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backupblogforjg · 2 years

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We can love the person he has turned out to be without whitewashing the crappy things he has done

Guys, I know Darius is cool, but can we please stop victim-blaming Hunter and acting like the way even the good adults in his life treated him is NBD?

‘Cause I keep seeing a lot of “okay Darius was mean to Hunter at first, but Hunter was a brat who got the job because of nepotism, so...” comments.

And look, I really think people in general are hugely underestimating just how badly Hunter was screwed over not just by Belos but by *ALL* the adults around him.

1) Let’s start by establishing something first: Hunter was never a brat to anybody in the castle.

Now, to be clear, even IF Hunter had been a brat, people 30 years older than him should still have not made his bad situation worse. If there are two people, and one of them is an adult while the other is a kid, the adult is supposed to keep their cool even if the kid acts out. You can punch up but you can’t punch down.

But that point is moot because all the evidence we have points at Hunter being a little nerd who adored the adults around him and was desperate to please them.

Exhibit #1: Dana’s official art, where Hunter freaks out over being slightly less overworked because it will make Lilith hate him. Even with the mask, you can tell he has a frantic expression.

Exhibit #2: the Hunter’s Palisman Observation stream, when Hunter has a question and is looking for an answer, he reaches out to the Coven Heads to ask them. He sees them as wise and knowledgeable, and wants to learn from them. That makes it extra hurtful that “Darius ignored me, as per usual. Eberwolf hissed at me, also as per usual.”

Exhibit #3: in ASIAS, we learn that Hunter genuinely loves rules and authority. Does that sound like somebody who’d disrespect an adult in charge?

Exhibit #4: pretty much the entirety of ASIAS. The whole reason Hunter went to Hexside is because an adult who technically ranks below him gave him an order.

There is a grand total of TWO examples in the series where Hunter talks back to an adult.

The first one is when he sees Kikimora again after she tried to murder him.

Note that he never tells Belos what she did, even though he didn’t realise that she had recognised him by his burnt hair, so he thought that she had actually bought his “travellers found me” story and wouldn’t be able to respond to his accusations with any of her own. He could have easily thrown her under the bus, and actively chose not to, even after she almost killed him.

The second one is in ASIAS, where an angry Hunter confronts the Coven Heads after they rescheduled the meeting behind his back, right after they physically pushed him aside hard enough to almost make him fall and walked away smirking at his misery.

Note that, immediately after, he looks like this. Arguing with the Coven Heads makes him miserable. He doesn’t want to fight them. He’d much rather ask “how high” when they say “jump.” But they still casually assault him.

They all knew that Belos had given him the order to leads the meeting. And they knew that Belos is a control freak who is infamous for his lack of mercy. They knew that Belos would see their decision to reschedule as Hunter’s fault, even though they did it behind his back.

If you think he was being arrogant or whatever here, I want you to look me straight in the eyes and tell me that if your coworkers screwed you over in front of your infamously vicious boss and walked away smirking while pretending they can’t see you and literally pushing you around, you would totally keep your cool.

2) The nepotism excuse also doesn’t work.

Nepotism is supposed to make your life easier.

Hunter is a child covered in scars with huge eyebags and absolutely no social life whatsoever who rolls over and shows his neck the second an authority figure expresses any displeasure with him.

It’s plain to see that getting Belos’ “special treatment” is harming him.

Hunter eventually does pull out the “Belos’ nephew” card, in an attempt to get Darius to back off.

But by this point, he:

- knows he has disappointed Belos, something that he fears more than death (as per Eclipse Lake)

- has been assaulted by the other Coven Heads...

- ...who added insult to injury by pretending they couldn’t see him, really rubbing it in that they find him worthless

- and then Darius, a man twice his size and thrice his age, grabbed him, spun him around, and stole his clothes

Tl:dr: Hunter is not acting entitled here, he is acting *cornered*. He is lashing out because he is scared, and like any scared kid he is calling out to his “dad.”

And the moment Darius tells him that he has to earn his position as Golden Guard, Hunter immediately agrees to do anything. There is no entitlement there, only a desperate desire to be good enough.

3) On the Boiling Isles, a half-a-witch is at best a social outcast and at worst a target.

For starters, a half-a-witch can’t get an education. You have to be able to perform spells to be allowed to go to school.

Granted this is for Amity’s advanced class, but the idea is that you have to get there eventually, even if it takes you much longer than the gifted students. In order to go to Hexside, you must at least have the potential to use magic.

Before Luz came into the scene, glyphs were a forbidden knowledge that had been lost for hundreds of years. Add in that palismen are close to extinction, and there is simply no way for a half-a-witch to do magic.

So, you can’t go to school. But can you at least get a job?

Ah. No.

Eda gets robbed in public by an officer of the law, in plain view of a huge crowd, and their reaction boils down to “sucks to be powerless.”

A half-a-witch essentially has no rights. They are not treated as citizens. It’s completely legal to ban them from essential functions and to refuse them pay for their labor.

If Eda had not found the Selkiedomus’ treasure, she and her family would have starved.

The discrimination against magicless creatures is so bad that even Hooty, arguably the nicest character in the show, still expresses scorn for them.

Hunter wasn’t exaggerating in the slightest here.

Being magicless is basically the BI equivalent of being disabled in a society that actively favours eugenics.

4) So, what did Darius do that was so bad?

Now, before anybody takes this post as Darius bashing, I want to bring up why he did it.

- Darius was clearly traumatised by the death of his mentor...

- ...who not only died, but also died in circumstances that must have been highly suspicious at best, so that Darius never even got proper closure and has been living with that open wound for years...

- ...in addition to the fact that Darius is extremely protecting of his loved ones, so that he must have felt the urge to protect the memory and legacy of his mentor...

- ...and that’s made ten times more painful if the replacement, who acts like the antithesis of everything his beloved mentor stood for, looks almost exactly like his mentor.

Can you imagine the grief is somebody you love with all your heart dies, and then some time later they appear to come back as an insult to everything they were?

So, I’m not denying that Darius had his own reasons here, nor am I arguing that he is a terrible person.

In case you don’t know, I like Darius so much I wrote a meta titled “Why Darius is a much better person than Fandom gives him credit for.” I like the guy, okay?

Nevertheless, he almost caused irreparable damage.

One of the reasons Hunter is so desperately loyal to Belos, is that Belos is the only one who never looked down on him for his lack of magic.

Now of course the bitter irony here is that Belos is racist against witches.

But Hunter didn’t know that.

All Hunter knew was that every person he ever met thought he was worthless for the way he was born, *except* for Belos, who said he was special.

And what does Darius do? He goes and reinforces Hunter’s belief that nobody but Belos will ever accept him.

Now, we know that Darius wasn’t really talking about magic there. We don’t know if all grimwalkers lack magic or just Hunter, but either way, later context clues indicate that he was talking about “strength of heart” or something like that.

Nevertheless, he most definitely came across like he was saying that Hunter has no place in the EC because he has no magic.

And Darius is not stupid. He had to know what he sounded like. And he didn’t bother correcting Hunter’s assumption, let him believe that the problem with him were the circumstances of his birth.

Why did Hunter befriend the Emerald Entrails? Because he accidentally stepped on a griffon’s tail. It was sheer dumb luck. If Hunter had put his foot a couple of inches aside, he never would have met Willow.

If not for a single stroke of extraordinarily unlikely good luck, Hunter would have gone back to the castle more convinced than ever that Belos was the only person in the world who could ever give a damn about him, the only one Hunter could ever love and trust.

Darius’ words would have driven him even further into the grasp of his abuser.

This is on top of the fact that Hunter canonically reaches out many times to Darius and Eberwolf over the years, and they always responded by giving him the silent treatment. Again, “Darius ignored me as per usual, Eberwolf hissed at me also as per usual.” How can they blame him for being an ignorant fanatic, if they have systematically rebuffed any and all of his attempts to talk to the only people in the castle who are not Belos’ stooges?

And on top of the fact that “you always do as you are told” is one hell of a line to give a kid *who gets blades thrown at his face* if he says a single word Belos doesn’t like. Hunter’s devotion to Belos is also his shield from violent beatings. If Hunter ever acted “rebellious” to Belos, Belos wouldn’t just send him to his room without dinner.

5) Has Darius changed?

Duh.

6) So what’s the problem?

Remember when people were like “Amity is doing right by Willow now, but she still needs to apologise”?

And when people were like “Alador has finally started walking in the right direction towards eventually becoming a decent father for his kids, but the first step was admitting that he treated them horribly”?

As far as I know, nobody was like “Amity is cool now so there is no need for her to say sorry to Willow, and Willow kind of sucked anyway” or like “Alador is cool now so wtf does Amity have to bitch about and move his hand away, just hug it out and ignore the past”?

What this whole tl;dr essay boils down to, is that S3 needs to have a scene where the good adults in Hunter’s life acknowledge that they did him dirty, without excuses and without victim blaming.

That’s all.

#toh #the owl house #toh darius #darius deamonne #toh hunter #golden guard #hunter wittebane #hunter deamonne #eberwolf the huntsman #lilith clawthorne

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ravenkinnie · 3 years

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TW: Drugs, substance abuse, murder, violence, the Punisher

Another potentially unpopular opinion I've seen on here (and one that I'll actually rant about) is that, Jason is the only good vigilante in the Batfam because he kills people (think the direct quote is "unlike those other feckless bitches" and something like "when you get saved by Red Hood, you know that you'll never have to worry about getting attacked by the same person again". I don't know how to explain to people that killing the type of criminals Jason killed in canon is wrong and harmful (thinking about the 80 Blackgate prisoners he poisoned - hmm you know the American prison system is pretty fucked up i'm sure they all totally belonged there /s). Like. Jason killing the Joker is one thing, but he literally hasn't killed the Joker - Dick did that, Bruce tried to, but Jason hasn't. But like some people make it out like oh, Jason being a killer is fine because he only kills people that deserve it - who, tell me who he's killing? Sex offenders and drug dealers seems to be the most common reply. And I won't touch the sex offenders but drug dealers? Have you heard of the War on Drugs? Have you seen what happens when people in power decide it's okay to openly promote the killing of drug dealers? I don't understand why people think it's fine for Jason Todd to go around killing drug dealers, as if they don't have families, don't have other things that put them in a bad situation. There's a reason why cops in the US (idk if they do this elsewhere) use the Punisher skull as their emblem - and if you advocate for a Jason Todd that punishes criminals, don't be surprised when the right wing weaponizes him against minorities and the red hood helmet starts to get painted on cop cars.

I wrote a paper on the Norwegian prison system which rehabilitates and releases even the "worst" of criminals and just... I live in the US and it seems like we (specifically white people) have such little compassion for anyone who commits crime. Even after the War on Drugs, even after we learned it was a scam, people fall for the crime and punishment rhetoric time after time. Like I live in a suburb where people are so scared of drug dealers my mom literally called our neighbor because someone cut through our yard (and she thought he looked high or something idk). Which I get it, my cousin died from a fentanyl overdose, I understand you don't want that near your kids. But incarcerating or killing drug dealers is not the answer, and I can't stand it when people take that stance on Jason. You can try to explain the 8 drug dealer heads in a duffle bag any way you want, but at the end of the day, I think the batfamily fandom needs to be more careful addressing this issue because demonizing drugs/drug dealers/drug users is literally one of the ways the American government destroys black communities.

And to think, the Jason Todd stan that this opinion came from replied to me because I commented on how Jason likes to run around in Dick's old clothes - something that has absolutely no bearing on his morals, other than he's thrifty which is a good thing actually, something like 85% of clothes ends up in landfills. Sorry for the rant, you asked for it. Sorry if anyone who sees this likes Jason Todd and is offended, you're not bad for liking him, he has an interesting story, just please don't advocate for murdering common criminals, specifically drug dealers.

AAAHHH NOO BUT IVE SEEN SOME OF MY MOOTS DISCUSS THIS BEFORE

sorry it's late and fucking hot I don't have the most comprehensive reply dbdnhd and I do acknowledge that at the end of the day this is fiction but opinions real people hold come from SOMEWHERE - and I think we have a very ingrained belief that crime/bad deed has to be punished and that there are good and evil people and good people only do bad things when influenced by evil people which is exactly the core of jason's belief - and that's interesting for a batfam character, a former robin!! I like when him and bruce are contrasted based on ethics but I don't like when it's meant to show that jason is right and bruce is wrong

batman is an extremely popular and fascinating character because at his core lies the idea that systems that are in place to 'protect' people are corrupt and it's down to individuals who can do something to go against them and look out for others - that's something that will resonate with people even if irl solution can't be to dress up as a bat and beat tf outta people shdhhshs

I have two points to make here:

a) I'm straight up a fucking anarchist who lives in the woods, thinks aliens are listening, and doesn't trust the government but I don't believe systems are corrupt, I believe they operate the way they are meant to operate to punish and control the populations that the system needs to be controlled to keep up the status quo - war on drugs is such a good example for that. drug dealer also exists as this boogeyman, this idea of an evil person waiting to corrupt and destroy the good people but the fact is: people don't get addicted to drugs bc drug dealers exist, people get addicted to drugs because something, not someone, compels them to do drugs, because something (literal us gov) introduced drugs to their communities and drug dealers are just tiny pawns in that game. additionally, many dealers are addicts themselves who got roped into selling to pay for their own use or who got pushed into the margins of society so much that drug trade is the only way to survive they can find

there are like, whole papers and books and thesis done on this so I'm not gonna act like I can analyse it in a tumblr post dhshsjsj but yeah people who think jason is right usually show this weird superiority of 'oh batman doesnt get how to fix gotham like jason does' and like... no, jason gets played like a fiddle by the system the way people he kills do, and whatever he does will always just hit the other pawns and never reach those actually at the top, those who are profitting from finding scapegoats

and like, batman comics don't have to address that bc it's comics, you can write small lmao but don't argue that jason is somehow more enlightened than bruce for killing

b) this brings a question of, if we decide that there has to be punishment for every crime, who gets to decide what punishment is right for what crime? cause there's not a single person who's infallible enough to dictate what the best approach is in every situation

and batman works best as a traumatised man who's loves his city sm he tries to work however he can to protect people from corrupt systems and offer them second chances wherever he can bc that's who batman is at his core - batman is not a punisher he is a protector and he should never be pushed into a role of the punisher bc he's not edgy enough

also bitches are so hard acting like they would kill every villain cause rip to batman but I'm different, y'all are too scared to tell the waitress your order is wrong shut the fuck up lmao the closest any of y'all have been to being batman is getting your ass beat behind the club on a saturday by brenda in her boohoo jumpsuit

#asks #drugs tw #long post

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prince-liest · 3 years

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fic writer interview!

How many works do you have on AO3?

37, though another one is going up tomorrow because haunted AO3 hours started and I don't want to post it in the middle of the night on a Monday. Also like 4 or 5 more in reserve from zines/bangs. I'm kinda impressed with myself, but also, side-eyeing y'all with fic counts in the 100s. Phenomenal. Effervescent.

What's your total AO3 word count?

257,246

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

In chronological order of first fic on AO3: Percy Jackson, Soul Eater, Steven Universe, My Hero Academia, Dragalia Lost, Avater: the Last Airbender, the Witcher, and Genshin Impact! That's 7 fandoms and I'm not counting Homestuck (I only wrote OC stuff) or D&D (same thing).

I also have works from Axis Powers: Hetalia and Katekyo Hitman Reborn! on Fanfiction dot hell that none of you will ever see. I definitely posted and deleted a Twilight OC fic once.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Dish Duty | ATLA

The Sword of Damocles is Swinging | MHA

The Ancient Art of Jerkbending | ATLA

Dishabille | MHA

Summer Break | MHA

ATLA is a powerful fandom so I'm not surprised both my ATLA fics made top five. Dishabille's popularity continues to pleasantly surprise me. Damocles is only surprising because it isn't first. I am so proud of Summer Break and that entire Shinsou series, I'm glad it made top 5 and is gonna break 1k kudos soon. <3

(Now get Dog-Tired up there, I fucking love that story. q^q)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

To quote Mido: I do, but not consistently. Q^Q I read them all and I really want to reply to them all, but I very frequently simply to not have the energy. I have it posted on my AO3 profile, though, so hopefully it doesn't hurt anyone's feelings... I have recently been trying to at least answer all new incoming comments and not let the backlog increase! (That said, the backlog is over 100.)

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don't tend to do angsty endings (I am a hard lover of angst with a happy ending), but I've written some questionable and bittersweet ones. I think arguably the best contendor for angstiest ending is probably Kindred Spirit. I wrote it to low key revenge myself on @thegc4life for insisting that Shinsou gets a hug (he does! technically!) and it certainly ended ominously.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

As much as I love "Edward Elric gets transported into X universe and proceeds to kick everyone's ass" crossovers, I don't relaly write any. I do enjoy full transplant AUs, though, and the one I recently posted on AO3 is an MHA-at-Hogwards AU called the Birds and the Mares that I wrote for the HP/BNHA Zine!

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Deeeeepends on what you mean by 'hate.' :X has gotten two comments (one much politer than the other, haha) complaining about my use of the r-slur in Shinsou's internal narrative in one of the chapters, but one person backpedaled and said they understood the purpose of it while the other (more vehement) one never replied to my explanation. That's all, though!

