at writing angst, so there’s none of that. Slow burn, all chapters already written, hopefully one chapter a week unless grad school totally swamps me. Also, there are several elements of this story that are little fix-its for me, because todd really made me try to care about a son and husband smh. I was running around the wasteland like “why does everybody keep talking about my son? The only son I know is named Dogmeat, and he is a Good Boy.” ALSO because todd won’t let me romance Deacon.

Note from the Author: Hi folks! I wrote this to help me get through my writing block and because I needed a lil comfort in these trying times, so I figured I would make this blog to share it. I’m in the process of also putting it on ao3, but this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written so I’m not sure how this all works. I hope y’all enjoy!!!! This story gets started a little slow because I wanted to give an introduction for how I interpret the sole survivor’s personality and such. Pls let me know if you like this, and if you want to read more!! Love you!! <3

When she woke up in the morning, she knew the exact percentage of how likely she was to die that day, down to the decimal. It was not like a superpower, per se, just a sixth sense. An awareness, she might call it. She was incredibly aware of herself.

She couldn’t sense this clearly in other people, though she did have a sense of it. A vague direction as to how closely they’ll come to seeing their entire life flash before their eyes. She had seen it once or twice in Nate’s eyes over the breakfast table— a tint of green in his brown eyes that wasn’t there the day before, almost like a warning.

Something’s going to happen. It might not be bad, or it might be terrible. But it’s something.

She watched him turn his nose up at the box of Sugar Bombs sat on the countertop, favoring instead a cup of coffee and half a tato. She waited patiently for him to start his bi-weekly diatribe against the Sugar Bombs Corporation and their devious aims against the children of the Commonwealth.

“Did you know there’s a Sugar Bombs factory in Beijing?” He’d mentioned, several months ago for the first time. She was honestly just excited to hear that he’d managed to establish a new argument, though she wasn’t convinced that the Sugar Bombs factory in Beijing was a direct link to Childhood Communism as much as it was just outright standard capitalism.

When he finally settled at the table with his half-tato in one hand, coffee in the other, and Boston Bugle folded neatly under his arm, she watched his eyes. He was looking a little green, and she wondered errantly if perhaps he’d be scraped by a car while crossing the street. She herself, however, was at a solid 15%, which was a little higher than her standard measurements, but nothing out of the ordinary or concerning. Perhaps she would break a finger, sprain her ankle, crack a tooth on a Nuka-Cola bottle.

She appreciated the extra air of danger.

Life in Sanctuary was beautifully but painfully dull, less dull now that there was a child in the house, but dull nonetheless. Now, the stale quiet that usually settled over the house in the afternoon was permeated by the frequent cries and laughs of the child and the exclamations of their brand new housekeeper, who thought the child was a marvel of modern science.

He was, at the very moment his parents were eating breakfast, sleeping in his crib in the back room, the powder blue of his walls shielding him like a personal sky as he went completely unaware of everyone around him. He had the enviable manner of a child, crying whenever he felt a slight discomfort, laughing at the simplest of things.

She wished sometimes she could burst into tears just because she was hungry, or weep at the thought of being sleepy. It had been so long since someone had properly addressed her humanity that she thought if someone held her against their chest, she’d fall asleep, just like the child did at night when she rocked him.

“Mum,” Codsworth chirped as he hovered into the kitchen with a wet rag in one hand and a rattle in the other.

“Morning, Codsworth,” she replied with a mouth full of cereal. She, unlike Nate, was not too good for Sugar Bombs, and if they were implanting Communist Tracking Chips into her brain, well, that was a risk she was going to have to take. As long as she was the one who had to do the grocery shopping, she was not going to deny herself the simple pleasure of marshmallow cereal.

“Young Shaun should be asleep for approximately the next two hours.”

“Thank you, Codsworth.”

Nora loved Codsworth. There were days when she thought of him more as a husband than Nate. Codsworth, in his thrumming metallic voice, asked her everyday how she was feeling. Nate sometimes quirked his brow at her, and she nodded in response, but their marital conversation was frustratingly dry.

Like Sugar Bombs without milk.

Chip Harris was grandstanding on the news, and his thick croon filled the background of the house with a pleasant sort of domestic white noise along with the gentle clink of her silverware and the crinkling of Nate’s paper. She tuned her ears for a moment to Chip’s voice as he read from a teleprompter about some new information about China’s secret nuclear plants.

Everyone has nukes nowadays, she thought bitterly. Her Sugar Bombs were now soggy. Why are we allowed to hide them, but China has to send us a report or else we accuse them of some kind of crime?

She absentmindedly wondered if having a crush on the newscaster might turn her into more of a nuclear housewife. She knew Natalie Hawthorne had a crush on Chip Harris. She watched him every morning, even had a signed picture of him that she kept in her nightstand. Mr. Hawthorne was fine with it, of course, because no one in Sanctuary Hills could even prove that Chip Harris was real. No one could prove that he wasn’t just an incredibly advanced Protectron— a Mr. Handy in a pinstripe suit. Mr. Hawthorne didn’t have to worry about Chip Harris stealing his wife.

A knock on the door broke Nora’s concentration.

“Must be that sales guy,” Nate intoned, obviously bored senseless by the notion of a salesman at the door. “He’s been asking for you all morning.”

“All morning? I didn’t even hear him knock before now.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you sleep until 9 AM.”

Thank you, Nora, for staying up until the Devil’s Ass-Crack of dawn comforting a weeping child. Thank you for feeding him while I put earplugs in and turned over to the cold side of the pillow so I could go back to sleep. I answered the door for you, and the salesman gave me a free ticket to Fuck-Off-Ville, and I’m taking the child with me. You and Codsworth have fun now!

A woman could dream.

The salesman at the door was a weasel-looking fellow with an awfully mustardy-colored coat and matching hat. His smile seemed like it might be genuine, but based on the wrinkles that beamed from the corners of his eyes, it seemed he was well-versed in faking a good smile.

“Good afternoon, Ma’am! I am glad you took the time to answer the door today, because what I am about to tell you is a matter of utmost importance,” he promised, his smile somehow extended as he emphasized utmost importance.

“Utmost importance, huh? Glad I answered the door, then.”

“As you should be. Because of your family’s service in the military, you are eligible for entrance into the local vault— Vault 111!”

She eyed him warily before glancing up towards the hill at the end of the cul-de-sac. She had remembered the day Vault-Tec had started construction into the hillside, promising the neighborhood that “We won’t work until 9 AM, we’ll be gone in a flash, and you and your family will soon be protected in the unlikely event of total atomic annihilation!”

She didn’t buy the working until 9 AM part, she was skeptical about them being gone in a flash, and she hadn’t taken the time to assess the thought of total atomic annihilation. That was something that happened to people in the movies, or on radio shows, not in Sanctuary Hills. Total atomic annihilation might actually spice up her life, if it deigned to come close to Sanctuary Hills.

“Thanks,” she mentioned passively, ignoring the clipboard that was slowly being edged towards her. “My family too?”

“Yes, of course! Except the robot, mind you. Would you mind taking a few moments to fill out some paperwork?”

Nora turned her head to eye the situation inside the house before accepting the clipboard. If the salesman had knocked before, there was no reason to send him away then. He was working hard, and she appreciated the thought if not the persistence.

“Excellent! Now you and your family are… Prepared for the Future!”

She gave a half-hearted laugh at the way he performed his reading of the motto— the Vault-Tec promise that had been broadcasted via billboard all over every cityscape and neighborhood nearby. If total atomic annihilation never came around, Vault-Tec was sure going to look foolish.

She shut the door and sauntered back over to the breakfast table, but just as she sat down, a cry rang through the house. Shaun was awake, and Nate was eyeing her above the folded edge of his paper.

“Mum!” Codsworth chirped once again, hovering back into the kitchen. “Young Shaun seems to be inconsolable. Would you mind using some of that… maternal instinct you seem to be so good at?”

“Sure, Codsworth. Thank you.”

Once the door was closed in Shaun’s little room, she felt a great weight lift from her shoulders. True, she had not liked the child at first, but he was growing on her, and she appreciated the fact that he had to listen to everything she said without commentary or judgement.

“You might be unsure now, but once that beautiful baby boy is handed to you in a pretty blue blanket, you’ll love him more than you’ve ever loved anything,” Natalie Hawthorne had told her at the baby shower in a moment of vulnerability. Nora had escaped the Hawthorne’s living room to cry in their bathroom, marking it up to hormones at first, but the second she looked in the mirror and saw that damned stomach of hers, the crying got worse. Natalie stumbled into the bathroom by accident, catching Nora in the midst of a coughing fit.

So, Nora waited until Shaun was born, and when the nurse handed him to her, she stared at him and felt absolutely nothing. But she cooed and tickled his tiny feet, promising to herself that if she could just get the child home, maybe it would get better. Maybe it was the anesthetic and the drugs that made her so emotionless. It wasn’t.

It was the fact that she hadn’t wanted a child at all, the fact that she hadn’t even really wanted a husband, but her parents had set her up with some soldier boy, fresh out of a set of power armor, and that was that. She would marry Nate because it was what she was supposed to do, not because she had fallen in love.

She adjusted Shaun’s cap before scooping him into her arms.

“What do you have to cry about?” She muttered to the child. “You don’t have to pay taxes. You’re not going to have to wear heels and go grocery shopping and attend baby showers. You’re going to play catch in the backyard with your father, and then one day, some girl will marry you because she has to. You’re set for life, little buddy.”

Shaun merely gargled something, his hands grabbing for her hair. He was like a partially-sentient diary. She would pile her troubles on him, and he would go, “Ah!” And then go back to sleep.

“I was thinking we could go to the park today,” Nate remarked as he stepped into the nursery. “Would you be interested?”

“Sure, sure. Might be nice to get some fresh air.” She had intended to say more, perhaps something about finishing her Halloween preparations, but when she turned to him, she saw his eyes fully for the first time that day, and Shaun nearly slipped from her grasp.

“Woah, woah, hey,” Nate took the child from her arms. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just… are you feeling alright?”

“Fine. You look pale, though. Maybe it’s all that Chinese Cereal.”

She chuckled despite herself and maintained eye contact with as much focus as she could muster. His eyes were near fully green. She was sure it was nothing. It had to be nothing. They were going for a walk in the park, and besides, her percentage was still standing at a solid 15%. It was nothing.

But Chip Harris knew more than she did, and when Codsworth called them all into the living room, Chip Harris was, for the first time on the air, misty-eyed. His head was in his hands, the morning report discarded as he faced the camera with shaking eyes.

“Shit,” Nora whispered, and Nate scolded her for her foul mouth. “Sorry, I just… is this it?”

“I think this is it.”

“Whatever it is, I will certainly miss you all dearly. Sir, Mum, Young Shaun. I believe this is goodbye.”

Codsworth’s goodbye started her heart thrumming at an unbelievable pace, and she kicked into gear, sweeping herself up from the loveseat and rushing towards the door, ushering Nate and Shaun behind her.

This was it. This was the end of the world, but it wasn’t going to kill her.

#deacon x sole survivor #deacon fo4 #female sole survivor #fallout 4 fanfiction #fo4 fanfic #fallout 4 deacon #fo4 deacon #deacon x nora

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theangrypokemaniac · 4 years

Text

Since no one cares about Alola I can therefore say what I want.

Team Rocket's Pokémon are all worthless toss. That's such a surprise from this oafish writing team.

Remember when Jessie and James had two each, to offer variety? Permitting them even that is too much focus nowadays.

We don't what anything interesting going on, thank you. Repetition is what we and they deserve.

Arbok, Weezing, Lickitung and Victreebel are spinning in their graves.

Stufful was missing for three years and she displayed not the slightest pang of concern until its belated invention. Given her temper she ought to have torn the island apart searching for her baby, but no.

Not bothered about Bewear. It shouldn't really be in this list as it didn't belong to them, although catching has no value anymore.

A bit thick are we? Or conforming to the usual parental standards?

Well, she's sufficiently neglectful that she let it out of her sight long enough for it to be crushed under a tree, then was too idle to come to the rescue. In consequence he was obliged to wait days until one of Lusamine's lackeys arrived.

She's 'Mama Bear' though, isn't she?

It's based on a red panda, is partly the colour of a black bear and as strong as a grizzly, but all that is a mere cover for its true nature as a Bear-Face Ham.

The modern pretence is that everyone's a vegetarian (are they balls), and Ursa Major lives on fruit, not, you know, flesh.

Just because it there's no hibernating in the tropics doesn't mean it can get by without a salmon now and again.

The name is stupid, since a red panda is not a bear. A play on words isn't clever if based on what it isn't.

They should've called her 'Pandamonia', or 'Pandour', which is a brutal soldier.

It is at least redeemed by battering the klepto cockroach into the next dimension. Good on 'er.

Mind you, this is Alola, a cesspit of incest, so it's probably some sick arrangement, like Bewear being slipped the length by that previously unmentioned Oakie-Dokie clone.

He's the spit of Jimmy Savile, thus every depravity is on the table.

Where's Stufful's dad? He buggered off too?

What kind of name is 'Stufful'? What's it made from, 'stifle' and 'suffocation'? 'Stuffed'?

Thanks for that. Whenever I see its ovine face I'm reminded of taxidermy.

Were Ursa Minor and Bewear described as mother and son, or were they 'friends'?

A series of games involving breeding and the 'anime' is too squeamish to even imply animals live in families.

I don't care either way for Stufful, but I'd like it better if its mouth wasn't a camel toe.

I understand it's a sea creature, and the contents of the oceans are their own brand of peculiarity, but looks like a limbless, undead spaniel plagued with extra teats. Its 'ears' resemble distended mammeries.

Hey, remember that interesting, original Pokémon James had called Victreebel? Let's do it again! And again! AND AGAIN!

Victreebel is a venus fly trap: an anomaly in nature as a carnivorous plant. It makes sense that the Pokémon version would be a bit more full-on in catching a meal.

New law: Team Rocket are required to collect monsters as ugly as themselves.

Hurting James was its personality quirk, particularly to it, fitting its nature, its 'thing'. It was never meant as a template for most of what he caught in the future.

Something is funny if it happens once, and can be now and again if done with a least a little flair.

Nothing repeated as a constant leaden thud is remotely amusing, but this is an unknown fact to Nintendo bone heads. They think certain events are utterly hilarious in themselves and require no finesse in application.

They have a checklist of moments obligatory to each episode, which explains the plodding lifelessness. Tick 'em off to keep the fans from being ticked off. All we supposedly care about is each gong struck, not how we got there.

At least Victreebel used to vary its behaviour:

Occasionally it even did as told without any chomping preamble.

It didn't do the exact same action every single time it was involved!

Mostly it swallowed James.

How long was it once Victreebel was chucked out on its leafy arse before Cacnea arrived?

Oh look, it's a Grass Pokémon and attacks James!

Sometimes it ate Jessie.

Carnivine got in on the action before Cacnea's run was even up: kick 'em when they're down why don't yer?

Oh look, it's a Grass Pokémon and attacks James!

Now we have Mareanie. Wasn't there a few in between? No, shush, they don't exist anymore.

Every bloody time it came out, it turned round and punctured him.

Every bloody time.

Ah, it's not a Grass Pokémon. That makes it totally new!

Oh yes, it's the complete opposite of Victreebel. It's Poison instead. Not like it at all.

