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phantom-le6 · 9 months ago

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Ramble of the month April 2024: Autism Month Ramble on Employment

At last, we come round to the third April, the third Autism Awareness Month, since I started doing monthly ramble articles, and so once again I’m drawing on my experiences as an autistic person to raise that awareness. For 2022, I looked at relationships, and last year the subject was education. This time, I’m going to look into the question of employment in relation to people with autism. This one is always a big concern for parents of children on the autistic spectrum, and as an employed autistic person struggling to get to an income level I can live alone on, it’s still a big concern for me as well. This is also a subject covered in the autism book I’m trying to publish, so here’s to road-testing that content a little more.

Now so far, I don’t get much feedback either way on my Tumblr posts, but I want to clarify some things before we go any further. First, what I’m writing here is very much going to be based on me as a private autistic individual. Nothing I say here should be in any way taken as a reflection on my day job, and if anyone does, that’s your mistake, and I bear no responsibility for it. Second, as a person with autism, I consider myself an ally to other groups that are misunderstood and subject to prejudice, so odds are as you go on, there might be elements that take a pro-LGBTQ+ stance. No offense is intended in anything I say, but if you take anything pro-LGBTQ+ as offensive, I recommend you stop reading now. For those carrying on, remember, I’m ok with constructive criticism, but I have no tolerance for bullying/trolling/abuse of any kind, so remember to keep any feedback civil, or otherwise please just refrain from commenting.

Now, as ever when I talk about autism, I always like to go over the basics of what autism is, how it can affect people who are autistic, and so on. First, autism is one of a number of conditions that falls under the umbrella of neurodiversity, which is a term used to describe the idea that there is more than one valid way for human minds and brains to function. Because these conditions result in deficits in certain skills and areas of learning, they’re often categorised as a form of disability or mental ill health, but in truth they are neither. I use the term ‘differently abled’ to describe myself because I can do most things non-autistics can; I just have to do them very differently in some cases. Likewise, autism is not a mental illness; it’s simply a different version of mental fitness, though we can still be affected by mental illness in ways similar to non-autistic people.

As to what causes autism, all anyone really knows is that people who are autistic are born that way. It’s not the result of vaccines, and as I noted last year, I view the claim that vaccines cause autism as a form of anti-autistic hate speech which should be criminalised accordingly. It’s also not the result of bad parenting or a lack of discipline, and while many autistics are prone to incidents of meltdown, these outbursts do not stem from aggressive or malicious personalities. Autistic people are on one “mental wave-length”, everyone else is on another such “wave-length”, and the frustration and friction between the two leads to incidents of meltdown.

Now let’s consider the traits of autism. Primarily, autism is defined by social skill deficits that fall into the three areas of what is known as the ‘Triad of Impairment’. If someone has traits within all three areas of the triad, as well as the other associated traits of autism, then they are almost certainly autistic. The first area of difficulty is Social Communication, which deals with how people put across what they want to say and the social skills linked to that. Second is Social Interaction, which are all the social skills you need to accurately interpret what others say to you. Third is Social Imagination, which is the aspect of social skills linked with your ability to anticipate how others may react to your words and actions.

The impairments in these areas seem to stem primarily from the fact that the mind of an autistic person doesn’t learn social skills automatically through observation and interpretation as non-autistics do. In effect, the “social skill auto-pilot” present in neurotypical minds is not present for autistic people, and we have to learn social skills through explicit, direct instruction and implement them in the same way. This also gives us a very literal mindset, making us prone to missing the point of jokes, or perhaps not even recognising where a joke has been told. Likewise, figures of speech and metaphor can be a major challenge for us (like Drax from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, but less stupid).

Other autistic traits include a high need for predictability to offset how confusing we find the world around us. Routine and advance knowledge of any major changes that we might find disruptive are two ways this need can be met, but a third that is highly unique to autistics is the concept of special interests. This can be anything we develop an interest in that we find predictable, and because predictability is vital to our mental well-being, special interests occupy a lot of our minds at any given time. For this reason, such interests can be mistaken for obsessions, but obsessions are ultimately joyless where special interests are highly enjoyable to us. Some also mistake them for hobbies, but that’s too casual a label given the role they play for autistic people.

The last couple of traits to go over are sensory issues and coinciding special needs. The first stems from the altered brain chemistry that results in autism, or such was the case last I heard, and causes senses to either be ramped up (hyper-sensitive) or ramped down (hypo-sensitive). These can result in behaviours known as “stimming”, which as I understand it is seeking a specific sensory experience as a way to calm down, though to be honest it’s one trait of autism I don’t think I’ve ever shown myself. As such, I’m not sure if it’s because it’s down to specific sensory needs (I’m a hearing-and-taste hyper-sensitive) or where someone is on the autistic spectrum. There’s also a general processing delay in terms of how long autistic people take to process new information, so at times we might seem a bit slow in our reactions to things, and can easily be flustered by the new and the unexpected; another reason for our dependence on predictability.

The final trait, that of coinciding special needs, means just that. Autistic people are very rarely just autistic. Many have other needs, though what these are vary quite widely. Some can have ADHD, be dyslexic, have major sensory impairments, and so on. In this respect, I’ve been sort of lucky in that my other special needs are a general impairment of my hand-eye co-ordination and gross motor skills. Granted, that almost certainly doesn’t combine well with my sensory processing delay, but at least it’s otherwise separate and distinct from my autism.

Now a moment ago I mentioned the concept of the autistic spectrum. Autism is a very varied form of neurodiversity, and when I used to give talks on the subject, a frequent phrase that came up at the talks was “when you’ve met one person with autism, you’ve met one person with autism.” Even looking at the handful of autistic people I was a part of when delivering those talks, that phrase is easily understood as true. However, the spectrum model of “high-to-low functioning” is often misinterpreted as being a sliding scale of autistic severity. This is totally untrue; a supposedly “high-functioning” autistic like myself can have needs just as profound as those of a “low-functioning” autistic.

To my mind, the misinterpretation stems from what are known as masking behaviours. These are any behaviours that effectively conceal autistic traits from being observed by mimicking neurotypical behaviours, and are the key reason why autism is often labelled a ‘hidden disability’. While the second part of that label is wrong for most people, the first part certainly explains why some autistic people are not diagnosed sooner in life, and I believe it accounts for the illusion of a functionality scale. In essence, so-called “high-functioning” autistics have very effective masking abilities, while “low-functioning” autistics are simply not capable of or interested in using these behaviours. As such, terms like “high-masking”, “heavy-masking”, “low-masking” or “light-masking” would make better sense of the spectrum concept. Also, the spectrum does not run all the way to neurotypical. Autistic people can be anywhere on the autistic spectrum, but neurotypical people aren’t on it, ever.

Given all of the above factors, I dare some of you may wonder how on Earth autistic people can get into the workforce. Honestly, it’s not easy, and that’s assuming we’re lucky enough to get qualifications and skills from our education that will even be considered by potential employers, never mind getting an interview and out-doing all other applicants to get offered the post. This means education is vital to help get your foot in the door anywhere; the better the results you can get and the higher you can go in terms of qualification, the better. As someone who could never work out what they wanted to be, was never advised how to tackle further education effectively and frankly went to a lousy secondary school where bullying was rife, I’ve often regretted not doing better with my own education. However, when the deck is stacked against you in terms of working out your future occupation and being left alone to study well for it, there’s not much to be done.

So, the first step is to work out what you can do and want to do before you get to your first chance to choose school subjects in education, then follow one or a few potential paths until the next subject selection opportunity narrows things further. This may not apply for everyone on the autistic spectrum, as some of us will be too low-masking to engage well with education, never mind employment, and it also depends where you live. If you’re aiming to be educated near to home as much as possible and you don’t live in or near a large city with a lot of employers in varying fields, your opportunities will be limited.

Another important thing to bear in mind is that living costs are almost constantly increasing with time, and not every job will meet those costs. This is something my education never covered, and frankly getting promoted enough to get ahead of those increases is extremely difficult as well. As such, I would advise anyone with an autistic child that’s trying to work out appropriate school subjects to really look at the potential wages of a future job role against cost-of-living expenses. If they can stand to study long enough in the right subject areas, a lot of autistic young people should be able to qualify for some really good initial job roles in certain areas. Combine that with some lessons about sound money management, and they’ll be more likely to achieve independence than if they just stumble from education into work at any level with no real idea what to do.

Of course, this leaves the question of knowing what job areas will best fit someone with autism, and that’s never an easy question to answer. Because autistic people vary so heavily from one another, one autistic’s ideal job might be another’s nightmare, but that being said, there are some common factors to all people with autism that can form the basics of a good framework for picking what kind of work to aim for. The most obvious is to remember that all job roles are likely to involve some interaction with other people, so you need to consider what that’s likely to mean for each job role and the autistic person aiming to do it.

For example, roles in shops, cafes and on a reception desk all mean dealing with a wide variety of people from the general public, whereas working in an office, a warehouse or a kitchen can shield you from the public a bit. That said, administrative roles can involve a lot of telephone conversations, so depending on whether you find phones easier or more difficult than face-to-face communication, this may be better or worse than a more in-person role. If you’re overly honest as an autistic person and struggle to employ tact or to “spin” the truth, you may not want to consider working in areas like car sales or real estate, as these roles need people that can stretch the truth slightly in order to succeed with customers.

Difficulty imparting the truth carefully could also hinder you if you’re looking at something in the medical profession, as it would probably be considered as a “poor bedside manner”, and work in that area also requires a lot of patience, the ability to show empathy well and to not only cope with people at their most vulnerable, but at their most sensory-affecting as well. I can well imagine that various aspects of physical illness could be overwhelming to sensory hyper-sensitives in the autistic community, as could some of the treatments. As a hearing hyper-sensitive myself, I think packed wards or waiting rooms would be a major issue for me if I’d ever gone into medicine in any fashion.

A job role connected to someone’s special interests may be advisable, but it depends what the special interest is. As a fan of superheroes living in an English city that is really more of a town, there’s never been much near to me that plays into my special interest except the occasional retail post, which doesn’t work for me. Likewise, an autistic person with a special interest in trains might do ok if that interest is more about timetables or trains in general. However, if their special interest is in steam locomotives, I’d caution against considering a job role at any heritage railways. Between such railways being mostly volunteer-run and the rising cost of suitable fuel, it’s very unlikely that anyone could make a decent living, especially during colder months of the year when services are either reduced or not running. As such, special interests might not work as the job itself, but they can be good motivation to get through the steps leading towards qualification and then employment.

Now let’s assume you’ve worked out what job you or your child want to do, depending on whether you’re the autistic child or their parent. Let’s assume education has then been followed as far as it can be, so now it’s down to getting a job, which is all about applying for jobs, hopefully getting an interview and, if you get said interview, getting hired. Not really easy, especially for jobs that ask for a CV instead of an application form. In my experience, CVs can be very limiting, especially for those of us on the autistic spectrum. The working world is as bad if not worse than education when it comes to accepting people with special needs into it, so autistic people are forced to work harder to convince employers that we’re as capable or more capable than everyone else.

On a CV, you only have so much space to use to tell an employer about yourself, your qualifications, your skills, what it is that makes you worth giving an interview to. Often a person with autism will need more space to make the case for their consideration as an interview/job candidate, because we’ve not only got to say why we’re deserving, we’ve also got to allay the employer’s concerns about our autism. Some people might argue that we could just try to apply without mentioning our autism, but this is just asking for trouble down the line as it would potentially delay or prevent the implementation of support in the workplace where needed.

By comparison, employers who provide a facility for an application form to be submitted, one where you can write a lengthy statement, are a much better option. Going down this route gives autistic job candidates the space necessary to impart all the information they need to. A good tip with this is to look on the job advert and any accompanying information for the criteria being used for the job role. A good statement of why you can do the job should answer these criteria, and if you’re not sure about writing a long run of paragraphs addressing the whole lot, break them down into bullet points and answer each in turn. As a long-time employee at an organisation that favours the application form approach, I can attest that this is a very good way to fill out the appropriate area of the application form asking why you think you can do the job.