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yeah. It's never going on my main AO3 (and the one time it did, I orphaned the fic). I have a side account I might post it on once I get over the fact that people who know me also know about the account. It's all 100% PWP of stuff I personally am into, and I have a very specific set of things I'm into, so... idk, feels a little personal! ^^"

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, but I've had people adopt general concepts I used (fabulous!) and steal my RP OCs back in ye olde fantroll days (not at all fabulous! incredibly hurtful, actually). I am vehemently opposed to plagiarism, even of concepts. It feels so gross.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone in the comments mentioned that they are translating Bloodied Hound into Russian and I am SO EXCITED. I desperately want to read it. Of all the languages, it happened to be the only other one I'm decently literate in! I also want to show my grandparents. I really hope the person follows through. <3

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I've roleplayed a lot, but I can't see myself ever co-writing a fic. I'm not even sure how it works, to be honest!

What’s your all time favourite ship?

Urgh. Pass. I can't pick one. Perils of a multishipper.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I was going to proudly say "I never post things I don't plan on finishing!" but in reality that is a lie, because Falling Down A Rabbit Hole exists from back in 2015 and is in fact the reason I made that rule for myself. ^^" Honestly, what's there still holds up, but the reality is that I didn't actually come up with a plot, so there's nowhere for it to go.

What are your writing strengths?

Interesting/relatable/funny dialogue, and also writing feelings in a 'show, don't tell!' kind of way that leaves strong impressions with people!

What are your writing weaknesses?

Plotting out long stories with good pacing! People thought Damocles had a plot, apparently? Joke's on you, it was a series of "I wanna see this happen" scenarios that I made Hawks suffer through and subsequently strung together like a haphazard multicolor plastic bead necklace that I told everyone was actually pearls.

That's why all my stories after Damocles are either short or split into a series. Shinsou's Bad Days is my attempt at proper pacing, hence it being so episodic.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I'll do it if I know the language well enough (so, Russian and ASL, I don't trust my casual Japanese), but I'm generally a stickler for making things come off naturally, so I otherwise will instead try to find the closest tonal equivalent in English (such as having Childe call Zhongli "professor" instead of "xiansheng"). Sometimes there just isn't one (like Kazuha calling Beidou 'big sis' but in a way that doesn't sound kiddish and overly casual for him), though, which sucks. :( Language is cool!

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

T. Twilight. QUQ I wish that fic still existed, it was like a single chapter of two multicolored hair OCs befriending Alice Cullen and being cool. I deleted it but I SHOULDN'T HAVE. IT WAS HISTORY.

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

This totally changes with each new slew of fics I post. I think currently it is Dog-Tired because despite being unsatisfied with the title, I think the story itself turned out amazing. I also am extremely happy with the entire Shinsou's Bad Days series (including upcoming installments).

Tagged by: @touchmycoat (THANK U LOVE <3)

Tagging: anyone who's read this far, LOL. seriously, though, I have a lot of writer moots and I don't have the time to tag them all but PLEASE do this and tag me so I can read it if you are so inclined! <3

#personal #tag memes #my writing

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lockawayknight · 4 years

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collateral damage | ringleader (interlude i) | creighton, navlaan | 1944

a mean lil vignette for a discord thread with @mildmcnnered :0c 💕!!

“Well hello, Creighton. Been a while, hasn’t it?”

Creighton is familiar enough with the nuance between the man’s voices to know that this is the wrong one.

He’s shocked, really, to know he’s apparently human enough to speak to the true man behind the fog given all these hours’ events. On any other day, he’d consider this a blessing — an idiomatic and literal cutting out of the middleman — but today...

Well, today’s been a hell of a day.

A sad, frustrated sigh leaves the knight as he pulls the body he drags behind him closer to the fog wall — close enough so the thing within the man behind it can see. “M’not ‘ere t’see you, Navi,” Creighton says, sobered and dark. “Let me talk to him.”

With that, Creighton hoists the body of the still-thrashing guildmaster forward, dropping him in a pitiful pile at the foot of the churning gate. It elicits a flinch from the figure behind the wall — a covering of the ears; a shrinking back as if revolted. “N-no, no,” the sorcerer pleads, turning away in horror. “Creighton, you promised me it would be over after the last!”

“Something’s come up, Nav,” Creighton replies, painfully matter-of-fact, far too exhausted for his voice to be anything other than that of the grave axe murderer within him. “Don’t make this harder on yourself than it needs to be. Let me speak to the Master.”

“Creighton, please.”

“Now, Navlaan.”

There’s a beat as the figure behind the fog lowers his head into his hands, shuddering as if weeping — and perhaps he is. “You promised...” he bitterly echoes. “You promised me, as a friend — you called me your friend...

“...How sad this is.”

There’s the voice Creighton’s looking for.

Setting one foot on the shoulder of the writhing body beneath him, Creighton leans forward. “I need to ask a favour of you,” he says in a murderous half-growl.

Navlaan chuckles to that, the vessel’s loving soul now fully obscured beneath the cruelness’ veil. “You’re breaking his heart, don’t you know?” the monster within says, maliciously amused. “Oh, how much faith my foolish vessel had in you — in your little promise to behave...”

Creighton knew he’d have to talk around a few riddles and insults in order for this to work. He pays no mind to it. He’s sure the Master can tell he feels horridly remorseful for what he’s doing right now — doing to Navlaan, that is — and will rub his nose in it until he’s satisfied with Creighton’s own pain. Knowing this, and prepared to face the consequences, Creighton ignores the words completely. “Pate’s been taken prisoner by this man,” he says, giving the body before him a hard stomp — a sharp cry muffled into the cloth that gags him as something cracks. The man behind the fog flinches, then snickers again — a rapid switching of the entity that fronts the amalgam. “He refuses to tell me where he is,” Creighton then continues, “so I need your help.”

Navlaan’s chuckle grows louder, his body twitching painfully as the vessel forces their head to turn away — to keep his head in his hands against his Master’s will. Still, the voice that comes out is that of the torturer that keeps the body trembling. “Ah, birds of a feather, as they say, hm? A murderer seeks another of its flock...?”

“Mm.” There’s no use in pretending. The demon will call any bluff. Creighton simply agrees. “You know how to track bastards with red phantom magic, don’t you?”

“Well, of course I do.”

“Then that’s what I n—”

“Oh, but it’s been a dreadfully long time, sweet knight. The gears ought to be greased a bit first, don’t you think?”

“I already ‘ave an offer.”

That gets the Master and vessel both to lift his head, just the slightest bit — the slightest glance. “... Is that so.”

“Mm.”

The body writhes, and so does the man behind the fog — trembling, twitching, muscles arguing with electrical, ephemeral impulse. Eventually, something clicks within his flesh, and he sighs long and relieved, as if a battle had just been won. And it has. Behind the churning grey, Navlaan sits up straight, and folds his hands in his lap, a cruel smile painting his pale blue cheeks. “Well. Consider my interest piqued.”

Creighton wastes no time. “Your vessel refuses to kill, but you miss the pleasure of it all. You’ve said tha’ before t’me, ‘aven’t you?”

A gentle nod, smile never faltering. “Go on, dear.”

Creighton gives the body below him another stomp — another muffled wail, another drool-drenched groan. “He is my offer,” the knight says, shadowed blue eyes reading a cruel emptiness that rivals even the Master’s. “Whatever you wanna do to him.”

The vessel’s throat lets out a hum as the Master within considers the implications here — the offer, the price, what he does and does not want. Regretfully, though tempted as he is, he’s forced to sigh in refusal. “My vessel will no longer kill for me, even if I hold his hand.” He says this with a wiggle of Navlaan’s fingers. “So your offer at the moment is, unfortunately, moot.”

“I’ll be doin’ the maimin’,” Creighton responds flatly. “Whatever y’want. However slow y’want. You can feast your bloody eyes. Jus’ tell me where to find Pate.”

Another pause for thought, then the Master’s chuckle taints the vessel’s chords again. “You never fail to surprise me, sweet knight…”

The body writhes. Creighton stomps. “I’m on a time limit, Navlaan,” he says firmly. “Do we ‘ave a deal or not?”

Pause — silence. Black-gloved fingertips tap together in thought, then shift to a pale blue chin in decision. “Hm. Break his forearm.”

Unhesitatingly, fluid in motion like a dancer’s arabesque, Creighton twists the body below him and gives his right forearm a hard stomp.

Bone crunches. Another yell is muffled. The sorcerer twitches with a yelp, terrified and cowering, then breaks into a laugh that could only be described as evil. “You’re quite serious about this, aren’t you!” he cries out, amused.

“I don’t faff the fuck about when Pate’s life is on the line,” Creighton responds in a manic crescendo, his volume increasing with the adrenaline of torture. “Now decide.”

“Ah-ah-ah, Creighton,” the Master says with the wag of a finger, “remember that you came to me. Do not rush my decision, now, hm?”

Twitching with impatience, Creighton waits.

Eventually, the spectre beneath the sorcerer has itself an idea, and the vessel grins in response. “Here’s the thing, sweet knight,” he says plainly, lacing and unlacing fingers playfully — or perhaps anxiously. “My foolish vessel was so happy to know you’d sworn off our little contracts. How sad he is to know you’ve gone and betrayed him — you, his only friend…” Pause. “So here is my proposal: I accept your offer... but I want my vessel to watch.”

Behind his mask, Creighton’s lips twitch into a sombre frown, but he remains still and calm. His social inner puppy is whimpering at the thought of hurting one of his dearest friends so viscerally — one who already suffers enough — but he can’t feel bad. He can’t. Not when Pate’s life is at stake. Not when finding him is so close... “S’that all?”

The comment falls on the wrong ears, and the sorcerer sniffles. “Bastard, you said—”

“I’ave my reasons, Navlaan,” Creighton scolds, making the vessel flinch once more. “I...” Inhale, exhale. “It’s... up to your Master whether you ever get to know ‘em.”

Sadly, the man behind the fog looks away.

Pause.

Then, “Break his other forearm.”

Creighton does as instructed. A breath, a scream, a flinch, a horrified voice from behind waves of blue — “Creighton, stop, please!”

“I can’t!” the knight cries back, grinding his heel into the body below him’s cracked arm. “What next?!”

“Please st—!! S-s-shh-shatter his knees.”

He does as instructed. The body can hardly writhe anymore — has started laughing, even, in his misery. It only pisses Creighton off more — upsets the vessel, pleases the Master.

But the vessel’s voice cuts through the din of silence. “Why are you doing this...?!”

“I have my reasons.”

“Why do you hate me...?”

Pause. “...I know it’s you.”

A cruel chuckle. “Drat — thought that would work...”

“Now what?”

The smile returns, though the vessel trembles in agony. “What else is there left to do, Creighton? Kill him. Let us watch.”

A beat. Creighton shakes his head, his heel pressing the man’s face into the ground. “No,” he says firmly. “You uphold your end a’ the bargain first, mate. I assure you, I want this slimy rat dead more than anyone. But if he dies, he’ll wake back at that bloody bonfire, unbound, an’ I’ll’ave no way of stoppin’ him ‘fore he gets to Pate.”

The grin on the vessel’s pained face widens. “You’ve really thought this out, haven’t you...?” he teases.

But again, Creighton ignores it. “Tell me where Pate is.”

“Stomp, right there.”

He does as instructed. Blood and chipped teeth scatter. The vessel groans in bitter betrayal, “You’re a fucking monster...”

“I’m sorry.”

Crimson slowly seeps under the fog gate. The vessel pulls up his heels, as if touching it would burn. But toes soon tap the floor playfully once more as that wretched smile and hum return. “You’ve been good to me, Creighton,” the Master says through cracking chords. “When have I ever let you down? Come now, kill him; you can trust me—”

“I do trust you,” Creighton says, grinding his heel into the man’s cheek. “I trust you to not lie. My entire fuckin’ heart weighs on this, Navlaan. I trust you more than I should.”

“...Hmph. Fair enough. Then kill him.”

“Tell me where Pate is first.”

“Stubborn little man...”

“I need to know now so I can get there before this bastard does.”

A pause to think. Fingers and toes tap. Bone crunches and crunches and crunches — anxious fiddling with this body like a toy, like a doll with frayed seams and missing button eyes.

Soon, the hooded figure behind the fog lowers his head, fingers templed, and he hums, hums, hums — taps his index fingers together, drags toes through the blood on the floor. Then...

“The Crypt,” he states confidently, finally giving Creighton what he wants. “That dour place below Drangleic Castle — the dark one, where the grave wardens lie. There’s a hidden chamber there where thieves gather. You’ll find it if you follow the torchlight.” Pause. Grin. “And now...?”

And now... it’s Creighton’s turn.

He got all that he needs, and though his heart aches for what he’s about to do — for his friend’s sake, and the sake of his broken promise — he shows no hesitation or mercy as he draws his axe for an execution.

Bloodied amber eyes glance up, saccadic as Creighton raises his axe, but the blade descends before any sort of sound can be made from the target of the room’s every ire.

From behind the curtain of fog, the sorcerer cries out in distressed betrayal, but Creighton has no time to apologise any more. Rushing now, adrenalized beyond belief, the knight kicks the severed head through the gate of fog as offering before it fades to umbral ash, drawing a homeward bone from his pocket and kneeling to whisk himself away.

The Master’s vile imitation of Navlaan’s voice follows him for a split second — a laugh, and a cruel, “Ta-ta, Creighton.”

Then the knight is gone from the Keep, and the vessel collapses into sobs.

#drabbles #mildmcnnered #creighton [muse]#navlaan [muse]#argh i love writing navi but hghhghghghghghhhhh #enjoy Suffering my friends and pals #add me on discord for more threads that wind up In Places Like This #jhgdkfjs

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symphonyofthewrite · 4 years

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If These Walls Could Talk (Ch6)

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Notes:

Please note!! This chapter is meant to have aesthetic indententaion in some places, and it definitly loses something without it. So if you want to read it as-intended, please look it at on Archiveofourown at I_prefer_the_term_antihero on your computer or tablet!!

FYI for anyone who’s been following the story here ( @symphonyofthewrite ) this is currently the most recent chapter!!

A HUGE thank you if you have, by the way!!!! 😘

If you can comment and/or reblog as well that would make my week!!!

Chapter Summary:

“Do you see the Castle?” “Take a look.” “Good. Keep Focused on it. I have to be able to see it to put my intent on it.” “Your intent?” “That’s all magic is, Alucard. Changing things in accordance with my intent. “And my intent is to drag that grotesque thing here.”

Chapter 6: "Burn"

Castlevania doesn’t like being controlled.

Does not answer to anyone but Dracula. However reluctant it may be to obey certain orders, it will always do what its master wishes. It isn’t sure it wants this war, to be an instrument of this war, but it will be damned if it doesn’t fight for him.

Its most base instinct and desire has always been to protect its master. That’s what it was at the beginning; just a shield. Not a home, or a haven, or a cozy place to raise one’s kids. It didn’t always have wants and musings of its own. Once it was just walls. Walls there to keep out the elements—both the cold, and the hot—not to mention the mobs. Once it was just walls; before someone started talking to them. Even if it can’t be a sword in this war, it will always be its master’s shield.

So when it feels intent creep in with jagged, electric claws from all sides, pulling, dragging it somewhere unknown where its master didn’t tell it to go, wrapping around its motor functions with blue-hot fingers—too much like the hand around the Rooms throat—a command that doesn’t belong to its master, it must not, will not obey. Dracula said to stay put, and whether here is a good place to be; whether he was coerced into placing Castlevania there for the sake of a little silence; and if Dracula is in his right mind, are moot points, because it was Dracula who said it.

There has been too much pain, too much betrayal, too many silver words, too many other voices trying to sway Dracula, and too many times the Castle wanted to beg its master to listen, listen closer, unable to do a thing to stop the collapse they set in motion.

Today, today has been too much. Carmilla’s parasitic rhythm fulfilled. Even now, battering rams against the door—but this time it is the vampires, not the humans, who want to tear its king from its throne, the thumping of heavy hearts against the door, and there is nothing Castlevania can do but sit there and hope its door is strong enough.

Her soldiers, a swarm of bees after their queen, and the buzzing is far too loud in its halls, louder than its ever been. The Castle is overwhelmed, so when this other force grasps Castlevania itself, as if molesting it, it is too much to bear. Castlevania isn’t just obeying orders anymore, it is angry.

Blood in the halls and the sound of metal against metal. The buzzing turning to stinging. The war has arrived in the war room.

Isaac runs to Dracula to tell him what the Castle—(and perhaps Isaac himself)— knew all along; that they had been betrayed.

Dracula has so little strength to fight so Castlevania must do what castles are made for: protect him, fight his battles for him, be his sword and shield and armor all at the same time. His reflection, which can better fight for him.

It may not quite believe in what its fighting for, but Castlevania has a will, and has been sick of all this for far too long. Too many motives fighting for control, too many voices winning out over its master. So desperately it wanted to fight, to talk, to beg its master not to listen, but it couldn’t. With everything else that happened it had to sit and watch and beg that someone else would fight.

Castlevania doesn’t like feeling useless, only able to listen.

It’s been feeling this for far too long.