Every bloody time it came out, it'd gnaw his head off.

Every bloody time.

That's endearing.

Oh but it is! It's just showing him love!

As that makes it alright!

If a muscular man squeezed his girlfriend so tightly he cracked her ribs, is that 'sweet' because he 'meant well' but his feelings overwhelmed him? Or is it A.B.H.?

Every bloody time it comes out, it injects James's head with toxin until it swells up into purple pustule of disease.

Every bloody time.

I never took Victreebel's assault as affection. To me they were real attempts to devour James, especially with the accompanying frenzied screech. Interpreting that as a positive emotion is bizarre to me.

At soon as James found it wedged in a Breeding Centre cage and opened the door it grabbed him, which appeared to be Victreebel lashing out in anger for what'd happened in the intervening period.

What Mareanie does is worse than the other three put together. At least they delivered mere bite marks or pinpricks, but it infects James!

Whole episodes of this programme have involved a Pokémon falling foul of Poison Powder and being on the verge of death, with all done to preserve it until Ash hunted down the cure, but now it's a big laugh, apparently.

Not one character ever has the wits about them to carry an Antidote, otherwise the writers wouldn't be able to fall back on the tired old race-against-time scenario, which is no such thing as we know they won't die.

Is it likely that James is always going to end up picking a violent Pokémon, of all the individuals of a race, of all the lifeforms in the universe?

Aren't his allowed to come with their own personality, or is there a set pattern they must follow, and when caught they absorb it, for fear they might be memorable?

Mind you, it's interesting the reactions these abuses provoke:

Victreebel eats James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Cacnea impales James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Carnivine chews James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Mareanie poisons James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Meowth claws James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Jessie beats James: Aw, it's so kyewt!

Jessibelle whips James: EEVUL BITCH!!!

Mimikyu should be opposed for breaking it's own world.

To us, Pikachu is the most famous Pokémon, belonging to Ash, the protagonist, and the franchise's mascot.

To them, Pikachu is just another middling Pokémon hundreds of young Trainers catch, and holds no greater value.

It's blatantly a reference to Pikachu's real-life status, acknowledging itself as fiction. No Pokémon would hold the same significance for this design to work but him.

Otherwise why would Mimikyu, when it has the choice of every Pokémon that exists, and, if meant to be a believable world, every Pokémon we don't know exists, choose Pikachu to ape? Why wouldn't it pick a Legendary?

Alola Pikachu is looking off colour.

It's not even this specific Mimikyu, it's the entire species!

What, they work to a hive mind, incapable of individual tastes and opinions?

Do they all hate Pikachu too, even though the entire mouse population of Alola has been rounded up by that loon and trapped in a valley, or were we lumbered with the lone demented obsessive with a severe complex?

Is it well jel that Pikachu's a real one, whereas it can only manage to knock up a bog-standard costume with a face daubed by a chimp paralytic from scrumpy?

Well stop imitating it then! Invent your own design!

Oh come on. The animators can't even do that, hence its creation. You can hardly expect it to display inspiration if born from its absence.

I wonder if it hates Raichu. And Pichu. And Plusle and Minun. And the rest of the Pikachu derivatives, although it is one.

(As an aside, I don't know why Raichu, Marowak and Exeggutor were redrawn for this era, but not Pikachu, Cubone and Exeggcute. Why does the sweaty climate affect only evolutions?)

Here's an idea: make Shiny Mimikyu have a different get up, not colour.

You can have that free, Game Freak. I'm too lenient with yer.

Presumably, Mimikyu hatches (already dead?) in all its eye-bleeding nastiness, and instinctively reaches for the discarded yellow bedsheet and pack of crayons that just so happens to be nearby, and the scissors to make the peep holes.

Them inbreds know how to litter.

Flippers?

Nah, it's probably hooks.

How is it born aware of a Pikachu's face, and why is it compelled to copy them?

Knowledge of his own ugliness is innate, thus he must cover his nakedness before it lays waste to the forest inhabitants.

Yet if you breed 'em, it emerges wearing it, like the cloth formed from left-over albumen and stained with yolk!

What's it reaching with? Paws?

Mittens?

Oh, and there was a deceased specimen in the series, so it's either a ghost, and nothing but bedsheet, or a zombie, and it's repulsive carcass has upped the ante by putrifying.

Even its name doesn't fit. Apart from the unsightly spelling, what's 'Mimikyu' about? It's not mimicking me.

Mimikyu? It should be Mimikchu!

And you know what? Even Nintendo agree their own inventions aren't good enough, because they made return almost impossible.

They hate these more than they do even the pre-Unova Pokémon, most of whom were condemned to a dark existence within the iron corridors of H.Q. and haven't been seen since.

• Growlie is such a beloved figure in James's life he's been involved all of twice.

• Dustox got pensioned off.

• James was practically bullied into gifting Cacnea to that cloying bitch Gardenia.

• Whilst he still tecnically owns Chimecho, it's as lost to him as any of them.

Remember Seviper, Yanmega, Carnivine and Mime Junior?

Hell, remember Woobat, Yamask, Frillish and Amoonguss?

Or Gourgeist and Inkay?

Of course, since the makers appear to have the Reverse-Midas Touch, Team Rocket still took that useless, wincing lump Wobbuffet to Galar instead of dumping it over the sea. Apparently we're stuck with it forever.

Arbok, Lickitung, Weezing and Victreebel got shafted, but THAT survives?

Yes? That's more the writers do. In current canon these Pokémon never lived at all. Dead memories in the haze.

#Team Rocket #Bewear #Stufful #Mareanie #Mimikyu #Wobbuffet #Alola

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traumatizedtm · 4 years

Text

Family Headcanons

Mallory’s relationship with her parents & older brother

BRAYDEN EVERS - OLDER BROTHER

His name was Brayden Taylor Evers and he was her whole world. Most siblings argued and fought but not Brayden and Mallory, they were two peas in a pod. He did everything for her and with her. When she learned piano he would sit and listen to her for hours and when he played soccer she would make glittery signs. He braided her hair and at night she would sneak into his room and sleep on his floor. Brayden was the best big brother and he protected her from everything. On Halloween, they would always dress up together and he would cover her eyes from scary costumes, guide her away from scary houses. He was afraid but always strong for his sweet little sister and because she had him as a safety net scary thing, they were less scary. They were always less scary, he made the parade seem funny and the bunny man seems less scary.

Mallory always remembers the day she picked flowers, she wore a pink dress and pale blue velcro shoes. They were at the edge of town, a bit past in the brush with trees taller than the Jersey Devil and thicker than the secrets the town held. Her brother wore a dark green shirt with a pair of sandals. She had seven flowers held in the ruffles of her skirt before she fell to the ground and a ruby red color fell from a skinned knee. It was a mean boy and his friends from school. She was 7 then, her brother was 11. But that did not stop him from yelling at the other boys and pushing them back. He ran to the well and washed her bleeding shin before laying flowers on to her shin. A bright smile to his baby sister before promising he would always stop her from getting hurt by people like that. There were other days when she heard strange noises and he took a flashlight diving headfirst into danger. He made Vinnie laugh and Billie has a friend just as brave as herself. He was their fourth, he knew the strange and unusual before any of the others did.

She doesn't remember if she said I love you to him that night before bed. But she remembers seeing his hand, the same ruby color from the flowers was on his hand. His painting, the last one he made was branded with the color. Sometimes she remembers more than his hand. She remembers the tears on a flushed face or the bullet hole in his chest, sometimes she remembers the doll she left in his room. She remembers it's broken and shattered pieces on his floor, some sticking into his frame. Just like the ones on her floor. Sometimes she remembers the smell of gun powder mixed with the strawberry and sandalwood scent that his shirts smell like. He was 13 then, but he still stole their dad's cologne. Sometimes she remembered running from the very nice man in blue who helped her to touch his face. To feel nothing there anymore, to feel a room once always felt with warmth drained to nothing but darkness. And sometimes, she forgot his face completely. But, most nights were littered with nightmares of a parade she hated, a bunny man wielding an ax and her family being chopped to pieces. Her dolls, shattered in the process and every time she reached to help, she screamed her body wouldn't listen. Sometimes, in the early morning hours, she thinks she sees his reflection. Feels his hand brush through her hair when she braids it and sometimes, in her friend's faces she sees his glint of curiosity or self-assuredness. And maybe, deep down inside she knows why this all started, and maybe deep down she knows why she wants to do this and try to be brave. Because of him, because of her big brother who stopped protecting her. To find a safety net again. Because if a place like Barren Falls can exist and can take her brother from her, then where does it go, where does the good go? The good that Brayden has, because it has to go somewhere, he has to be somewhere with the strange and unusual that took him away from her.

CAITLIN EVERS - MOTHER

Her mother is built of sugar and flowers. She was nothing but kind and because of that Mallory knew to be kind as a child. Their whole family was soft natured and gentle because of her. Caitlin traveled for a summer which is where she met Michael, her future husband. Eventually writing letters and sending each other packages turned into him moving to Barren Falls and eventually they fell in love. It was destined, and they were happy together. Caitlin was always the calmer of the pair, often keeping things much softer and to herself compared to her husband. But, they were both endlessly kind as if ripped from the pages of a storybook. It was warm and welcoming and their home radiated that. She was a born to be mother, it was an easy transition, she was a preschool teacher at first. She loved children and she was naturally gifted at teaching them and helping them so it made sense. Shortly following wedded bliss came their son Brayden but before they had another child they wanted to make sure they had the parenting thing down pat.

After having Brayden it was simple, she requested the rest of the year off and stated she would be done teaching afterward. It took a lot of thought but she wanted to dedicate all of her time to being a mother to her son. Caitlin struggled a lot at first teaching not only her new husband the rules and how things in their home town worked but taking care of a new baby as well. The first parade was hard, and making sure that Michael steered clear of the forest was hard but it all worked out eventually, they all had a system and things were content.

It wasn’t long after that they decided to try for one more child and were hoping it was a girl, they got lucky for once something in Barren Falls was actually gifted to a family and Mallory was born. The family only became warmer each member seeming perfect and that truly was real. They had little fights and lived in pure bliss. It was always nice to be encouraged and to help encourage her children Caitlin often put them in various activities and social groups even from very young ages she wanted both to be encouraged to try new things and try different sorts of things. Everything from sports, to knowledge courses there, was never a down moment with the family. As soon as they were old enough to make their own choices Caitlin encouraged them to pick what activities they stuck to.

Caitlin was the type of parent to have them do chores to create responsibility and do a weekly allowance which did have deductions if they were bad or if they did not do their chores. She liked to create a really strong moral compass in them both from a very young age and wanted to encourage responsibility. The only times she became cold and hardened was during festivals and the Parade. This was only because she wanted them to know how serious it was. Caitlin treasured and made sure to do almost exactly what a typical stay at home mother would and while it would make some seem a bit annoyed or like her family was fake it was genuine and she was wonderful at it. She was at her happiest with her children and her husband and what was left over after her death proved that. Caitlin had a good heart but like everyone else, she did have her secrets and that did include keeping her mouth shut when it came to working for other people. Late-night jobs cleaning up after the parade festivities were over just as added protection for her children. Just to make sure they were never chosen.

MICHAEL EVERS - FATHER

He was never from Barren Falls, he grew up in a large rich family in the city. He was the youngest son and not the favourite of his parents. Instead of taking over a law firm his father was starting he was being set up to work there. Nothing important in his life before he met Caitlin. It had been an accident, a simple mix up of their drinks at a coffee shop but they talked the whole day. He skipped two meetings to sit and talk with her. That was all it took for them to exchange information. And that was all it took for him to chase after his dreams and leave behind an unsupportive and harsh family.

At first, it was easy, chasing after his own dreams but bumps came. However, his letters and conversations with Caitlin always encouraged him to keep going. Painting was easy, and eventually, he was able to make money off of it, enough to move out to Barren Falls and finally be with Caitlin. Things were taken slow at first and steady, it took ages and time but he did not want to waste a moment and he did not want to rush anything. She deserved perfection and everything good in the world. Money was steady now and everything was good so he could give her everything that he could and he did. A nice home, good food, lovely gifts. The hardest part was adjusting to strange and unusual traditions he did not understand but for her, it was all worth it. Eventually, he stopped questioning things and just went with it. Soon enough they were married and Brayden came just as planned. Life was good and things were nice. He kept quiet about his family, and once a year they would visit but only to see if they could degrade him, but it never worked out instead they were met with a loving and perfect family which only caused them to roll their eyes and ask a billion questions about the children.

Michael was more stoic than his wife. A lot more quiet than she was as well but that did not mean people were not afraid of him or adored him. Half of Barren Falls would call him a friend and the other half based on solely how he looked would be too afraid to do anything to the family. He never questioned the late-night job his wife took, once a year the whole night was gone and she never spoke a word. He spent most of his time painting and when he was home and when he was with his family he would step up, allow his wife to take time to herself, he would cook or clean and even take the kids out to do fun things outside of the small town. He showered his children in adoration and gave them the childhood he never had but, he also had to be more of a heavy fist, Caitlin seemed too nice to them sometimes and he often did the grounding or the timeouts when they were needed. He never minded he knew one day the kids would understand that it was just how they worked, how parents were. A typical quiet father, but one that was more involved than people would think at the first glance and one who had a daughter who wanted to do nothing but spend her time with him and a son he wanted to raise to be better than he was, one he loved more than anything else in the world.

#&&. ɪ'ᴍ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ʙᴀɴᴅᴀɪᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜰ��ᴇʟꜱ ɪᴛ (headcanons)#&&. ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ᴀᴅᴅɪᴄᴛꜱ ᴀɴɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅᴇʀ (ooc)

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heavenburdened · 5 years

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GRIEVING, consumed with fear & mad with loneliness, eden finds himself more lost than ever ; and soon, like the distant stars and constellations he reads about in books, eden no longer seems to be part of this world. he imagines that he is made of the galaxies and nebulas —— light-years away and out of mind, out of sight ; drifting away peacefully in the cold vacuum of space & building his walls up high —— cementing them there, strong, as no one, not even once, comes to break them down. A LONELY PRINCE TRAPPED IN THE HIGHEST TOWER ; that’s what eden becomes yet again. yet he exudes a quiet unassuming warmth, for he is closer to the sun up here.

WHY HELLO THERE LOVELIES !!! i’m edie ( 23, she/hers, gmt+11, cat mum, literature nerd & tea enthusiast ) & my cute lil woc ass is so gosh darn excited to be a part of this muh’heckin amazing group ?!!?!?!??!?!?! i’m here with eden lovegrove ( and cha eunwoo’s heaven-sent face ????? can i get an amen ??!!!?? ) ; a #softnsadboi with a rrrrruff past who i’ll be introducing to you all right down below !!!!

DISCLAIMER : this ???????? is a heckin’ 1000-page novel. 2 ur left u will find refreshments n water —— pls stay hydrated whilst you read thru this !

[ ! ] CLICK HERE FOR A MOBILE VIEW ( less formatted for easier reading ! ) OF EDEN’S INTRO POST !