When applying for job roles, always be aware of the catch-22 scenario around qualifications and experience. A lot of employers seem to expect experience before you may have had a chance to get it, and some may ask for qualifications you might not have. However, a lot will ask for either the qualifications or the experience, so where you might lack one, the other will compensate. After nearly 20 years of employment myself, I’m now using my experience more when looking at new jobs rather than my qualification, which were what I referenced more in my earlier job roles.

A good way to build up work experience while in further education can be to seek part-time job roles or temporary “summer jobs”, but this isn’t always advisable for people on the autistic spectrum. During term time, the extra time we get from free periods is best used to study, and we still need a lot of time to destress from using our social skills to interact with teachers, other students and so on. Also, while some summer jobs and school-based work experience can be useful, not all things available in this line would be relevant to the job roles you might be aiming for as an adult. You also may not get to perform anything more than some very basic tasks in some areas; the kind of things I did for my own work experience were extremely basic and menial compared to the kind of work I’m able to do now.

Another thing to bear in mind when applying for a job role is how will you get there. This is less of an issue in some areas of work due to the advent of home-working, and in certain trades you or a colleague would need a work vehicle, but in other areas being able to get from where you live to where you work is key. This is a potentially very limiting consideration if, like myself, you don’t drive and depend on ever-decreasing bus services for a commute. It puts you in a situation of being limited further still in terms of where you can work, because if you can’t get to the work location on a regular basis, you’re not likely to keep that job for any decent length of time.

For now, though, let’s assume you’ve found a job that you can get to with a reasonable amount of ease, you’ve applied for it and you’ve been offered an interview. Key thing to remember with this and with your job application is that you need to tell whoever is hiring for the job as much relevant information about yourself as possible. The less you tell them, or the more you tell them that isn’t relevant, the less likely you are to get the job. There is also such a thing as being too honest, especially when it comes to interview questions, and before all of that, you’ve got to make sure you assume an appropriate appearance.

Many people with autism struggle with things like hygiene or wearing certain forms of appropriate clothing. For some, it’s because we’re hyper-focused on our special interests and don’t recognise how our lapse in appearance and cleanliness affects others, or we do recognise it but it ranks a long way down from our special interests. For others, there may be sensory issues when it comes to certain fabrics, clothing styles and so on. However, for job interviews, it’s vital to make sure we’re well presented, and that we maintain some level of good hygiene and work-appropriate attire when in a given role. This is because how we appear to prospective employees, and later to colleagues and customers, gives them a sense of how professional we can be. The better we appear to others, the more likely they are to trust us and want to work with us.

Now not every job role will have identical dress standards, but for interviews, basic elements like a suit, shirt and tie, or an appropriate equivalent in women’s attire, are almost a universal constant. It’s often worth asking about what appropriate work attire will be if you’re entirely new to a given area of work, and in some office-based work, standards of attire can vary from team to team. As interviews often involve giving you a chance as an applicant to ask questions towards the end, asking about the dress code for the role you’re going for can be a good one to have at hand, especially if you know enough about the role that you’ve not got any questions regarding your duties if you get it.

Next, be sure to prepare by considering what questions you might be asked and get some answers ready. If you have a parent/carer, relative or family friend with experience of the organisation you’re aiming to work in, or just with going through interviews generally, it can often be a good idea for them to go through the information you have on the job you’re going to be interviewed for. They can help you work out what the questions might relate to and help you to work out your answers in advance. A key thing to remember here is not to tell the full, unabashed truth in answering all questions. For instance, it’s not socially acceptable to say you want a job because you want money, since outside of zero-hour contracts, work experience or unpaid internships, all jobs should involve paying you. Likewise, anything to the effect of “don’t know” or “my parents are making me” are also unwise, and if a person with autism can’t bring themselves to hold these answers in while saying something else, then they’re probably not ready to enter the work force just yet.

This is where going for jobs linked to the things that you like or that you can do very well will come in useful, as these could be considered as reasons why you’ve gone for a certain job or employer over others. Learning something about the employer you’re interviewing with can also be useful, especially if you can reword things from their website, etc. into your answers to demonstrate you’ve done research on them. As I’ve noted before, also have a question or two ready to ask the interview person/panel when they finish asking you questions. Employers should also provide reasonable adjustments for you to attend an interview or do the job role, so make sure you ask for this in applying and if you get the job, but you shouldn’t need to ask about these during an interview. A good interview reasonable adjustment is to flag up that you may need them to re-ask questions with different phrasing if you don’t quite understand it to begin with. If an employer isn’t meeting your reasonable adjustment requests at the interview stage, I’d advise against taking the job to avoid working for an unsupportive employer.

Let’s say you follow the advice above all the way to interview stage and get a job as an autistic employee somewhere. What’s next? Well, if you’re already in a job role, you’ll have to give notice at your previous job role and finish up there before you can start a new job. If you’ve been on unemployment benefits, you’ll have to advise of the change at the job centre where you sign on, but I’d advise waiting until just before you start in order to avoid a massive gap between when the benefits end and your work starts. If, for example, you start a new job on a Monday, the Friday before is probably the optimum date to let the job centre know.

Bear in mind that different employers have different timescales for when employees are paid, so be sure to ask about when you will be paid in your new job role if you don’t already know, but be careful about when you ask. A good timing would be at your interview after you’ve asked one or two questions of your own unrelated to pay. Knowing when to expect your work pay for the first time after your unemployment benefit ends will help you plan your finances better to cover that interim period.

Now all jobs are different, and you can end up with colleagues, team-mates, managers and customers that can be very nice, very nasty or anywhere in between. There’s no guarantee that the person/people who did your interview will work directly with you, and if they do, their behaviour at the interview might not be how they act day-to-day in the office. Also bear in mind that jobs are advertised and interviewed for in “broad strokes”, covering things in a very generalised sense and rarely over going into exact details. If a job role is newly created within a given employer, exact details may not even be something that exist yet, and you may be taking a role in shaping what the job is when you get it.

Given all of this, I can’t tell you with absolute certainty what may be involved in each and every job you could get. That said, I will impart some advice that is important to learn. First, gossip is the native language of almost every work environment humanity has ever produced. There is no workplace in existence where there won’t be at least a few people spending too much time in idle gossip, and at least one person quite happy to throw their colleagues under the proverbial bus if they see anything they consider worth tattling on. As such, it’s often best to keep your head down, work hard and learn as soon as you can the difference between friendly office banter and potentially harmful gossip.

Second, avoid mixing work and romance. Colleagues and relations of colleagues are not the best people to get involved with romantically, sexually or both. It feeds the rumour mill of any workplace, it risks giving people the wrong idea about you, and if the relationship falls apart, it can make your work life very problematic if not impossible. Even if you move job roles in an attempt to resolve the issue, this can also backfire. As such, it is generally advisable to leave your work life and your love/sex life separate from each other.

Third, a lot of employers will only step in to enforce their rules if an incident affects their public image. Internal issues like bullying, especially between two members of the same team where the bully is a position of authority over the victim, are seldom if ever dealt with. Some of this is because the victim has to report the incident, so there’s no mechanism to ensure a safe means of reporting such issues if the bully is the victim’s manager and the victim is afraid of reprisals. By comparison, any actions that are likely to reflect badly on the employer because they’ve happened in public or the effect is publicly visible are often dealt with very swiftly and harshly. This means many employees, especially those of us on the autistic spectrum, can at times find ourselves walking on eggshells in what few jobs we can get, afraid to even breathe out of turn, much less report any workplace issues or incidents that adversely affect us.

Of course, autistics and others in the work place shouldn’t have to deal with some of these things, and more needs to be done to deal with them better. Firstly, we should be working harder as a society to stamp out discrimination and bullying, and we should be criminalising bullying and increasing education about the various ways people differ from one another. This would help not just autistics and the wider differently abled community, but also people of colour, women, members of the LGBTQ+ community and more besides, some of whom will also happen to be autistic. If we were more tolerant of differences and less tolerant of people ill-treating each other over their various differences, we’d have nice education and work environments to work in, not to mention what it would do to improve social media.

More also needs to be done to help ensure autistic applicants not only have an equitable chance at gaining jobs, but also being promoted within the organisations they join. More employers using job application forms over CVs would aid with this, as would considering less use of interviews and more use of testing models. Now by test, I’m not saying make everyone sit exams to get jobs, because that is akin to interviews in that it's all about regurgitating answers on cue. As useful as these tools can be, when you boil them down, a trained parrot could pass an interview if it knew the right words. When you look for someone to fill a vacancy, you need someone who can do the job well, and outside of acting or politics, not many jobs involving repeating a bunch of canned blather.

So, what do I mean by more testing? Simply put, I mean what tests set alongside interviews have done for years; set a bunch of tasks to be done within a given time-frame, then see how someone performs them. If the instructions are suitably literal to ensure both autistics and non-autistics understand them well, this can be a better gauge of an autistic person’s suitability for a given role, because it demonstrates the abilities they would use day-in and day-out. By comparison, the social skill demands of an interview may be in excess of not only the job role’s requirements, but also an autistic’s ability to handle from a social skills perspective.

It’s also worth bearing in mind that while autistics and other differently abled people are allowed reasonable adjustments, we don’t always get them. Some employers will have different ideas about what adjustments are “reasonable”, and some will claim that because a given support option would be refused by someone of a higher position to your manager, there’s no point in asking. As far as I can tell, there isn’t much support to enforce the legislation around reasonable adjustments when these kinds of issues become apparent, and to be fair, it shouldn’t be necessary.

What do I mean by this? Well, as I’ve noted before, the world is made by those without autism for those without autism, and as a result, autistics are made to jump through extra hoops, tackle additional obstacles that non-autistic people never have to contend with. The same is true when we look at differently abled people in general, or if we consider things like skin colour, sex, gender identity, sexuality, religion and so on. Whoever is in power within a society rigs that society in their own favour at the expense of anyone different, and all changes made to bridge the gap actually just disguise it to create a feeling of false equality. True equality only exists when a society is created to fit all groups within it by default, so for autistic people, a truly equal society would be designed with us in mind from the very beginning. If that was so, then we wouldn’t need reasonable adjustments at school or work because education and employment would take all facets of autism into account by default.

This is the most vital change that all groups in society need, for those in power who rig society against us to abandon their arrogance and selfishness, and address needs other than their own. Whether the divide is autistic and non-autistic, black and white, women and men, straight/cis and LGBTQ+, or whatever else you can think of, no one on either side should be making the other side jump through extra hoops. It should be equally easy, equally possible, for people with the right qualifications to apply for jobs, go to some form of test and be selected without any aspect of the process requiring a “reasonable adjustment.” In the meantime, if we can’t have this, then we should at least have a facility within all employers that states that no one can refuse a reasonable adjustment just because the people who want it aren’t in a position of authority over the people who need to say yes to it. If someone needs an adjustment, you make it, end of discussion, and if you don’t like, just remember this; the whole is made by people like you, for people like you, and you’ve had that privilege all your life, so please don’t be selfish when someone less fortunate is asking for a little equality and human decency.

To summarise, getting into employment is not easy when you’re on the autistic spectrum, and neither is retaining a job or gaining promotions once you are employed. We need to deal with a lot of issues other people don’t, we don’t always get the support we need, and much of what we need stems from the arrogance and selfishness of non-autistic society. When that society is more humble, more selfless and more willing to treat us as equals, this will be better, but I doubt we’ll see a society like that anytime soon. So, for now, good luck to my fellow autistics with anything they’re trying to get job-wise, and until my next ramble, ta-ta for now.

#autism awareness

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limitlessgojo · 4 years ago

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Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 6)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: Special Grade

Next Chapter: Bird of Flame

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty <3

We are finally past the introductions and getting into the bulk of the story🥰💕 excited for this to unravel.

Chapter 6: Speed of Sound

You had a physical and cursed energy examination along with the second years the next day. Much like when you had your height and weight measured at the clinic. But this time, it was your power, speed, stamina, defense level, and flexibility with and without your cursed technique that they were measuring.

“Ugh, it’s so windy out today.” Mai complained. The sun was really bright as the four of you first years stood there.

“Y/n.” All of you turned to look at the source of the voice. You smiled brightly upon hearing him. “It has been a while.”

“Noritoshi senpaii~” you skipped your way towards him with a huge smile on your face. “How have you been?”