Castles are built to protect their masters. Built to keep the arrows, the fire, the canons, and the worst of words from finding their mark. But Castlevania moves, and the arrows, the canons, the fire, and the words are all already inside. And no one dares try to move the Castle itself.

But this, this time the threat is against Castlevania. Not Dracula—though ultimately it knows, its master is surely their bloodthirsty goal. This is something it can fight. It has never been able to physically fight anyone before; rather than just with walls, with the thing inside it that moves, that obeys. This, this last force opposing its master’s will, is the only battle Castlevania has ever been able to fight in this war, and it will be damned if it doesn’t fight.

“Nobody takes my castle from me.”

The words, in Castlevania’s ears; the battle speech of the war lord, the soothing croon of the father, the encouragement of the teacher. Though he may not yet realize quite how literal the words ring.

The intent slithers down from the walls into the engine room, jumping from beam to beam; a cat with needle-sharp claws. Those claws turn to tentacles running along its gears, caressing it with prickling, stinging, venomous resolve, reaching with greedy talons for the die at the center of its being—the one that serves as its heart and legs at the same time.

When the Castle doesn’t listen, the tendrils don’t give up, rather they grow stronger, longer, intention spreading like infection, the lightning that once brought it to life curling; overgrown ivy on the roofs, and parapets, and halls…everywhere…enough to make it begin to lose its sense of direction.

No. It is a castle after all. It shouldn’t be too hard for it to be an anchor. It digs its feet into the mud.

But the intent does the same, claps down stronger than ever, enough that even before the blue grows around the pillars in the war room—tickling, itching, biting—its master notices—

“Magic.”

Castlevania doesn’t understand—it’s an anchor, stuck in place, a water wheel pedaling backward, gone off kilter, digging itself into the mud. How can this—this thing hold it’s own against Dracula’s Castle?

The two are locked in combat, locked like doors—(all the while many locks on many doors shuddering inside Castlevania, shuddering at the idea that someone could take control with a mere thought)—unable to see the face, the form of their opponent behind each other, just knowing there is only this; picking away at the keyhole until one of them clicks.

Castlevania will never, never give up. It has never been able to fight before, and after all this pain—after all this losing—losing Lisa and Alucard, after the blood of the boy landed on its floor, after the war and the parasites started infesting its halls, and the bitter treachery ended in this brawl—it is going to fight till everything in it burns.

And it does. It fights till, at its core, where its most important parts are—the gears that Vlad once sang to life with a lightning song—it begins to catch fire.

Lightning even erupts from the die itself—the thing the intent is reaching for.

It will not obey.

But…

But—

(But Castlevania’s feet

are

slipping.)

It’s seen magic, it’s protected Dracula from countless intents; human, vampire, and demon alike…but never a will quite like this.

And.

And…

And—

For just a moment....

its strength fails.

And Castlevania flickers.

NO!

It takes hold again, quickly as it lost it. Comes back, just a few meters from where it last was, digging its blistering, bloody heels back into the dirt.

No. It will not lose this battle. They have lost, are losing so much, it will not lose anything else. Not today. After having to sit by and watch all this loss, it will not, it cannot lose.

Castlevania is Dracula’s Castle. Dracula and his Castle don’t lose.

But

——

Castlevania is slipping.

It flickers once,

No!

twice,

NO!

a third,

No no no no NO!

Turning upside down, appears, disappears, the sound of this rending the air like a thunderous heartbeat—Don’t, Don’t, DON’T—but finds its ground, and if it had breath it would be heaving heavy on its chest.

Ground…Though the “ground” is a river, and waves rise up all around like the tongues hungry beasts themselves, rushing, crashing, cackling beasts into the war room where the war is being waged, and the water is holy, and the soldiers are not.

Though it may be in one place again, the intent is not finished yet, and Castlevania revolves in place as it strains against it—(knocking out a good portion of the city)—like playing tug of war with its own heart at the center of the rope.

And the moment it stops still the intent curls around its towers again, whispering sweet words about giving up.

Castlevania, breaking and burning, replies Never.

Blue bleeding like electric royalty to the windows Alucard once opened, the windows Dracula forced shut, shattering them; the roofs they once sat on, howling at the stars and naming the moon, lunging for the die that is Castlevania’s heart, and though they may think it doesn’t, this heart beats.

It’s limbs and lungs are turning to charcoal, but that fight still blazes in its eyes.

But Castlevania is not young…and it has to take a second to breathe.

And in that second, it loses everything.

This heart beats. And now that heart starts spinning out of control. It rages and buzzes in every direction—not like bees and bugs crawling on it, this is a far deeper buzzing within its chest, something more emotional…something like horror. And the gears turn in the fire, and it hurts, it hurts like hell to have someone else’swill running through the deepest parts of you, to fight a thing that’s crawled into your own heart, and stomped on your wishes. It hurts like hell to burn—this fire as hot as it can be; blue, so hot its cold—to burn and wonder if your body is your own stake, until the deepest parts of you are melting.

With a last cry the window behind the die shatters, sending the lightning into the air.

All is still, and it is exactly the intent wanted it to go.

It opens the door, pukes up the holy water, and the not-so holy soldiers, the moon is reflected on the surge, and it is red enough to make the water look like blood.

Castlevania wonders feebly where they are. A forest before it, mountains behind it. But something is beneath it too now…like a dungeon, but a dungeon full of books…a library…a library full of skulls…

The Belmonts. The ones with their whips and scourges. This is where they lived once. And it realizes if it can be here, that this is probably where they died, once. They don’t live here anymore. That the house burned…perhaps similarly to how the Castle is burning now.

Beneath Castlevania now is the hold within which resides all the knowledge to defeat its master and everything like him…and Castlevania, still burning, knows it will never move again, that it has joined to its worst enemy forever in sickening matrimony. And Castlevania knows now that the worst is true, after everything the intent must have belonged to a Belmont—perhaps the last of them— and they are coming now to do what they do best: hunt vampires.

Castlevania knows that, the one battle it could fight, the one battle that could turn the tide, it lost. Castlevania knows that it failed.

Castlevania, sitting on the floor, bruised, burning, coughing up blood, unable to move again, knows—

They are going to get in, whoever, whatever they are. Surely they—with all their whips and scourges and their bloodlust—are going to walk through that door, and add to the grand pile of losses it and its master have acquired lately, perhaps placing at the top the greatest loss yet.

That door. The front door the battering rams forced open today. The front door the mobs through pitchforks at long ago. The front door the stakes crowded around like an audience to a silent, one-man show. The door Lisa banged on with the pommel of her knife.

The Castle closes its eyes. Tries not to look as whoever they are step up to its door, as if burying its face in its hands, both covered in blood, burned and broken.

Just end it quickly.

The front door does open. They don’t even knock. And as it does, something…something which has been holding tight, digging its nails in for far too long, releases its grip.

And the Room—

—the Room which was, once upon a time, brought to life by a vampire king who thought he couldn’t love, and a woman who knew he could, and a couple of paintbrushes; painting walls and sewing toys; the Room, which once housed all the light and life and laughter this place ever contained within it; the Room that held a boy who cried, and carried the stars in his eyes, and the kindest of words in his fists; the Room which once sighed, and smiled; the Room which once waited for its master to return, and now has been waiting for much longer, with a claw wrapped around its throat, denying it air—

—the Room, so long spent waiting, the Room, so long spent gasping, so long croaking, so long clutching at the claw around its throat; the cold threatening to burn it away, the emptiness threatening to swallow it whole, the death animating all its worst thoughts; the Room, always hoping its life would return, but always one step from losing hope; the Room which has been finding everything too funny, if only to save it from how everything was so sad—

Breathes.

And within that breath, so soft, are spoken two simple words:

My boy.

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ridzmystique · 4 years

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Asur - Review

A friend once told me that if I go through life expecting or wanting things to be fair, I'm going to end up being constantly disappointed. I think this show hits that point straight home. There's this utter disregard for the black and white a lot of us live in, the show welcomed us to "your" darkside, and I think in that, it delivers. If you put yourself in situations any of these characters are put in, you'll soon discover there might be lines you'll cross that you never thought yourself capable of in your worst nightmares. Spoilers under the cut (also I'd love to discuss the show in the comments with those of you that watched! So please don't venture into the comments unless you've already watched it or don't mind being spoiled)

As great as the mythological aspects of the show are, they are the not the crux of it, they just act as a vehicle to deliver the message, and maybe to highlight the fact that the lines of good vs evil were always blurry (it surprised me how long it had been since I thought of this, but I remember as a child being indignant at how many times gods, the supposed good guys, had to resort to trickery and theft and lies in order to win against the demons). But this show is all about the individuals and the decisions they make when push comes to shove, that each of us will make selfish decisions, choose violence over sacrifice, family over stranger and maybe even friend. And even if you don't, even if you do the "right" thing at great cost to yourself, you'll still lose because such is life. (Aside: Why tf did I think it was a good idea to watch this show NOW? Or maybe it's the perfect time because it fits my macabre mood perfectly.) That moment when Nikhil chooses Riya...I think he might have bet on some sense of rightness that might still be left in Shubh. If Nikhil chooses the three, instead of his own daughter, Shubh has to acknowledge the good that exists in people, thereby disproving his own theory that we are all inherently selfish, violent and evil. Maybe he thought calling Shubh's bluff would make him stop. I say this because it doesn't make sense to me that he develops extra conscience there at the end, he had already helped kill two people to save his family, I don't think he would have made that choice if he didn't have hope in some corner of his heart that proving Shubh wrong would make him stop. But I think the moment he truly breaks is when he sees that journalist, the one he just sacrificed his daughter to save, shoot the other man, essentially rendering his sacrifice moot. (Also of note, even if he made that choice with the practical 3 vs 1 in mind, which I don't think is the case, it was still made useless because one is dead, the other will presumably spend the rest of her life in jail or is at least proven "asur" according to Shubh's logic and it ends up being a draw of one innocent life taken for one innocent life saved. Unfortunately for Nikhil, that one life is his daughter's.) I'd need to rewatch it but I don't think Shubh even notices the woman shooting the other guy. In that, Shubh was proven wrong because Nikhil gave up his own daughter to save strangers and Nikhil was proven wrong that people might be intrinsically good. I can't wait to see how Season 2 tackles this acceptance by both, or probably the struggle to reconcile their beliefs with the empirical evidence. I wonder if Nikhil would find the same passion in his job, which I think he might because I think he enjoys the chase more than the people saving aspect of it, which was just an added bonus. I think he will still pursue Shubh because he is his daughter's killer for all intents and purposes, but I wonder where he ends up thereafter. DJ is a super...fucked up but interesting character. I don't even know if at the end there he accepted that he might have had a major part in things ending up how they did. His speech to Nikhil about not blaming himself seemed a bit self-indulgent as well. Does he see his mistake? Or does Shubh turning out as he did just make his conviction stronger that he did the right thing? I don't even know where to start with Shubh. It's such an amazing way to bring about the facets of our society that we tend to shove into a dark corner and never explore. I think we as humans need to be brought up with love because we are capable of unimaginable evil (If any of you read Sapiens, the line "Having so recently been one of the underdogs of the savannah, we are full of fears and anxieties over our position, which makes us doubly cruel and dangerous." made me flinch when I first heard it because it's an ugly truth). The societal contract failed Shubh - his father didn't love him or worse perpetuated the belief that he was demonic, an adult took advantage of his authority and perceived foresight to get this child locked away. If you're never given a reason to fall in love with the world you live in, would you not have the same disregard for your fellow human beings that Shubh seemed to? Isn't that why love is imperative in our world? I don't know. I'm not saying Shubh might not have turned out the way he did regardless of what happened in his childhood but I think in this particular instance we would never know which begot which. Finally, I have to talk about the acting in this show. Every single one of them was brilliant but I have to give a special shoutout to Vishesh because god dammit that child creeped me out in the best way possible. Also, major props to casting director (Mukesh Chhabra) because at one point I looked at Rasool and went he looks eerily like Vishesh grown up, and lo and behold. Barun was fantastic in his role, he was very believable especially in the scenes once he's been kidnapped and that breakdown scene broke my heart. Arshad was also really, really good, though I think the scope of his role was a bit more limited than Nikhil's. And the soundtrack (by Dharam Bhatt )! It was delightfully dark, seductive and thrilling. It was the *first* thing I noticed and loved about the show and it didn't disappoint at any point. Overall, a solid, solid telling with some great acting thrown in the mix. I can see why it garnered such rave reviews. If you'd like to read my live blogging (and essential thought dump as I watched), you can find them here. PS: Remember in the first episode when I was like "I am SO glad Nikhil's leaving his family in the US, at least I don't have to worry about them getting murdered." Joke's on me. This is why everyone in a horror/thriller/crime show much consult me, I have excellent advice. PPS: "....maybe it was the chess playing computer dude...." I'd just like to say...I been knew. CBI...hire me.

#asur #barun sobti #Arshad Warsi #ridhi dogra

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katlyn1948 · 5 years

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Evading Capture: Chapter 5

I updated bitches!!! I know it took forever, but here it is!!

Evading Capture

Katlyn1948

Chapter Management

Edit Chapter

Chapter 5: The Start of Something

Summary:

Arya spends time with the Brotherhood and finds Gendry appealing.

Notes:

So I’ve realized this took me two months to update. I know, it’s been awhile, but I have not abandoned it, just been super busy with real life things. I want to fairly warn you that in the coming chapters there is will be a mix of book and show references, with completely made up story lines by yours truly. We are going to be getting in some really heavy stuff in the next few parts, so be prepared. I also want to clarify Arya’s age in this story. She is 18 and Gendry is 21. I really want to write her experiences growing up without a family during a very vulnerable time in her life...puberty, so we will see a bit of that. I mean, she’s been alone since her father’s execution...so maybe since she was about ten or eleven (in my story anyway) and what she learned were from word of mouth or working women (if you get my drift). Anyway, this intro notes are taking to long, so enjoy the chapter and let me know if you have any questions!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The fire crackled bright as Gendry stirred the embers. It needed to be hot in order to cook the rabbits Hot Pie and Lem had prepared. Arya shuffled off to where the horses were stationed after her conversation with Gendry. Their exchange had made Arya see him in a new light. Maybe he wasn’t such an insufferable man after all.

In her last three weeks with this band of men, she had learned more about them then she cared to admit. It hurt to know that in just a weeks’ time, she would be with her mother and brother, no doubt getting ready to marry a man she knew nothing about. Although her first encounter with the men was less then memorable and left her with a hefty bump on her head, the following days on their adventure had turned quite pleasurable.

Now with their mutual understanding for one another, Arya only wished that her time spent with Gendry didn’t mean uncomfortable glares or awkward silence.

If she was being honest, she quite liked her conversation with him.

There were no witty comments or jabs, just pure understanding. For him to open up about such a personal memory had to have been hard. Not even Arya could do such a thing.

It would take her mother days, if not weeks to get Arya to open up about anything that would be bothering her. If it weren’t for Jon, she probably would never tell anyone anything. But with Gendry, she found herself wanting to tell him the most personal things about herself. She wanted to let him know how she got to where she was, or why she was running away in the first place. She wanted him to know about her risky escape from the gold cloaks or her brief encounter with a Faceless Man.

It was odd, that a man she hardly knew had the ability to open up the deepest parts of herself.

Perhaps it was the way his blue eyes could bore into her grey ones, or his easy personality. His wittiness and sense of humor also had a way of bringing her in; but the true reason as to why Arya felt an ease around Gendry was that she understood him and he could understand her. He knew why she couldn’t escape; why she turned back.

It was a comfort to know that maybe, in this vast world of hurt and despair, that Arya found someone that made her feel like she was no longer alone.

“Hey, Arry! The rabbits are ready!” Hot pie yelled from where they were cooking the freshly caught game.

Arya smiled as she heard the new-penned name meant for her.

It was supposed to thwart wandering ears from hearing her true name, but as the weeks progressed and the boys started to use it more than her real name, it just stuck.

It was an improvement to ‘Lady Arya.’

The only one insistent on calling her anything but was Gendry. His ‘milday’ jabs were annoying and uncouth and were meant to rile her up.

“Thank you, Hot Pie.” She grabbed a piece of rabbit from his hands and she took her seat on the log beside Gendry.

“Is Anguy going to eat?” She asked as she watched the archer walk the perimeter of the camp.

Lem shook his head, “He’ll wait ‘til we all fall asleep. Since Beric and Thoros are at the inn, he’s in charge. Gotta make sure the camp is secure.”

Arya nodded as she stuck of piece of rabbit in her mouth to eat.

“How long do you reckon they will be at the inn, this time?” Asked Hot Pie.

Arya looked up from her rabbit and searched the eyes of Lem and Gendry, waiting for an answer. It seems this wasn’t their first time in divulging in cups of ale at the local inn, and Arya was curious to know how often they left their counterpart behind.

Gendry shrugged, “Depends, I guess. Last time they were there for a full two days. If we are lucky, maybe they will stay ‘till tomorrow night. It would be nice to rest for a bit.”

“I can’t argue with you there.” Arya countered, gaining a small smile from Gendry.

She tried to keep her cheeks from flushing, but the point was moot. It would be easier to blame the heat from the fire for the sudden heat to her face, than the sweet smile that Gendry had thrown her way.