* ╰ APPLICATION !! ❜ ───

✧･ﾟ( atlas + cha eunwoo + cismale ) 𝒎𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒂 !! have you seen ( eden lovegrove ) around ? ( he ) has been in kaos for ( one week ). the ( twenty-four year old ) is a ( journalist & freelance writer ) from ( wisconsin, usa ). people say they can be ( ascetic ) but maybe that’s not too bad ‘cause they can also be ( forbearing ). whenever i think of them, i can’t help but think of ( a wound too great ; that always has been & won’t heal, grief ; consumed by sorrow & mad with loneliness that yet still could not keep the boy from kindness, and softness ; emanating from starlight and filling him full to the bone ). ･ﾟ✧ ( penned by edie, 23, gmt+11, she/hers ).

* ╰ STATISTICS !! ❜ ───

basics

BIRTH NAME: eden park ADOPTED NAME: eden lovegrove BIRTH DATE: february 25th, 1995 ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: pisces AGE: twenty-four CURRENT LOCATION: kaos, greece NATIONALITY: american ETHNICITY: south-korean GENDER: cismale SEXUAL ORIENTATION: demisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: homoromantic

background

BIRTH PLACE/HOMETOWN: wisconsin, usa ( birthplace & childhood residence ) —— manhattan, ny, usa ( late adolescence ) SOCIAL CLASS: lower class ( birth ), upperclass ( during late adolescence / adoption ), middle class ( present ) EDUCATION LEVEL: completed a journalism degree with honours at yale FATHER: franklin park MOTHER: dolores park SIBLINGS: matthew park, christopher park FATHER ( ADOPTIVE ): chet lovegrove MOTHER ( ADOPTIVE ): amelia lovegrove SIBLINGS ( ADOPTIVE ): everett lovegrove OCCUPATION & INCOME PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: journalist ; writing articles for guardian u.s. SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: freelance writing ; prose, poetry, essays, published in zines & online CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB? yes PAST JOBS: bookshop clerk, library assistant, florist SPENDING HABITS: very thrifty ; good at saving MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: a faded photograph of himself and his first love, now passed away

appearance / physical information

FACE CLAIM: cha eunwoo HAIR COLOUR: black EYE COLOUR: brown BUILD: mesomorph DOMINANT HAND: left hand HEIGHT: 183cm WEIGHT: 76kg INK: none PIERCINGS: none ALLERGIES: shellfish DIET: vegetarian

psychology

MBTI: infp ENNEAGRAM: type 2 ; the helper MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic good DOMINANT TEMPERAMENT: melancholic PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE TYPE: verbal-linguistic & intrapersonal SOCIABILITY: medium EMOTIONAL STABILITY: stable DRUG USE: no ALCOHOL USE: yes PRONE TO VIOLENCE? no VIRTUES: ardent, profound, forbearing, sagacious VICES: reclusive, distracted, withdrawn, ascetic HOGWARTS HOUSE: ravenclaw ACCENT: manhattan accent FAVOURITES ACTIVITY: reading, baking, knitting, writing, going on walks ANIMAL: cats BEVERAGE: boricha / barley tea COLOUR: powder blue FOOD: yachae sundubu jjigae / spicy soft tofu and vegetable stew CELEBRATION: christmas MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: walking MUSICIANS: keaton henson, flyte, palace, the black skirts, banff, kelsey lu, matt maltese SCENERY: the ocean BOOKS: disoriental by négar djavadi, the uncensored picture of dorian gray by oscar wilde, when i hit you: or, a portrait of the writer as a young wife by meena kandasamy, brother by david chariandy, & 10 minutes 38 seconds in this strange world by elif shafak.

* ╰ THE STORY !! ❜ ───

eden’s biography is trigger heavy, with the following triggers —— religious fundamentalism, homophobia, racism, physical & emotional abuse.

CHAPTER ONE : THE LONELY PRINCE.

COLOURED BY AMBIGUITY and suspended in an air of INEXACTNESS from the moment he breathed his first breath, eden park was born into the world as a simple PLACE HOLDER between his older and younger brother —— caught in the middle, outshone on both sides, and quite often FORGOTTEN, even as a child.

in amongst frank and dolores park’s hopes and dreams for their eldest and youngest sons, eden learned terribly early on that his existence mattered VERY LITTLE to anyone at all —— for while the youngest son ( matthew ) was doted upon, fussed over and coddled, and the eldest son ( christopher ) was given the responsibility of shouldering the entire burden of the park family name [ a family with important ties to the church community in wisconsin ] ; eden seemed to FADE AWAY into the background —— more an OBSERVER of his family’s comings and goings than an ACTIVE PARTICIPANT in amongst it all. growing up, eden had no particular expectations placed upon him, nor was he deemed any specific role to play ; and so he often spent his time ALONE and off and WANDERING, DRIFTING from interest to interest ; from this to that, biding his time in the absence of his parents who had their hands full with matthew and christopher, and their devotion to the religion that had gotten them through the hardships & aftermath of the korean war.

where his home life was tainted with an estranged apprehension, when eden was old enough to start attending school he discovered that this new part of the world was no sanctuary for him either. his peers pulled at the corners of their eyes whenever he passed, called him yellow, and jeered at the unusual & pungent packed lunches he brought. as the real world gave the young boy no reprieve ; eden turned to books —— opening the covers and crawling inside the pages to feel safe and at peace. with each new page, he would escape the exhaustion of his family life, and the terrors of the society around him would all but fade away. by falling into the quiet blank spaces that separated the printed, parallel lines of black, eden found himself a sanctuary of utter calm and peace ; safe at last from a world that was too cruel and too loud for his heart to bear the burden of.

and so the days passed & darkened. ballet, books, and an overwhelming sense of BEING ALONE ; eden spent his days growing his mind & heart in SOLITUDE, quite nearly completely HEEDLESS of extremist religious views his parents and siblings propagated as the world spun madly on. eden’s ballet recitals : missed by his parents, morning mass went by without breathing a single word to anyone —— the middle bed, left untucked. SURROUNDED by so many people and still so estranged, eden never truly was a part of the family he’d soon fatefully grow to HATE.

the only sanctuary of hope and light for eden was the one he found in a friend, then confidante, then lover ; a boy he’d met in ballet class at 8.

the boy who changed everything for eden.

the boy he was caught kissing at 16 in the park family’s garden ; blood red roses blooming.

SCREAMING, A BODY BROKEN, AGONY SINKING INTO EDEN’S BONES.

FADE TO BLACK.

CHAPTER TWO : THE HEART CAN BEAT OR IT CAN BURN.

sixteen years old, and eden awakes to the sight of his lover standing over him with a smile. brown eyes fill with tears of relief & a chest so sore it could burst begins to shake with sobs. the tears clear eden’s vision ; and as he becomes more lucid, the vision of his lover fades away. ALONE IN A HOSPITAL ROOM, the boy scrambles to recollect the series of events that led to his arrival in the emergency room ; something buried deep in the labyrinth of his mind unsettling, warning him, letting him know that he’s not ready to remember. the nurses don’t look him in the eye, and the doctors reek of a sickening mixture of sympathy and pity. everything is raw, and horrid, and lonely, and eden can’t quite figure out the reason behind why his heart feels so terribly broken.

after three sleepless days and nights, a social worker visits eden —— relaying to him the chain of events that led to his broken body & weakened soul. the social worker tells eden of how he and his lover had been caught kissing among the flowers —— she tells eden of how his brother, matthew, had discovered them. then she tells eden of how his family had hatefully beat the only person he had ever loved into a coma ; and how when their rage had still not been satisfied, in a fury, they turned on their own son and brother.

THE WOUND IS TOO GREAT —— it always has been & it won’t heal, and eden’s cries rip through the hospital ward like a scream of agony. his tears make him tremble so violently he feels as if he were a rainstorm shook by lightning.

the recovery is a long & arduous one. knees grazed scarlet —— every night, eden PRAYS. he prays for his lover, he prays for his family, and he prays for god to change him ; to save him ; to cleanse him of his sin ; black, purple & blue covering every inch of his soft skin. most of all, though, eden prays that the loneliness and pain that grows inside his heart like a disease will cease spreading ; the boy’s pillow stained with tears as he cries himself to sleep each night.

mutilated, torn, tortured & etched away at, eden is alive, but he is nothing but a hollow body ; a home for little more than an agonised, sorrow-drenched soul.

just one week after the incident, eden’s partner passes away ; and eden is taken into the care of the state —— never to hear from his parents or brothers again ; safe at last from them.

CHAPTER THREE : I WILL NOT RAISE HELL; HAVE WE NOT ALL ALREADY SUFFERED ENOUGH? I WILL RAISE MY VOICE, AND I WILL RAISE CONSCIOUSNESS.

ten months after the incident, eden is adopted into a family by the name of lovegrove —— a family tainted with far too much darkness for eden to ever call home. the lovegroves are an all-american, white family with ties to the republican party ; with the head of the family, chet lovegrove, having strong political aspirations. the lovegroves adopt eden into the family as a move for positive press, believing that having a person of colour adopted into the family will make for a more empathetic family narrative.

and so it goes that eden park is given the new name of eden lovegrove, and once again, THE WORLD SPINS MADLY ON. while under the gaze of the public-eye chet and amelia lovegrove parade their new son eden around as if he were the sole pride of the family ( much to the chagrin of everett, the lovegrove’s biological son ), behind closed doors, they stand back and do nothing as everett calls eden words like chink, faggot, gook, fruitcake and coolie ; disdain and disgust dropping from every syllable like venom.

grieving, consumed with fear & mad with loneliness, eden finds himself more lost than ever ; and soon, like the distant stars and constellations he reads about in books, eden no longer seems to be part of this world. he imagines that he is made of the galaxies and nebulas —— light-years away and out of mind, out of sight ; drifting away peacefully in the cold vacuum of space & building his walls up high —— cementing them there, strong, as no one, not even once, comes to break them down. A LONELY PRINCE TRAPPED IN THE HIGHEST TOWER ; that’s what eden becomes yet again. yet he exudes a quiet unassuming warmth, for he is closer to the sun up here.

as eden grows from adolescence to adulthood —— though he leaves ballet in the past, where memories too painful to bear the burden of have no risk of being dredged up —— his love for books and writing never waivers even in the slightest. literature helps him understand himself as he comes to terms with the world around him, and writing helps him find a voice in a world where people keep trying to tell him what he ought to be. traumatised, a foreigner, a faggot, a stranger amongst his own family. an outcast, an orphan, a charity case. with his pen as a sword ; ink running like blood, eden finds his voice —— learning to use it to speak words of love and truth in a world that has only ever been cruel to him ; raising his voice so that it can be a light in the darkness.

high society life tastes bitter upon eden’s kind palette ; and though he is treated with nothing but malice within lovegrove manor or the high society around him, eden endures the trials and tribulations of his new life in order to use his predicament for his own benefit. rather than fixating on the cruelties of his adoptive family, eden decides to focus instead on the opportunities that have presented themselves ; using the money and the connections that the lovegroves possess in order to grow into someone that his lover, lost in wisconsin but forever in his heart, can be proud of.

a quiet renegade, eden decides to pursue journalism, graduating with honours from yale ; becoming a questioner of the common, and using his compassion and kindness and his love for words to grow into a safe-harbour for the voiceless. his first piece, an exposé on the callous and tokenistic life he has lived with the lovegroves, leaves him branded as a traitor by the family that took him in for their own devices ; and finally, after being cast out in shame, eden finds himself free at last.

the name lovegrove suits him well, however ; love becoming him, love consuming him —— and so he keeps his adoptive surname, wearing it like a battle wound for all the world to see. writing of people’s stories, in search of the truth, kind, but lonely, this is the way that eden lovegrove spends his days.

ink-stained fingers & a sorrow-drenched soul that only wants to heal ; the stars, the moon, a study of the human condition through prose and endless essays. a journalist at guardian u.s., and a freelance writer, eden lovegrove is an ink splatter of words thrown against kaleidoscopic feelings —— messy, hurt, lost, ardent, sincere, broken, human, and so much stronger than he knows.

WHERE ONE STORY ENDS, ANOTHER BEGINS : ATLAS IN OLYMPUS.

“ SOMETIMES I GET THESE VISIONS — HORRIBLE VISIONS OF INEXPLICABLE VIOLENCE, GRIEF & SORROW [ … ] LIKE REMNANTS OF A PAST LIFE BLEEDING INTO MY PRESENT. ”

over the course of the past six months, eden has started experiencing some truly horrendous nightmares —— these terrors sometimes even creeping past the border of sleep, haunting him in visions during hours of waking.

trauma from the park household, trauma from the lovegrove family ; that’s what eden believes, and that’s what his therapist believes. how could they know that these visions are actually coming from a past life ? one where eden was condemned to hold up the celestial heavens for eternity, as atlas.

“ TAKE A BREAK, SON. A VACATION. THE WORLD WILL STILL BE HERE TO WRITE ABOUT WHEN YOU GET BACK. YOU GOT A GIRL ? TAKE HER SOME PLACE NICE. ”

eden doesn’t know how to tell his editor that he’s never had a girl, and nor will he ever. but the vacation doesn’t sound like too terrible an idea —— so eden packs up his belongings, and asks a man at the airport counter what the cheapest & earliest flight to someplace nice would be. KAOS, the man says. the island of kaos. and just like that, atlas finds his way to olympus.

eden’s toes curl gently into a horizon of golden sands ; soft waves lapping at his feet as he relearns how to breathe. a softness emanates from the setting sun ; filling the broken man, full, to the bone. the world is wide —— and for the first time in his life, on this strange and beautiful island called kaos, eden feels like he might be in exactly the right place at exactly the right time.

since arriving in kaos one week ago eden’s nightmares have been getting worse ; and the visions, strange, violent, and full of glimpses of sorrow, split his head with migraines —— yet curiously, eden does not feel as if he is breaking —— on the contrary, it feels as if he is on the very edge of awakening.

–— AAAAAND, SCENE !!!!

i’ll get to posting some replies to starters & interacting tomorrow ( because i’m eXHAUSTED after an excruciatingly horrendous day at work today ), but please like this post if you’d like to plot something up ??? OR LITERALLY JUST slide into my dms and throw headcanons for our muses at me pls ?! bc i’m awfully awkward and idk ?? how ?? to aPPROACH PEOPLE for plotting !!!!!

okie bye i’m going to go make some dinner and then shall slumber for 2000 years, but ilu all already and am so excited !!!! to start !!!! writing !!!!!

#kaos:intro #IDEALLY this would include a tl;dr because it is #....... a straight up novel !#but dinner and then a vERY early night of sleep beckons me so perhaps i will post one tomorrow !#ilu all !#* ╰  we rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should ❜  ─── ( muse )

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seenashwrite · 5 years

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Reprieve

Word Count: 1.9K Category: One-shot; Angst; Heart-Grabber; Soul-Stirrer; Introspection; Life Choices; Redemption; Second Chances; Lessons Learned Rating: (Older) Teen & Up Character(s): Reader/Female O.C.; the second, you’ll know after the first line; the third, I suppose, is optional Warnings: Moderate allusion to past trauma: suicide; see my Fic Warnings Master Post should you desire more detail without being spoiled entirely - it is linked off of the Master Post which is linked in my profile (see below for why not linked here) Author’s Note: *This is a re-post minus tags and links in an effort to make it show in searches*; it’s been suggested I tackle this subject/setting multiple times, might not be exactly how you’d imagined it playing out, but let’s see if we can’t remedy the situation to some degree of satisfaction because, to be sure, it’s been a long time coming; more post-story Overall Summary: There are many mistakes thought lost to time, filed away as impossible to fix. But perhaps they aren’t as far gone as it seems. Perhaps it’s just that some mistakes can’t be set right by the ones who’d made them.