Noritoshi was always busy, with clan affairs, missions (now that he got recommended for grade 1 and is enroute to a semi-grade 1) and studies that you only had a short time to say hi whenever you passed by the other in the hallways. But he always secretly looked forward to seeing you.

He nodded his greeting to the other first years before turning to smile down at you as you came up to him. “Not too bad. Hope you’ve adjusted well to campus life?” he murmured, eyes softening.

“I’m okay, don't worry about me. Shared class today, this is my first time. I wonder how it will go?” You excitedly said.

“The usual, you might find it boring. Ah, and I’ve heard that you were given the title Special Grade. Congratulations.” He said.

“Is that something to be celebrated?” you asked while tilting your head to the side. “Thank you though.”

He mimicked you, tilting his head in the same direction and leaning forward so that your eyes were both still in line with each other’s, “It’s proof that you’re strong and that’s also a good thing.”

You hummed in thought. “I don’t really care about rankings to be honest. I just need to be strong enough to protect the ones I love.”

Noritoshi’s eyes slightly widened at that. He was about to speak when he was rudely interrupted.

“TSUCHI CHAN! You owe me a fight.” Todo senpai boomed with Momo sighing tiredly beside him. You jumped about 4 feet into the air at the sound and Noritoshi protectively held a hand in front of you again. “That’s enough Todo. It’s still early in the morning.”

“A fight, or else I will reveal who your ideal type is to everyone here.” He grinned.

Oh no he didn’t. The winds picked up around you as your cursed energy flared dangerously. Everyone except Noritoshi took a step back from you.

You looked up at him with the coldest eyes you have, “You promised you wouldn’t senpai. But I am not backing down from a fight. Don’t cry too badly when I bury you 6 feet underground.”

“There it is! Her dark side.” Miwa cried out. “You’re gonna die senpai.” But Todou just laughed. “I knew you were interesting the moment we met Tsuchi chan. It’s settled. A fight later after class.”

“Todo’s gonna die later. I look forward to seeing it.” Mai yawned nonchalantly as Mechamaru just nodded. Momo just laughed as she settled in beside Mai.

Soon Utahime called you all to attention and you went on with the activities. You were competing with Todo for almost every measurement (with the use of cursed energy of course. You were not so strong without it).

You just laughed at yourself as you found out you had the weakest physical punching power among the first years. Yep, you rely too much on your cursed energy to back you up.

You had the highest score though when you used your cursed energy. You warped the space around your hand in a spiral motion, the wind picking up around your fist, before you propelled yourself to punch the target. BAANG! It was pushed a number of meters back further than Todo’s target.

Todo just clapped. “Well done.” And the entire time, Noritoshi was closely monitoring you, staying by your side and asking questions about your technique.

At that, you tugged on his sleeve and he smiled and bent down for you. You told him quietly that you would tell him more about it later when you’re alone. His eyebrows raised, but his smile widened, “Thank you for that. I don’t mind telling you about mine too.”

The others were just silently watching you both out of the corner of their eyes.

“Mai chan, wanna bet as to when those two will get together?” Momo whispered. Everyone else except the two of you heard her.

“Depends on what you wanna bet on. But I’m willing to bet they’ll get together in the next maybe 4 months or so.” she smirked.

“3 months” Miwa piped up quietly.

“Maybe 2 months lol.” Mechamaru said.

“No. They might take… a few weeks. 3?” Todo said seriously.

Utahime cleared her throat out loud gathering all of your attention. “Last activity. Running laps. This track field is 400 meters long as you all know. Finish 1 lap. First without then with your cursed technique. Nishimiya and Tsuchimikado flying is permitted.”

You perked up at that and clapped your hands excitedly. Then stopped and thought about it remembering your father’s words:

“ ‘You don’t have to max out your abilities. We keep our clan’s abilities as much of a secret as possible to prevent any information leakage that may be used against us. Remember to use your technique wisely. You’re the strongest in our clan, sweetheart.’ You nodded, ‘Okay papa.’ ”

So God speed mode of a Mach 4 is out of the picture. Mach speed 3… maybe out. ‘No I can limit it to just under the speed of sound.’ you thought determinedly.

You zoned out the next hour until it was time to run with your cursed technique. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.” Noritoshi put a hand on your back to support you.

You quickly shook your head “I’m fine, no worries.” He didn’t look like he believed you but let you go ahead.

“Tsuchimikado. It says here on your report that you can move at mach speeds.” Utahime spoke. FUCK. Oh well. You turned to her with the stiffest smile on your face as she realized you didn’t want the information disclosed.

You took your starting position, still determined to keep it under half the speed of sound. “Ready… go!” You whipped around the entire trackfield in just under 3 seconds.

“Tsuchimikado. 2.4 seconds.” You nodded and jogged back beside Miwa who gave you a high five. “That was sooo cool, you need to let me fly with you next time.” She excitedly said.

You laughed. “I’m not the best at holding people with me when I move at high speeds. But slow flying is fine.”

“Why don’t you go faster?” Todo asked. Everyone quieted down as you turned to him. “I have a feeling you've been limiting your output. You’ve obviously been holding back this entire time, are you not taking it seriously? We are here to challenge ourselves, there is no need to hold back.”

Your eye and finger twitched. “That’s not it.” This man was amazing at pushing your buttons. But you sighed as there was no reason to hide it anymore. “Utahime sensei can I-”

“Go ahead. When you’re ready.”

You took your starting position again. You could push Mach 5 if you wanted to, though just above Mach 1 should be enough.

But you can feel Todo just silently egging you on from the sidelines. And it honestly worked. “Start!”

There was a loud BANG! You were back in the starting line in less than a second. The only proof of your movement was the smoke and dust rising above the tracks.

“I am so sorry, but I didn’t catch that. I physically can’t. That was less than a second. Your speed please?” Utahime called out. “Mach 2.”

You stepped right up to Todo with a challenging glint. “Prepare yourself for later.” He just huffed out a proud smile, then you stood aside with Miwa and Noritoshi.

“Was that, just now a sonic boom?” asked Noritoshi. “No it was my ringtone.” you deadpanned. The others choked a laugh out at that.

He turned to you with a pout, but you just bumped his hip with yours and laughed “It’s called sarcasm Noritoshi senpai~” He quietly chuckled along, which he was surprised at how easy it was to do so whenever he was with you.

You all finished up. Momo was also pretty fast, going at 10 seconds around the track. Noritoshi senpai blew you out of the water to be honest. His record was 35 seconds on foot. How. That was over the world record for men’s running.

You noticed a red marking forming over his eye and remembered seeing it for a bit when it came to the strength measurement test earlier. He was just a bit behind you, Mechamaru and Todo in terms of power.

And Mechamaru and Todo were largely… disproportionate to him, being way bigger and bulkier. But he could somehow manage.

“Are any of you going to spar after this? If so I will be supervising.” Utahime sensei called.

“We will.” Todo senpai motioned between the two of you. Noritoshi surprisingly spoke up too, “I also wanna have a go against y/n if that’s fine with you.” He turned to you with a concerned look. You just smiled, “Of course it’s fine Noritoshi senpai!”

“Okay, try not to break anything, limit the damage here on campus please. I will be calling a close if it gets too bad.” Utahime warned.

“There's no need for that.” You smiled to yourself.

Author's Rambles: Mach Speed (AKA Supersonic speed) is described as a speed greater than the speed of sound. Mach X means that the speed is X times greater than the speed of sound. A Mach 5 would be categorised as Hypersonic speed^^. O/C uses her Psychokinesis to move her forward as fast as she can.

Blood Bound Chapter Masterlist

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fific7 · 4 years ago

Text

Dangerous and Divine - Part 14

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly fluff & lemon zest 🍋 The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including unprotected* sex between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My GIF)

She’d find some excuse about missing evidence or statements to call him back in, or something along those lines. He was too good a catch to let him escape, and she wasn’t prepared to allow that to happen. And Dinah Madani, as anyone who knew or worked with her soon found out, was one very determined lady.

The weekend following the op, Dinah had literally just sat and wallowed in her apartment, several bottles of wine, takeout and the TV being her only companions. She stewed and stewed about the Russo Situation, as her mind categorised it. She really wasn’t going to let this lie, she was the one who should be with him.

By Wednesday morning, Dinah was sitting in her office scrolling through various witness statements again on her laptop, tapping her pen impatiently on the desk as she did. She’d spent the last two days scrutinising them.

Her mind was working overtime, trying to come up with a plausible excuse for calling Russo back in. It had to be cast-iron, otherwise her co-workers and possibly Russo would smell a rat. She started reading through an eyewitness report from just prior to the shooting; this one might do, as it mentioned seeing Russo (‘tall guy in a black army outfit’) raising his gun just before one of her team had actually shot the guy. She might be able to say she needed him to go over his exact movements at that point, as she didn’t think it had been described in micro-detail in his own statement.

Her internal phone rang, and she grabbed the receiver - it was her boss, the Special Agent in Charge or SAC. “Sir?” His gruff voice sounded annoyed, “Can you come to my office, please?” She frowned, “I’m just going over the -“ but he cut her off, “Now, Madani!” “Of course,” she replied, putting the phone down and getting up from her desk. What’s got his panties in a bunch, she thought as she left her office and headed along the corridor to his.

She knocked and heard a terse “Come in!” and entered his office. One look at his beetroot face made her wish she’d been out on a call somewhere. His blood pressure only ever got this high if some really big boulder of shit had come rolling down the hill and dropped on him.

“Siddown,” he grunted, and waited until she was sitting opposite him. He heaved a big sigh, interlacing his fingers as he placed his hands on the desk in front of him, then stared across at her.

“Dinah... I’ve received two official complaints about you.” She gaped at him. Definitely hadn’t been expecting that.

“What? Who from?!!!” she demanded. He exhaled a breath; even he’d noticed Dinah’s ‘heart-eyes’ for this guy. She wasn’t going to like this.

“Billy Russo, and a friend of his.”

“Oh, let me guess!” She said a name, “That’s his ‘friend’, isn’t it?!” He nodded, “Yes. They both allege that you acted in an unprofessional manner during the case which has just been closed.”

“Unprofessional, how exactly?” she questioned him. His beetroot face went an even more vibrant shade of red, and he cleared his throat, “Russo alleges that you made unwanted sexual advances to him, and that you... uhhh, you engaged in an act of voyeurism while he was having sexual relations with his girlfriend.”

Dinah felt a flush spreading over her face, and she huffed out a breath. “And her? What did she have to add to the mix?” He held her angry gaze, “She said you carried out a totally unnecessary interview with her, solely to obtain information about her relationship with Russo.” She couldn’t stop herself from spitting out, “Huh! Relationship!”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “Dinah, you do seem to be rather more.... interested in Russo than the casework would require? Did you engage in a personal relationship with him during the course of the case?” She crossed her arms over her chest, “No! Well, yes.... to an extent! He took me out for lunches a couple of times and drinks one night, but that’s as far as it went!” More’s the pity, supplied her brain.

“Well, Dinah, I can’t sweep this under the carpet I’m afraid, as they’ve made the complaints official. Their statements have been made and filed with Professional Standards.”

Her eyebrows rose, and for the first time, a sliver of trepidation made its way into her mind. “I see. I didn’t realise it had already been fast-tracked to them.” He shook his head, “Not fast-tracked, Dinah - just following standard procedure. They came in to speak to PS yesterday, and they’ve just contacted me as your line manager to make me - and in turn, you - aware that the complaint’s been filed.” She chewed the inside of her lip; she was having a hard time getting her head around the fact that only two days after he’d come to the final briefing, he’d returned to the office and filed this complaint.

“PS will be in touch with you to arrange a formal hearing to investigate the complaint. They’ll give you a copy of the statements made, and you’ll be able to have an advisor with you.” He looked down at his hands, before meeting her eyes again, “I’m sorry this has happened, Dinah, but it has and things have just got to take their course. I’m not going to suspend you but for the moment, until this is resolved you’ll be on desk duties only.”

Her mouth tightened, but she gave him a brief nod and managed to say almost civilly, “Yes, sir.” He leant back in his chair, “Okay, that’s all for now.” She got up abruptly and left the office, making sure she didn’t slam the door. Although she really, really, wanted to.