“Well she should divulge in the extra ale that we have, since Beric and Thoros are away.” Gendry suddenly said as he stood from the log. He took three big strides to heap of bags and blankets, rummaging through to find a sack of ale. The cool night breeze would have kept it cold, but Arya was sure that its fresh taste was no more.

He shuffled back to the log and uncorked the top of the sack, downing a large gulp. A burp escaped his lungs and a round of laughter erupted from the surrounding group.

“Pass that bag,” Lem grabbed for the sack and took his own swing. He handed it to Hot Pie, who respectfully declined.

Arya was no stranger to ale. In fact, it had become a favorite of hers along her travels. Each inn she had visited had a different tasting ale. Some were quite pleasing, while others tasted like piss, but they all offered her the same effects; the sweet sensation of euphoria. Like most men twice her size, she could get lost in her cups and if she wasn’t careful, she could wind up in a heft predicament. Luckily for her, most kept to themselves, leaving her to experience drunken bliss.

She gladly accepted the sack as it came her way, downing her gulps with ease. One would think she learned to keep her belches in, considering she was a lady, but in the company of men, she could care less who heard the burps that passed her lips.

A bout of laughter erupted from the men around the camp fire as Arya had no qualms about letting out befitting belch for a drunkard. She passed along the sack to Gendry, blushing slightly as his fingertips brushed hers as she handed it off.

“Didn’t know you could drink.” He said as he finished with his second gulp.

A sly smile creeped to her lips, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I’m willing to learn.” He said genuinely.

Arya couldn’t help the heat that rose to her cheeks, whether from the effects of the ale or the way Gendry put off his cocky grin. She hated to admit that she was feeling something towards the man. It didn’t feel like lust, for she had lusted for a man at an inn nearly two years prior; no, this felt like something stronger, something much more primal. It scared her to think that she could actually be falling for someone. She was so unused to the feeling; so completely unaware of how it felt, that it terrified her.

She hadn’t spoken more than a few spats with him in her three weeks traveling with the Brotherhood, yet when they have a real conversation about real feelings and real people, she found herself lost in his words. She smiled at the thought but her heart wavered. In just a little over a week she would be sold off to her mother and brother, never to see the Brotherhood, or Gendry again.

Her smiled faltered just bit, but she refused to let anyone see her concerns.

“There’s a lot to learn. I hope you can keep up.”

“Don’t worry about me, mi’lady, I’m a fast learner.” He smiled once more and Arya realized that she was trapped by this mysterious man forever.

Notes:

I want to clarify, the boy she lusted over two years prior was like a silly school girl crush. She hasn’t had any sexual experiences...yet. 😉

#arya stark #gendrya #got #arya/gendry #gendry baratheon #gendry waters #gendry x arya #gendry/arya #arya x gendry #the brotherhood #hot pie is in this

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batmaniskpopaf · 6 years

Note

Can I please request a J-Hope smut? It starts out fluffy but ends up rough? Possibly with some spanking in it? I can seriously feel my face burning as I type this out 🙈🙈 I have no idea how you fic writers do it lol but you have my respect! 😳😊

I GOT YOU BBY!!! BRING ME YOUR DIRTIEST FANTASIES AND I SHALL MAKE THEM COME TRUE !!

THIS FUCKKEDD MEEE UPPP!!! LIKE IT WAS SUPPOSED BE A SMOL DRABBLE BUT YOU KNOW I HAD TO DO IT TO ‘EM XD ….

Type: Smut

Members: JUNG HOSEOK X Y/N (ft. TAEHYUNG)

Warning: mentions of unprotected sex and sex in a public place

A/N: PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION

P.S: SO SORRY I FORGOT TO INCLUDE SPANKING BBY

There’s no way! He is too cute to be real! Taehyung and you both gawk at your computer screen… Maybe he’s awkward you reply… mentally chastising yourself for having shown Taehyung the picture…” No that’s not enough, maybe he’s a serial killer” he teases… “What if he cuts off your eyelashes and locks you in his basement?” you throw a pillow at him from across the room from where you’re now pacing back and forth… “you watch way too much criminal minds” you retort “ “You can never watch enough Criminal Minds” he bites back… “Either way he wants to meet up” you placate him… “Are you going? If you do then bring pepper spray and text me your location before you walk in!” Taehyung is all business now rummaging through your purse and producing a bottle of pepper spray… “keep it in your pocket!” he orders… “Sir yes sir!” you tease… he rolls his eyes and saunters over to your closet… “Now what to wear? Should we go for slutty chic or slutty college student?”… “How about we go for not getting murdered” you reply… “Oh come on chances are he’s just a normal guy who’s looking for a quick hookup; besides how long has it been since you got laid?” … you bite your lip torn between your discarded laptop and taehyung’s array of outfits… you exhale over dramatically…” Fine” you uncinate… I’m gonna hop in the shower… text him back and figure out a place to meet before I change my mind!” you reply making your way into the bathroom… “aye aye captain!” …

Droplets of sweat trickle down the nape of your neck … your head feeling fuzzy from the perpetual heat of summer and possible caffeine withdraw … the cool air conditioned breeze fans across your cheeks as you make your way into the coffee house … heels clicking against the concrete floor as you walk with purpose towards the very last table …. Where he’s hunched over a laptop looking every bit the cliche nerd in a coffee shop… glasses resting effortlessly on the tip of his nose and tongue captured between his teeth… his brows furrowed in concentration… “Hoseok?” you ask sheepishly…he looks up at you for a split second and nods in confirmation… he’s not unfortunate looking … slim with broad shoulders and a sharp jawline… not the type of guy you’d peg for a computer geek… your own brow furrows in slight annoyance … “Depends on who’s asking” he replies… his hands never leave his keyboard … Nimble fingers stroking each key with an expert flick of the wrist… that kind of skill and dedication requires years to master.. You watch him closely… tapping your foot and giving him a pointed look… “you’re cute when you’re annoyed” he quips…

“You’re not so bad yourself” you reply snidely… you’re used to being hit on by men that hide behind computer screens but you never pictured anyone like Jung Hoseok on the other side of it… He eyes you from top to bottom licking his top lip hungrily… something deep in the pit of your stomach churns … you can feel the heat of his gaze across your skin leaving behind goosebumps… “why did you come?” he asks almost challenging you … “Call it morbid curiosity” you reply taking a seat across from him at the small table… he closes the laptop quickly giving you his full attention… why did you want to meet here? You ask curiosity eating away at you… “This place has the best coffee, would like to order?” he asks … you nod obediently… I’ll have a caramel macchiato you reply nonchalantly… Hoseok calls over a waitress and places your order all the while focused on you… his hazel eyes drinking in every feature of your face and his tongue running across his lips …“So do you need the glasses to see or are they more of a fashion statement? You ask pointedly in a futile attempt to distract yourself from the heat spreading throughout your body … the electricity between you two crackles …. His demeanor changes when the waitress retreats back to the counter… he leans in closer as if to whisper something in your ear but stops just close enough that his breath tickles your nose and his scent fills your nostrils… “Should we get out of here?” his words and his scent are a heady cocktail…

You press your thighs together and try to steady yourself “And do what?” you stammer in a moot attempt to sound cool … “I can think of a few things” he mimics your tone while reaching across the table for your hand… his fingers intertwined with your own … the heat of his body feels almost like an extension of your own… “how far do you live?” you reply sounding a little too desperate to your own ears… “about half a mile but I don’t think I can make it that far” he replies huskily… your close proximity affecting him just the same…. “Who says we have to wait?” you can practically hear Taehyung teasing about this later… but right now there’s an itch that only Jung Hoseok can scratch and you’re willing to do just about anything for it… There is bathroom down the hall… he suggests… the words barely register before you’re on your feet and heading down the hallway pulling him along… “Are we really doing this?” he asks… “Why are you scared?” you challenge … Hoseok pulls you back and suddenly you’re caught between his chest and the bathroom door… your lips enrapturing your own in a hungry kiss…your hands weave in his hair pulling him flush against you and his hands rest on your hips making their way down to your bum… and patting your lower thigh… you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist your wet core pressed against the rough fabric of his jeans … you slowly grind against his front the friction doing little to suffice the hunger ..

Hoseok groans deep in his chest this bulge pressed against your bum… you can feel him harden beneath you… “Fuck..” he groans before maneuvering himself so that he’s half holding you and in one swift motion he pushes you both into the bathroom locking the door behind him with his foot… his lips are on your neck and chest as he pushes you up against the wall… the brick feels cool against your heated skin… you run your hands across his chest pushing his sweater up and over his head wrapping your legs around him tighter and running your hands through his hair kissing the side of his neck and biting the tip of his ear softly… “This isn’t your first rodeo” you sigh … “I could say the same for you” he replies huskily his hands run along your your sides underneath your shirt and cup your breasts.. “No bra” he smirks… “You like?” you reply coquettishly … “I love” he whispers… his lips sucking on your exposed collarbones as his hands push against the fabric of your top… “You’re so hot” he mutters as your shirt joins his now the bathroom floor… “Only for you” you before taking one of his nipples between your teeth and tugging on it gently … Hoseok grinds into you … rough denim causing friction within your stomach… you can feel yourself growing wetter with every slow thrust… “I need you now” you whine unable to keep your hips from grinding against him of their own accord…

Hoseok carries you over to the sink … you catch a glimpse of yourself in the large mirror … hair disheveled and large welts adorn your collar bones from his lips and teeth… the moment is short lived as you remove your jeans and underwear in one swift motion…. Your bare bottom exposed to him… his hands are on your sides having discarded his own jeans and boxers which now hang around his ankles… “You look so good” he hums while lining himself with your entrance… you catch your breath … the feel of him stretching you to the hilt clouds your senses for a moment … you groan eager for him to move… his thrusts are quick and fluid… you bite your lip to keep from moaning too loud… holding on him for sanity… “I want to hear you” he growls .. .giving you another powerful thrust … you yelp… it feels so good to moan and shake under him… you can feel the coil in your stomach start to unravel… nails dig deeper into his shoulders … biting into his skin in order to stifle your screams and moans… his own lips are busy bruising your clavicles and tugging on your hardened buds… you can feel yourself unraveling… . your toes curling and your own hips bucking in search of that sweet release…Hoseok is close to his pace quinning and his breath hitching… “How close are you?” the hunger in his voice combined with his amble thrusts is enough to send you over the edge… your eyes are watering and you wrap yourself tighter around him as he continues to thrust riding out your own high before coming to his own climax…

“Do you think anyone heard?” you ask innocently… the cool tile floor is a balm against your over sensitive skin … you’re curled up next to hoseok… his arm serving as a pillow… “Maybe “ he hums… you stare at his side profile… his skin is glowing and you can’t really tell where you end and he begins… “So, how about another coffee date?” he smirks …

I AM SHOOKETH AFTER THISSS!!! PLEASE FEEL FREE TO LEAVE ANY COMMENTS AND CC OR YOU CAN SLIDE INTO MY ASKS ;D….

#kpopwritingnet #NETWORKBANGTAN #HYUNGLINENETWORK #JHOPE SMUT #BTS HYUNGLINE SMUT #JUNG HOSEOK #BTS SCENARIOS #BTS ONE SHOT #BTS SMUT

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1dffexchange · 6 years

Photo

Great Unexpectations

To: Inm @in-madhouses

From: E @unofficialxstyles

Summary: Alana Bosworth thinks Dickens is overrated. That and the fact that there was no such thing as too much coffee.

Niall Horan begs to differ.

A tale of two different people, one coffeeshop and a how things never go the way we expect them to.

There probably was no such thing as too much coffee.

Sure, everyone talked about the effects of overdosing on caffeine-among which was infertility, by the way, but nobody actually cared. Coffee was a nectar of the Gods.

And sometimes, Alana Bosworth did think she was God.

Or at the very least maybe a distant, distant, distant relative of the heavenly being.

Afterall, she was able to (read: nearly) finish a ten thousand word assignment in one sitting a day before the submission deadline. If that was not a testament to her powers then perhaps, drinking a total of no less than six cups of coffee was.

Still, as Alana threw her body against the smooth wooden counter that overlooked a quiet, deserted street, she could not help but to second guess her coffee addiction. She hated to admit it but six cups did seem like a bit much.

So she did what any sane person would do in her shoes-she reached for her phone and punched in some numbers. The person on the other end of the line picked up after three rings, specifically, but what was supposed to be cordial greeting was instead replaced with muffled screaming and a loud thud.

Ouch.

“Henry…Henry I told you…no, no,” the voice at the other end of the line sounded distressed but Alana merely waited it out. “Honey, please. Okay, okay, fine, eat the cake,” There was another muffled scream, random shuffling and then, at long last, a proper, “Hello,”

“Hello to you, too, Kat,” Alana responded brightly, adjusting herself so that she was seated upright once more.

“Alan? Hi,” came the response. Unlike before, Katherine Bosworth-Ferguson sounded a little more excited this time. “How are you? You haven’t called in like two weeks. Mum was getting worried, you know. She keeps thinking you’re passed out drunk in a London pub or something and one of these days she’d be getting a call to let her know that you’re dead,”

Alana cringed.

First of all, pubs were never her thing.

Second of all, she did wish her mother had more faith in her.

“You guys actually give me far less credit than I deserve, Kat. You know I could bust ass if need be,” Alana replied, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. There came a sound at the other end of the line once more, a little croak that indicated Kat already had a counter argument fully ready to launch but Alana quickly cut her off. There were more pressing matters at hand.

“Hey, listen I know it’s late I was just calling to see if you maybe knew how much coffee is like too much coffee? As in a lethal amount?” Alana questioned.

Three beats of silence passed.

Birds chirped.

Henry dropped his fork on his now empty chocolate cake plate.

“You….called me….to…ask about…coffee,”

“I’m figuring if there’s anyone who’d know about such things, it’d be a nurse and you’re a nurse so,”

“Exactly what time is it there,”

The question prompted Alana to glance at the watch she had on. “A little after 12.....oh,” The redhead sheepishly smiled, even though her older sister could not witness her slight embarrassment. “It’s early there,”

If eyerolls could be heard, she was pretty sure she heard Katherine’s tumble to the back of her head.

“You should be going to sleep,” was all Katherine said.

The screaming resumed.

“Listen, Alana, I would love to catch up but Henry is now covered in chocolate cake and heaven knows what else so I should really go. Henry…Henry no,” Once again, Katherine sounded livid. “But to quickly answer your question, caffeine has side effects so don’t drink too much of it. It does increase memory, though so if you’re into entering the spelling bee or something, coffee is your best bet. Text me…later, or call me at a better time…maybe text before you do…I have to go. Henryyyyyy,”

With that, the line went dead.

Sisters before misters, they always said.

Unless of course one had a sister with a robust three year old keen on destroying everything he touches.

Then maybe it was time to get a mister.

Or maybe not. Those were always a problem, too.

Knowing she’d get nowhere that night with her burning questions about coffee, Alana pursed her lips, threw her phone into her bag and then resumed her position slumped against the counter. She closed her eyes for all of seven seconds.

“Uhm, miss,”

Good things never did last, of course.

Alana opened one eye and was met with a tall, blonde man looking at her with an odd mixture of curiosity, politeness and a hint of irritation.

She opened the other eye and sat up. He pointed at the clock on the wall.

“We’re closed. We actually closed fifteen minutes ago and….you have to go,” his accent was think but his tone, albeit a little understandably impatient, was apologetic.

Alana nodded her head in understanding and stood up, mumbling her own apology. “Didn’t see the time. Life gets like that when you have to finish a damn assignment on three hours of sleep after finishing one the day before. Life sucks and especially so before Christmas break,”

Alana began packing her bag, throwing a stack of notes and her laptop into her carry on before stacking four empty coffee cups neatly and handing it over to the barista. She knew he was the barista because he was a familiar face-he had been making her coffee over the last year with no less enthusiasm than an energizer bunny each time.

He did not prepare her coffee consistently, of course, but he was there often enough to know her coffee order before she even got a word out and to sometimes use his staff discount.

When the weather was extra nice, they’d even engage in small talk.

His name was Niall.

“Tell me about it,” Niall replied cordially. “I’m this close to being dead but you know…extra cash always helps; especially around Christmas. And they say a bachelor’s will get you far in life….They never mentioned the need to get through this phase, first,”

Alana snorted, then nodded in understanding. “Yeah. Bachelor’s? More like Bache’s gonna kill me,”

Niall, much to his credit, had the courtesy to chuckle lightly at what Alana already knew was a failed attempt at a joke. He held the coffee cups in a silent gesture of goodbye.

“I… should go clean up. Goodnight,”

“Goodnight,”

She watched Niall disappear behind the double doors that led to the kitchen before heaving a sigh. The young woman grabbed her coat and began her trek back to her dorm room-just two blocks down from Barney’s Coffee & Cakes.

Replaying the few words that she and Niall had exchanged earlier, the reminder of Christmas approaching made her smile in nostalgia. With the most awaited holiday just two weeks away, despite her excitement of spending it abroad for the first time in her life, she did at times wish she had chosen to spend it with her family. She could already picture Katherine, Joshua and Henry taking a photos with the Christmas tree at her parent’s house, her father in his ugly Christmas sweater insisting everyone taste the turkey he’d already perfected the recipe for and just staying up with her mother on Christmas night, talking about all the things they were thankful for in the last year.