So this was the infamous Cage.

The entrance sealed itself not a second after she’d taken her first steps, she’d known it was coming, no need to turn around. Placing a hand on the rail, she surveyed the area ahead as she began her descent. Not terribly impressive, her host, but the details of the welcome mat were an intriguing pitch, she’d give it that much.

A lifetime ago, when she was maybe six or seven years old, she’d gotten separated from her parents as they were all rushing down the steps leading to the subway, and she distinctly remembered the entirety of the incident, the entirety of the day when her life changed course. The nervous excitement she’d felt that morning upon her father saying, “Let’s go take a ride”, and her impatience with her mother fussing over what outfit was most appropriate for a trip to the zoo. She’d had a small camera, a recent birthday gift from her grandmother, in her pocket, and could recall the very serious concerns she’d had on the walk to the station, wondering if the exotic birds could be captured by her lens, or if they’d fly too high for her to find.

And then, in the time it took her to blink, the only two people she had in her life, the ones who’d vowed to protect her, had vanished.

The sounds of the people chatting loudly above her and around her and beside her made her ears throb, the smell of food and cigarettes on their clothes as they brushed by her face stung her nose, rolled her stomach, and how their bodies bumped each other, jostling her around, their weight pressing into her - it brought up an emotion she’d not yet experienced in her young life. It was the panic of abandonment. She was surrounded, but alone.

She could still call up the feel of her small hands pressing into her ears to drown out the noise, and the sensation of the collar of her pink chenille jacket against her face when she ducked her head, wanting to hide and be seen in the same moment. She’d clenched her eyes tightly once she’d managed to make it to a barely-there corner just to the side of the staircase, and it worked well enough. But clearest of all in her mind was the flashing and the buzzing.

One of the overhead lights at the bottom of the stairs had been flickering its last, sending out a death rattle at a pitch that snaked into her head no matter what she did, its pulse vacillating between hardly a shimmer and something like the sun, cutting through her eyelids. The feeling would never leave her, the sense that there was little she could do if the world was conspiring against her. The sense of being caught in a maze, struggling to find the one turn that would mean freedom, only to realize the exit was actually a trap.

The Cage had done its homework. The number of stairs, and the myriad cracks in the tiled walls were exact, the rounded entryway to the platform the precise shade of yellowed-white, and while there was no ceiling to speak of, just a boundless void, it did arrange for some ambiance via scant buzzing and muted flickers, despite the lack of the overhead light. One thing, however, was different.

A bright but pleasant glow was coming from around the corner, from the platform and the train, the effect waxing and waning, as if the Cage were calmly inhaling and exhaling - a prodding from her host, a not-so-subtle Come this way. She had such recall, it didn’t matter, not the light, not how dark it was in the stairwell, nor that the void was trailing lazily behind. The whole of it could’ve been a starless night, and she still would’ve known the way.

Initially, when the current task fell upon her shoulders and before she was fully briefed, she’d expected to find a winding catacomb of sorts, filled with nightmare-inducing imagery, God’s very own memento mori for his fallen star; then she’d been told the Cage was different for everyone. It was adaptable, solid and fluid all at once, balanced but unhinged, exacting yet scattered. A real oobleck oubliette.

The stray thought caused her to break form, a corner of her mouth tilting a bit despite the circumstances, but she sobered right up when the non-existent light cut out with a sharp pop that sounded - to her ears - like the shatter of the camera’s lens when it hit the concrete floor, the day she’d first been here. She’d dropped it at the initial shock of being lost. Lost, and to her heart, forgotten. And every person in that loud, smelly crowd were oblivious to her precious camera getting kicked around, to how their stomps ground the plastic and glass into powder, a crunching she could hear, even over her sobs.

The present crunch beneath her boots was more resonant, filling the space, but she’d learned how to do some ignoring herself as time went by. She didn’t want to know what it was, she didn’t bother to imagine what it was, same with the nearby scritching and distant growls, and she’d have told the Cage it could do better than that, but it would’ve been a waste of breath. It could, it would, and it did.

A lifetime ago, when she was maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, she’d gotten separated from her parents as they were all rushing to anywhere and everywhere, and she distinctly remembered the entirety of the incident, the entirety of the day when her life changed course The conviction she’d felt when she’d decided on the how and the when and the where, the apathetic manner in which she wrote and signed the note, and the curiosity, after, when she was hovering in the corner of her bedroom, hearing her father make some sort of inhuman sound as he dropped to his knees, the note falling with him. She watched the stoicism he’d carefully cultivated in himself as he’d grown older, grown bitter, fall away, too.

Then, later, the curiosity had persisted. She was still just out of sight, it seemed, since her sharp-eyed mother looked right through her on the repeated trips to and from the closet, fussing over what outfit was appropriate for the viewing, even though there couldn’t be a viewing, which was obvious, which was why it was curious. And most curious of all was the last thing they did for her, a gesture she’d not seen the likes of in many years, one not afforded to her, certainly not to each other. She’d been standing in the shadow cast by the thick trunk of a tree, unnoticed, when they’d placed a small photograph atop her casket; not one of the three of them, she hadn’t smiled in those for years. This was her favorite picture, and she hadn’t thought they’d known.

It was the one-and-only she’d taken with her camera, en route to the subway and the promised ride to the most wonderful place she’d ever been. The photo was of a pigeon who’d been toddling along a brownstone’s porch, caught just as it had begun to flap its wings, preparing for launch. It was off-center, and blurry, and messy, and perfect. The captured memory had been salvaged from the dropped camera, the film roll bruised but not broken, because in truth, they’d found her quickly that day. They’d scooped up the pieces, lifted her high off the ground, took her away from the chaos. She’d remembered this part far too late.

That was the most curious of all - the clarity. Some things couldn’t have been helped, but plenty could’ve. No convoluted reasoning, no one thing on which to hang understanding; she’d reached her limit, the end. Walked out the door, straight to the subway, same line from the way-back-when, even, and kept a steady pace right off the edge. Pity no one can testify to those who remain about the crushing regret that kicks in approximately one second into taking the leap, how it invades the brain right when the point of no return arrives, how its friend clarity disappears the current, once-perfect plan, and the list of solutions to previously unsolvable things steps in to take its place.

She remembered the brief joy of the realization that the impossible just might be do-able, live-able, before she came to an abrupt halt. And she knew exactly what she would say if she could speak to those who remained: I thought you gave up on me. But that’s not really why I left. I left because I gave up on me. That’s the catch when it comes to the deals offered to folks in her position: you can only remember what you want to forget.

Because she knew this already, it was surprising that her custom-fit cage didn’t. There was enough hazy illumination drifting about as she passed by the tracks for her to have seen the stopped but still-vibrating cars, though the Cage didn’t bother with the screech of the brakes, or the onlookers’ screams, none of the pounding footsteps of their escape, didn’t even go the extra mile and splash around any blood. Like the last time she’d found herself in this spot, she paid no mind to what surrounded her, and her pace didn’t slow, and she didn’t falter as she went over the edge, but on this occasion she hopped, landed solidly on her feet, proceeded down the tunnel, even walked atop the rail for awhile, executed an occasional gymnast-worthy spin, until, she supposed, the Cage had given up trying to pitch its hopeless sale.

She’d already bought hopelessness once, kept the receipts, and returned it long, long ago.

The room where she found him had three walls, no door, she simply went from the tunnel’s uneven gravel to the smooth wood flooring of the strange diorama. It was here she opted to peek over her shoulder - this she had to see, if the Cage was actually going to have once last go, if it would, if it could, and it did, though the effort was half-hearted, so to speak; the wall that had appeared was easily punchable plaster. No chance she couldn’t tear it down. And if what she’d been told was accurate, if she’d succeeded in navigating the maze, the exit - the real exit - would be right on the other side when it was time to leave. In her mind, that moment had arrived; as for him, she couldn’t be sure. Stay long enough, even a tomb can start to seem like a home.

It wasn’t dark, but it wasn’t light. It wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t quiet. There was no torture, but there was no peace. It just was. Unnerving little nook, she’d freely admit it. And then there was its occupant: he was an unmoving figment, a breath away from being out of sight, the kind that would vanish in the time it took to blink.

She’d prepared her mind, practiced the how, done her homework on the when and the where, all the things one does when readying themselves for a difficult task, yet now that she’d pushed through to the end, when it was almost finished, she didn’t have the first clue as to what to say. What do you say? There weren’t enough apologies, never could be, and who’d care? She was a stranger, and on purpose, just some a-hole on a holy mission. She wasn’t anyone who owed remorse. She wasn’t anyone who owed love. She was no one to him, no one at all.

So they stared at him, she and the Cage, had the feeling he was staring right back, watching as the walls began to warp, and her weight shifted from foot to foot, one or the other occasionally tapping as she pondered, the floorboards creaking as the Cage did the same, and just when the shadow started to slink away—-

“Hey, Adam…”

The retreat was halted. The weakened walls began to crumble. The soft smile she seldom showed made a one-night-only appearance as she extended a hand.

“…let’s go take a ride.”

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

Author’s Note #2: She/You can be whatever “thing” you want her to be. Truly. I’ve had a “plot bunny” for awhile now - related to supernatural stuff but not related to SPN, per se - that persons who die by their own hand—

[And not meaning in a, like, I’m-gonna-take-out-all-you-f*cks-with-me way, and conversely not in an I’m-willfully-giving-my-life-for-XYZ way, or in a this-is-a-terminal-disease-and-I’m-going-out-on-my-own-terms way, I mean specifically, those who - like her - are at their limit for whatever reason]

—-have been offered a chance at an afterlife wherein they can be something to someone, accomplish things they wanted to but couldn’t while alive, etc. So for me - and don’t let me stomp on your imagination! - I’d love it if these folks/souls were the angels of death (a.k.a. - Reapers).

#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Supernatural Fanfic #angst #Nash Writes #Queueby Dooby Doo #Dad's on a blog post and #he hasn't been queued in a few days

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atinytokki · 5 years

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𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐙𝐞𝐫𝐨

Chapter 8: Extremes

Immediately Hongjoong was handing Wooyoung off to Seonghwa and heading for the gun deck, flanked by Jongho and Yeosang without needing to issue a command.

Wooyoung could feel Seonghwa’s soft hands tugging him in the direction of the galley, but didn’t hear a word the boatswain was murmuring. His stomach was churning and his head spinning. The death of that gunman had triggered something inside him, as the deck spun below him and something snapped. He suddenly registered seawater being splashed onto his face until he spluttered, “Enough!”

He repeated himself for a minute or two after the water had stopped being thrown and he had been guided to a chair. Gasping, Wooyoung tried to collect his thoughts. Registering it was Seonghwa who had splashed him, he had enough of his mind together to shoot him a dirty look that was ignored.

To put it simply, he was overwhelmed. It had been only a month on this ship and already he’d sailed to uncharted islands, battled a sea monster, heard tales of dragons, been promoted to an officer, gotten drunker than he ever had been in his life, witnessed the fever dreams of a prophet, been stranded and starving in the doldrums, and now one of his men had died. Sure, life hadn’t been easy under Captain Si-Hyuk. He’d never eaten well, he’d been caned for as little as carrying out an order a few seconds too slow, and he’d been in battle. Blood spurting, powder flying, grown men screaming kind of battle. He had friends that hadn’t come back to their bunks at night because they’d gone to sleep in the sea, riddled with grapeshot. But somehow this situation made him lose his senses in a sudden attack of panic unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

There was something about this startlingly young and treasure-hungry captain restlessly sailing on into the unknown, winds and rations be damned, with a small band of equally juvenile young men all with stomach-turning backstories that have come through horrors with each other.

Something disturbing was at work here and Wooyoung’s instinct to run away had never been stronger than at that moment. Other children running a ship, a place where violence was almost always present and disease broke out at the drop of a hat, but why? Why? The question Wooyoung had been trying to formulate since day one desperately needed an answer.

But he remembered their situation. Not enough supplies to carry on like this or to make it home, and the men that were under his command, whose lives he was responsible for, had broken out in a fight below.

What’s Captain going to do?

“The only thing he can for the present.” Wooyoung startled at Seonghwa’s answer, not realising he had spoken his question aloud. “Remind the men of the chain of command and wait for things to die down. Hopefully they’ll remember soon that rioting won’t change their circumstances at all,” He continued, closing the door and leaning against it, clearly exhausted.

Wooyoung could see hunger in his eyes, and knew without asking that Seonghwa hadn’t been eating either. He took a moment to consider the boatswain. He always had a quiet manner and a statuesque appearance, but the emotion swimming in his eyes loosened Wooyoung’s tongue and he found himself asking the question he really wanted the answer to, “Why are we here?”

Seongwha didn’t answer, and for a moment Wooyoung thought he hadn’t heard the question but before he could repeat it Seonghwa moved from the door and pulled up a chair across from him.

“It’s complicated,” he sighed. “I can assume you’re asking because you want to decide whether to stay or take your chances.” Wooyoung knew he couldn’t lie about this, and simply nodded. “Well, rest assured, you’re not alone. Most of the officers don’t have the full story, but I can promise there’s good reason for that.”

Wooyoung had to clear his throat before asking, “Do you have the full story?”

Seongwha’s eyes smiled at him, though his face remained cold. “I believe so. And you’re correct, it does have to do with Captain’s own story.”

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to. Everyone gives up and asks eventually. If you think this will help you decide, I’ll tell you what it is we’re going for.” Wooyoung’s hands had stopped shaking and he leaned forward as Seongwha began.

“This is not just a treasure hunt. You may have deduced it to be the case from the maps and the uncharted territory, but Captain wants more than that. The treasure is the location of someone very dear to him, though you may recognise the name; Eden.”

Eden was a name even the youngest, most inexperienced deckhand would know. The dread pirate Eden, youngest pirate captain ever to sail the seas, a notoriously clever thief and a formidable enemy to all he overtook. Eden had once commanded an entire fleet of ships until they were finally sunk by the Royal Navy several years ago and the pirate presumed dead.

Wooyoung shivered, and not from the water still dripping down his back. “Eden is alive?”

“Hongjoong believes he is. Every land we’ve found has had some clue, some trace that Eden and his crew have been there. This is why we keep sailing east, the direction we believe he’s gone. We’re retracing his footsteps and following the path he’s set for us.”

A question had been answered and a few more had been raised, but Wooyoung didn’t get the chance to ask them before Yeosang burst into the galley with orders. “The riot’s over. Wooyoung, it’s time to commit your gunman to the sea.”

It was rare that Wooyoung ever witnessed such a ceremony as this on board Si-Hyuk’s ship. Most loss of life occurred in battle, and there was rarely time to say a few words over a dead body, so casualties were tossed overboard without ceremony. It was the combination of this and the fact that Wooyoung didn’t personally get to know this dead man that resulted in a very short and awkward little ceremony.

The riot had been calmed (from what he had heard all it took was Captain’s announcement that they’d be able to choose whether to stay or go) and the atmosphere was again a suffocating stillness.