She walked back to her office, this unexpected development turning over and over in her mind. She carefully closed her office door, but then kicked her desk viciously, her anger boiling over. This was obviously her idea, thought Dinah, it’s got to be! She just didn’t see Billy as a complaint-filing kinda guy.

Well, his little lady friend would soon find out she picked the wrong woman to fuck with!

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy’s eyes opened slowly, and he stretched his arms and legs fully out, yawning. His right hand met empty space - he was by himself in the bed. He sat up and pushed the covers back, leaning over the side of the bed and grabbing his boxer briefs off the floor.

He got up and pulled them on before wandering through to his living area.... ah, there she was. Making coffee and toast for them. Moving silently up behind her like the sniper he was, he grabbed hold of her then burst out laughing as she gave a small shriek.

“Russo! You sneaky bastard, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” His mouth went to the spot behind her ear and he placed a small kiss there, before suddenly licking the entire side of her face. “Russo!” she yelled again, but he heard a small laugh at the end of it. “Mornin’, angel.” He started peppering kisses all over her face and neck, and she laughed again, “Do you want this coffee or not?!” and then just managed to grab a slice of the toast as it came flying out of the toaster. He grabbed it out of her hand and started looking around for the butter and a knife.

“Yeah okay, sweetheart, let’s have our coffee an’ toast. It’s just I didn’t get my Thursday mornin’ kiss when I woke up,” he pouted over at her. She grinned at him, “Oh my god, you know you really are the sappiest of big saps! I’m just not gonna stop calling you out on that. Big bad Marine, yeah right.”

He reached for her and crushed her up against the the worktop, kissing her ferociously and running his hands all over her. He could hear her making little mewling sounds so he upped the ante, sliding his briefs down with one hand, then grabbed her hips and boosted her up onto the counter. He pushed her long t-shirt (actually his t-shirt) up over her thighs and slid his hard-on inside her. He felt her legs wrapping themselves around his waist, pulling him closer to her and settling him in. Billy closed his eyes, head going back at the feeling of being sheathed inside her. He felt like he was losing control of himself, he wanted her so much. He began thrusting, wildly, pushing deep inside her - his brain told him he was going at it like a teenage boy on his first sexual adventure - but he couldn’t stop himself.

Suddenly, he felt himself releasing and gave a long disappointed groan, his forehead dropping onto her shoulder. “Uhhhh... no,” he groaned again, kissing her, “Sorry, angel - got too excited. Couldn’t hold it.”

She leant forward and kissed him, “No need to apologise, tiger... happens to the best of them.” He frowned, “But not to me, sweetheart,” stroking her hair back and kissing her eyebrow, “that’s a first! What are you doin’ to me, woman?!” He had seriously never come so quickly in his life. Thinking back to when he lost his virginity - 15 years old in the group home with one of the older girls - he remembered that even then he’d lasted longer. Not much longer, but still.

He smiled at her, “You know I think I am whipped,” he said, laughing.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Laughing back at him, she jumped down off the counter and ripped a couple of paper towels off the roll next to the toaster. Dampening them under the tap, she handed one to Billy and they quickly cleaned themselves up. He eased his briefs back up over his slightly damp thighs, and noticed she was going through the lower cupboards. “What’ya lookin’ for, sweetheart?” She opened another cupboard door and peered inside it, “Clorox or whatever....” He opened the cupboard door under the sink and took out a spray bottle, handing it to her with a raised eyebrow.

“Gonna disinfect yourself, angel?” he smirked at her, “I mean I know what my rep was like in the past, but I always wore a condom.” She smacked the bottle against his butt, “Just the countertop, honey... we’ve just had sex on it if you recall!” “Owww! Ahh...okay, right,” he nodded, and she grinned back at him, “I can see I’ve still got some house-training to do for my puppy.” He mock-frowned and smacked her ass lightly, “Not a puppy, sweetheart!”

“I don’t know why you object to that, Billy - puppies are cute!” He popped the toast slices back in the toaster to reheat them a bit, “Puppies piss and shit all over the place and dry-hump people’s legs!” She burst out laughing, “Wow! I didn’t realise you were so puppy-phobic, Russo!” “I’m not! I just don’t want to be compared to one,” he protested. She finished spraying the counter and wiped it all down.

Leaning up, she kissed him softly, “Oh okay... Hurt Male Ego alert!! What d’you wanna be, poppet... a tiger?” She went back to attending to the coffee. “Well, you did call me tiger earlier, so yeah - I can live with that,” he grinned. “I might just call you poppet.” He nudged his shoulder against hers, “You’d better not.” She brandished to coffee pot at him, “Try and stop me!” Just then, Billy heard his phone chime in the bedroom with a new text message.

He strolled back through there and picked it up, his mouth pulling into a line as he saw the sender’s name.

Dinah: Russo, I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but I want to speak to you about this complaint you’ve filed.

Russo: I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Dinah: You owe me an explanation.

Russo: Do I? And an explanation about what? It’s quite straightforward.

Dinah: No it isn’t. You meet me tomorrow at the Chelsea Piers, 10 AM. Then you’ll be nice and close to your little girlfriend and you can go running back to her afterwards.

Ouch, thought Billy, someone’s still jealous.

Russo: OK I’ll meet you for a 5-minute talk and that’s it.

Dinah: And keep this to yourself, Russo.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy walked back through to the kitchen, tapping his phone on his chin as he went, deep in thought. Did he tell her about this, or just keep quiet? He couldn’t work out why Madani was so insistent on an actual meeting. His gut told him nothing good could come from this, he just knew it. He wasn’t absolutely sure of the details, but he was under the impression that Madani should not be in contact with him when there was an active complaint against her. He’d better be damn careful when they met tomorrow.

She’d finished pouring the coffee and buttering the toast and turned to him with a wide smile as he reappeared, holding out a plate and cup to him, “Here you go, poppet.” He took them from her, smiling back and shaking his head, “Poppet! Do I really look like a ‘poppet’?!” he said, following behind her as they left the kitchen area. He leant forward and planted an open-mouthed kiss on her neck. “You look like a big sap,” she laughed back, “but a very sex-ceeee one in just your briefs,” and rubbed her body up against him, making him groan.

As they made their way over to his sofa, he thought to himself that maybe he’d just stay silent about it, his angel was in a good mood and he didn’t want to place a black cloud over the day. Both of them had decided to have a day off from work, he had plans for the two of them and he didn’t want to spoil it all. He made up his mind as he looked over at her, she was smiling at him and his stomach did a backflip as it had been doing a lot lately.

Yeah, he’d just not mention it.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @galaxyjane @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo imagine

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snow--blanket · 4 years ago

Text

paper cranes

word count: 4709

fandom: ikemen sengoku

characters: akechi mitsuhide ***

A touch. A touch was all it took to pull the rug under his feet, and the next thing he knew; Akechi Mitsuhide ceased to be. The walls of the temple stretched itself like the growing shoots of a tree—bending, intertwining around him as if he was the sun.

The walls have ears, Mitsuhide thought. The walls were witness to the arrogance that he was forced to discard, the shame at being proven wrong; the way he hailed himself above the rest for not believing in gods and curses. Although the way it regained sentient was unnatural, Mitsuhide thought that the manner he was swallowed into the old, disserviced inches of bamboo was not unlike a mother’s touch—it was as if someone had welcomed him home.

The mere thought was preposterous. He never had such a thing. Plus, to be welcomed home was to connote that he’d have one in the first place.

The winds of season treated him differently now. In spring, the world was a painting. Children wreathed poppies into flower crowns and the kimonos they wore had the buddings of childishness—streaks of colour fingered across a blank canvas. In summer, the wheat that bent golden turned to ash and the veins of rivers dried up like an old well. In autumn, it was the time of passing; where the sun coloured the leaves red and orange, eternal dawn and dusk. Winter put everyone to slumber, and Mitsuhide noticed that the number of people who had come praying to him had increased.

Inari, they called him by the name they gifted. Bless our harvest and I will pray to you for a hundred years. The venomous, seductive lie was one he knew too well, and it was like staring into the mirror.

He noticed that the nobles and lords had no need for gods. After all, why would they rely on prayers when they could afford more medicine, more logs for the hearth when the cursed storm walks among the lands that tore roofs off houses and stole children from their parents?

The old and sickly swore by his name in hoarse voices; although Mitsuhide could not see what they looked like, they would always wear their voice to ruination, throat swallowing sand. it was the mark of the desperate, Mitsuhide knew. He’d heard it many times before, saw the way their eyes looked at him like he was a lantern guiding the path—taking his extended hand as he fell with them to vice.

Mitsuhide was the kind of person who liked to know what was happening, so he often sent his fox messengers into the village, their white fur pale like full moons. Eventually, though, some children follow the foxes back to the temple, and they talk about him, Inari, and how a god became so useless and unliked, and they speak of the curse that had befallen arrogant men.

Mitsuhide pays no heed to their words, instead tucking the information in the back of his mind, where he would revisit them later.

One day, when his messenger has not returned to him, he hears a thin voice cut the silence he’s cocooned in the walls he is trapped in. “Hello?” The voice asks. “Is anyone there?” The question sits in front of him like an opportunity, and he opens his mouth to answer.

“There is.” He could not see the expression on her face, but he is entirely positive she is looking troubled. He feels his smile widen. “What brings you here, little one?”

“I—” The girl fumbles with her voice, as if stumbling with the truth in her hands in an attempt of honesty. She is folding her voice like paper cranes, a sincere appeal. “Your fox was hurt. I only came here to return it to its home.”

Mitsuhide raises an eyebrow. “That is all?”

“Yes,” she pauses, and he imagines her nodding. “That is all.” He hears her feet shuffle towards him, hears the pitiful whines of his messenger in her arms before gently being descended onto the old wooden floors. She takes a few steps back, clears her throat. “Goodbye.” Before he could answer, she has already left, the telltale signs of hastiness kicking up the dust she trailed behind.

His messenger limps to him, whimpering. Mitsuhide can not offer a comforting hand, so he simply says: “Excellent job.” To those who had not known him, the words rang in a condescending manner—however, the fox simply sighs out a content yowl, happy to have been of use.

The next day, a man visits the temple and his head is touching the ground. Mitsuhide can barely hear his voice, what with the distance between them. “Please extend your mercy, Inari-sama!” Now that Mitsuhide is a god, he cannot read people as well as he used to. Did this man look heartbroken? Did desperation carve itself into his aging lines? It was easy to lie when you did not have to face the guilt of bearing it. “Bless my journey out of this wretched village!”

“Oh?” Here was a man of corrupt faith—using prayers as a scapegoat for pure reason, taking actions in the name of righteousness and calling it justice. Mitsuhide hates such a person. Dishonesty with people was one thing; dishonesty with oneself was another. Mitsuhide has long ago accepted that he would never be received with warmth, and here was a man who thought himself deserving of blessings. If he still had a body, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop himself from shattering this man’s flimsily built world. “I refuse.” Mitsuhide has never felt the need to raise his voice. He was a man of few words and confusing actions, but no one could deny that when he spoke, everyone listened. It was akin to seeing ghosts amongst trees. You simply couldn’t help but stare. “Disappear from my sight.”

He hears a silent ‘tsk’ from the man before he removes himself off the ground and walks away as if there was a stone tying his shoulders down. “Have you a wish, little one?”

Perhaps the girl has forgotten she was in the presence of a god. She stammers and stutters, and Mitsuhide’s smile comes easy. “Why did you refuse him?”

“Why should I accept?”

There is a brief pause, before she shoots back: “Why shouldn’t you?” The words surprised him. Never in a hundred or so years had a human spoke back to him. It was as if she noticed the same thing, and so she mumbled an apology.

Mitsuhide lets out a light laugh. How fun was she to toy with. “Because, little one, he is a liar.”

He felt her stare as much as he heard it. “What do you mean?”

If Mitsuhide had a body, he would wave his hand dismissively. “‘Bless my journey’? What carefully chosen words.” His little fox messenger sidles itself against the girl’s legs, a happy trill sounding. “That man stole funds from an orphanage and was planning to escape the village with his ill-gotten gains. Dare I say, someone like that needs not blessings, but a curse. No?”

Mitsuhide makes a mental note to thank the girl for this information. Had she not returned his fox messenger to him, he wouldn’t have known. Sometimes, he hated his formless body.