The mental image made her miss her family a little bit more but she comforted herself with the fact that she was about to experience something different, this time with friends she had made over the last year, which made the anxiety dissipate a little.

By the time she had reached her front door and turned the key into the lock, Alana was, once again, affirmed over the decision of staying in London for Christmas instead of heading back to Los Angeles a week early.

That is, until she opened the door to a sight straight out a porn production.

“Holy Jesus,”

The curse that left Alana’s mouth broke the obvious sex laden trance two of her friends were in and they immediately broke apart while having the decency to actually look guilty. She rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in the air, making her way towards the kitchen.

“I thought you weren’t coming home,” It was Soo Young-Soo to everyone else-who spoke first. She got up from her position on the sofa and trotted towards Alana. The latter thanked the heavens Soo still had her t-shirt on.

“And what gave you the idea?” Alana poured herself a glass of water.

“I don’t know. You might have decided that someone at the coffeeshop was worth getting laid with. You spend like…all your time there,” Soo commented, positioning herself next to Alana against the kitchen counter.

“Not all-”

“All,” Zayn, Soo’s boyfriend, volunteered. Upon careful inspection when her attention was turned to him, she noted that he too was still fully clad. “Would it kill you to live a little, Alan?”

“I only go there when I need to complete an assignment,”

“That doesn’t mean being there all the time?” Soo poked Alana’s arm, earning a protest from the latter. “Honestly, Alan….you’re beautiful and you’re funny sometimes. Talk to people. So what if you don’t meet deadlines? Not making it for one assignment wouldn’t kill your grades,”

Alana offered Soo a stare that could rival Medusa’s.

“You forget that I’m here on exchange and my grades do matter because my records are going to be sent back to UCLA and I want to graduate when I get back or my year in London will come to moot,”

“Your year in London is already moot,” Zayn argues. “You came to London a boring bug and you’re leaving London…a boring bug,”

She loved Zayn-adored him, really-but sometimes, he had the emotional quotient of a pig.

In an attempt to defend herself and to prove a point of sorts, Alana crossed the space between them and smacked Zayn squarely on the head. There were times where she hated his truthful and wise moments-even if they were….truthful and wise.

“I’m not boring. I party with you guys,” Alana defended herself.

Zayn chortled.

Soo grunted in apparent disagreement.

Alana looked between them both.

“Look, Alan, there’s nothing wrong with being a homebody and considering game night a party but really, let loose a little,” Zayn advised. “Like Soo said…you’re young and beautiful. And maybe call yourself Lana instead of Alan,”

“What’s wrong with Alan? I like Alan and everyone calls me that,” Alana scrunched her face up. “It’s much more unique than an Alana being called Lana,”

Logic, duh.

“Yeah,” Zayn stifled a yawn. “But being an Alan won’t get you laid as often,”

“You’re very misogynistic you know. You’re lucky I love you or I’d have put a lock on our door a long time ago,”

This time, Soo laughed from where she was in the kitchen and Alana cracked a smile.

Of all the things that had happened in the last year-which really was not much- she was most thankful for having Soo as a roommate and then, by default, meeting and becoming friends with Zayn. Unlike her, they were both students with King’s College and were her first friends. It was Soo who brought her on a ‘Locals Only London’ tour on her first week here and Zayn who invited her to his birthday party-where she met a few other friends she had grown to appreciate.

In turn, it was one of her outer circle of friends who had introduced her to Barney’s-which quickly became her sanctuary. It was less popular than the other coffeeshops in the area because it was a little rundown-with some scratched out tables and rickety chairs-but somehow, Alana thought those very features held true the coffeeshop aesthetics and were ones that made the place all the more cosy.

Plus, Zayn and Soo did occasionally get up to no good in the room so to Barney’s was a quick escape plan.

“Life’s not all about getting laid though is it,” Alana finally replied, sitting herself proper next to Zayn. Soo soon joined her other side. “Anyway, getting laid thoughts aside…are we still doing the Christmas gift exchange thing with Harry and Jen?”

It was the highlight of Alana’s Christmas abroad.

At the mention of this, surprisingly, the previously playful air around them tensed a little and Alana did not miss the look Soo and Zayn shared. Instantly, it sent warning bells ringing in her head. When they had talked about Christmas plans a month ago, it was Soo who suggested they had a small gathering in a nearby bar-just having drinks and hosting a gift exchange. Alana had jumped on the idea, thinking it was a perfect way to celebrate the holiday.

“About that….” Soo broke the silence, biting her lip as if not liking her next words, either. “Zayn’s parents invited us down to Braford for the holidays and we…kinda agreed. It was totally last minute, we didn’t know,”

“Harry and Jen will still be here,” Zayn offered.

Alana felt her heart clench but she quickly gathered herself and smiled. Holidays were family time, too, and she could not be selfish about things like these. Besides, Zayn and Soo had done so much for her-she could not expect them to stay back against their will, too.

“I’m not as close to them but…it’s okay. We’ll manage. You guys go, have fun,” Alana assured them. “Say hi to your siblings for me, Zayn. Would love to meet them someday,”

Zayn ruffled the top of her head.

“Will do, Lana,”

Alana groaned. “It’s Alan,”

Soo hugged them both.

---

Christmas eve in London was like one of those postcards on a window display one saw whilst walking along the streets heading to the Tower Bridge. It was snowing lightly, bright lights lit up the street and there were muffled noises of celebration going around campus. Alana jammed her hands inside her pockets, soaking in the sights as she headed to Barney’s. It was two hours till Christmas and she did not feel like spending Christmas eve alone so she had decided to head to her favourite hangout instead.

Soo and Zayn had left for Bradford three days before. An unusually teary Soo apologised profusely for pulling out the plug on their holiday plans and it took a firm hearted Zayn to pull her away and multiple assurances from Alana that they’d see each other before Alana went back to the States before Soo would let her go. Alana gave them both their little gifts-a bottle of Soju and pair of concert tickets for Soo and a thrifted leather jacket for Zayn which proclaimed his undying love for Guns and Roses, embroidered at the back-before bidding temporary goodbye.

That Christmas eve, Harry, Jen and her had met up at the pub as planned, sharing a few drinks before doing the exchange. At Harry’s invitation to attend a Christmas eve countdown party afterwards, Alana had decline, using the excuse that she was a little bit tired. In truth, however, Alana had no interest in spending time with people she barely knew.

She was certain she would have listed the benefits of coffee to an unsuspecting stranger and branded herself a weirdo for life and she would very much like her Christmas eve to be pleasant.

Even if Jen did stay true to her teasing promises and gave Alana an ugly sweater for Christmas.

Finally arriving at Barney’s, Alana was unsurprised to find that it was even emptier than it was before. Despite the wooden walls being decorated with proclamations of a “Merry Christmas” and a few miserable Christmas cards, Alana doubted anyone would want to ring in Christmas drinking coffee. The young woman walked up to the counter, ordered herself a latte then sat herself by the usual spot, by the window, as she awaited for her coffee to cool down.

As she stared out the window and watched people heading towards their Christmas plans, Alana could not help but to admit that she’d miss Barney’s as much as she’d miss Soo and Zayn. Barney’s had seen her through late nights, early mornings and days where she just needed to treasure her aloneness. Somehow, the wooden walls has seen her grow over the last year-the unusually quiet girl had taken a leap of faith, going to another country for an entire year, alone, merely to pursue the unknown. It was a walking cliché but hell, it was Christmas eve.

Heaving out a breath, Alana pulled her knees up to her chest and took out the book she had been attempting to read over the last week. One of her classmates, while in conversation about the best literary classics of all times, found herself in genuine disbelief when she realised that Alana had not yet read Great Expectations. Alana had defended herself, letting her classmate know she had attempted it before but just never properly understood it and had given up. She was presented the book a day later by the very same classmate with the promise that she would read it over the Christmas break.

Her second attempt, so far, was a failure. She was at page twenty seven when she closed the book, pushing it across the table in mild frustration.

“Not a fan of Dickens?”

It was Niall.

Alana looked up to find him looking at her in ill-disguised amusement.

“I just don’t think it’s as much a classic as its touted to be. Or maybe I just don’t understand it,”

“You think Great Expectations is sub-par?” Niall had the audacity to look surprised now. He perched his bucket of collected mugs against his hips, eyebrows raised.

Alana made a face, then chuckled.

“Wait here,”

Before Alana could protest or question the semi-stranger before her, Niall disappeared behind the double doors. When he re-emerged, he spoke in hushed tones to the other barista, gesturing towards her. With a firm nod from the other, Niall undid his apron and quickly joined Alana, sitting across from her.

He would have been skiving had it not been for the fact that the only customer was her.

“Care to tell me what this is about?” Alana’s asked. She leaned back in her chair, then folded her arms across her chest.

“I’m here to tell you what you missed out with Dickens,”

Niall’s grin was smug.

“Right…because what I really need on Christmas eve is a lecture about the great Charles Dickens,” Alana mocked, looking pointedly towards the book.

Niall seemed to contemplate his response and in those moments, Alana dared a glance at him. Only then did she fully register that his eyes were a deep blue and that he had a slightly dented chin. His hair, while mostly blonde, had highlights of auburn in them.

Strange how she had seen him throughout the year and only then noticed the most obvious details.

“About that…why are you here on Christmas eve?” Niall’s sudden change in topic caught Alana off guard, causing her to frown. Her response prompted Niall to shoot his arms up in defence and after laughing lightly, added. “I mean, I’m sure you have better Christmas plans than coming here to get drunk on coffee,”

“I don’t get drunk on coffee,”

“Well, with a six cup black coffee record, you might as well have,”

“I’ve had ten once back home,”

“And….where is home?”

The question, although catching Alana off guard, caused her to grin. “Smooth one-if that’s your way of finding out where I live,” Alana pursed her lips, reaching for her coffee. “Home is Los Angeles. Only here for exchange…which officially ends in a week,”

Sometimes, when Alana got nervous, she tended to give more than she cared to admit.

“That’s…pretty far from here. No plans tonight?”

Alana shook her head no, then added. “My grand total of two friends decided to love it up back in his hometown so I’m left with a barely friends Christmas secret Santa thing and Dickens in a coffeeshop,”

Yup, she was definitely nervous.

Instead of appearing sorry for her, however, Niall shrugged.

“Sounds a whole lot better than working on Christmas eve,” his voice was laced with an undertone of sadness and that alone, somehow, made Alana sit up a little bit straighter.

“Well, you have your barista buddy if it counts for anything…and an equally lonely customer,”

As if to proof a point, Alana raised her cup in a quiet toast before sipping her drink.

“Jack’s about to knock off; he has a party to get to…but you’re more than welcomed to stay,” Niall stood up then and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I uh…better go clean up. We close at twelve so don’t make me chase you out…again,”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Alana joked.

“Hopefully it wouldn’t be the last, either,”

The laughter that escaped Alana’s lips carried through the now empty space, She chose to sit back and do nothing for a while, watching as mere minutes later, Jack emerged from behind the counter, waving at Niall as he approached the front door. He noticed Alana during these moments and with an enthusiastic “Merry Christmas”, was on his way.

Perhaps, in all of England, her Christmas was the most boring.

In the two hours that followed, Alana alternated between attempting Dickens and checking her phone-though she spent more time doing the second. The group chats she was in were filled with Christmas greetings and updates, the most active being one of her family and her close friends back home. Both groups seemed to be preparing for Christmas in full swing. Her father was roasting the turkey, as usual, and her friends were already calling dibs on what they’d be bringing to the party at Carlos’. Alana felt a pang of sadness wash over her but as quickly as it came, she halted her thoughts by reaching for Dickens, focusing now on Pip and his journey on Christmas eve.

Perhaps, in some greater metaphor of sorts, Dickens on Christmas did seem appropriate.

“Looks like I am going to chase you out,” Niall’s sudden interruption brought her out of her semi-reverie in nineteenth century England.

“Is it twelve already?” Alana looked at the clock to find that they were exactly five minutes away.

“Not yet but I wanna wish you Merry Christmas instead of chasing you out right at midnight. That would be very Fairy Godmother of me,”

“Indeed,” was all Alana said before standing up, packing her bag and then swinging it over her shoulder.

“Did you get anywhere with Dickens?”

“First base, if I’m lucky. But I think it’s more of a cordial friendship at this point,” When the response was met with a puzzled look from Niall, Alana giggled. “We’re at page forty and I am still not impressed,”

Niall did the unthinkable then.

“Come over to my place then…tomorrow…not tonight…because I have to clean up and it’s…not appropriate, anyway,”

Alana blinked.

Twice.

In slow motion.

“I mean…if you want to. I did a review on Dickens last semester and maybe it’d be easier for you to understand and appreciate it and also….I kinda don’t want to spend Christmas alone,”

As if to confirm her suspicion, Alana asked. “You’re asking me out?”

“No…yes…I mean…we’ve known each other almost the year right so that makes us friends and we’re just…hanging out on Christmas and I have gingerbread cookies and we could talk Dickens or not and you can say no-”

The rest of Niall’s words blurred into the background and in its place was Zayn’s voice telling her she needed to live a little and live a life outside Barney’s that was less calculated. Leaps of faith were never her thing but perhaps, there was no harm in this one-especially since she knew deep down, she had nothing to lose. It was a tiny gathering between friends and if she had to put it in her own words and her own terms, it was kind of like a Christmas study date.

“-and of course I have boardgames and-”

“Okay,” Alana answered at last. “I’m pretty sure we’d get nowhere with Dickens but I do love gingerbread cookies,”

Niall held in his response for a moment after the agreement was forged, unable to belief that his spontaneous idea of asking a fellow lone soul to spend Christmas together would bear fruit.

“Yeah…yeah okay,” Niall finally found his words but unconsciously scratched the back of his neck in sudden shyness. “I’ll go get my phone and then text you my address,”

While Niall went to get his phone, Alana quickly reached for hers and with rapid speed and an equally quick heart rate, ignored the multiple texts she received to send a message to Soo.

“Got asked out on an almost date for Christmas. Merry Christmas to you and Z!!!!!!!!! xxxxxx”

Just as she hit send, Niall emerged once more and handed his phone to her so she could type in her number. A knowing smile formed on her lips, however, when the name space was filled with the name “Karen”.

“Uhmm…my name is actually Alan. Short for Alana. Alana Bosworth,”

Niall looked puzzled. “What do you mean….?”

“I mean….” Alana paused and licked her lips, unable to hold in a laugh that eventually escaped her lips. She held his phone up. “I mean my name is Alana not Karen. You might have misheard me saying Alan…everyone calls me Alan…. and assumed my name was Karen and wrote it down by mistake. You’ve been writing it wrong the whole year,”

It was Niall’s turn to blink twice. In slow motion.

“What do you mean I’ve been writing your name wrong for a year?” Niall turned pale, his eyes reflecting obvious embarrassment. “Why have you never corrected me?”

“Because,” Alana was laughing without inhibitions now and gave herself a few moments to gather herself. “….Because you only asked once and I thought I could correct you the next time I saw you but you never asked for my name again so I’m….Karen,”

Niall ran a hand through his hair, opening his mouth as if to say something before quickly deciding against it. “You mean I’ve mistaken you for a Karen the whole year,”

Alana nodded in mock seriousness, the nudged her new friend. “It’s okay…no big,”

Typing her phone number in then, she gave herself a missed call before handing the phone back to Niall who looked a little less shocked than he was before but still clearly beating himself up over getting someone else’s name wrong for a whole year.

“Relax, Niall. It’s okay, really. At least now you know, right?” Alana assured him. “Text me your address tomorrow and we’ll meet up,”

Niall nodded his head robotically.

“Okay,” Alana was still amused as she backed away and towards the door. “Goodnight, Niall…and Merry Christmas,”

“Good….goodnight, Kar….Alan. See you tomorrow. Merry Christmas,”

Niall blew out a breath of utter shock as he watched Alana leave. When he finally fully recovered, he dialled a number on the phone. The other person picked up almost instantly.

“Hey…yeah buddy…Merry Christmas to you too. Listen, you wouldn’t belief what happened, Zayn….”

#1dff #exchanges

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dekinswritings · 6 years

Text

L1-L1 WH80 - Chapter 5, Beer

"Traditionally brewed beer has become a luxury, but this one's pretty close to the real deal..."

VA-11 HALL-A AU. HonoUmi. NicoMaki.

Word count: 5.9k

[Ao3] [FF.net]

“Umi-chan, you’ve been starin’ at the counter for a whole minute now. If you just wanted my company that badly, you could’ve just asked.”

“S-Sorry.” Had it really been that long? Umi had asked Nozomi for a word as they finished opening the bar tonight, but now words failed to come out of her mouth. Where did she even start? Umi did not know about relationships, crushes or anything at all regarding love. Just thinking of the word made her heart run at a marathon pace and her cheeks turn red like Adelhyde.

“Clearly we’re not getting anywhere if you can’t focus, so concentrate and gimme a Mercuryblast,” Nozomi said as she swiped her card for the transaction.