Everyone repositioned the hats on their heads and resumed their posts after Wooyoung dismissed them. Another day dragged on, and Wooyoung was hesitant to return to his own station for all the eyes he could feel on his back but kept his head high and his eyes on the horizon. Another sleepless night arrived, but this time the creaking of pulleys echoed through the cabins and eventually Wooyoung gave up and went on deck to see what it was.

He almost tripped over a sleeping Yunho and whispered, “You know the penalty for falling asleep on watch is holding up cannon chambers until you’re allowed to lower your arms.”

“So?” Yunho mumbled. “Captain never punishes me.” Still, the Master rigger looked lively at the reminder.

Wooyoung looked over the side of the ship and discovered where the noise was coming from. A small group of men was lowering a longboat into the sea. He was about to yell desertion when he remembered they were allowed to go.

He was allowed to go.

He stared at the lantern light reflecting off the cannons before rushing back to his cabin and shoving the few belongings he had obtained in the past month into a small bag. In his hurry to escape, he didn’t hear Yeosang sitting up in his hammock.

“Leaving?”

Wooyoung dropped his bag in surprise. What ensued was a silent stare-off with Yeosang.

Finally, Wooyoung nodded, and then hung his head. Yeosang kept staring at him but didn’t say anything, only leaning back in his hammock.

Wooyoung shouldered his bag and moved toward the door but with each step the weight of Yeosang’s silent eyes burdened him. He made the mistake of looking back, hand on the door. Yeosang was still staring.

I can’t leave him alone.

Wooyoung closed the door, dropped his bag and got back in his hammock. Yeosang said nothing but stared until both boys fell asleep.

The next morning, the master gunner blocked his ears to the reports of men leaving in the night and avoided Yeosang, finding himself once again with Seonghwa in the galley, hungry and knowing there was no food.

“Are you going to stay?” He finally asked the cook, who sat building barrels.

Seonghwa didn’t look up from his cooper business and instead replied, “Yes. Captain and the ATEEZ are my home. No one back on land wants me.”

Wooyoung’s eyes filled with concern at such a casual remark. “Were you abandoned as a child?”

“No...” Seonghwa closed his eyes as distant memories drifted back. “I was stolen.” Wooyoung remained silent and let Seonghwa speak when he was ready.

“You probably won’t believe me but you know how the royal family have two sons? Well, their second son is me. The child everyone thinks is me was actually switched with me.”

Wooyoung hesitated to question such a ridiculous story because of how seriously Seonghwa was telling it, but asked, “How do you know?”

“The woman who calls herself my mother was actually my nurse. She and my father messed around and she gave birth to a son around the same time as my real mother, the Queen did, but her child was deformed and so when I was about five years old, her jealousy became too strong and she switched us and ran away with me. I hardly remember anything before living with her, but my parents rarely spent time with me anyway so I didn’t realise anything was wrong. They never came and looked for me, thinking the replacement son was really me. Now I’ll reckon he’s almost grown and they still haven’t figured it out.”

Wooyoung swallowed roughly. “I’m sorry. But what about your brother? Did he realise you were switched?”

Seonghwa sat back and shrugged. “I haven’t seen him or anyone from the palace since. Mother—the nurse— told me I didn’t know how to do anything, having had everything done for me before, always saying I was weak and incapable. She taught me how to cook and then sent me to be the cooper’s apprentice on a merchant ship. A ship that, of course, was overtaken by Hongjoong on a then much smaller ATEEZ a few years ago. He told me if I cooked for them he wouldn’t hang me from the yardarm and so here we are, friends now.”

“If you ever did go back—”

“I’m never going back,” Seonghwa cut Wooyoung off. “My parents didn’t love me enough to recognise me, and the nurse only loved me because of my looks. She sent me away, too. This is the only place I can stay, do you understand?”

Wooyoung sighed and nodded, unsure of what to say next. Seonghwa went back to work on the barrel, and Wooyoung considered how even though San was the doctor, it seemed that Seonghwa had such a naturally compassionate personality that he was the best person to come to for healing. But where did Seonghwa go for healing?

Wooyoung thought about the distress he had seen on his face as he told his story. His thoughts were interrupted by a rap on the door and a gunman telling him, “You’re needed on deck, sir.”

Wooyoung sensed immediately the change in the weather as he and Seonghwa joined Captain, Mingi, and Yeosang on the quarterdeck. “What’s going on?” Jongho asked, making his way over.

“It’s the wind,” Yeosang was beaming.

“Wind?!” San ran up the stairs from where he was sawing some boards on the main deck. Yeosang simply nodded as they all closed their eyes and felt their hair rustling and the gentle touch of breeze on their backs.

Seonghwa took to the main deck in three strides and pulled out his whistle. “Hoist the mainsail!” He ordered and then gave his all hands on deck call with the boatswain’s whistle. Yunho and his riggers sprung into action to take advantage of the wind, and cheers broke out on board.

“Work makes a happy crew!” Mingi’s laughed was carried by the wind, the first wind in what felt like an eternity. Rowing no longer needed, Wooyoung sat on the main deck with San, helping him with his little carpentry project and zoning off while he tried to explain it to him.

“And then if I attach a rope here and another one to the ceiling, you can hang the box and sleep in it instead of a hammock!”

“How is sleeping in a box any better than sleeping in a hammock?”

“Well more room for pillows of course...”

Wooyoung let him chatter on until he spotted something, “Do you see those clouds over there?”

San gave a quick glance and went back to his work. “Nothing to be worried about, I’m sure. Just be happy there’s wind now! I’m sure we’ll make landfall soon.” San’s confident smile was convincing and Wooyoung dropped the subject, smiling back.

But of course mid-afternoon the clouds stretched out and became a full-on thunderstorm. At the first bolt of lightning spotted Mingi was at Hongjoong’s side asking about the best course of action.

“We can’t run it.”

Mingi was speechless, “But we always run it, you can’t possibly want us to heave to?”

Captain sighed, “Look at it Mingi, the clouds stretch literally across the horizon, if we bear to port like usual, we’ll still get caught in it and demasted.”

So orders began with Hongjoong listing off things to counteract the pressure of the wind on the sails, their first problem that could send all hands to the bottom of the sea. “Reef the sails! Yunho, you’re trimming the mainsail. I want the jib and headsail left alone for momentum. Jongho’s crew, ballast the lower decks and stay there, unless any man is half decent at rigging in which case stay and take your orders from Yunho. Same to the gun crews, secure the cannons, batten all hatches and stow flames. We have very little time on our side, let’s be prepared.”

Wooyoung realised the ATEEZ didn’t carry any storm sails, and if this was more than a squall, it would be a test of her endurance to stay in one piece until it was over.

After securing everything and seeing his men to the ballast, where Seongwha guided them to concentrate as many weights and heavy things as they could, Wooyoung presented to Yunho. “I’m light and decent at ropes, what needs to be done?”

Yunho had to yell to be heard over the thunder that was getting closer as he followed his men up the mainmast. “Furl the lower courses so she doesn’t list. We’ll all be lost if she does.”

To address the second problem, waves breaking over the main deck, Captain had everyone else ready to bail water as fast as possible, with Yeosang leading the efforts. San had to stow his bed box project below and join them. The wind made it nearly impossible to walk on deck, but he hung on as it began to pick up.

To address the third problem, navigating through this surprise typhoon, Captain had the prow pointed at an angle to the wind just shy of the massive waves rolling towards them. “The sea herself is always our most present danger,” he sighed.

What followed were hours of work, slippery decks and rigging, and the constant tossing of the sea. Yeosang was suddenly hit with an idea as he fought to keep up with the water washing onto the ship. He disappeared and returned with bags of oil. San gave him a look as he tossed them overboard before explaining, “Oiling the water increases surface tension and decreases spray onto the ship— we won’t have as much water to bail if the oil works.”

Wooyoung observed from above, hands shaking as they grasped the slippery mast on his way back down to deck. The sails were all trimmed to perfection and now fighting the storm was in the Captain’s hands.

Wooyoung reached the deck and ducked instinctively hearing Jongho’s yell, “Boom about!” The boom swung sharply over him before he caught and secured it.

“Anything else you’ve missed?” Jongho came over to him, trying and failing to wipe his wet face with his wet sleeve. Wooyoung shook his head sheepishly and jumped in to help bail.

The work seemed endless, and the waves grew so large by late evening that Hongjoong ordered everyone to lash themselves to the ship and hang on. His own hands were tied to the wheel, and his feet remained fixed though wave after wave broke on him.

No one caught a wink of sleep, but when the dawn came and Mingi looked out the spyglass from the forecastle he yelled, “Land ho! Hurry to sails now or we’ll be grounded!”

Wooyoung was back in the rigging with Yunho, astonishingly stable on his peg leg as always, and realising the wind had died significantly and the rain had ceased. “How long has it been?” He choked out.

“About 12 hours. Well done, everyone,” Yunho responded. Wooyoung’s breath had yet to catch up with him, but the sight of an island on the horizon took it away. Yeosang, San, Yunho and Jongho joined him at the rail and watched it grow closer.

Finally turning around, the navigator asked the strangely quiet Captain, “What are our orders?”

Seonghwa was carefully untying him from the helm and shot the other officers a warning look. Hongjoong looked up, answered “Ready the longboats,” and collapsed into Seongwha’s arms.

“Captain, you’re exhausted,” Mingi argued. “Let’s sleep a few hours and then explore.”

“Alright, belay that order,” Hongjoong mumbled as he was being carried off. “Drop the anchor for a few hours.”

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

...

Taglist: @nightynightnyx

A/N: There was a thunderstorm today so I banged out the end of this as well as I could. If the sailing terminology gets too difficult, it’s alright to ask and I’ll do my best to explain. This chapter’s already posted on Ao3 and if you read it there you’ll see it’s one of 12 chapters, meaning we’re near the end of our first instalment! Thinking about making a moodboard/profile thingy for the members before embarking on Ep. 2 in case there are new readers and also because I like that kind of thing. Sorry about the formatting, tumblr sucks and I can’t figure it out so just read it on ao3 if you can’t stand it. Much love <3 pls comment

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girlbookwrm · 5 years

Text

MEMECEPTION:

THE MIGHTY PRE-ENDGAME REWATCH CONTINUES

happy galentine’s day. we did this, like, a week ago for The Roommate ( @goteamwin ) ‘s birthday and i just took f o r e v e r to type it up sorry

in my defense, it’s hard to meme-efy a movie that’s already extremely meme-eful. Hence, memeception. although tbqh if Guardians of the Galaxy is giving me trouble because it’s already making fun of itself, I don’t know WHAT I’m going to do with Thor: Ragnarok. Remember when GotG was the memiest Marvel movie? We were so young.

It is important to me that y’all know that because of cacw, whenever The Roommate and I see any kind of... title page? whatever? We bellow the word at top volume even if the font ISN’T inexplicably filling the entire screen.

and so, I say to thee:

E A R T H ! ! ! 1 9 8 8 ! ! ! ! !

stealth reagan in the background to let you know it’s the 80s in case you were confused.

In What Sense is he like his father At All???

Honestly, to anyone who was surprised at Starlord’s actions in IW, they set up his tragic flaw right here. it’s page one. i don’t know why u were surprised.

B- grandfathering, but extra credit for difficult circumstances. u tried

Day Whatever, I Still Miss The Old Marvel Logo.

26 Y E A R S L A T E R

so, 2014 confirmed, for all the other timeline enthusiasts out there.

This is. The WEIRDEST gadget.

why is it like this

what is it doing

and how

GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY

I love this scene because up until this point it could be literally any other marvel movie and then

BOOM

it’s GotG, bitch. get ready to Have Some Fun.

also it pretty firmly establishes that Peter Quill is our protagonist, but he is No One’s Hero.

there are giant fucking eels here? what the fuck? what HAPPENED to this place???

stop trying to make star-lord happen, it’s never going to happen.

i have questions.

specifically about Ronan’s whole. everything.

Is he literally sleeping in the blood of his enemies?

is it necessary to have all these people help him get dressed?

what is up with this Immortan Joe Esque powder tossing business

what sorry sucker gets to put THAT on their Kree Resume

“Ronan’s Makeup Artist”

seriously

what is his fucking deal. how did he get the name “accuser” and will Captain Marvel give us these answers?

anyway, moving on.

POOTER!

people DO NOT call you star-lord

Gamora is a real #Icon in this whole scene.

SUPERHERO LANDING!

love that Rocket’s entire plan is to put criminals in a literal bag

and that it’s foiled because Groot doesn’t get gender.

also, John C Reilly has some of the best lines in this movie and I think he deserves more recognition for that.

“I am Groot.” “That’s gonna wear real thin real fast”

WEIRDLY NO??? srsly how did they prevent that from getting old fast?

Me: was it witchcraft?

The Roommate: No, it’s just Groot.

can we appreciate that Gamora is One Of Us? like. She’s into that.

if you don’t know what I’m talking about i am not going to explain it

Don’t Worry About It.

the moment we all went ho lee FUCK ANDY DWYER??? YOU GOT RIPPED MY DUDE YOU GOT FUCKING HUGE

oh no they gave me feelings about Rocket

the real hero of this movie is that prison lady and her telenovela

good job drax u found ur light

Rocket’s Bedhead is An Entire Mood.

how can Thanos take you seriously with all that shit on your face you look ridiculous.

“my favorite daughter” DUDE NEBULA IS R I G H T. T H E R E.

Rocket’s UGH face is also An Entire Mood

i love how the others are like. wanting to get out. but Drax just joins in for shits and giggles? like? he’s having a good time? wholesome.

“Oh. yeah.” Rocket is maybe explosion-sexual. which. ok yeah mood there as well.

I will never tire of the fact that the prison uniform prints their rap sheets on their legs and Quill’s is the shortest

like, it’s even shorter than Rocket’s. And let’s remember that Rocket is definitely less than 20 years old since he’s A Raccoon.

Rocket just casually putting bombs together just to have something to do with his hands.

Let’s pull this apart: No one is phased by the Jackson Pollack reference. They seem to know exactly what Quill is talking about.

Jackson Pollack is an alien. CONFIRMED.

oh hey it’s a dark elf

GROOT: CINNAMON ROLL, 2 GOOD FOR THIS WORLD 2 PÜR

“he killed my parents in front of me.” I mean. kkkkkkinda

The Gal Pal, who teaches English Language Learners: “Sticks up their butts” is actually a prime example of the ELL struggle and why English is hard to learn

Rocket one drink in is sad AND angry

oh yeah? how many friends do YOU have, petey boy?

We firmly believe that the Collector kept them waiting so he could do his hair. He truly is the Grandmaster’s brother.

oh hey it’s exposition time

wait is that the planet we were on earlier? is the power stone why it’s Like That? did they just leave the power stone there after it did that? it’s the reality stone all over again honestly what the fuck

whAT DO YOU STILL HAVE IT FORRR?????

seriously. “the accuser” is a hell of a name.

aw drax. don’t you hate when you realize that someone means more to you than you do to them.

it’s like bumper cars but there’s a winner!

spinal fluid is an extra gross way to drown

omg it’s the frog all over again SHE’S EVEN GREEN

Quill’s eyes here are red and that feels right but also I HATE IT

everyone thinks they’re Groot’s dad, when in fact Groot is everyone’s dad.