There was silence in between them, the god and the naive human. Mitsuhide stifles a sigh. She could not possibly have understood his reasoning, and he is fine with that. His decisions didn’t stem from what others thought of him, after all.

“Why?” she finally asks.

“Why what?”

The girl steps towards him, and he hears the clip-clop sounds of her sandals as she discards them, sitting down near him uninvited. “The villagers said you don’t care about us.”

Mitsuhide smiles again. “It is easy to assume so when one does not help others in need of them.” Humans are selfish and narrow-minded creatures, after all. From his observation, humans have had to overcome two things: the mentality of me versus everyone, and us versus them. If someone did not help you, you were instantly categorised as the latter part, and consequently treated in hostile manners. Even after living for hundreds of years, this did not change. It was disappointing, but Mitsuhide did not mind being misunderstood.

“Yeah, but—” her voice is hesitant. “You do care. You didn’t want the man to get away with his crimes, didn’t you?”

Mitsuhide cocks a brow. “A bold assumption. What makes you think I care about what does and does not happen to that man?”

“You didn't help him.”

“I do not help wounded animals, either. It is simply apathy.”

“That's different!”

“How so?”

“You—” she gathers her composure. “You can’t help them. That’s why. It doesn’t mean that you don’t want to.”

Ah, again, Mitsuhide wanted to laugh. Humans were so intriguing. He met one man that tried to use him and here was one that wanted nothing more than to believe him kind. What darling creatures they were. “Intentions do not breed kindness, little one. Only actions.”

He cannot see what she looked like, but he imagines her pouting. “I'm not a child!”

“Of course not, my dear.” he smiles, and he almost wished she could see how truthful he was. “It is normal to judge things based on the criteria that we are most used to. You’re not a child, but you do have the innocence and the heart of one. It is not necessarily a bad thing. It is refreshing, almost.”

There is silence again, and he does not need sight to know that she is blushing. “I'm leaving,” she harrumphed, and that brings a smile to his face.

Strange god that he was, he blessed her journey, even though she did not ask him to. Who could blame him, really? He was allowed to pick favourites.

The next day, the girl appears again, in less-than-subtle ways. She did not make her presence known, only making sounds with her straw broom, sweeping away the fallen leaves. Mitsuhide used to have followers, long time ago, that did the same thing, and he distantly wondered if this girl was trying to use him like they did.

“And your wish, little one?”

She stops her sweeping and he feels the distinct, loathing glare she sent his way. “That you stop calling me little!”

“I'm afraid I can't fulfill your wish, since I do not know your name.”

“Mai! it’s Mi-zu-sa-ki Mai! Read as blooming water and dance!”

“With that voice, I am inclined to call you little mouse instead.”

She groans, and Mitsuhide feels himself becoming a little more human again. How long was it since he’d had a playful interaction with a human that didn’t try to leech off him?

“I told you mine.” she huffs out in indignation. “Tell me yours.”

“Your villagers have already given me a name.”

“That doesn’t count!” He hears the sound of wood hitting wood, and realises that she has paused her sweeping to focus on him, instead. The attention almost makes him blush. Being a god is really tremendous work when you forgot you were once human, too. “What is your real name?”

Mitsuhide indulges in her voice, relishing in the way she had expressed true interest in what he was instead of what he was for others. “Mitsuhide. Read as ’excellent light’.”

Even though Mitsuhide does not care much about the opinions of others, he felt a little squeamish at her silence. He instead chose to squash any feelings of returning her interest, boxing those thoughts of “affection” into the back of his mind. Finally, she says: “It's really pretty.”

The praise certainly wasn’t poetic or linguistically intricate in any way, but Mitsuhide feels his heart pound painfully anyways. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she says, and he wondered what it felt like to be her; sunlight compressed, hearing the smile in her voice as clearly as he could imagine it. Mizusaki Mai. Read as blooming water and dance. In his mind, she was as unflinching as the sunflowers facing north, and even when the gentle spring wind was replaced by the storms—she continued to blossom.

He shuts the lid on these thoughts, swearing to never reveal them to her. “So, little mouse?” He smiles, and he didn’t stop to wonder why smiling around her felt so natural. “Have you a wish for me today?”

“It’s not like you’ll grant it anyways.”

He laughs. “Clever, little mouse.” There was the softness of morning dew in his voice. “Very clever.”

“I'm here,” she says, her words bubbling at the surface like a babbling river, “Because I thought you’d be lonely.”

“However did you come up with that idea?”

“I don't know,” The words were spoken softly and with humility at the presumptuous thought that he was feeling as such. “I don’t know. I would feel lonely if I were you.”

“Alas, my dear, you are not me.”

She hums noncommittally. “I guess.” He feels the floorboards creak under her movements, and her voice is closer this time. “Do you mind if I stay anyways?”

“Are your friends not good company?”

“They are, but…” she trails off meaningfully. He didn’t need her to finish the sentence. Humans are as fragile as they are brash, after all. Some of them are too shallow. Some too cowardly. Some too self centered, some too much of everything for someone like her. “You don’t need my permission, little mouse. It’s not like I can stop you from coming anyways.”

“I would hate it if I was the only one that enjoys talking to you,” Such soft words and chosen so kindly, the noble way she looked for permission out of consideration of his own feelings. It was something he never experienced, even when he was human.

Mitsuhide smiles. “I quite enjoy our talks, fret not.”

Her movements are abrupt, and he can hear her short intake of breath before she spoke. “Really?”

“Really.” One word that contained the warmth and affection of a kindling, heating someone up from fingertips to the ends of each individual hair strand.

“Thank you.” Her breath was a hummingbird’s feather, and it touches him like summer melting away the snow.

“Mai!” The distant yell surprised both of them. “Where are you!?” The voice came from beyond the forest, and it belonged to an adult man.

“Coming!” she yelled in response, and he hears the clackity clack sounds of her sandals in haste. “Bye, then. See you tomorrow, Mitsuhide!”

Before he could tell her the same, the sound of her heels became more and more distant.

Even though she does not wish for it, he blessed her journey back home anyways.

He measures the days not with the help of his fox messengers now, but with her presence. She visited him around afternoon time when the sun was high, and she left him when dusk broke.

It became clear to him that she genuinely enjoyed his company, and he enjoyed hers. He didn’t know what to do with that information, so he simply kept quiet.

“Hey,” she says one day. “Why do you hate the villagers here?”

Mitsuhide pauses to consider it. “Hate is such a strong word. I prefer nonchalant.”

“Fine, we’ll go with that then.” It took her no time at all to get used to his nitpicky way of speaking, and he feels his heart pound strangely at that.

Contrary to the feeling of love in his chest, he says: “Because humans are selfish. they pray and wish and when all is done, they congratulate themselves instead of offering gratitude for the people that helped them.” He knows he was talking about himself at this point, but she didn’t need to know that. “Their ambitions are blood in the water, and they bare their fangs and teeth when push comes to shove. Flighty, selfish, inconsistent—I find such traits tiring to deal with.”

“Hmm,” she stops swinging her legs then, pausing thoughtfully. “So you don’t hate it if they were thankful about it?”

“No, because I have accepted that it’s human nature to think of themselves highly when they’ve achieved something. I only detest their reliance on prayers and wishes. If I want something, I will go get it myself instead of buying good luck charms on new years’ eve, or putting my head on the ground and beg.”

“That kinda defeats the purpose of a god, don’t you think?”

“Maybe so. But it is my truth.”

“Well, to some others, prayers help, y'know?”

“Useless hope?”

“If it’s in something they want to believe in, then it’s not useless. As much as it was wrong of me to assume you were lonely, it’s wrong of you to assume that they are all shallow in their thoughts. True, there are some bad people that will try to take advantage of you, but I say it’s balanced out by the people that help you, too.”

Mitsuhide feels cynicism snaking its way to his tongue, but he bid himself patience, for he wanted to hear her thoughts. “Even something like praying can give peace. Because you believe someone can do something about it, even if you can’t. And to us villagers, who often get walked over by the nobles and kings and sword-wielders, hope is a weapon for the mind.” He felt the breath left him. “Because it’s a sign that we’re not giving up.”

There was silence between them, and he felt like the distance between them stretched an ocean away. Gentle sunflower, he thought. How do you continue to bloom?

She must have interpreted the silence as an awkward one, for she kept apologising over and over again, leaving him in a hurry with a half-baked excuse. He smiles, and blessed her journey back to be a safe one.

She returns to him that night, where only the cry of summer cicadas could be heard.

He recognises her by her footsteps well now; he did not ask or prod when she simply entrusted her weight of her body to the floor, sniffing and sobbing all the while. The sound breaks his heart, and he wishes that his hand would materialise and touch hers in comfort.

When she has finished crying, she sits up, hiccuping. “T-thank you… for letting me cry.”

Maybe some humour would do her good. “I don't recall being asked permission.”

An ugly snort came from her, and he hears her fist thud gently on the wall, a mock gesture of anger. “Very funny. Thank you for trying to help, though.”

Before he can protest, she said: “I know you were trying to make me angry to distract myself from my own sadness, so don’t think you can smart mouth your way out of this!” There was a daring smile at the end of her words, and he feels himself smile too. He smiled often around her.

“You’ve caught me,” he says. For a while, there was only the sound of her breaths syncing with the pulsing of stars in the sky. Nights in summer were lonely and quiet.

Finally, she speaks. “It was because of my cat. She passed away today.” It seemed as though the mere thought of not seeing her cat again drove her to near tears. He wants to comfort her, but he was afraid of saying something wrong or unnecessary. He is fairly new to the business of comforting people, after all. He’d never done it intentionally when he was a human. Oh well. Late lessons, he thinks.

“She was getting old. She died of natural causes, so I’m glad she was granted that wish at least.” She exhales a breath.

Mitsuhide was perplexed. “Why did you come to me? You know I would not have any words of comfort. Would you like me to say ‘she’s in a better place now’, like the rest of them would?”

She laughs. “Actually, no. I prefer you as you are.” she shifts, making herself comfortable. “The reason I came to you is because… there was no one else that I could trust myself to. My whole family is grieving, and me crying to them about it will make it worse, y'know? My friends… are busy. Any words coming out of the mouth of people I don’t trust would sound shallow, and it would hurt me more, I think.”

Mitsuhide’s mind was throbbing, and his heart rate increased. “You trust me?”

“Don’t get me wrong! I’m not trying to make a deal with you to bring her back or anything like that! It’s just…” she sighs in melancholy. “It’s just that there’s nothing I can do about it, and thinking of you, and how you’d say ‘it won’t hurt so badly’, it just bought me comfort. I know it’s just my own selfish expectations, though.”

Mitsuhide pauses. “You’re wrong.”

“What?”

“You’re wrong.” Her assumption wasn’t unfounded, for he had planted those seeds of doubt in her all along. “I wouldn't say that.”

He hears her breath shudder, as if she was about to cry. “Losing someone you love hurts, no matter how many times you’ve become familiar with loss. It doesn’t stop hurting. We just… become stronger from it because we have to keep surviving.” He wishes he could touch her hair. “It’s okay to cry if you’re feeling sad.” He wishes he could cradle her in his arms.

Those were the words that opened the dam once more, and she sobbed and clutched her heart in agony, crying again and again until her eyes were swollen red and dawn gave way, banishing the slightly-less-lonely summer night.

“Tell me your wish,” she says a week later.

She was lucky she wasn’t subject to his facial features, for he was sure he looked like he was balking. “My wish?”

“Yes.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“I'm getting married.”

His heart stops. “What?” Perhaps being in this heavenly form had distorted his hearing. He hopes so.

“I'm getting married,” she says softly, like a secret she didn’t want to tell. “In two days.”

He has to remind himself to breathe. “What does this have to do with my wish?”

“It’s likely that we won’t speak much after I get married.” she sighs. “My husband-to-be isn’t very fond of my habits, you see.”

It was because of him. It was because he had taken up so much of her time that her reputation had become tainted, her name sullied as it mingled with his. How could he have been so careless? He had forgotten of the rift that had held them apart, every barrier gone to give path to mirthful laughter and teasing. What was he doing? Their relationship was forbidden. What was he doing?