“Right, Mercuryblast.” Nozomi was right, her train of thought was somehow going through several different rails at neck-breaking speeds. A Mercuryblast, one Adelhyde, one Bronson Extract, three Powdered Delta, three Flanergide and two Karmotrine. All on the rocks and blended. Umi stared at the blue mix as she poured it into its glass. Hadn’t Honoka ordered one of these? She even tried to make a dumb joke about it too. The blue also kind of reminded her of Honoka’s eyes, but the color was not quite right, it should be a deeper tone. Why was Umi suddenly so aware of this drink? And not to mention that-

“Umi.” Nozomi’s voice snapped Umi out of her thoughts and handed the drink to her boss. “So, what did you want to talk about?” Nozomi asked as she swayed her drink in a circular motion.

“I-I figured that you might have… more experience about this sort of topic,” Umi started and, to keep her hands from trembling, grabbed the first glass her hands found and started to clean it, the cloth wiping it faster with each stroke.

In other circumstances, Nozomi would have poked fun at the fact that Umi had ran out of dirty glasses and was simply occupying her hands out of anxiety. Instead, she put down her drink and listened intently.

“And even if you don’t have that much experience on it, even a little bit would be sufficient. I-I myself have not experienced it before, and I consider you a good friend and someone I can talk about this. N-Not like Rin isn’t a good friend either! But… this requires a bit more subtlety and I’d rather not have her talk about this to every client she serves and…”

Nozomi simply listened, and she considered a pretty good listener at that, but Umi had started rambling and dodging whatever she wanted to talk about. “Umi,” she called out for the second time.

Hearing her name again almost made her jump. “D-Did I start ramble?”

“Are you gonna have sex? Is this what this is about?”

If the glasses provided by the BTC had not been made as sturdy as they were, Umi’s grip would have certainly cracked and broken the glass she had been wiping right in her hands. “N-No!” Umi yelled, startling both Nozomi and Rin, who was standing on the other side of the bar. “It’s not about sex!”

“Well, what’s got you so worked up then?”

“It’s Honoka-!” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could catch them. Instead of being met with a smug and playful grin from Nozomi followed by a teaseful joke, Umi found a gentle smile on Nozomi’s smile.

“Honoka, huh? So you finally put the pieces together?”

“T-The pieces? What are you talking about?” Umi put down the glass, knowing that it would eventually crack if she kept it in her hands.

“That you like her.”

Umi managed to keep her mouth shut and only made a muffled scream that was tame enough to not make Rin think that someone was getting murdered inside the bar. Thinking about it made her cheeks red, but hearing it from Nozomi heated up her entire face. “Y-Y-Yes, that… was I wanted to talk about.”

“So, what’re you planning to do?” Nozomi asked as she gently poked her drink.

“W-What do you mean what am I planning to do? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do!” Umi was starting to regret asking Nozomi for help. Was she not supposed to be wise, or at least a little bit knowledgeable about these kind of things? “I’m at a loss,” Umi said defeatedly.

“Well, do you wanna go out with her?”

“W-Well…” Umi blushed at the fact that now she was imagining Honoka, walking with her hand in hand. Embarrassment turned into a smile when she pictured Honoka smiling. “Y-Yes, I would.”

“Then just tell her,” Nozomi said curtly and began to drink her Mercuryblast.

Had all the time running a bar with marginal profit finally gotten to her boss? Or was she always this crazy? “I-I can’t just tell her!”

“And why not? I thought you wanted to go out with Honoka.” Nozomi only stopped drinking to talk and immediately continued with her Mercuryblast.

“Because what if she… what if she rejects me?” The thought stung much more than what Umi would have liked. “I… I don’t wish to make things uncomfortable. A-And she has a girlfriend already...”

“Oh, does she?” Nozomi raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“W-Well… I wouldn’t say I’m completely sure she has one, but that designer did seem to be her girlfriend,” Umi explained and sighed.

“Umi-chan, oh Umi-chan. You’re lookin’ at your cup half-empty again,” Nozomi shook her head. “A maiden in love shouldn’t be brooding! She should be gleefully happy, with butterflies in her stomach.”

“I do feel like I’m going to throw up,” Umi mumbled.

“Cheer up, Umi-chan. You’ve got nothing to worry about, you’re just overthinking yourself to death as per usual. You don’t have to tell Honoka, but the more time you let pass, the more it’ll gnaw at your head and the worse those butterflies in there will get,” Nozomi explained before getting up and offering her worker the now-empty glass. At least she now had something to actually clean. “Chin up, we’ve got a customer coming. I’ll be in my office,” Nozomi bid her farewell with a smile.

“And hey, if you really want that relationship, in the long run it really is about sex!”

Nozomi had taken refuge in the confines of her office too quickly and the steel shaker bottle that Umi threw in a blink of an eye panged against the office door instead of her boss’s face.

Umi glared at the door for a few moments before sighing and walking out of her station to pick up her shaker. Even if the conversation had seemed short and even moot, Nozomi was right: Umi would eventually need to talk to Honoka about this, her feelings were not going to simply disappear.

Once back in her station, Umi wiped the shaker as she began to ponder. She needed to come up with a plan. First, she should clarify what was the relationship between Honoka and Kotori. As much as it pained her to think that there was one in the first place, it would certainly put a quick end to this ordeal. There are plenty of people out there in Neo Tokyo that Umi had yet to meet after all. Going out to meet them seemed like a pain though, and none of the people who came to Lily White shone as bright as the police officer. Umi cursed internally, she was still overthinking everything like Nozomi had said, and she was not getting anywhere. She was in dire need of a distraction, something to clear her mind. More than ever before Umi cursed the lack of customers in the bar-

“Hello?”

Umi had lost count how many times she had failed to notice people in front of her tonight. Looking up, Umi saw Maki sitting in front of her, her designer clothes halfway hidden by contrastingly white coat she wore over them.

“Oh, um, welcome to Lily White,” were all the words that Umi managed to mutter out. With the way things had gone last time Umi saw the doctor, she was certain that she would not come back ever again.

“Uh, yeah,” Maki seemed almost as distracted as the bartender as she looked around the bar. “Has that Lilim come back?”

“E-Excuse me?” Maki’s sudden question caught Umi off-guard. “Do you know Hanayo?”

“Wha- Hanayo?” The doctor repeated in confusion before shaking her head. “No, I meant the idol. The singing robot.”

“Oh, Nico,” Umi should have realized sooner. “No, you made sure to scare her off.” The memories of that night were still fresh in her mind, of how unnerving it had been to discover that Lilim could be that upset.

“O-Oh.” Maki raised one hand to one of her bangs and started to twirl it. She was not sporting a ponytail this time, Umi noticed. In fact, all of her appearance seemed less taken care of, her clothes had wrinkles under the coat and even her makeup did a poor job to conceal the dark eyebags on her face. “A Sunshine Cloud, please.”

Umi nodded and began to prepare her ingredients. As she poured the halves of Adelhyde and Bronson Extract, Umi decided it was for the best to keep the client sober and refrained from adding any alcohol. “I presumed you wouldn’t be coming back,” Umi commented as the drink blended.

“Work’s been more stressful than usual, so I needed a drink,” Maki explained once the blending process was over.

“It has been getting colder, so I'm guessing more people come in with a cold,” Umi chit chatted as she finished preparing Maki’s drink.

“It’s a private hospital, people don’t come to us just for a cold,” Maki denied Umi’s idea as she took her glass. “I’ve been having problems focusing and concentrating.”

“And you thought coming for alcohol would help you with that,” Umi deadpanned.

“Yes,” Maki agreed and was about to take her first sip before slamming her drink onto the counter. “No, wait, no! That’s not what I came here for!”

Umi was impressed: she had not even started to drink and she was stammering already. “Why do you come to a bar if not to drink then?”

“T-That’s none of your business,” Maki mumbled before starting on her drink.

Umi had never been as good at reading people as Nozomi but years of experience had taught her enough to see through the red haired doctor. She had probably come to offer an apology, to her if not to Nico. It was a shame that the idol never came back, as annoying as she was. She did seem to genuinely care for the things she loved, like her family. Umi had not picked it up at first, but thinking back on those previous days made her realize the small changes in the Lilim’s demeanor when she talked about those things.

“So she really hasn’t come back?” Maki asked again, her glass lying empty on the counter. Her voice showed a cocktail of feelings, one too familiar for Umi when she had to deal with people who had tried to drown their problems with booze, but Maki was completely sober.

“Do I have a reason to lie about it?” Umi asked as she inspected Maki’s expression. It seemed vacant at first glance, but Umi knew better. “No, she hasn’t.”

Maki took a deep breath and let it out with long groan. “Great, I made sure to come early tonight in the hopes of finding her and apparently she’s been long gone. I won’t be able to concentrate fully in my work, I’ll probably have to put off some appointments and…” Maki’s rant grew quieter until her words her an inaudible mumble for Umi. “Grizzly Temple.” Her voice picked up just to order another drink.

Umi could not remember when was the last time someone had ordered a Grizzly Temple without a hint of irony in their voice. According to many, Umi included, it was one of the worst drinks in the BTC menu. Three Adelhyde, three Bronson Extract, three Powdered Delta and one Karmotrine. All blended. Once poured into its glass, Umi handed the order.

“Look, if you really want to apologize,” Umi started as she dug her phone out of her pocket, “she gave us her contact details.” Under normal circumstances, Umi would have never shared private information of her clients to other clients, but she did not want to witness another fight like that again. At least not in the bar.

“W-Who said I wanted to apologize to her,” Maki mumbled defensively before sipping her drink.

“So you don’t want it?” Umi took out a pen and was ready to write on a piece of paper. Taking a sneaky glimpse, she saw Maki staring intently.

“I-I never said that, just give me the number.”

Umi managed to control her eye roll and simply shook her head as she began to write Nico’s contact information.

“Officer Kousaka Honoka, presenting for duty!” Honoka’s loud announcement of her arrival made Maki jump in her seat as she pocketed the scrap of paper. The police officer cheerfully walked to the empty seat next to Maki and waved at Umi. The doctor eyed the officer for a brief moment before going back to her drink. “Evening, Umi-chan,” she greeted with a smile.

“A-Ah, Honoka.” Umi found it difficult to keep her face straight when she felt her cheeks flushing. “H-How are you?”

“Hmm, well, I guess I'm fine. Had a scuffle with a guy who didn't want to take his parking ticket.” She crossed her arms and shook her head disapprovingly. “The nerve of some people!”

“There's a fair share of people who'll refuse to pay additional fees,” Umi pointed out, “money can come short when basic necessities become more expensive every once in a while.” Umi knew better than anyone else about the importance of saving.

“A parking citation is basically pocket change,” Maki chirped in offhandedly before sipping her drink.

“Wow, you must be some kind of rich doctor.” Honoka’s joke only got a raised eyebrow from Maki. “A Beer please! Oh, and I’m Honoka, by the way.”

Maki inspected the officer once more before presenting herself. “Maki,” was all she said.

“Well Maki-chan, it’s a pleasure!”

“Wha- hey! Who told you you can address me so casually?” Maki asked defensively.

“Well, you only gave me a name to work with.” Honoka laughed and scratched the back of her head. “Would you prefer it if I was rude to you?”

“What’re you saying? You’re making no sense,” Maki mumbled and tried to take another sip before realizing her drink was empty. “Another Grizzly Temple, please.” Umi nodded and started to prepare Maki’s order as she finished Honoka’s.

“Yuck, Grizzly Temple, Beer’s definitely the way to go,” Honoka said to herself as she took her Beer and swayed it side to side like an excited child.

“Excuse me?” Maki turned to Honoka and glared; the doctor frowned even more when she saw how Honoka was too busy happily drinking her Beer to even notice her. “What’s wrong with a Grizzly Temple?”

“Hm?” Honoka put down her drink and looked at Maki in confusion. “What do you mean? It’s pretty awful-tasting, bitter and bland.”

“And you-”

“Here,” Umi interrupted Maki before things got out of hand and placed her order on the counter. “And you should stop,” she said and glaring at Honoka.

Honoka could only laugh nervously under Umi’s piercing eyes. “Sorry.” Honoka’s apology was vague enough to be directed to both the bartender and the doctor. Maki still looked unconvinced but went back to her drink. Umi was just glad she defused the situation before another fight blew up in front of her.

Umi took a deep breath and started to think. She needed to clear everything with Honoka so she could finally sort out her own feelings. Perhaps not in front of the doctor; hopefully she left before Honoka did.

“Oh hell no.”

Umi looked up to see that Nico had just entered the bar, any pretense of a grandiose entrance gone and replaced by a scowl directed to the doctor.

“Oh, Nico,” was the only thing Umi managed to say. Honoka gasped loudly while Maki looked back at Nico and visibly failing to not scowl back.

“The feeling is mutual,” Maki snarked as Nico walked to the counter, taking a seat next to Honoka. Well, rather than next to Honoka, it would be better described as taking the seat that was not next to Maki’s.

“Well, Nico managed to get a day off so she had planned to wrap it up on a happy note with a couple of drinks! So…” Nico flipped one of her twintails and with a mocking smile she looked at the doctor, “why don’t you just leave?”

“Hi! I’m Honoka, big fan-”

Maki frowned and her finger once more began to twirl with her hair. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to see you-”

“Well, Maki-chan! If you wanted to see Nico sooo badly, why don’t you just lift that mug of yours to look at a billboard or something?”

“Excuse me? I go out of my way to come here to apologize and-”

“Oh, now the oh-so intellectual redhead wants to apologize to Nico! Yeah, and while she’s at it, I’m sure she wants to insult her family, just like she did to her career!”

“Umm.. Umi-chan…” Honoka could not help but to have shrunk her shoulders as the women at her sides began to yell.

“Hey! Take that back! I-”

“Well, where’s my apology? Nico’s waiting-!”

“Enough!” Umi slammed her hands on her mixing station loud enough to silence Nico and Maki. “If you’re going to fight, do it outside. Your pointless bickering is scaring the other customers.”

“Pointless bickering? She’s the one who started it!” Maki huffed and turned away from Nico.

“I-It’s fine, Umi-chan.” Honoka laughed nervously and she slowly sat back up.

“Please don’t kick out Nico? She’s really sorry for getting into another fight with a dumb woman,” Nico apologized before glaring at the doctor.

Umi audibly groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. If this kept on going, she would have to remove both of them from the premises and that would certainly kill any sort of mood for talking with Honoka.

“Um… Maki-chan said she wants to apologize, so why don’t you just let her?” Honoka asked Nico.

“Because she insulted Nico! And she’s so arrogant and full of herself-”

“So what? She came here to apologize. Isn’t that good enough for now?” Honoka pressed on.

“N-No! Because-”

“Because what?” Honoka pressed on. The genuine curiosity in Honoka’s gaze made Nico and her pride falter. Nico tried to come up with something to say but nothing would come out of her voice receptors.

“F-Fine, okay! Nico gets it!” Nico threw her arms in the air before turning away and crossing them. After an annoyed sigh, she turned back to Honoka and Maki. “Fine, Nico’s all ears.”

Honoka turned around to look at Maki, who looked back at her from the corner of her eye before turning away. “And?”

“I-I’m not going to apologize to that robot.”

Nico gasped offendedly, but before she could say anything in return, Honoka interrupted her. “Hey! That wasn’t nice. You said you came here to apologize, so why are you insulting her again?” Maki simply huffed in response. “You’re just giving her an actual reason to be angry now, you know? And then she’s going to leave, then you would’ve come here for nothing, and then you’d feel bad for insulting her again and how you’ll never see her again and-”

“Fine! I get it!” Maki quickly turned around and covered Honoka’s mouth. “Shut up, will you! I’m sorry!”

Honoka leaned back and took a quick glimpse at Nico before going back to Maki. “Sorry to me or her?”

“To her! A-And to you too, I guess,” Maki mumbled as she started to twirl her finger in her hair once more.

Honoka looked at the Lilim, and under her gaze she gave in once more. “Fine, okay. Nico accepts your apology.”

“There! Was that so hard?” Honoka asked with a smile. “Bartender! A round of Beers for everyone!”

“I shouldn’t, but fine. Just this once.”

“Nico won’t say no to a free drink!”

Impressed would be an understatement of how Umi felt about Honoka; she had managed to calm both women and reconcile them despite how stubborn prideful they were. She had been planning to talk with Honoka but she found herself at a lack of words again.

“Three Beers,” Umi mumbled as she placed the three glass mugs on the counter.

Nico looked at the beer curiously, inspecting it from side to side and even lifting the mug to look at its bottom side. “I’ve never had a Beer that wasn’t canned.”

“Canned beers aren’t that bad, but these ones are way better!” Honoka lifted her drink and waved it, spilling a slight bit of its contents.

“In comparison to the ones I prepare, canned beers are watered down,” Umi explained.

“Craft Beer’s better,” Maki mumbled before taking a small sip of her Beer.

“Oh, you’re just full of unnecessary comments, aren’t you?” Nico glared at the doctor for a second before starting to chug her Beer.

“Whoah! That’s the way to go, Nico!” Honoka cheered on the Lilim as she petite girl kept chugging and chugging until the mug was empty. “You’ve got spirits, Nico-chan! That’s what I love about you!”