This whole argument/discussion scene is Solid Gold

12% of a plan

IT’S REAL

Rocket understanding everything Groot says

basically Rocket tbh

“To Give A Shit”

The Roommate: I feel like this is when Quill becomes Quill instead of the superhero Andy Dwyer imagined.

wait did they say sakaaran???

freaking Glenn Close wth man

Random Extra #2056 has amazing hair and she knows it

Drax is having too much fun

Honestly I’m typing this up and in my notes it just says “And This Happened” and even I don’t know what I mean there

Honestly, they had to kill Yondu. He’s too powerful. Thanos wouldn’t have stood a chance

“Star-Lord” oh my god it’s happening.

the way peter slides around in this movie -- does he have ball bearings in his ass or what?

Groot’s Smile. TOO GOOD FOR THIS WORLD TOO PURE

“YOU STAND ACCUSED” OF? WHAT??

Bucky and Nebula would really get along. I hope they get to meet some day.

More Questions About Ronan “””THE ACCUSER??”””

did he spend the last few hours just like

“ugh he WAS familiar”

“where the FUCK do I know him from ugh ugh ugh”

“OH RIGHT! I DID KILL HIS FAMILY!”

“Their screams were pitiful”

“I should tell him that.”

WE! ARE! GROOT!

Did they not evacuate the city? wasn’t that a thing?

EYYYY THEY SAID THE NAME OF THE THING

oh buddy you need like. all the skin cream.

Gamora = Peter’s Mom?? REALLY? YOU JUST WENT AHEAD AND MADE THAT SUBTEXT... TEXT. ALRIGHT. YOU WENT THERE. OK.

So is Ronan... not mortal???

like, he says

Anyway.

How much time has passed between the battle and this end scene? coupla weeks? months? What are we thinking? I need to know for timeline reasons.

#the mighty pre endgame rewatch #guardians of the galaxy

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connywrites · 5 years

Text

gala and delilahs 4

start - part [3]

It was frightening the way Gala could change her personality on a whim, when she wanted and needed to. Leo imagined it might have been the same way when people experienced similarly with him, but he didn’t believe he had so much control over such an aspect, like she did.

It was kinky, for a while; the downcast glares, high heels, tight leather and sour attitude that had him riled up in seconds. When he was too gone to think and she could do it for him, so being stepped all over wasn’t so bad; at least not in the literal sense, bound to the bed with overcoming desire flooding his body and nothing else.

That’s what addictive personalities were about—wanting more, and more, and more. He’d always wanted more than he had, and as he’d had less, he desired greater. It was a natural cycle that made sense in his head, but as he grew older, the understanding grew dimmer, and more people around saw him as selfish and demanding the more he wanted. Craved. Desired, stuck his neck out for, went to unusual lengths to get a hold of; and by then it didn’t seem so simple anymore, and adults weren’t so understanding when all he wanted was a quiet place to go to snort lines and cry for a night.

It was desire amidst a twisted rewards system always thinking it was going to achieve instant gratification, only to fall through with heavier disappointment each time it didn’t happen. Psychology textbooks had said so for decades, but he ignored those. He didn’t like the words, how they sounded, how they seemed to laugh at him, and naturally it was easier to blend in with others that had likewise problems than try to confront his personal issues, on his own.

Which was what lead someone to wind up with a drug addiction problem. Drugs were always on the mind—if it wasn’t one thing, it was the next. The ‘gateway drug’ theory only worked in reverse when one tried to come down off of the worst; when there wasn’t red ice, meth was nearby. There was crack, cocaine and heroin. Beside that were the Xanax bars, Oxycodone and Benzodiazepines he’d luckily avoided in the favor that they never did anything for him. Alcohol and weed were low-level, last resorts in a mind like his, always chasing the dragon; but still he mentally crawled for the slightest satisfaction of any high he could get.

Hours of sex, awake days on end, strung-out from the dry eyeballs to chattering teeth, neglecting the numb feeling on his skin while he dug across his arms with jagged, bitten-down fingernails. Nights of drinking, hitting the pipe and the windowpanes of her nice new luxury car, an expensive birthday gift that filled him with so much resentment he couldn’t breathe. Mornings of sinking into heroin happiness, followed by nights in the K-hole, half-unconscious on the floor of his ex’s best friend’s boyfriend’s place, because that was the only asshole available to ‘look after him’ for the night.

Ecstasy, LSD, Molly. Marijuana, Brandy and a few cigarettes. Leo spent so much of his time avoiding reality, he didn’t acknowledge the reality of what he avoided—that which was one of danger and constant avoidance, delirium and confusion.

When red ice was first big, he was young, blossoming into late teenage years. When androids were new, fascinating experiments, high-priced in their new days of being released with plenty of bugs and defects yet to be discovered by its ever-eager richening market. Kamski was already sitting comfortably while the drudges of Detroit were left to look up to the plastic dolls like angels and saviors, something that might swoop into your life and take all your worries from you—cleaning, chores, childcare—all carried away in the arms of a plastic, smiling white knight that would never thank you with sincerity, only continue to empty your bank accounts and steal your job.

But they could thank you with their biocomponents.

Androids were nothing so complex back in the day; human-shaped, sure, with a basic personality installed back when the Chloe models were new, hot shit, when there was no need for an overly responsive, humanoid robot – just something that looked like you, spoke like you, but did what you didn’t want or need to. Easy. The solution of humanity never taking up enough space seemed fixed, and the personal desire for company more than one could earn was quickly, but temporarily satiated.

Thirium wasn’t a new chemical, but its use as an electric component was freshly discovered. He’d been one of the suspects on one of Lieutenant’s Red Ice Epidemic cases, but luckily knew how to keep his head covered enough no one made the connection, considering he was fleeting enough throughout the city and a minor at the time, anyway, leaving him off with warnings and a glance of pretend worry from the direction of his parent; considering he didn’t exactly have two growing up.

His mother would gather everything she needed, herself; as much as she could, all at once. It wasn’t hard to make, she’d tell him in a shy tone that beckoned him to add to the business. He refused to learn.

“You’re ripping those people off, you know. You’re ruining their lives,” he’d tell her, thinking with a pure heart in mind of whoever created androids in the first place. A marvel of their time and many more to come, he’d only heard of such a thing when he could have been graduating high school.

They weren’t everywhere right away. They worked their way in, filling the gaps in places they were designed to. One by one, they took up space, and soon enough saying your boss was a robot wasn’t a farfetched exclamation.

As is a human’s nature, it was only a matter of time until someone found out how to make a drug out of it; a cheap, synthetic mashup of chemicals that happened to work out when someone learned adding a drop of thirium to your cooking added a bit of spice to the high. Soon enough, it was common; rolled into cigarettes, powdered over a bowl of weed or laced into whatever else you might want, just to try. Once was enough. Leo didn’t need a second chance at convincing himself to do something he wanted to in the moment, whether it was for the better or not. It was there, something of an opportunity, and not one he wanted to miss out on, something he’d convinced himself was worthwhile as soon as he took that first hit.

Days went by, but he never felt like he was aging. “Growing up” was a term he’d never understood, not the way other people talked about it, so he’d laugh, roll a spliff and light it, ignoring the entirety of his neglected childhood while the static of friendly chatter filled his ears.

Friends and girlfriends came and left. Gala appeared to be an inconsistent consistency, seeming to always be there whether he needed her to or not. Usually, it was too often, as she was sinister and conniving when she was under the influence—most people were, but the way she acted when she’d started sobering up was nothing short of a surprise to him. There were two sides to every coin, he’d learned and known well, but it goes to show how much he didn’t really connect to anyone once he realized he never really knew her, dating or not.

Part of him convinced himself he enjoyed the nasty personality, of course. Nothing wasn’t sexy about a badass bitch that wouldn’t take any shit, and she’d protected him for a long time, if only because no one else would. Leo had always known he was lucky from the way she looked at him, the stars in her eyes and the tender touches, graced by the marks of vicious claws that raked his back or across his face, depending on the day. She could purr, but it was her yowls he liked the best, and it was likely all situational; where there were drugs, there were parties, and youth like the two of them tended to get wily in the absence of real responsibility and caretaking.

“Do you remember how we met?” Her voice was so sweet when it wasn’t crackled by the cigarettes and the smoke; he could hardly believe it.

“Sure, the water tower,” he responded, thinking back.

“You bet me fifty bucks to jump off.” A gleaming smile and the glisten in her eyes that made him feel like he’d walked through heaven’s golden gates.

“Because I knew you would,” she taunted with a crinkle in her nose that always made him smile.

“That’s kinda morbid,” he carried on with a chuckle.

“Talk about first impressions. Mine was, ‘I’ll do something stupid and deadly for money.’” He flashed a smile back at her, but they always felt so cheesy in comparison. Leo never liked his own smiles, as he knew they looked as painfully forced as they were; someone that would hardly find anything to smile about had to work his way around somehow.

“And you would have, too, if Trevor wasn’t there to stop you. I could have killed you the first night we met!” Her voice was light and airy as she let out another wicked chuckle, as another thing they’d always connected on was that morbid humor.

“Yeah, well, so could a determined raccoon or a falling chunk of a plane. If that was how I was supposed to go out…” He leaned back in the chair with a shrug and a huff, baring his teeth a bit too much in his smile. She liked the little snarl in his expressions, anyway.

“Guess I would have been on the news for a bit. Five minutes of fame and all that.” She shook her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear absent-mindedly.

“You know, I wouldn’t have expected you to be so…” He winced at his own word choice, but he wasn’t exactly a great thesaurus.

“Nice.” At this she let out a cackle, still whimsical but also holding the years he’d gone through of literal hell within her, almost witchlike in its nature. It made him feel meek, but that was part of what he enjoyed; that rather than feeling challenged or some other toxic masculinity-induced negativity, he could appreciate the power she had in the way she walked, spoke and dressed with such confidence he’d never be able to imagine the feeling of.

“Oh, Leo…” biting her lip, she tilted her head and glanced to the ceiling as she thought of what to say next.

“You know how easy it is to be mean. Nobody listens to kind voices these days.” Acknowledging the seriousness in her tone, he settled himself down, scooting his chair forward and directing his attention to her to assure he listened – for both their sake.

“But being a bitch…I guess it worked for me, but it really didn’t. It’s not like me. I had to do it to protect myself, you know? Sorry you only knew the worst me.” Returning a solemn gaze, he nodded, finding an automatic guidance to his hand as it reached for hers, matching palm-to-palm before they entwined fingers. Meeting with her again had gone much better than he initially thought or expected. Waving their hands back and forth, she smiled, then sighed, letting the light of her expression go as she glanced off to the side.

“Yeah, that’s more of your sister’s thing,” he slipped in slyly, and she smirked at him in response.

“Really, though, I get it,” he redirected.

“I don’t know. It’s fucked up. Nothing was really real, when we were there. None of the drugs, or the people, or anything.” Slowly nodding, she accepted what he was saying, drumming her long fingernails across the back of his knuckles in a rhythm.

“It didn’t have to be,” she said in a quieter voice, melancholic in tone.

“It was enough for us. It always feels like it is. I thought cheating, lying and stealing would get me what I want. I thought it would make me happy.” As her comment hit home, it was his turn to retract and look off to the side, shoulders shrugging up as his body receded into itself the way he often did when he felt small.

“I know, I know,” she said in acknowledgement to his personal situation with a little sigh.

“I, uhm, never got the chance to say it, but I’m sorry about your dad. I know the relationship was complicated, but you tried your best.” Leo seemed surprised to find himself gritting his teeth, finding anger to be his first response in regard to his own father.

“I wish I could say sorry to him, too,” she added.

“For being a bitch.” Leo grimaced.

“Oh, trust me, me too,” he said with a dry laugh, but the smile wasn’t there.

“I’ve mostly uh, gotten over it. I mean, I know I’ll never be over it or whatever they tell you in therapy? But he… wasn’t really the type to hold grudges,” he said kindly, glancing down at the table wood with a sigh.

“I know that feeling guilty isn’t gonna help me, and he’d know that, too. I know he wouldn’t want me to. He was…a cool guy,” he murmured, trying to form the personality in his head that was the father figure he’d seen off and on throughout his life.

“Smarter than balls, man. Why couldn’t I have some of that?” Huffing, he felt familiar frustrations crawl into his mind again; she withdrew her hand from his to gently squeeze his shoulder, offering a sympathetic gaze.

“No, see, this is what gets me,” he corrected himself, only looking at her for a second before the fidgeting portion of his mind took over and he started chewing down a thumbnail.

“Every time I think about him, I just get mad. I get angry, and jealous, and for what? He’s dead.” His words were heavy, and while he meant to weigh them as a self-reminder, he knew he was being a bit too harsh with his tongue.

“Leo, your life wasn’t fair, and you feel like he’d taken everything good from you.” To his surprise, she didn’t miss a beat, and he couldn’t help the validation feeling nice.

“You’re jealous from seeing a person thrive with tools you could have had, only to hang them above your head. Whether he meant to or not.” Leo ran a hand through his hair, shifting in his seat with an antsy shrug.

“I was always so convinced he hated me. That he ignored me all my life, you know? That I was the problem…no, no, it was just the drugs. It was always the drugs, and I couldn’t get off of them. And now he’s dead.” With worry in her eyes, she gave him a gentle shove in the shoulder, knowing he’d appreciate the rough play for what it was.

“That’s not your fault. If he was the way you talk about him, then…he’d know you’re doing your best now, and probably wouldn’t think it was too late.” Propping her chin on a hand, she tilted her head with a slight smile, enough to be supportive without coming across as overbearing or intrusive.

“I messed up my whole life, Gala. All my chances, right down the drain. I don’t know why I think it matters if I clean up now,” he groused, scratching the back of his neck as he stared at one of the fixtures on the wall.

“Of course it matters. You could sober up when you’re fifty and he’d still roll in his grave, you know it.” Closing his eyes, he let his head drop with an awkward laugh before he glanced back up at her. This smile was a touch more genuine.

“Because he wouldn’t believe it,” he said in a quiet whisper, threatened by the sting of tears and quickly wiping his eyes with the back of a sweater sleeve. Wanting to be supportive without getting too close, she combed back some of his hair, nearly leaning in to kiss his temple before re-deciding, considering they’d just started talking again and things were rocky; the last thing she wanted was to make him uncomfortable.

“I don’t know how you do it, the alter-ego thing.” The subject change was swift, but luckily for him, they were both used to his conversational ways of switching context without much warning.

“I can’t keep track of what personality I do have. How do you… choose?” Looking dismal, she withdrew her hand without much thought, settling it folded across her other on the table as she mulled over the idea.

“It’s just acting. I know on stage, I’m nothing more than a toy that makes money for doing cool tricks. On the streets, I had to be mean or I’d be taken advantage of. Do you know how vulnerable people like me are to rape and kidnapping?” She popped her lips in a quick sound of wanting to avoid the subject herself, expression unimpressed as she glanced at the time on her phone.

“Whatever. There’s nothing to keep track of, I just acted how I needed to for the moment. I’m sure you understand that.” Slouching sheepishly, he tilted his head with an expression that showed he was trying to comprehend her words, but still clearly struggled, listening intently anyway.

“I’m glad you don’t have to change your personality on a whim, Leo. People may think you’re boring, or aggressive, but I know there’s more to you than that.” The compliments always left him feeling stiff and awkward however, as he never had any reason to believe them, and still didn’t.