“What I wish,” he summons his old human tongue now, recalling the familiar way he used to keep people at arms’ length. “Is for some peace and quiet.” The words were polished sharp like knives.

He felt her falter. “I—”

“You were fun as a momentary pleasure, but unfortunately now that you’re about to be wed, I see there’s no reason to keep you around anymore. I do not intend to harbour hopeless children in my temple.”

Please hate me, he pleads. Please don’t stay.

He hears her choke on her sobs, hears the way she wanted to speak but feared that the words that would come tumbling out were simply pathetic whimpers. Her weight lifts off the floorboards, and he hears the sound of her sandals become distant.

He blesses her with a safe journey home.

This is good, he thinks. This is what’s best.

The days returns to being a blur again, and he had no way of telling the time. Life with her had been so colourful that he became unused to living in a palette of greys and midnight. He sends his fox messengers to check up on her every so often, and they returned to him with stories of how she looked happy, adorned in beautiful robes that were like a painted festival.

It is the day of her marriage, and he hears the crowd cheering and drinking long into the night, truths spilling out like seafoam. They call her a beautiful bride. They call them a perfect couple. They pray that she would birth a child. They blabber about how lucky she is to have found a man that loves her for her silly, childish antics, of her running into the forest, of treating injured foxes.

Her happiness is mine, he thinks. He would be content with this.

At least, he should be.

A week after the wedding, she approaches him again, and her sandals barely make any sound. They are heavy and encourage her to stand straight, her posture one of true grace. “Mitsuhide,” she says, and he almost cries at hearing her voice again. “Mitsuhide, I’m back.”

He feels like holding her close to his body, but he could not. Instead, he summons ice into his tone. “Why are you here?” It was hard, surprisingly. The summer days had melted into his being, making blood out of his marrows and not icicles.

“It doesn't matter.” she sits down on the floors like she had done so many times. “Honestly, I hate my husband.”

He felt his spine straighten, and all his inhibitions flew out of the window. “Make a wish,” he said. “I swear, should you wish to be taken away, I will grant it.”

She laughs, and he was sure that the sound didn’t fit her appearance of a demure and courteous lady. “Nope! You’ve taught me something, Mitsuhide.” She turns, touching her hand against the temple wall. It was as close as she could be without physically touching him. “If I want something, I should grab it myself.”

The wish isn’t for you, he thinks. It’s for me. It’s out of my own selfish desire to keep you safe and happy, and I am sorry for being in love with you.

He has no words to say to that, and he feels his heart pound, heavy with longing and the desire to caress her cheeks. She presses her forehead to the wall, and he swore the phantom of his felt it. “I promise I’ll come back to you. Will you tell me what your wish is?” The words ended in a whisper, so sweet yet tempting at the same time.

“A promise.” It is impossible. “Promise that you’ll always be with me.” It is impossible. She was just a human and he was someone unburdened by time.

He felt her smile then, sunflower incarnate, and his mind went blank. “I promise.” He bids her goodbye under the lonely summer afternoon, and he blessed her journey back home for the last time without knowing.

From summer, it dipped into autumn, and in winter, his fox messenger tells him that she has died of hypothermia. They tell him that she went into the mountains to search for her child, and was found collapsed on the ground as she held her child close to her chest.

Mitsuhide feels his senses numb, and when her family brought her corpse back to him in order to be blessed, he could not stop himself from wishing that he had his sight, if only to stare at the lifeless body of her. Sunflower incarnate that had wilted, a frosted flower now. He imagines her cheeks to be the blue of the sea, and he imagines that her skin is as cold as the day he was usurped into the temple, the stormy afterlife welcoming her as they did him.

The years pass unremarkably, until a young lady picks up a broom and brushes the leaves in the wake of his decrepit temple, forming a path. He does not know her name, but her footsteps are familiar—not at all weighted by heavy sandles.

She approaches the temple, aweing over the way it had held its shape throughout the years and the harsh seasons. “Hello?” she asks hesitantly. “My name is Mizusaki Mai. Is anyone there?”

His smile came easy, for he always knew how to when he was around her. “Yes,” he says. “And your wish, little one?”

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen writing #ikesen fanfic

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joe-young-stories · 3 years ago

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A Week.

Hey, new to tumblr. This is something I wrote in an enclosed, dodgy Christian community in 2018.

The last time I saw Dad in person I was seventeen, and I’d either just finished my A-levels or I was halfway through them. I’d seen him a year before, for Grandad’s funeral. After we’d got home from the wake I’d nicked a crate of Guinness, and thrown up on my suit. I’d thrown up all over the guest bed as well, and I’d left all the empty cans in the waste paper basket. I told my dad that the emotional stress of the funeral must have affected me, and I didn’t really give a shit about the fact that he knew.

This time it was summer, and it was that one week of the British summer that is actually scorching hot. Dad was waiting for me at Oxford train station for my visit. Visa Skank was there too. Visa Skank is my dad’s Russian wife, and perhaps she married him for a visa or perhaps she really loves him. I’ve never actually had anything against her. It was rude, offensive, calling her Visa Skank, but it made me feel really savage and clever back then. This day at Oxford train station she was in her late forties, and she was wearing this shimmer- shimmer peach linen halter top harem pants combo thing with a dainty cream pashmina and a big floppy straw hat. She was basically just easy mockery.

We went straight from the station to this ultra quaint Riverside pub/restaurant garden. I had Peronis. I had a burger too. We didn’t really have a conversation because Visa had seen a picturesque riverside photo opportunity, and she had my dad take pictures of her next to a drainage sluice for almost an hour, at different angles and filter settings. At the end we walked back through the pub to get to the car and she started draping herself mystically around rustic beams and cosy fireplaces, or sat herself next to like, napkin dispensers that pleased her. And my dad took more pictures. I just wanted to get back to the house. I don’t remember too much more from the meal.

In the daytimes that followed I fell into a routine. Dad would wake up late (his teaching job at the schools wasn’t on) and he might mooch about or he might go into Oxford, or he might just go to Headington High Street. Visa Skank had a busy social schedule attending a young mum’s social club in the Florence Park Cafe. She would spend a lot of time there. I would wake up and take a walk into Central Oxford. And I would stop for a pint in the White Horse, where we used to go for Lunch when I was little. In town I would walk the old streets around the Radcliffe Camera, and this was back when I had academic ambition before I stopped caring about most things, and the scholarly atmosphere excited me. I walked past the cathedral boys’ school – my first school—and into the Eagle and Child, or the Kings Arms, or the Turf Tavern. I would read Franz Kafka stories or Iris Murdoch novels or I’d listen to pretentious students talk shit and praise myself for being more intelligent than them. After a few pints I’d saunter back over Magdelen Bridge and back up towards the house in Headington.

Dad’s house had changed a lot over the years. The retro porn PC used to be in the dining room, and all my 9 year old self used to do at my dad’s was either play SimCity on that computer or watch Dad’s porn. He’d archived literally thousands of pictures, all categorised according to hair/boobs/race etc. Albums of particular stars. I got up early at that age, and if you were proper stealth about it could get up with the dawn and watch a four second clip of a woman getting pleasured by a mechanised shoe buffer. Only if you were stealth though. The computer screen could be seen from the stairs via the dining room mirror. You had to listen for footsteps. God forbid that Visa or even Grandad would walk in. View me wanking it to Dad’s shoe buffer porn.

Now though the house layout was different. Grandad had been a cantankerous twat since Nan died, and all he ever did was sit in the living room watching cartoons and chat shows. GMTV, Pokemon, Digimon, Homes under the Hammer. That was all I ever saw him do on visits to my dad’s. I left him to it.

But he started losing control of his faculties, and Dad and I would walk in from the pub to a stray smell of nappies, the CBBC channel playing in the background. His osteoporosis got worse. The last time he was alive I was seventeen and he’d been moved to a hospice. He was half asleep next to his colostomy bag but he murmured a greeting and a goodbye. The three of us, Grandad, Dad and me, sat in near silence for approximately fifteen minutes. “Good to see you, Grandad,” I said to him as I was leaving. Grandad had written “to a very impressive grandson” on my birthday card seven months previously.

While Grandad was dying his house was being renovated. The dining room and kitchen had been knocked together into this rustique farmhouse experience, with a big beaten up pine table, a pine dresser and a freshly installed aga. An aga in a nineteen thirties semi. There were a lot of wholesome wicker baskets bought in and gooseberry jam jars were placed in them for effect. Next door the garage was knocked down and a den/conservatory/stargazing lounge/music studio was built. The living room, where Grandad watched all the kids TV, and which I was told was always going to be “His Space” had had all the carpets ripped out and new sofas put in. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered every wall, and they were all full of this intelligentsia Russian shit no one read. The retro porn PC was upstairs in Dad’s bedroom now, so after I got back from Oxford that last week I’d sit in the conservatory on my laptop. Sometimes if my dad was around I’d bring up an attractive female friend’s Facebook profile and wait for him to ask me about it. He’d talk about organic food and hand picking your own raspberries, and how Russian customs and traditions were the best way to live. But most of those afternoons he was upstairs in his bedroom checking his email, which took about two hours and was a pretty full-on activity for him. If Visa was at home she’d make still life displays from Kitsch crap she found in charity shops. And she’d do photoshoots. Most of the time she was out though. Presumably with the young mums.

When I was downstairs on my own I would drink from the many, many bottles available on the farmhouse shelf. I never drank in front of Dad, but I’d never bother hiding how drunk I was getting either. A little bit of gin, little bit of vodka, whiskey, white rum.

I’d always done this. When I was about twelve, thirteen, fourteen I’d go through Dads bedroom and raid his wardrobe. I’d find his extensive magazine stash and his books on “Tantric Passion”, “The Multi Orgasmic Man”, “Make Her see you Mean Commitment”. I’d find the hamper full of Bombay Sapphire bottles; I never questioned the water bottles full of urine next to his bed. I wasn’t subtle. I’d try and incite his scorn, his discipline, his parental authority. I’d find glow in the dark condoms in his bedside drawers, and I’d take them out of the packets and leave them under his pillow like a treasure hunt. I would neck a bottle of chardonnay, refill it with tap water and leave it in the fridge for him to find. He’d look at the bottle, look at me, deliberate and stammer “I must have rinsed it out for recycling and put it back on autopilot.” I don’t think he knew me well enough to confront me. He once drove me back to mums with me throwing up ass the way down the M40, and we both agreed that I must have eaten some “ropey” quiche.

I didn’t want Dad to parent me anymore; I just didn’t really care. So while Dad was upstairs checking his email I’d access the WiFi and watch naked men beat each other, and I’d masturbate and drink gin. I think on the Tuesday of that week he found me full-on passed out in the stargazing conservatory, sleeping it off. Later on he’d said something about travelling being exhausting, especially across London, and it always took a few days for the mind to properly relax on holiday. I agreed.

In the evenings we’d go out to a pub, the Vicky Arms or The Chestnut or something. I would tell Dad what A levels I was doing. I’d namedrop attractive female friends quite a lot, and talk about parties I went to with them. I’d wait for him to be like, “Are they pretty?”, “Are they into you?”, “Like yeah, get in, my son!”, “Well done, boyo!” and things like that. Visa would come with us. She’d sit there in peach tracksuit bottoms and some kind of burgundy flamenco/matador top, and she would say things like, “Never microwave food because it changes the molecules. Did you know this? We go through a recipe book and you will find meals you would like to try.” We might order popcorn from behind the bar. Visa might demand a photo shoot of her next to an inspiring sunset or whatever.

At home Dad and Visa would go to bed in Grandads old room. Nans room, now the guest bedroom, was being fitted with a “Roman balcony” so I slept on a blow up bed in the living room with all the Russian volumes. I’d drink more whiskey and watch a comedy show about teenage lesbians.

That was it, really. The last week I saw my dad was fairly uneventful. Mundane. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was the last time I saw him I doubt I would have remembered it

Only two events stand out in particular. On the Thursday of that week Dad was playing at a jazz and tango concert at a bar/club in Wantage. He did concerts like that to keep money coming in when the schools weren’t on. Visa took tango lessons down at the community centre, and she’d met a new friend and tango partner called Allan. He had had a stroke and divorce in a five year period and had taken early retirement, so I was told. So I was briefed. Briefed why? I didn’t care.