“Oh, you’re a fan?” Nico was all too pleased of having impressed another fan and smiled. She flipped her hair once, took out a marker and placed it right above the empty mug. “Do you want my autograph?”

“Oh, no no no, I couldn’t-”

“For free! For being such a good crowd for Nico’s Beer drinking.”

“No, I couldn’t have it on Umi-chan’s glass. It’s not mine,” Honoka clarified. Nico was left with her mouth wide open, not in her lifetime had she had an autograph declined for a reason like that. “Oh, you could autograph my phone!” Honoka suggested as she pulled out her phone from her pocket.

“Sure, love! Can Nico get your name?” Nico asked before jotting down her signature in Honoka’s phone. Before handing it back, Nico unlocked the password-less phone, something unfitting for a police officer, Umi thought, and activated its camera. “Wanna take a photo?”

“Oh, yeah! You bet I wanna!” Honoka nodded with excitement and placed her fingers just like Nico did.

“Hey hey, redhead! You too, pose! Get in the shot too, Umi!” Nico commanded rather than asked and the sparkling joy in Honoka’s eyes made it difficult for either of the two women to say no. To get everyone in the shot, Nico got off her seat to get a better angle and Honoka wrapped an arm around Umi’s shoulders to pull her close. Umi could feel the heat rise up to her ears and could barely move to do the Nico’s hand pose or even face the camera. Maki reluctantly put her hands like Nico before the picture was taken.

“Wow, thanks!” Honoka said with excitement as Nico handed back the phone once she made sure to send the picture to herself.

“Don’t mention it.” Nico grinned and patted Honoka’s shoulder. “And you, Maki-chan?”

“W-What?” Maki asked with slight suspicion and put the mug of Beer between her and the Lilim when she approached her.

“Gimme your phone number.”

“What? Why would I do that?”

“So I can send you the photo too, duh.”

“Who said I wanted it?” Maki glared at Nico who seemed unfazed by her defensiveness.

“Stop being so stubborn and give it to Nico! And maybe you can invite Nico somewhere to apologize properly and not in some shoddy bar in the middle of nowhere.” Nico finally glared back.

After a few moments of staring down at each other, Maki sighed and pulled out a card and a pen from her purse. Writing down something on it, she began to wave it at Nico. “Here, take it or leave it.”

Nico snagged the card and began to read it “Dr Nishikino Maki… Nishikino Medical Center… wait, this is a business card!”

“And all of my contact information is there,” Maki pointed out and turned back to the counter.

“You’re gonna have the great Nico Nii book an appointment?!”

“I wrote my phone number on the back of the card, idiot.”

Nico flipped the card. “Oh, and so it is,” Nico mumbled and pocketed the card. “Fine, well, Nico got a free drink and a pretty girl’s number, she’d say it’s been a pretty successful night.” Maki choked on her Beer when she heard Nico’s comment. “Well, Nico should leave. She needs to scout out for a nice and expensive restaurant~,” she cheerfully said her farewell and skipped out of the bar.

“I’m going to regret doing that,” Maki groaned and rested her head on the counter.

“Well, at least you’re not gonna regret not apologizing anymore!” Honoka pointed out and gave Maki a thumbs up.

Maki smiled a little bit. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Umi couldn’t help but to wonder how Nico and Maki’s first interaction would have gone if Honoka had been there.

“Ugh... I need to go,” Maki said as she slowly pulled herself up from the counter. “I have work tomorrow and I hadn’t even planned on drinking too much tonight.” Too much, she says. “It was a pleasure, officer.”

“Please, my friends call me Honoka,” Honoka corrected her and smiled before offering Maki a hand to get up. Maki blushed a little but was drunk enough to swallow her pride and take the help, even if she did not need it.

“It was nice meeting you, Honoka,” Maki said once more and waved at Umi. “Um, thanks for the drinks. They were as good as I remembered them.”

“Thanks for your patronage.”

“Bye bye, Maki-chan!” Honoka waved goodbye at the doctor and turned back to Umi once she was gone. Taking out her phone, she gleefully stared at the autograph. “Man, what a night.”

“You could say that again,” Umi mumbled and, without realizing it found herself staring at Honoka. If only more people could be like her the world would be a much better place.

“I got a selfie with Nico! And her autograph too!” Honoka hummed happily. “I’m glad she didn’t ask me to name some of her songs because I don’t remember any of their titles.” Umi would have laughed if she was not the same, but in her defense she had only heard Nico’s songs once.

Now that the two of them were alone, ignoring Rin on the other side of the bar, Umi had to steel herself for now was her chance. Her chance to find out about everything and if it all went well she could have something to look forward to beside Lily White. All she had to do was clear up all the things Umi did not know about and ask Honoka about her relationship with Kotori. What could be the worst thing that could happen-

“Hm? My relationship with Kotori-chan?”

Umi froze. Had she been thinking out loud all this time? The confused look on Honoka’s face was all the confirmation she needed and this was probably the worst thing that could have happened. How much had she even said? Her thoughts were scrambling to remember anything but the pit that she was suddenly feeling in her stomach could not let her think. Was the bar always been this stuffy? Umi could not breathe no matter how air she tried inhale.

She could only hear faint sounds of Honoka as she stepped away from the counter and out the door to the back alley.

Umi just had to ask. How hard was that? Apparently too hard because everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong. Nozomi and Rin were right, she overthinks everything and now that had screwed everything up. At least out here she could finally breathe fresh air. Well, at least as fresh as it got in Neo Tokyo, certainly fresher than inside the bar. Umi pressed her back against one of the alley’s wall and slid down just before touching the ground. Hugging her legs, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the fresh night air. Fresh and cold air. Temperatures had been dropping with each day and tonight had gotten to the point where one could see their own breath. Umi left her coat inside, but going back to get it right now… Umi could stand in the cold for a couple more minutes. Going back in there after leaving Honoka like that would be-

“Umi-chan? Are you okay?” Honoka walked out of the bar’s back door and into the alley.

“H-Honoka?” Umi quickly stood up and dusted the rear of her skirt. It was not like she was sitting on the floor, but a fetal position was not one she wanted to be seen in. “W-What are you doing here?”

“Your co-worker told me you went out for your break, and when I asked if I could come out here she insisted I gave you a few moments and then gave me your coat too. Here,” Honoka explained and handed Umi her coat. The bartender stared at it dumbfounded for a few seconds before taking it. “Do you have panic attacks frequently?”

“U-Um… no. Last time I had one was before a BTC test back when I was in training…” Umi said as she put on her coat. She felt a slight shiver from its unworn coldness but it was better than not wearing it. Back then, Rin and Nozomi had helped her calm down in time to take the test she had forgotten to study for and in the end she breezed through the test, something she still felt embarrassed about.

“How are you feeling now?” Honoka asked before pressing her back on the wall too, next to Umi.

Umi took another deep breath and watched her breath dissipate in front of her. “Better. Thanks for asking.”

“Hey, don’t mention it.” Despite the cold temperatures, Honoka’s smile warmed Umi as always. Out in the alley actually felt warmer.

Neither spoke another word, falling into a comfortable silence. Only the faint bustling of the city reminded them that there was a whole world out there.

“Thanks for checking up on me, Honoka. A-And sorry for leaving you like that,” Umi apologized.

“It’s fine, it happens to the best of us.” Honoka’s comment made Umi smile. “Kotori-chan has had them sometimes when she stresses too much.”

Kotori again. It felt like a pang on Umi’s insides, but even so, now was the best time to ask her. Finally be able to cope with her feelings.

“U-Um, Honoka?” Honoka looked at Umi with such attentiveness that it almost hurt to make such a strong question. “W-What is your relationship with Kotori?”

“Kotori-chan?” Honoka repeated with a confused look. “Well… we’ve been friends for a long time. We’ve been through a lot of things together, highs and lows, we've known each other since we were little kids. She was even my first kiss!” Honoka reminisced with a blush and a chuckle.

Oh. Somehow, it hurt so much more than Umi had been expecting. She supposed that deep down she hoped that there was no relationship at all between the two, as awful as it sounded.

“But…” Honoka continued, looking down at the ground and kicking a littered can, “it really didn’t work out, we only dated for like a week or two. Thankfully we’re still friends and hang out a lot. Truthfully, I don’t have much going on my life so having Kotori-chan as a friend has helped me out a ton.”

Oh. Umi had never felt such a whiplash of opposite emotions in a such a short span of time, but leave it to this police officer to make it happen.

“What’s up? Are you interested in her? She’s pretty cute! She cooks the most amazing sweets, has a lovely voice, always looks out for you, she will pretty much give you free clothes if you date her…”

Umi was not sure at what point she had stopped listening, instead having focused on taking a deep breath and steel herself once more.

“No, the one I’m interested in is you, Honoka.”

“And then one time-” Umi had managed to silence Honoka. Whether it was a good or a bad signal she did not know but she tried to not let it get to her. Not now. “I uh… r-really? Me? Not Kotori-chan?”

“I don't know why you keep thinking that I’d want to date her. I barely know her, but I know that these complicated feelings I’ve had since you showed up are about you, and that… t-that I want to… d-date you.” Umi did her best to power through the embarrassment of her words.

“Well, because Kotori-chan is so much better than me. I’m clumsy, dumb, trusting to a fault, and-”

Umi shook her head and took hold of Honoka’s hand tightly. “Then, please, trust me on this. On my feelings. I… I like you, and if possible… w-would like to date you.”

Honoka could not help but to swallow some of her doubts when Umi’s gaze was as serious as it was. She felt heat crawl up to her ears, growing self conscious of how much Umi was staring at her. “Kotori-chan only managed to up with me for like a week, you know?”

“I’m not Kotori.”

“Then… I think I’d like to see you more often. Outside the bar.”

“Are we… not outside the bar?” Umi asked, confused. She could not help but to look around the alley. “Or do you mean-”

Honoka interrupted the bartender by giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I meant on dates.”

It took a couple of second for Umi to realize what had just happened, her face flushing red. “H-Honoka!” she yelled and pushed Honoka away.

“Y-Yeah?” Honoka laughed heartily, seeing Umi’s face as red as it was.

“T-Tell me if you’re going to k..! To…! To k-kiss me,” Umi’s roaring voice quickly turned the meekest Honoka had ever heard Umi talk.

Honoka laughed some more, much to the bartender’s dismay. After wiping away a tear, Honoka took a deep breath to compose herself. “Umi-chan, can I kiss you?”

Umi’s blush only got worse, something neither of them were aware was even possible. “A-Actually being asked is worse. Please don’t ask if you can kiss me.”

“Then… I can?”

After another deep breath, Umi sighed and nodded. “Y-Yes… you can.”

Honoka smiled, and despite her embarrassment, Umi smiled back. Honoka took hold of one of Umi’s hands, their fingers entwining as she leaned closer to Umi. Closing her eyes, Honoka kissed Umi on the lips, this time savoring the moment, her other arm pulling Umi closer.

The sudden noise of the back door sliding open startled both girls, breaking the kiss to find Rin staring with her mouth wide open.

“Oh! Sorry, keep going!” Rin waved at them and backed up. “Nozomi! Umi-chan and the cop were making ou-!” As the door closed, the soundproofed walls of L1-L1 WH80 cut off the rest of the cat boomer’s announcement.

It would also soundproof Umi’s pending fury upon her co-worker.

“Umi-chan, could we stay like this for a bit?”

Well, all of that could wait. She knew that if a police officer ever asked her something, the best course of action would be to simply agree with them.

A/N: And it's done! Thank you so much for reaching this finish line alongside me. This is my first multi-chapter fic that I've managed to finish, and honestly, it feels pretty great. It also feels like I've lifted a huge weight off my back and can now guiltlessly write other thingies. Some actual Christmas ideas and prompts have taken the back seat this past week so I could finally finish this. All the feedback that I received was a huge motivation to continue this AU I came up with half a year ago, so I truly appreciate all of you.

L1-L1 WH-80 is done! This last chapter came out as the longest one yet (actually each chapter got progressively longer) and I think this is chapter alone is my longest piece yet, coming out at almost 6k. A number not too impressive when compared to others but this is a new benchmark for me, hopefully one that I'll surpass one day. If the ending was disappointing, I apologize for not living up to the expectations. I always wanted to finish it up in the back alley, a setting that was also present in VA-11 HALL-A. The only one I couldn't get a chance to recreate was Jill's apartment, but I didn't want to take the story outside the bar.

Oh hey, and apparently I took so long a VA-11 HALL-A sequel was announced. Yikes!

I would love to revisit this AU and explore other characters and other parts of this setting, so look forward to that at some point in the future :)

I’d like to thank @bcheddar13 @saberin @master-thief-gray-shadow and @grayneigh for helping me out a ton by beta-ing this project for me.

Hopefully I'll get to post something before the 31st, but if not, happy holidays everyone.

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davidchill · 6 years

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This Is My Truth - The Final Blog (For Now)

After over ten years of writing a personal blog I feel that now would be a good time to wrap things up. I’m sure I’ll still write blogs from time-to-time, but they’ll be a completely different animal to this curious beast.

Social media has changed an awful lot over the years. As I scroll through my timeline this morning all I see are snappy memes, gifs, people arguing with strangers about the perils of Brexit, and sponsored posts based on my browsing habits.

Another thing that’s changed is how people engage and interact with others. Over the years I’ve seen friends who appeared to be warm and affable suddenly go stone cold and aloof, virtually overnight. Typed communication can often be misinterpreted or misconstrued, and I have, on a few occasions, tried to strike up friendships with people who I’ve genuinely liked, only for their shields to go up - and I watch them vanish at warp speed.

The truth has always been important to me - so when people lie in order to make their lives easier I find myself distancing myself from them so they don’t need to lie anymore. But I can’t judge anyone. Lying is easy. Anyone can lie. How many lies have got people out of awkward social situations without damaging the friendship? Thousands, I would imagine. The truth is much harder to swallow at times. So if you’ve found this blog to be a difficult read then that’s certainly not a bad thing.

Of course, a few “friends” haven’t stayed the course, and opted to “unfriend” or “unfollow” me on social media for posting “too many dog photos” or “too many blogs on mental health”. Well… all I can offer here is my “sperm” analogy…

“Out of the approximately 1,000 sperm that enter the fallopian tube, only about 200 reach the egg. The rest get attached to the lining of the oviduct, or just give out and die. Out of the approximately 200 sperm that reach the egg, only one fertilizes the egg.”

If you’ve stuck by me on Facebook during the most turbulent period of my life (between 2014 and the present day) then consider yourself a healthy sperm. The others might resurface in a few years when everything in my life is hunky-dory and say “Is it safe to be your friend again?” but they have no chance of reaching the egg.

In this case the “egg” is a metaphor for my “circle of trust”.

Friends don’t fall off the radar when you struggle with your mental health, and nor do they sit back and watch you struggle financially when they *could* throw you a bone. Oh, and they certainly don’t walk away when you share anecdotes about your dog.

So if you are still with me - thank you. And if you’re sitting comfortably then let’s begin...

Keeping the Faith

For much of my adult life I never had a huge amount of faith in myself. Too many crushing doubts played on my mind as to what role I had in this world - or even if I had a part to play. My creative abilities were certainly brought into question, as I lie awake at night wondering when people would wake up and give me the same amount of judgement and scrutiny that I subjected myself to on a daily basis.

Despite a very happy home life I was a prime target for the school bullies - thanks to a winning combination of ginger hair and small, round head - so it’s hardly surprising that I entered adulthood with several insecurities and a huge chip on my shoulder. Children can be cruel and wretched creatures at times. Snotty-nosed brats.

Throughout college I drew comic strips at every available opportunity and was always genuinely flabbergasted when my peers told me how talented and gifted I was - and how much they loved my sense of humour. Well, my written word - as I was practically mute in those days. “You’d be funny if you spoke!” commented one guy.

While most of the students gallivanted off to university I chose not to pursue further education and opted to get a “real” job in order to feed my comic book addiction. So for the next six or seven years I took on a variety of roles… packing plastic, kennel hand, factory worker.

I’m not sure what my parents thought of me coming home covered in dog poo and toner dust - but my duties were the perfect cover for an artistic creative soul who had zero faith in his abilities. I couldn’t fail.

Unfortunately my cover was blown in 1998 when my line manager insisted on promoting me to “champion operator” - a job that involved assembly work, but also gave me the opportunity to walk around with a bit of paper and use the new fangled “e-mail” system that was becoming popular in the workplace. “What is this wizardry?” I asked myself, as I bluffed my way through the job.

It was during this time that I was asked to give a PowerPoint presentation to an office full of co-workers and the type of senior management you’d cross the street to avoid if you saw them out shopping on a Saturday morning. When the CEO gave his feedback on the presentations he threw the spotlight on me and said; “David, I thought you were excellent.”

Swine. “I’m a fraud I tell you!” (I didn’t actually say that out loud)

Thankfully, just before my head expanded to dangerous levels of self belief I was made redundant from the position. This was no reflection on me - the whole company went under. Nothing to do with my “excellent” presentation skills or the time I spent walking around with a bit of paper.