“I don’t,” he admitted blatantly. She glared at him with a stare that told she knew all too well.

“You haven’t had a chance to grow, Leo. You have to give yourself that chance now.” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, catching his attention in a way he felt like cotton stuffed his sinuses.

“It doesn’t matter what time it is, or how late into your life you are. I know, it sucks, right? Being almost thirty and trying to pick up the pieces now?” They shared a laugh, but he didn’t feel much better.

“It helps me to think it could be worse. My situation isn’t great either, as you know, but I can’t dwell on the last ten years of my life thinking about how I wasted the last 29 either.” With his eyes lighting up in realization, he couldn’t help standing from his seat, aggressively slamming a hand onto the table in regard to the epiphany alone. She’d probably have looked surprised if she wasn’t used to that, too, glancing up at him with lifted eyebrows as she awaited the explanation.

“Oh, my god, your birthday,” he said in a panic.

“That’s in like, a week! I didn’t even think about it,” he continued, rubbing his forehead as he turned to start pacing. Gripping the back of his shirt, she tugged him back, careful so as not to snag a nail on the cloth.

“Shut up, Leo,” she said abruptly so that it would work, and so he’d turned to face her, silent and dumbfound.

“I’m having a party downtown, but I didn’t invite you because I know you can’t handle the scene right now. Don’t worry about gifts. It’s alright.” Feeling nervous, he tapped his fingertips against the leg of his jeans while he swerved in place, shaking his head with a sigh.

“Doesn’t it drive you nuts?” His voice was becoming fast and erratic again, a worrying sign for her.

“How can you stay out there, a-and do that? I know you have to, but the androids are gonna take your place anyway. Why not just quit?” He knew the question was as stupid as he felt asking it, but he genuinely wanted to hear her piece.

“I’m looking for other money, but it’s hard to come by. This is what I’m good at, another thing taken away by picture-perfect plastic models.” The spite was clear in her voice, and he couldn’t help being empathetic, as they’d dealt with the same problem even if in different aspects of their lives.

“Can’t say androids ever did it for me,” he thought aloud.

“I mean, they’re not that sexy, and I bet nothing feels the same anyway.” There was a slight blush to his cheeks from talking about it, gaze otherwise solemn as he continued staring at the tabletop wood.

“It doesn’t matter. Perverts will always try to get what they can for cheap,” she retorted.

“Luckily for me, renting them is still fairly expensive and it’s cheaper to throw pocket change into my thong instead. But that won’t last long.” Dumbfounded, he stared at her.

“I couldn’t do it,” he said with a stagnant air of doubt.

“Trying to keep the same life without doing the same shit?” Scratching his forehead, he shook his head and shrugged, genuinely baffled.

“How do you stay away from the stuff?” Staring off to the side again, she shrugged one shoulder, slouching into it as she veered her body language that direction, leaning forward and settling into her chair.

“I don’t,” she replied simply, her voice quiet and calm.

“It’s always there and you have no idea how hard it is. But if I don’t keep up the bills, I don’t have a place to stay, and neither does my sister.” Sharing a pained expression, Leo paused in a moment of thought so as not to pick at old scabs, sighing and nodding all the while he digested the information.

“I wish I could help, but Markus doesn’t want anything getting in the way of my recovery.”

“I understand,” she offered softly.

“I’m not about to ask anyone for money or favors, especially after what I did to you.” Struck by what she said, he froze, eyes darting to her while he remained still for a moment. Again, she surprised him, as he’d never expected her to own up to such a thing, feeling old memories tug strings of nostalgia within him while he waited for his own thoughts to recollect.

“I guess I deserved it,” he murmured, prompting a stern glare from her.

“We aren’t counting faults,” she said in an almost snappy voice, tapping the table with a loud click of her nails so as to catch his attention and distract him from whatever nastiness he might start thinking.

Their oppositional personalities reflected the irony; I couldn’t do it, they’d say to one another about a situation they were somewhat living in, but mostly differed from. He couldn’t be around the drugs; she couldn’t break away from them. She wanted to live the most out of her life in the time she could, while he felt like he had more time to live than he knew what to do with. Mostly, they were both trying to find a lifestyle they found comfort in that was exciting enough to keep them away from substance abuse, and that was what he tried to think of when she insisted not to hold grudges or hurt feelings.

“Okay but it was like, really fucked up. We were, I mean.” She cast him a dismal glare that held a seriousness to it that could be intimidating, if one weren’t set in their own ego well enough. Having momentarily forgotten touchy subjects were a thing, he retreated into his seat as he thought over his words.

“Sorry…but I mean it. I think about the shit I’ve done every day. I can’t get rid of it.” Starting to jitter one of his legs, he shifted to lean back, raking his hands up his thighs before he stood up with a sigh.

“You have to forgive yourself, too, Leo.”

“That’s enough,” he snapped immediately, stopping in place as he glared at her with a meaner expression than he intended to.

“I don’t wanna talk about this shit anymore, and it comes up every time,” he said with a notable agitated whine in his voice, fingers finding themselves in his hair as he lacked another way to relieve the stress.

“Because it’s important, and you can’t keep avoiding it. Especially if you want to recover, and I know you do. It’s serious.” Wobbling in his stance, he almost lost his balance, seething silently while he felt anger bubble up beneath his skin again. If he didn’t cut this short now, it wouldn’t end well; he knew it, and he was sure she did, too.

“I’m working on it at my own pace, okay? You’re not my therapist! You and Markus always act like you know what’s best for me, and I barely know either of you. I know what’s important! It’s not like I haven’t been told my entire life what I’m supposed to do, or how I’m supposed to feel! I just, I haven’t figured that out yet, and I, I can’t do this. Not now, not yet.” After pacing back and forth a few more times, he finally turned to face her, letting his arms fall at his sides.

“I’ve…still got so much to work on,” he murmured under his breath, rubbing an arm and averting his gaze as the embarrassment tinged his cheeks flush and warm.

“And that’s just something I never figured out how to get past. It’s not that easy, or I’d have done it already.” Gala offered him no words, only letting their body language steer them together until she could pull him in for a long hug.

“I know that telling you that stuff isn’t going to make it easier or make you want to do it any more, so I’m not sure why I do.”

For the most part, he wasn’t sure why he didn’t listen, but it was something he’d always had difficulty with. Waving her off dismissively, he decided not to reply, before gesturing towards the front room.

“Let’s call it a night, I’m getting tired,” he offered. She couldn’t help peering at him beneath heavy, knowing, decorated eyelids, aware he’s used that excuse when he didn’t want to talk about something since they’d met, but knew better than to refuse him. Pulling the long strap of her purse up over her shoulder, she stood up to leave.

They lingered too long, too close, staring each other in the eyes too deeply for too many seconds, frozen in time as they were both lost in a moment of nostalgia, reminiscing old times, remembering the best and the worst in a shared moment of silence. Leo’s hands almost settled on her hips as he nearly followed the desire to pull her into a kiss, but in a last-ditch effort to neglect the urge, he turned around and sighed, opening the door to the tall stairway and gesturing for her to go through it. Somewhat hurt, but understanding, her gaze slowly trailed to the ground before she stepped through to leave.

“Goodnight,” she sung quietly in his direction before he’d closed the door.

#guess who has more writing! KRIT DO #detroit: become human #detroit become human #dbh: oc #dbh: leo manfred

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der-unverantwortliche · 5 years

Text

One evening, however, he felt in a better mood, more at ease. It was blowing fit to raise the roof, and the corridors of the château were booming like bass tubas and whistling sporadically like flutes. It was dark; Jacques loaded the fire with pine cones and twigs, and by the sparkling light of flames that blossomed into bunches of pink and blue tulips against the sparse black lilies on the old fireback in the hearth, he drank a glass of rum and rolled cigarettes, which he left to dry out.

Louise was in bed and was stroking the cat stretched out on her chest. Jacques, seated with his elbows on the table, was dozing, staring vacantly, thinking about nothing. He roused himself, pushed the two tall candles that, along with the tire, illuminated the room a bit closer, and began to flip through a few journals his friend Moran had sent him from Paris that very morning.

One article interested him and propelled him into a long daydream. What a fine thing is science! he thought, here's this Professor Selmi from Bologna who's discovered an alkaloid – ptomaine – in rotting corpses, which appears in the form of a colourless oil and gives off faint but lingering scents of hawthorn, musk, seringa, orange blossom or rose.

These are the only fragrances they've been able to discover up to now in a rotting organism, but others will no doubt turn up; in the meantime, in order to satisfy the demands of this eminently practical century – which perfunctorily buries destitute Parisians at Ivry and finds a use for everything: bodily liquids, waste matter, the guts of decaying carcasses and old bones – they could convert cemeteries into factories that would prepare to order, for the families of the rich, concentrated extracts of their ancestors, essential oils of their dead children, bouquets of their late fathers.

This would be what you'd call in the trade a deluxe item; but for the needs of the working class – which it would be out of the question to neglect – they could supplement these luxury dispensaries with industrial laboratories that would manufacture perfumes wholesale; it would be possible, in fact, to distil them from the remains of communal graves that no one had claimed; this would be the art of perfumery, but founded on new lines, within the reach of everyone, this would be a cut-price item, a perfume to be sold in cheap stores, since the raw materials would be abundant and the only cost, so to speak, would be the expense of a gravedigger and a chemist.

Ah, I know a lot of working women who'd be happy to buy for a few sous whole pots of pomade or cakes of soap, perfumed with the essence of prole!

And what a constant aid to one's remembrances, how eternally fresh one's memories would be with these concentrated emanations of the dead! At the present time when two people love each other and one happens to die, the other can only preserve a photograph of them and tend their grave on All Saints’ Day. But thanks to the invention of ptomaines, it'll be possible from now on to keep the wife you adored in your own home, in your very pocket, in a volatile, spirituous form, to transmute your loved one into a bottle of smelling-salts, to condense her into a quintessence, to put her, in powdered form, into a sachet embroidered with a mournful epitaph, to take a deep breath of her on sad days, or take a light sniff of her on your handkerchief on happier days.

Not to mention that as far as sexual mind-games are concerned we might perhaps finally be spared hearing the ineviable ‘appeal to mother’ when the crucial moment comes and she swoons calling for her help, because she knows full well she cannot come since that redoubtable lady would be already there, reposing unseen in the form of a beauty spot, or mixed in white skin cream on her daughter's breast.

And in the near future, with the aid of progress, ptomaines, which at the moment are tremendously poisonous, will no doubt be consumed without any danger at all; so why couldn't they flavour certain foods with their essences? Why not use this scented oil the same way one uses essences of almond and cinnamon, vanilla and cloves, in order to make cake fillings so delicious? The same as with perfumery, a new avenue would be opened up in the art of the pastry chef and the confectioner, one that would be both economical and emotionally beneficial.

In short, those august family ties which are being loosened and undone in this present wretched age of disrespect would assuredly be reinforced and retied through ptomaines. Thanks to them, there'd be an affectionate coming together of distant generations, shoulder to shoulder with an ever-renewing sense of tenderness. Ptomaines would constantly inspire a fitting atmosphere in which to recall the lives of the dead and to cite them as an example to their children, whose gluttony would help preserve their memory with perfect clarity.

So it is that on All Souls' Day, in the evening, in a little dining room furnished with a sideboard of pale wood veneer and black beading, by the light of a table lamp dimmed by a shade, a family is seated. The mother is a decent woman, the father is a cashier in a commercial firm or a bank, the child, still quite young, just recovered from a bout of whooping cough and impetigo, subdued by the threat of being deprived of dessert, has finally consented not to tap his soup bowl with his spoon and to eat his meat with a bit of bread.

Motionless, he watches his calm and collected parents. The maid enters, bringing in a ptomaine cream cake. That morning, the mother had respectfully taken from the Empire-style mahogany writing desk, adorned with a trefoil-shaped lock, a glass-stoppered vial containing the precious liquid extracted from grandfather’s decomposed viscera. With an eyedropper she had herself infused a few drops of this perfume which was now flavouring the cream.

The child’s eyes shine, but as he waits for them to serve him he must listen to eulogies of the old man who has bequeathed him, so it seems, besides certain facial features, this posthumous rose flavour, on which he is about to stuff himself.

‘Oh, he was a man of sober tastes, a prudent, hard-working man, was grandpapa Jules. He arrived in Paris in clogs but he always put a bit aside, even when he was only earning a hundred francs a month. He wasn’t the kind of man to lend money at no interest or without guarantees, he wasn’t such a fool! business before everything, cash up front; and how respectful he was to the rich! And so he died revered by all his children, to whom he left gilt-edged investments, real assets!’

‘You remember grandfather don't you my dear?’ ‘Yum, yum, grandfather!’ cries the brat, ancestral cream eared all over his cheeks and nose.

‘And your grandmother, you remember her too, don't you my sweetheart?’

The child thinks for a moment. on the anniversary of this fine old lady’s death, they prepare a rice pudding which they flavour with the bodily essence of the dead woman, who smelt of snuff while she was alive but, by a curious phenomenon, exudes orange blossom since her death.

‘Yum, yum, grandma too!’ cries the child.

‘And which one do you like best, tell me, your grandma or your grandpa?’

Like all kids, who prefer what they haven’t got to what’s in front of them, the child dreams of the far-off rice pudding and admits that he likes his grandmother best; nevertheless he holds his plate out again for more grandfather.

Fearing he'll get indigestion from so much filial love, the provident mother has the cream dessert taken away.

What a delightful and touching family scene, thought Jacques, rubbing his eyes. But he wondered if, in his present state of mind, dozing face down on his journal, he hadn’t dreamt what the scientific article had said about the discovery of ptomaines.

Joris-Karl Huysmans, En rade

#joris karl huysmans #en rade #q

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illenia · 6 years

Photo

First off, thanks so much to @soggystyrofoam for creating this amazing picture of my newest D&D character, Adraphina, and bringing her to life in all of her flamboyant glory!! Character bio below the cut.

Adraphina Height: 5’4” (163 cm) Age: 37

Hey, uh, have we meet before? I swear you all look familiar. Ever been on a ship? Maybe captain’d a pirate fleet? ...Been thrown overboard off of a pirate ship? No? Huh. Maybe it was a past life. I just can’t shake the feeling of déjà vu. I would figure you’d remember the yellow-skinned tiefling girl with violet eyes and a broken horn, anyway. Oh! Right, I’m supposed to be telling my story or somethin’, ain’t I?

My earliest memories are of my mother, and of the sea. I was born on a ship, you see, my mother being the only woman on board. I don’t remember much, but I can still feel her warm touch on my skin, and the way she used to stroke my hair. She was like me, a tiefling, and had the most beautiful violet eyes I have ever seen. I guess I inherited those from her, come to think of it. Oh, and I remember she had the most heavenly voice when she sang to me. The crew thought so too. They liked her so much that they kept her aboard for many years, even though she knew nothin’ of the waves. She loved me, that I’m sure of. But all the love in the world didn’t stop me from losing her. I was young, barely a head taller than her hurdy gurdy, when she disappeared overnight. Overboard, the crew said. I have no memory of my father.