Allan met us at the house. We all sat about having a back garden beer and then Dad and I set off for Wantage. Allan’s and Visa came later, in Allan’s car, which he could still drive all post stroked up apparently. We had another pint in a pub in Wantage. Dad introduced me to the concept of a “Session Beer”. Advice I have never followed.

Dad gave me money for the evening and then left me to my own devices. I sat on the balcony and drank a lot of Stella, and from my vantage point I could see Dad playing onstage. I could see Visa and Allan as well, and she had her head on his shoulder and he was holding her close around the lower back. This didn’t look particularly tango-ey, but Visa had told me on one pub evening that tango was more about feeling than steps. “Feeling. Yes?” she had said with gusto. This was the passion of the dance I was watching, then. Dad had told me in the car that tango was Allan’s hobby, it’s what got him out the house, like his physio. I looked at Dad, and he was playing some sassy chords on the piano, watching the two of them become one with the dance. He didn’t do anything else. He just sat there, watching them get on with it. I finished one of my Stellas, and later on I thought to myself that he looked like a drooping bunch of flowers in a vase, half dead. A bit sad, maybe. A bit lacking. I was quite proud of myself for thinking of that. It felt very grown up.

Two days later we were having a back garden beer, Dad and I. The garden had changed, and where a swingset once stood there was now a very wholesome vegetable plot. Beyond that was a washing line. It was one of those washing lines with one pole in the ground, and it folded out like an upside down pyramid. You could spin it around for ease of pegging/unpegging. I looked at the washing line and remembered my eight year old self playing by it. I had been playing with a football. I was staying with him for a few weeks or so over the summer. I was out there, by myself, with the football. But I liked to pretend I was playing with all the other children I knew from school. Kids who were actually busy with their own friendship groups or who called me poofty boy by the wildlife pond. But when I was playing with them by myself they were all like, “I did not see this coming! We have not appreciated your serious skills! Hey guys, check out this Baller!” and none of them called me a poofty boy by the wildlife pond.

I had devised a game where you had to throw the ball into the opened up washing line to score a point. Dad came outside just as I was about to land the sickest shot from ten feet away, the shot which was going to blow George and his gang away, and was going to make Sadia and Carrie-Ann think I was total boyfriend material. He asked me if I wanted anything to eat.

And I really don’t know what came over me, but I said something along the lines of “I’m playing a game. We have to get the ball off each other and get it in the net. Do you want to play?”

“Oh, right!” was something like he said “Yes alright then, I will”. I’d never played a game with Dad before, and we were both a bit hesitant. Like, do we just…start, or what? I chucked the ball at the line and missed, and he grabbed it. We ran around the garden, playing the game. He scored a point. I scored a point. At one point he wrestled me to the ground to get the ball off me, and then helped me up. I remember laughing and smiling, being out of breath. I was tense, too. How did things like this come to a logical end? Did, like, the session finish? Was there a way for this to end without Dad having to just be really rude? Like: “I’m sorry Joe, but I need to stop doing this at this point and go back to my day. You are welcome to continue though.” How did it work? After approximately fifteen minutes it mercifully started raining, and we went inside. It was the only time we ever played the game.

Sitting and having a beer with my dad that last week was the last time I looked at the garden, or indeed spent any time with him. Halfway through our drink Visa came out of the stargazing conservatory doors, and she was wearing a floor length lacy white gown, a white bonnet and silky white gloves. She was carrying a large wicker hamper, and she put the hamper down and pulled out a silver teapot. “I am English lady at tea,” she said, and she raised the teapot in the air. Then she laid the patio table for a country manor high tea, and started demanding a photoshoot. I went inside.

The next day I was due to go home. I woke up that morning to find that I’d drunk too much and pissed the blow up bed. I put my soggy boxers in a plastic bag, and I covered the damp sheet with my duvet and left it to fester.

I hardly spoke to dad after that week. There was no reason to most of the time. I rang him twice to ask for money, once to say merry Christmas can I have some money and once to tell him I’d just left rehab. In 2018 I had written to him to tell him he was a cunt and I wanted to burn his house down. “Past wounds” with my Father had become a significant part of my “Life Story” by that point, and I thought that sending such a horrible letter might activate a Life Event in some way, some dramatic finale.

Dad has always had his settings such that I can’t find him on Facebook, so I have to log in as my mum to see his profile. Him and Visa quote Oscar Wilde and Shakespeare sonnets on each other’s pages. Visa’s profile has about 64 photo albums. They’re all called things like “Casserole dishes on the patio”, “Beauty In Autumn”, “Sensuous mermaid has adventure”. Her name isn’t actually Visa Skank. All the photo albums are silly and innocuous. When I’m drunk, or self pitying, or feeling like a victim, or all of the above I sometimes find myself thinking about the game me and Dad played with the washing line and the football.

#writers on tumblr #writers #short story #story #childhood

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strongsassysexysloane · 5 years ago

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Take me for a Ride, Jack..2

So I’ve got more assignments than I thought to do before I go to LA for Paleyfest NCIS so chapters may not come out a regularly as I originally planned.. However... This is the motorbike I have in mind..

. . . .

To say the next half hour in Jack's office was uncomfortable would be an understatement. At least you think it was half an hour, when you turn to leave and check the clock it was only ten minutes. You sigh to yourself, Jack didn't mention anything, just down to business, asking the questions she needed and you answered. No quips, sassed remarks or winks you'd come to love. Wait, no, like. You'd come to like.

You guessed it was because time was running out on this one, any proof probably getting buried deeper and Ellie and Nick couldn't survive the married life much longer. At least that's the text you got this morning from Ellie wishing she could have one minute away from Nick. You laughed because they usually spent most weekends off together and go to the same bars most Friday nights but living together 24/7 was a bit too much.

You went and saw Kasie to see if she had any updates but you knew she didn't. With hardly any forensics to go off she was having a hard time helping with the case but you chatted for a bit, discussing Ellie and Nick's situation before your phone alerted you that a search that you were running came back so it was back up to the bullpen.

It took until the end of the day however to finally nail the guy. Ellie and Nick returned with the bad guy in cuffs. He'd had an affair with the wife, except she didn't plan on leaving her husband and this guy thought that justified murder.

"No offence Nick but this weekend. No goat Yoga, please." Ellie practically fell into her chair.

"Oh come on, it was only a few days." Nick blew her off.

"I don't care, you do more push ups than the whole office, listen to the worst music and you chew REALLY loud." The last comment made everyone laugh and Nick pouted in his seat.

"You know you're not much-" He stopped, receiving a glare from Ellie and one from Gibbs. "You're great Bishop."

"Finish your reports and hit the rack." Gibbs ordered, tapping something on his keyboard then walking out.

Thankfully after that long case you didn't get a call in for another two days. An actual two day weekend. It was a bloody miracle. You spent most of it catching up on house work, a nice breakfast with your sister and more apartment hunting.

When the call came early morning after two days rest you welcomed the call although sleeping in until 0630 would've been a nicer way to start, oh yeah and not a dead petty officer. You all caught up about what happened over your two days off while investigating the crime scene. No one had an eventful weekend, just some well needed rest done by all well except Gibbs who didn't chime in.

You, Ellie and Nick drove back to HQ while Gibbs and McGee followed a lead given to them by a neighbour at the crime scene. While walking to the entrance of the building you turned when you heard a roar, you missed that sound. It was the pur of a motorbike pulling into the carpark a few metres away. You stopped to check out the bike and the sleek woman riding her. You'd spoken in length to Nick a few times about his bike, he even offered to take you for a ride but you declined saying if you couldn't ride her, you wouldn't ride at all. He scoffed at that but appreciated the love of bikes.

Ellie and Nick stopped shortly after you but you didn't see Ellie's smirk at your expression and interest in the person- bike because Ellie knew exactly who was riding it and you had your suspicions as well. You watched as the woman stretched and slid off the bike. It was only when she started lifting her helmet, facing you, that you saw the tips of blonde hair and swallowed hard, you guessed right. She had on almost knee high black boots that covered up her skin tight dark denim jeans and a zipped up black leather jacket. You scratched the back of your neck nervously, obviously being caught, and walked a bit closer.

"We'll catch you inside Y/N." Ellie shouted at you which only made you blush harder and you waved off her, seeing Nick not so happily being dragged off.

"Like what you see?" Jack rested the helmet on her hip, under her arm and watched you approach.

"She's a bute." You nodded to the bike, the fire still burning on your cheeks and tips of your ears. "She yours?" Possibly a bit too much surprise in your voice as Jack slightly frowned.

"Sure is, I got her as a late Christmas present to myself a few months ago. Good price, she needed a few things fixed, still does but she's worth it." Jack patted the side of her bike and walked around to the back, undoing her bag strapped down.

You smile at the way she obviously calls her bike a female. "Sleek, sexy, purrs like a goddess." You want to face palm yourself after letting your thoughts slip from your lips. Jack's back is thankfully turned towards you so she cant see you drop your head back and run your hand through your hair because you know she's thinking of a sassy innuendo to tease you with.

"Who told you about me?" She grins mischievously, sexy as hell, turning around, slipping her bag on her shoulder.

You can't help the smile that spreads across your face along with the still evident blush and you just shake you head. "How was your days off?" Changing the subject was a safe bet and one Jack thankfully went along with.

She shrugged her shoulders as you walk side by side into work. "Only got yesterday off because Dawson's team needed help the day before but I'll probably get this weekend off unless your case needs assistance. But I spent most of yesterday under her, covered in grease but it was worth it. As you said she purrs like a goddess now, just like me." You bump her shoulder for the sassy remark.

"I'm never going to live this down am I?" Truthfully, you hoped she never did.

"Not in the foreseeable future, no." She bumps your shoulder and you just discuss the case as you ride the elevator up to the bullpen.

"Let me know if you need any profiling done or need to bounce some ideas around." Jack smiled, winked and kept walking up to her office as you turned into the bullpen.

"Did she take you for a spin?" Nick smirked from resting his hip on Ellie's desk.

You shake your head with a smile, thankfully the blush had vanished once you exited the elevator. "No, like I told you. I drive, I'm not a passenger." You drop your bag behind your desk and walk back over to Ellie's.

"We thought you might change your mind, considering..." Nick trailed off, nudging his chin upstairs, obviously in the direction of Jack's office.

"We?" You look over to Ellie with a raised eyebrow.

"Think the whole office knows you two have a thing. The flirting is glaringly obvious." Ellie leans back in her chair, fiddling with a pen in her fingers.

You try your best to hide a smile but it fails. "We do not have a thing."

Thankfully the subject is dropped as Bishop gets a lead. Torres walks back to his desk, actually doing some work before Gibbs and McGee gets back. You go down to Kasie to see if she has anything but the evidence was just being categorised and you help her sort through a few things.

It isn't long before Ellie and Nick follow a lead on a suspect that the victim had a bar fight with a few nights ago leaving you alone in the office as McGee and Gibbs haven't come back yet.

"Need any bouncing?" She purrs as she pops up beside your desk, sipping her coffee with her spare hand on her hip.

"Nope, just looking over everyone's notes from the crime scene, writing up my report." Jack nods, walking around to stand off to your left, you can feel her hand that was on her hip move to rest on the back of your chair as she looks over your shoulder. You feel her thumb brush against your back, thinking it's by mistake but then she repeats the movement. You swallow hard and try your best to keep typing however you can't think straight and turn your head slightly, her hair tickles your cheek. You love it when she wears it down.

"I'm bored." She shrugs, straightening back up with a smirk.

"Surely there's some report or profile you need to do." You try your best to not lean back into her touch which is still happening against your back.

"Oh I have plenty but kitty cat needed a distraction." She takes a sip from her cup, you think you see a slight flush to her cheeks.

You snap your head up to see her smug smile. "Kitty cat?"

"Because I purr.." She says it like its the most obvious thing. You just shake your head and let a laugh slip from your lips, she's relentless.

"Am I doing a good job?" You lean back into her touch as emphasis. Yes, definitely a flush to her cheeks, you get a kick out of it and love how the tables can turn.

Jack swallows a bit slower than normal her smugness disappearing at your bluntness. You smirk at her, the thumb movement faltering for a second. So she can dish out the flirting but when its reciprocated she gets flustered. Noted.