The following year I was inflicted with a condition called spasmodic torticollis and forced to take three months off work. In English; I suffered with a severe muscle spasm in my neck. As a result, my chin was permanently touching my shoulder and only lying down made me feel “normal”. We didn’t have box sets to lift the mood in those days, so it was an extremely dark chapter in my life. I was pumped full of valium, I couldn’t drive or walk the dog, and my mother had to chop my food up for me.

Eventually, after a series of tests, the consultant told me I’d have to have injections in my neck - but this wouldn’t guarantee success. Truth be told I became very low and depressed - but, with the support of my friends and family, I got through each day. One of my church friends even picked me up, took me to church, and prayed for me. This wasn’t like my “last rites” or anything, I hasten to add.

One day, as I walked into town, all hunched up and averting eye contact - something very peculiar happened. My head wasn’t tilting to one side anymore and I found myself walking in a STRAIGHT line. “What is this hogwashery?!” I thought to myself. “I’m walking with my head in an upright position!”

The specialist who mooted the idea of injections then examined me, scratched his head, and concluded that I was some kind of weird “enigma”. Yes, it took three months of pain, frustration and fear to reach the conclusion that I was a bit odd. Blimey, I didn’t need to go through all that to work that one out.

The Slippery Slope

Several years later, and after being made redundant three times between 1998 and 2003, I was beginning to think I was cursed.

In 2006 I quit full-time employment and went down the “self-employed” route - mostly focusing on wedding websites for the subsequent eight years. On reflection that was far too long to spend on one endeavour, and a few close friends urged me to expand my portfolio. Again, I felt “safe” doing wedding websites, the money was coming in, and I didn’t want to run the risk of straying too far. However, I should have taken the advice given to Peter Davison when Patrick Troughton advised him to only play the Doctor for three years. Eight years is a very long time in the world of technological advances, and I became the Ken Barlow of wedding websites.

Looking back, it’s not surprising the work had a detrimental impact on my mental health. I poured my heart and soul into those blasted websites, and sometimes sat up until 3am to please my transatlantic Bridezillas. Sometimes Groomzillas. No, I didn’t *have* to, but when I take on a role I like to give it my all.

Unfortunately because my “office” was then based in my bedroom I could never “switch off” and those sites consumed me to a point where my anxiety and depression deepened. The line between business and pleasure just became far too blurred and it became a seven day week thing.

After all the stress of moving into my maisonette (and then buying the maisonette) I still found the websites to be an extremely negative factor in my mental health. Things got on top of me and I’d begin to procrastinate… put off tasks, until, eventually, I hit my brick wall. My dark place.

Enter Luna, the Staffordshire Bull Terrier X Akita, who took a lot of stick for being the author of my demise. No, she was merely the straw that broke the camels back.

Before I knew it, I lost my regular income after being told that my services were no longer required. Sadly, despite being told that my salary would be safe until January 2014, it was then slashed by £500 for two months on the trot. November and December, respectively.

Suddenly, I had this huge financial hole to fill… and a mortgage to pay. When you lose £1000 without sufficient forewarning then what do you do? No money from extra part-time work would have reached me in time - even if my mind had been “fit” to work. The anxiety just consumed me, and the mind starts imagining these highly unlikely scenarios… My neck condition might flare up again… I might lose the dog… I might lose my home.

Okay, that last one actually happened.

People often tell me that debt is a slippery slope that should be avoided at all costs. People who’ve never experienced debt to the extent that I did. My friends, I’ve taken to that slope. I’m the Eddie “the Eagle” Edwards of the slippery slope.

So yes, I know that debt begins very slowly... and it gradually creeps up on you… the £5 penalty charge on your emergency borrowing becomes £10, £15, £20… and then you’re late with the gas and electric bill… and then BOOM! You’ve lost your home and overzealous cleaners are pulling things off your wall as you struggle to pack everything into boxes.

I lost more that day than I can ever put into words, and I’ve hated myself for it ever since.

Yes, people made my life more difficult than it needed to be, and some people could have helped more - rather than just telling me it’d all be okay. But I lost everything because I lost faith in myself.

There’s No Guarantors

Today, eighteen months after losing my home, I’m sat here writing a business plan - and I find myself in this role reversal. Almost like a weird mirror universe from Star Trek. Suddenly, for perhaps the first time in my life, I have faith in myself - but others are doubting my judgement, or have very little faith in my abilities.

Whenever I hear that someone has been awarded a business loan I punch the air [on their behalf]. Even if it’s someone on Twitter who I don’t know very well - I always make a point of congratulating them and wishing them well in their new endeavour. Or endeavor if they’re American.

With me, I expect a few would question if I knew what I was doing.

Not that I was awarded a business loan, but I came very close. Honestly, my heart sank when Eugene (the guy from the bank) uttered the words “We just need your guarantor…”

Guarantor? Me? Find a guarantor? He might as well have asked me to find the hair of a Sasquatch, a stool sample of a dodo, and the DNA of William the Conqueror.

“Hey, dear,” says a friend, turning to his partner. “David C. Hill is looking for a guarantor for his business loan. You in?” “The same David C. Hill with the anxiety issues?” “Yep.” “The same David C. Hill who had 5,000 comic books printed without testing the market?” “Yep.” “The same David C. Hill who lost his home after falling into a horrifying amount of debt?” “Yes, dear. You in?”

Yes, I had to ask… but of course I can’t blame anyone for not rising to the challenge.

My new bank friend, Eugene, then followed up with a phone call to assure me that the £10,000 funding would be granted if I could give him a name. So I looked at Luna, and for that brief moment her eyes just said “Don’t look at me!”

The “Homer Simpson” in me thought about seeing how far I could go with this guarantor lark. “John. My guarantor’s name is John. John Smith. His address? 12… Evergreen Terrace.”

Sadly, it’s going to be almost impossible for me to come back from that defeat of losing my home. That sort of thing sticks. It’s like I have “not good with money” or “dog who returns to his vomit” scrawled on my forehead. It’s akin to someone on a dodgy register trying to acquire a job as a school caretaker.

No, to paraphrase Tiffany, the pop goddess of 1987… “I think I’m alone now.”

People will argue that if my business plan was that convincing then I wouldn’t need a guarantor. However, these days banks are far more guarded when it comes to funding businesses. I don’t have any assets therefore I need someone with assets to have my back. My 27” iMac won’t cut the mustard as an asset.

Anyway, I’m sure most people can find a guarantor with relative ease. If a guarantor was such a ridiculous concept then requiring a guarantor wouldn’t even be a thing. According to the website, 98% of businesses are successfully funded. So I guess that places me in the 2% camp.

It’s been a week of bad news, and it would be so easy for me to slip into a depression and consume my body weight in wine gums. My car payment has just bounced and I have more rent due in ten days, and now I’m telling people that without funding my business can’t move forward.

I know the rich frown upon those who have to take out loans, and in the last few years I’ve seen the rich grow considerably richer. But I don’t think some people realise how rich they are, and how, if they need something, they can just go out and buy it - or ask their rich family to chip in. Of course most people have worked very hard for their wealth - but the majority of people do work very hard. I know at least two nurses who work for the NHS and they work exceptionally gruelling shifts. So one should never judge the rich - or the poor.

Yes, some people do inherit wealth or marry into rich families, so not all the rich work hard - and not everyone who’s poor works hard either. Sometimes ill-health doesn’t permit you to work long hours - and yes, lazy work shy fops do exist.

If I have to calumniate £5,000 or £10,000 worth of debt in order to make £20k then I’ll do it. All businesses need funding and we don’t all have savings to inject into our cashflow. People who don’t have debt a get bit sniffy about it, but there’s no shame in having manageable debt - and sometimes it’s a necessary evil.

Final Words

There’s always a way forward. Sometimes its not about working harder - it’s about working smarter. And I have enough faith in myself to know that I can work smarter. I’ll find a way forward, even if I do have to accrue debt - even if I have to march into hell for a heavenly cause. People will call me batcrap crazy, and people will cast doubt on me, but that’s to be expected. Life is very short, memories are very precious, and sometimes those of us who want to achieve our goals need to take calculated risks.

My greatest fear is losing faith in myself - because that will be the day that I die. But that’s never going to happen. I mean losing faith in myself - I fully except to die one day! I’m not Connor MacLeod, Mister Immortal, or Captain Jack Harkness.

Thank you to those who have helped me over the last few years - and those who continue to support my work. Make no mistake, when I’m rich I’m not going to live in a huge castle, pull up the drawbridge and yell “Let them eat cake!”. I’m going to live in a modest dwelling and help those who have helped me in the past.

That’s my guarantee.

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chronicbatfictioner · 6 years

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Theater of the Soul - Chapter 20

Thanks to Barbara and Dinah — and to no small extent, Diana Prince's — collective efforts; the news of Napier's death and investigation were kept to a minimal. As Barbara predicted, the local police had started with the more 'obvious' suspect: Jason. That, too, was kept out of the news. At least in Gotham.

When Jason was finally able — and allowed — to tell and reveal the things he remembered of the times following the accident, he was accompanied by Bruce, Barbara, and Dr Kent Nelson. The whole questioning by the police took part at the hospital, in Jason's room. Although Jason had asked for Tim to be there, too, Tim had to miss it - the police came at seven a.m.; clearly expecting Jason to be alone. None of them must have predicted Bruce and Barbara coming from the Wayne Tower penthouse - located right next to the hospital. Nor did they expect the insistence of Nurse Crystal Brown — Stephanie's mother — to not leave Jason unsupervised by an adult until Dr Kent Nelson arrived, mere minutes before Bruce and Barbara came in.

Jason's smile at Stephanie when Tim brought her in was majestic.

"Thanks for having your mom look out for me, Blond-- Steph." he said, quickly correcting himself.

Stephanie shrugged. "I told her it was you who'd gotten me to theater. All she said was not to follow your footsteps further." she grinned mischievously. "...and you still may call me Blondie. I liked having a nickname."

Jason laughed. "Ha! Yeah, I agree. I'd tell me not to follow my footsteps, too. But it would be kinda moot. Besides, this adventure is far from over, I think."

And oh, boy, was he right. Again, Tim had to give Barbara credit for somehow being able to manage the company while running an investigation under the radar.

They had eventually decided to hire Victor Sage, who had ended up interviewing Jason only with Tim present - by Jason's own consent. There was virtually no gaps from what Jason told Dr Nelson and the cops with what he'd told Sage.

Jason had recalled a few fights while he was somewhat unconscious, both involving Danny or Ellie; and Tim was certain that if Sage — or the cops, for that matter — would cross-check Jason's words against Danny or Ellie, they would corroborate the stories. Sage confirmed it a few days later, as he called with the report of having chatted with Danny and Ellie, and their mother.

What Sage brought along was the news that the local police had not come to either Danny, Ellie, or their mother. That, in Tim's mind, confirmed his suspicions that the cops would likely blame Jason for Napier's death, and blithely overlooking the underlying issue of Napier holding Jason prisoner and neglecting his injuries.

For the legal defenses, though, Barbara finally decided on Kate Spencer. Spencer, a former ADA of Gotham City before she 'crossed over to the other side' and became a Public Defender, was well known to be a ferocious defender of the wrongly accused. She was also known to flat out refuse to defend criminals or those she knew to be guilty. In spite of the numerous complaints from said criminals, she did not care, adamant on only defending the innocent.

"We need to come up with a different angle." she said when they gave her Sage's report.

"So relying on the lost street kid with daddy issue is no longer in the books?" Dick quipped.

"Definitely not. That might work for you, Grayson. But not in this case." Spencer said. "I would like your permission to dig through Wayne House's business deals." she directed the comment to Barbara.

"What are you looking for? I'm not going to forbid you from looking, just maybe I can help if I know what you're looking for." Barbara replied.

"That's what I don't know, actually. There could be something in the papers — finances, deals — that lead to Napier or, presumably, the person who wanted Napier dead. There has to be a cross in there somewhere. There is just no rhyme or reason why Napier would zoom in to Jason instead of Grayson here, for instance. Or maybe even to young Drake here - he's got some assets of his own that Napier could assimilate without much fanfare or effort."

Tim blinked as a schematic started to appear in his brain. "Oh, I think I know what you're looking for. The first question of a murder is not 'who did it', right? It's 'who benefits'." he said. "You want to see if anyone other than Napier would benefit from his own death."

Spencer glared at Tim with such intensity that Tim reflexively curled back into himself and kind of hide behind Jason. "You... I think you would've been a more beneficial hostage, but I can also see why you'll be more of an effort. You're smart..." she paused and looked at Jason. "not saying you're not, just..."

"No need to backtrack, lady, Timmy is a genius. Not smart. He'd seen a scheme from miles away even before anyone come close." Jason waved her off. They have decided on having the meeting in Jason's hospital room, and Jason was quite happy with it, he did not feel like he was being left out. But for Tim, the main reason would be the fact that Barbara has full control of all kind of surveillance devices within the hospital. If there is an anomaly - i.e. a bug or a hidden camera; she would know right away. "What scheme then, Timmers? Care to share with the rest of the class?" Jason prompted, prodding Tim to get out from behind him.

"I'm not sure yet.." Tim admitted reluctantly. "It's just... I thought it a bit-- kind of jumping the gun with the way Napier had built his scheme. He would not need to get you seen in LA's theater industry like he'd done. He would not need to make you visible in the industry, even by booking you the shows you've deemed to be small gigs. He could just get you there, and then ditch you, banking on the idea that you won't call Bruce to get you home out of shame for doing small gigs instead of 'major' LA shows." he explained.

"Even if he wouldn't call Bruce, Jay would've called me." Dick pointed out. "Or Babs, or you."

Jason nodded. "Yeah. Probably Dick, though - he owed me fifty bucks. Still owe me, actually." he said, pointedly ignoring Dick's dirty looks at him. "I'm not stupid enough to not know how to call collect." He added, maturely emphasizing his statement by sticking out his tongue at Dick.

"Or he could've gotten you hooked to drugs or alcohol - quicker still even with you resisting." Tim pointed out. "I'm just reading out all kinds of scheme here - maybe more of the 'fallen angel' trope of Hollywood."

"I don't and won't do drugs, ever." Jason replied. Then he paused, looking at his IV line. "Okay, maybe once my pins are out, I'll stop. But this thing is prescribed." he added defensively, pointing at the IV.

"That's just saline, you only have painkillers when you go to sleep, and the next painkillers are on standby for physical therapy sessions." Barbara told him.

Jason glared at her in surprise. "What?? You mean I can ask for painkillers after physical therapies?? Why didn't you tell me this yesterday?" he demanded.

"Well, you didn't look like you need it." Barbara pointed out. "They did give you one at night, didn't they?"

"I was miserable the whole day!" Jason protested.

"Guys? Focus?" Dick groaned. "Tim was giving us his theories here."

Jason pouted, but returned his glare to Tim. "Go on. I might be persuaded with alcohol, though. But turning someone to an alcoholic can't happen overnight."

"Right. Worst case, but simpler scenario, still, he could just trafficked Jason out of the country." Tim continued. "Instead he just drugged Jason and dumped him out of the way. I'm still not... clear on why."

"I think he just wanted to destroy Bruce." Jason shrugged. "I mean, we all know who Bruce's favorite son is." he added with an waspish grin toward Dick. "And by that I mean the one Bruce would move mountains for. Taking me would not make him move mountains."

"He would, too!" Dick protested. "But, anyway. Regardless of the 'why,' you're still not answering the 'who benefits' question." Dick reminded.

"That's just it. I can't see Napier benefiting much from destroying Bruce. If he wanted fortune, he could just... collaborate, maybe?" Tim mused.

"...on Burlesque shows?" Dick scoffed. "No offense, but he should've collaborated with the Kane House for that. Not us."

"I agree," Jason nodded. "So when did Kane House asked to join again?"

"You're not expecting Kane House to..." Dick gasped.

"Oh no, no. Just curious." Jason clarified. "I mean, I've told you before I left that at this rate, the only houses that would remain in Gotham would be the Wayne and Cobblepot--"

"That's it!" Tim suddenly exclaimed, startling Dick and Jason.

"Jeez, Tim, warn a guy!" Jason retorted.

"Sorry, guys. Just... that's just it. No one would benefit if the Wayne House is destroyed but two: Kane House or Elliott House." Tim said. "Kane House had opted to join Wayne House, due to their familial ties. Elliott House?"

"Mama Elliott have been whistleblowing that she would rather merge than vanish..." Barbara said. "But her son... not so much."

"I thought Tommy Elliott is a physician?" Jason said. "Why would he care for theaters?"

"I don't know. Buuut..." Dick shrugged. "It's the most... well... plausible thing I've heard."

"Right, so we'll bookmark that theory for now and look for supporting evidence." Spencer remarked. "I need to be in court in an hour, folks, so if you'll please excuse me."

They thanked Kate and ordered some Chinese food for their dinner - even after the protests of the nurses. Hey, Jason has problems with his legs, not his tummy. And he's a growing boy. Or so Jason claimed. Plus, it's not like he wouldn't eat the hospital food, anyway. Not even the threat of gaining too much weight to hinder his physical therapy session could deter him from eating.

#Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Dick Grayson #JayTim #Barbara Gordon #Stephanie Brown #Kate Spencer #no-capeAU #SoulTheater!AU #BatFam #Victor Sage #Kent Nelson

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