Well, that’s not strictly true. When I was older, I put two and two together, savvy? The ship, The Celebrant, had been at sea for well over three months when my mom first noticed she was showing. And, as I already knew, before I came along my mom had been the only woman on board, and the crew always did say she was quite the looker. And with around three dozen able bodied sailors’ aboard, not countin’ the captain, well… I think you know what happened. I can’t say even I wasn’t tempted by just how able them bodies were, ‘nd that was with the constant threat of beddin’ my dad looming over my head. Well, as generous as the crew of The Celebrant were for lettin’ a young tiefling girl stay aboard their ship, none of them were ever man enough to say they were my dad. Maybe they just didn’t know. I never had the stones to ask, savvy? ‘sides, in the end it’s alright, since instead of one dad I had somethin’ closer to thirty.

My dads taught me all I ever needed to know about sailing a ship. Well, they tried their best, anyway. I never really got my sea legs, truth be told. I was about as useless as my mom was when it came to the rigging, or at least that’s what Cap’n Darkdragon used to tell me. Yeah, I’m pretty sure that name was fake, too. But do you wanna call out a two hundred-fifty pound, six-foot-tall piece of pirate captain about his name? When he’s the one who taught you everything you know about fightin’? Not when you’re a little cabin girl, you don’t. I’m a bard, not a fool, savvy? Carny, that’s the first mate, used to try stickin’ me as a powder monkey too, but I kept accidentally chuckin’ the powder overboard durin’ the fight. What? I’ve never had the best luck alright? So, I spent most ‘f my time swabbin’ the deck and workin’ as the Cap’n’s cabin girl. And hey, it sounds bad lookin’ back, but it was fine with me. I had plenty of time in between swabbin’ and servin’ Darkdragon his food to learn to play my mom’s hurdy gurdy.

Alright, sometimes livin’ life as a young girl on a pirate ship got pretty bad, I’ll admit. But I had my music. And, luck have it, I had my mom’s voice too. So once I got good enough, I took over my mom’s role as the ship’s entertainment. An’ no, before y’ ask, I never did sleep with any of them. Not even the powder monkeys. I was tempted to yeah. Every teenage girl’s got needs, savvy? But I wasn’t gonna make all the same mistakes as my mom. Besides, they treated me like a daughter, for the most part. Thinkin’ about that for more than a second made my brain bleed, saavy? Anyway, I didn’t just play for the crew of The Celebrant, either. Whenever we’d set down in port, I’d play in every tavern and bar I could find. The Cap’n didn’t mind, even kept the ship in port a little longer just to let me perform. I think he had a soft spot for me, more so than the other crew. Thought of me like an actual daughter, even though he denied being my real dad. Plus, the crowds liked me so much that I usually raked in a few gold every night. And if it got me special treatment with Darkdragon, I didn’t mind if he took a cut of the proceeds, savvy?

Why’d I take up adventuring? Well uh… that’s actually a bit embarrassing of a story. I’d like to say that it was because I got bored of the life of a pirate’s entertainment, but if we’re gonna be workin’ together I guess I can’t lie. I didn’t really want to be an adventurer, savvy? I- Look, promise not to laugh okay? I left The Celebrant chasin’ a girl. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I’d seen hundreds of pretty girls by the time I’d met her at a tavern one night. We got to talkin’, and talkin’ turned to other things. Pretty soon she asked me to run away with her. I told her yes, but that I needed stuff off the ship first. ‘f course the whole crew was waiting for me. Guess they saw what happened. But after talkin’ to them, they all agreed I ought to be able to live my own life. So uh, I got the crew’s permission ‘nd everything. Darkdragon even gave me his saber. Fancy that. I left as soon as I was all packed.

But the girl? I never saw her again. I looked high and low for her, searched every tavern and every inn in the whole damn port. After I finally gave up, there wasn’t anywhere left for me to go. Pirates don’t stay in port for longer than they have to, savvy? And once I’d realized I’d been stood up, my family had already shoved off, lookin’ for their next target. Just my luck, savvy? Since her, I’ve had a few more flames along the way; two in particular really caught my eye…

For awhile I kept on playing where I could, but it wasn’t too long before a crew of rat-catchers not unlike yourselves convinced me to tag along. Sirens was that a mistake. But it put the taste of adventure in me, and I’ve been addicted ever since. Been adventuring here and there, wherever the tides take me, savvy? Lander approached me not more than a moon ago. I don’t know what the Sentinels see in me, honestly, but I’ve never saved the world before. Could be fun. …we don’t have to give up sex or booze though, do we?

(Adraphina is relatively short tiefling, standing at 5’4”, and has a medium build that reflects a life of travel. If she were fully human she would no doubt be tan, but her fiend blood means her skin is a permanent shade of bronze-gold. A single spiraling horn curves straight upward from her right brow, adding another 3 inches to her height, while the other is broken off at around an inch from her skull. The fangs/canine teeth on the top of her mouth are longer and sharper than normal, due to her fiend blood, but her lower canines are normal sized. While most claim she is as beautiful as her mother, Adraphina has strong features and an almost boyish look to her that seem wholly unlike her parent. Aside from when she is performing, the tiefling wears gloves to cover the scars and calluses on her fingers that come from working on a ship and playing her lute and lyre. In day-to-day situations, she wears a nondescript set of studded leather armor that all but hides her gender, while binding her curly and unruly red hair in a tightly wound bun. While performing, she tends to swap between three costumes, all colored some variation of a garish purple. When not playing her hurdy gurdy, her lyre, or her lute, she stores them by strapping them haphazardly to a large leather backpack that is topped with a rolled-up sleeping bag. Adraphina wields either a rapier or a whip into battle; when not in use they are both kept at her waist, the rapier at her left side and the whip at her right side. Both weapons were gifts from her former crewmates/family, and the rapier, renamed after an old lover, is said to have a sixth sense. Friendly to a fault, many years away from the life of a pirate have dulled her sense of suspicion, but she remains highly sensitive to body language and emotions. She is playful, mischevious, and often vulgar. Though horrible at flirting, she has somehow earned a reputation as a seductress, leading some to call her the “Siren”).

#d&d oc #d&d #adraphina the bard #illenia speaks #college of glamour #bard #adraphina

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djs-random-blog · 6 years

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So, I was thinking about Civil War in class and went, “Yeah, but What If?” So here’s a kind of AU (I guess) where Tony has a daughter.

So, a bit of backstory, when Tony was young (if y’know what I mean). He had a one night stand and they went separate ways. Chick got pregnant, and had Ellison. When Ellison was thirteen, her mum died (or disappeared, I haven’t decided which yet) and Ellison decided she didn’t want to go into the foster care system or whatever. So she hunted down her real Dad (Tony) and convinced him to let her stay with him. Of course, even if she wasn’t his, Tony would have a hard time ditching her anyway (because he’s such a fucking Dad). Anywho, now she’s 20.

Maybe I shouldn’t have persuaded Dad to let me come with him to the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre after they had taken Steve, Sam, Bucky and Prince T’Challa into custody. I mean, sure, for a psychology undergrad, it’s hella interesting watching the showdown as the government tries to control the living daylights out of a bunch of superheroes, but on a personal level, it’s more painful. I’ve been hanging out with most of them since I was thirteen and came to live with Dad, and seeing them being split down the middle legitimately scares me. Watching Dad beg and plead with Steve is heart breaking. I’ve never seen him so powerless before. No one enjoys watching their parents being weak, it’s all wrong. Parents are supposed to be strong and steady. Dad was under a lot of pressure to begin with. Now, he seems to be living in a permanent state of stress. So there are a lot of reasons why I don’t want to be here.

But then there’s the Winter Soldier Quest. Dad coined the term first, about a year after I came to live with him, and it kind of stuck. I was fourteen when one of my teachers brought up the Winter Soldier in History class. After that it sort of became a bit of a passion project. I collected as much information as I could, and Jarvis helped me figure at whether it was real or just conspiracy. I had folders full of information on him. Steve had seen my research and asked if I could do a little bit on his old friend, Bucky. He never told me what he was looking for exactly, but I got the feeling he was wondering if I could find the body. I did a bit of research anyway, and came up with zilch in the corpse department. Which almost made sense. It was winter when Barnes fell of the train, and it would have snowed a lot. However, the snow would have quickly covered him and preserved the body. And since then, there had been a couple of searches for a body (courtesy of the Howling Commandos, Howard Stark and Agent Peggy Carter) but nothing came up. Which is odd, because if your last name is Stark, that usually means you’re the most stubborn bastard anyone has ever come across. Take that from someone who really knows. So then I made the connection that the Winter Soldier was James Buchanan Barnes. The Bucky Barnes that used to be best friends with Steve. Turns out Steve had already put two and two together, but I was still proud of my find. And Dad was pretty impressed when I told him about my work as well. So I guess when I asked if I might have a chance to meet Bucky Barnes, he wasn’t going to say no completely. There were ground rules, obviously. I might not actually get to talk to him, he was dangerous, and he needed to be interrogated first. Because, “Being the child genius of a genius isn’t enough to keep you from getting hurt, junior. Take it from someone who knows.” But Dad (knowingly or not) had left a bit of a loophole. He hadn’t banned wandering around the facility. I hadn’t intended to go wandering off, really, but after watching Dad work fruitlessly to talk Steve around, I needed a break.

So, yeah. I hadn’t really needed the restroom, but I had needed a “rest”, so I wasn’t lying all that much. And when I found out that I’d managed to get lost on the return trip I figured Dad wouldn’t tell me off . . . too much. Besides, I did have a legitimate excuse. Being lost had it’s pros.

But then I heard the sound of someone shouting, pleading, begging. Shivers run up my spine. Sure, to a point, government facilities are supposed to be intimidating. But this seems a bit much. So, of course, I make my way towards the source of the sound. A door on my left, a little way down the hall. Suddenly the lights went out, and I’m plunged into darkness. For the first time I feel a stab of fear shooting through me. Ahead and behind me, I hear mechanisms sliding into place. An automated voice crackles over unseen speakers. “Block 7A is on lockdown to prevent the escape of the Winter Soldier.” I’m not sure, but something in the back of my mind tells me I’m in Block 7A.

In the dark, there’s only one door whose position I can be sure of, and that’s the one directly in front of me. The one with the screaming.

Taking a deep breath, I pull a bobby pin from my hair and as quickly as I can without seeing anything, I feel my way to the lock and pick it. Cracking the door open a little, I peek through. The eerie glow of the backup lighting lit the room, so I can see the psychiatrist who had been hired to interrogate Bucky. Doctor Theo Broussard. Bucky himself is in the containment cell in the centre and the pleas are coming from him. Broussard circles the box reading from a red book with a black star emblazoned on the cover. . . My blood turns to ice as I recognise the book and hear the words he’s saying. “Nine . . . Kind-hearted . . .” The Winter Soldier’s trigger words. Bucky is begging him to stop. Fighting for control of his own body.

Without even thinking, I charge into the room and fling myself at Broussard. The adrenaline and fear pounding in my ears prevents me from hearing anything, but I see everything in stark clarity. The book falls to the floor and Broussard pushes me away before grabbing the gun from the holster at his waist. I lunge forward, forcing the gun out of my face. There’s a loud bang that I feel rather than hear, and I hazily acknowledge the hole in my hand, before wrenching the gun away from Broussard with my good hand. Gripping it by the barrel, I slam the grip down on his temple and he slumps over.

I drop the gun and stumble to my feet. I suddenly feel the stabbing pain where the bullet meant for my head went through my hand, and I grimace. “Shit!” I grip my wrist as a sloppy substitute for a tourniquet and try to remember where I’d put my inhaler as my breathing starts to get ragged.

Then I realise that Bucky’s sobbing has stopped. In fact, I can’t hear a single sound from behind me.

I spin around as the lights flicker back on. The jamming signal must have died. In the corner of my eye, a red light blinks into existence on a camera. But I’m not looking at that. I’m staring at the figure standing just outside the containment cell, with the cell door itself broken and tossed over to one side.

It’s not Bucky any more, I can tell that immediately. This man screams danger from every pore. I can almost smell the gun-powder and blood emanating off him.

He turns slowly to look at me. Icy, cold eyes seeing me without seeing me.

My heart stops. Had Broussard given him any commands before he passed out? Is he going to kill me? Holy shit. I’ve only just found my dad. I’ve nearly finished my undergraduate degree in psychology. I’ve only just found my place in this world. I’m only twenty and I’m going to die.

He starts walking towards me.

But I know everything there is to know about the Winter Soldier. I just need to remember his commands. “Think, Stark! THINK!” My mind screams at me as he gets closer and closer and I’m slowly losing my ability to breathe.

The metal hand is nearly at my throat when I remember.

I draw myself up tall, mustering my strongest voice. “Override order, Lupis. Stand down, Soldier!” My wheezing snagged on the words as they escaped and my voice cracked on the last syllable, but I keep my shoulders back and my head held high. I summon all of my courage. If I’m going to die, I’m going to be brave. I won’t struggle, it’ll be quick. That way it won’t be messy. When Barnes comes back to himself, he won’t have to deal with too much pain. Steve won’t have to see the worst of what his best friend is capable of. Dad can tell himself I’m just sleeping . . .

Be brave for Dad. For Uncle Rhodey. For my new family. Be brave for myself.

He stops.

My eyes widen as I watch the emotions flashing across his face, and just that tells me he’s not the Winter Soldier any more. He’s James Buchanan Barnes. Gasping and shaking, he puts a hand on the containment cell to steady himself. He’s Bucky again.

Relief floods me.

I double over, still wheezing violently. My head is getting dizzy. So dizzy it’s starting to hurt. I feel the first inkling of panic. Oh, Jesus. I’m going to survive the deadliest assassin in history, only to die of an asthma attack. How could I lose my inhaler? I vaguely register a pain in my knees as my wobbly knees give up on me. Black creeps into the edges of my vision. I start to topple.

String hands grip my arms and keep me upright. Words are spoken to my ears and I have to fight to hear them. “Breathe deeply. All the way in, and slowly out.” The voice is kind, though a bit shaky, and I do try to do what he said, but my mind is in a panic. I know I need to control my breathing, but it’s like I’m not even in control of my own body any more. I feel the tears rolling down my face, but I can’t do anything to wipe them away. I feel myself hyperventilating, but I’m powerless to stop it. I let out a keening sound of terror, panic, and frustration as I struggle with myself. The voice mutters quietly what sounds like, “Oh, not asthma anymore,” and I feel firm arms pull me into a warm hug. “You’re okay.”

There’s a loud crash of a door opening and I hear Dad yelling. The nice voice quickly cuts him off. “Do you have her inhaler?” Dad pulls up short before answering. “Of course, I always carry a spare.” He almost sounds offended. Almost. I feel the plastic of the inhaler nudged against my mouth. “Here, breathe in.” There’s a hiss, and I feel the albuterol hit the back of my throat. Slowly my breathing relaxes.

Dad takes it as a cue to wrench me away from the nice voice and into a bone crushing hug. I move slowly to return the hug, scared to get blood on his expensive suit, but something tells me that’s the least of his worries.

I feel wet on my ear and realise he’s crying. I squeeze him harder when I notice he’s shaking.

(So, this might be a chapter one, I kind of like this universe and I’ve already started writing some more. So, whatever.)

#DJ's Random Blog #Tony stark is a dad #Bucky barnes and the winter soldier #Psychology #Marvel #OC #Ellison Stark is everything I aspire to be #including Tony Stark's daughter

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