"I'm glad." You didn't need her reply and she huffs out a quiet laugh.

You both hear the ding of the elevator and you hold back a groan as she slips her hand off your chair. Gibbs and McGee exit the elevator with the suspect they went to question in handcuffs. McGee waltzes him down to interrogation while Gibbs walks in and slips his coat off, resting it on the back of his office chair.

"Where's Bishop and Torres?" He doesn't look up from placing his gun and badge in his drawer.

"Following a lead." You answer, going back to your report.

"No more leads?" He walks over to stand in front of your desk, looking from Jack down to your concentrated face directed at your computer screen.

"Not on my end." You look up and swear there's a slight smirk on his lips. He raises an eyebrow at Jack waiting for her to answer.

"Got nothing for you Gibbs." She sips her coffee.

"You helping Y/N with her report?" He counters. There's definitely some levity to his tone, anyone else and it would've been clipped but not to Jack. The thought made your stomach twist. You scoff and that draws the attention back to you which is the last thing you wanted. "If you got nothing better to do, McGee and I are about to question our suspect." He looks from you to Jack and turns and walks to interrogation.

"Guess I'll see you later." Jack follows Gibbs and you instantly miss her presence, miffed that Gibbs drew her away. You shake away that thought and get back to your work.

. . . .

Again, sorry if the case stuff is blah but im trying to work on my story telling and not just jump them into bed LOL. Let me know what you think :)

#jack sloane x reader #jack sloane #ncis #fanfic

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aqvarius · 5 years ago

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[WALKTHROUGH + REVIEW + CG] Romance MD: Munechika Takado

Expectations:

To be honest I wasn’t super excited when I saw the trailer for Romance MD. I thought it was just going to be another teacher/student romance with the basic Voltage storylines where one or two events would get closer and they’d fall in love etc.). That being said, I was actually quite interested in most of the potential LIs even though they do seem quite conventional for the standard Voltage lineup (oresama, kuudere, darudere/4D, flirty, jokey but actually hardcore ossan). I do also like the character designs. The one I was most interested in was Kyogoku because I can’t place his type. He’s been described as a prodigy, not too empathetic, feisty, cute, has a chilly side, tricky, coy, shady, obsessed with Kasumi. So I think he’s actually one of those devil with an angel face types? Cute on the surface but actually a bit shady? Maybe it’s because of his character design but he just reminds me SO much of Shinonome from Her Love in the Force. I keep calling him Ayumu because of that and I think it would be interesting if they were actually similar because Ayumu is one of those characters that I think is quite unusual for Voltage games because he doesn’t completely fit into one of their usual archetypes.

Anyway, this is not about Sen. This is about Takado. I knew he was the title character for Romance MD but I still had all of my fingers crossed that we would get someone else’s route first like Finally in Love Again had Aki as the first release rather than Momoi (I think?). And some other games had title characters that weren’t the usual type (like Issei from Kiss of Revenge and Masaomi from Serendipity Next Door). I also think that the only characters released so far are Takado and Hosho (I’ve searched and searched to get CGs or ameblo posts about the other guys but to no avail). So I kinda hoped they would give us Hosho first LOL or maybe just surprise us all and give us Kasumi but alas.

Finally, my expectations going in were that Takado was going to be the quintessential oresama type (like Eisuke/Leon) because he has that spiky brown hair look lol? I also thought the MC was going to be like the standard MC. What a fool I was…

Click below to read the full review, plus walkthrough and CGs PLUS THE ELUSIVE MC SPRITE.

Reactions:

My first reaction is that this MC (henceforth Dr. MC) is so annoying. She wouldn’t stop running her mouth, she was arrogant, she seemed a little inconsistent? The guys accuse her of being a journal junkie at the beginning and to be honest, they’re kind of right. She’s super nerdy to the point where it’s kind of over the top? Don’t get me wrong, nerds are great. I’m a researcher. I moved to a new city to study under my academic crush too. I get it. Sometimes other MCs are annoying because they’re too wholesome and earnest. This time, it got to the point where I was begging to have OG MC traits back. I almost cried with relief when I first saw her demonstrate empathy.

I think the thing that made me dislike her almost immediately was how clinically she originally described the ICU team. It sort of felt like Voltage was trying to push the ‘these guys are beautiful!’ and the ‘Dr. MC doesn’t give a fuck about real men’ points too hard and it sort of became contradictory, especially because the narrative is read through the player’s/MC’s perspective. So she had to explain how ‘objectively’ good looking they all are without gushing and thus it became this very clinical expression of their looks while also really pushing that opposing point of “but I don’t care around real men”. I think that it would have been fine for MC to appreciate how good looking they are but sort of have a ‘snap out of it’/’pull yourself together’ moment where she reminds herself what she’s here for. Like I think it’s fine and probably in fact more relatable to be able to acknowledge handsome men and be a bookworm/academically inclined and also enjoy 2D men lol. You don’t have to treat people like specimens MC

(Just say he’s beautiful. We all know he is)

I get that they needed her to be special in some way so Matsunaga would hire her, but she could have gotten hired on talent alone. I don’t think they needed her to be all like “this kabedon does absolutely nothing to me”. Overall I think her being totally uninterested in dating doesn’t quite mesh from the perspective of the player. I’m assuming most of us play otome games because we’re interested in dating the characters or seeing them fall in love, right? The game tried to be meta and make fun of the shoujo manga/otoge tropes at least three times (e.g. kabedon, cooking for LI when they’re sick and getting close, wiping tears leading to a kiss) but honestly, I play these games to experience all that cheesy shit lol. So for me I didn’t think it was particularly clever to reference these tropes and play them off. The audience tends to play these games for these moments lmao? Right?

(I agree, Takado.)

The one thing that all Voltage MCs have, however, is persistence. And my God does Dr. MC have persistence in spades. I actually didn’t mind it too much but I think it’s because it was sort of turned into a bit of a joke so the humour kind of played a role in tamping down what might have otherwise been obnoxious (when she kept waking Takado up I was like omg just LET! HIM! SLEEP!). I do also like that Dr. MC is very competent. Her shortcomings don’t have anything to do with technical ability which is quite refreshing. In this game, Dr. MC is more just inexperienced and idealistic when it comes to the actual practice of medicine and its accompanying emotional (and otherwise) complications.

The thing that I feel is her biggest flaw is her arrogance. I know, right? A Voltage MC, arrogant?! It’s unthinkable!! Usually Voltage MCs are insecure, self-deprecating, self-doubting. At times they are competent enough, or have moments of inspiration that allow them to do well. This Dr. MC is clever, and she knows it. Unfortunately, just having read lots of journals does not a good doctor make. Luckily, she becomes more likable when she finally gets taken down a peg and actually starts listening to Takado. I feel like Voltage tried to switch up their MC personalities (as seen with Masquerade Kiss too) but I think they tried to make Dr. MC snarky and sassy but she just comes across as arrogant/rude a lot of the time, like have some respect for your seniors please. When it comes to backtalking MCs, I much prefer Ayumu’s or Toma’s (from Irresistible Mistakes) MC. But at least Dr. MC is not as awful as Luke Foster’s MC in Kissed by the Baddest Bidder. Luke’s MC is my least favourite of all time and I honestly think he needs to leave her.

Also! I think with the JP version, you can choose whether or not to have the MC sprite. In the Love 365 version, you aren’t given that choice but the elusive MC sprite does pop up randomly in one frame.

(Tbh I prefer it without the sprite bc her hair reminds me of 2015/2016 me lol)

Her interactions with the other doctors is quite enjoyable, particularly with Kyogoku and Hosho, although I have to admit they’re enjoyable because Kyogoku and Hosho are really fun. I especially enjoyed with Ekuni joined in and did like the little snippets of Kasumi time you get as well. I do wish there was more time spent in the Pen (with Kalmia!) but alas, you get what you can. Kyogoku seems nicer than I expected he would be (because I really thought he would be Ayumu 2.0 – maybe he will be in his own route, but he does come off nicer than that snarky devil Ayumu). Kasumi also seems less cold than I expected. Hosho and Matsunaga were basically how I thought they would be, and Ekuni too to some extent, although I wasn’t expecting Ekuni to be such a mum and give them custom drug cocktails to pump them full of nutrients lol. I want Ekuni (my future husband) route so badly. I’m going to end up with a whole folder of images of him with that internal dialogue board lol. I did enjoy some of her conversation with Sex Maniac/resident slut Hosho (when his route comes out I won’t forget that he went on a date with Sara from Cardio………..) as well but I feel like Dr. MC doesn’t react enough to be more interesting? I know I sound like a typical Voltage LI, you know when they’re always telling MC she’s interesting cause her face shows everything she’s thinking and they like her reactions? That me lmao. But when she does react, she overreacts. Like, she doesn’t react to intimate/sexual things but then she FLIPS OUT because Takado was AWOL for literally a day and she thinks he died. You know what, he wasn’t even AWOL, he was literally on his day off. Take a chill pill, Dr. MC - maybe Ekuni can whip up a special sedative blend for you.

Now, Takado… Takado is basically Kaga from Her Love in the Force as a doctor. Sadist, reputation as a murderer, relies on his intuition, has a violent tendency with MC, misunderstood but doesn’t care. His version of Kaga’s Iron Claw is hitting you on the back of the head, usually with a file. I really thought he was going to be an oresama type but he’s more of the rogue sadist type. I thought he was not that interesting until I finally got to chapter 17. Naturally he’s ~damaged~ lmao. But actually I enjoyed learning about his backstory. I expected him to be so bonesaw-happy because he hadn’t acted quickly enough in the past and it led to someone’s death that could have been prevented if he’d just taken their limb. The truth is actually quite a bit more complicated than that, so I did like that it wasn’t predictable. I won’t spoil his backstory but it was definitely an interesting take on the doctor-patient relationship and worked well to help Dr. MC overcome her naïveté. I will say that I feel like the number of amputations actually increased throughout the route lmao.

Speaking of HLITF, the route definitely took on an action spin that I wasn’t expecting. I was surprised that Romance MD is categorised in the Action section in Love 365 but I think the story ended up going in a direction that I’d expect from HLITF or MSB (or Metro PD? I haven’t played that though so idk) and it was quite thrilling and surprisingly dramatic. Also, as per usual, the gap moe is real with Takado. Voltage loves employing gap moe with their characters, but especially the oresama and stoic types.

Additional note: Something I really hate about Love Choice is that a lot of the time the LI backstory is hidden in a heart scene and you can only find out the truth if you pay for it. However, the route reverts back to the main text so it seems like you (MC) know what’s happened even if you (the player) don’t.

The dynamic between Takado and Dr. MC actually ends up being quite fun even though sometimes I think Dr. MC is just being disrespectful. They bicker like an old married couple. It’s like what Kaga and MC would be like if she ever dared to speak up against him lol. Takado is like Kaga in that he expresses his love more through actions. Honestly I wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the moment he started to fall for Dr. MC even if you had a syringe of poison to my jugular. You basically only find out that he treats you differently because the other doctors have a grand old time teasing you about it. That being said, there are some nice scenes where you can spot Takado treating you specially if you squint a little. It’s fine that it’s not obvious; I think it would be out of character if he just confessed his feelings lol. Personally, I believe this is a marketing trick to get you to buy Takado PoV when it comes out.

The length of the stories (30 chapters) and the pacing did remind me of old school Voltage games which I liked. It was long enough to develop Takado, his backstory and have a plot with sufficient plot points. The length also gave the blooming relationship between Takado and Dr. MC enough time to mature without feeling too rushed. While I think this improves the story quality, it also really seems like a moneymaking ploy. That being said, at least they didn’t split the story up into two parts like HLITF 🙃.

I reread my old route reviews to remind myself how to review and I said that Goto’s route in My Sweet Bodyguard was not worth the £2.49 I spent on it. I can’t believe I only had to spend £2.49!! Regular routes in Love 365 are 400 coins which equates to £3.99 and I easily spent around £15+ on all the hearts needed for this lengthy LC route 😭. Obviously it would be even costlier if you needed to buy passes if you wanted to unlock chapters early. I didn’t keep track of how many hearts in total I spent but this ameblog says that you need 207 hearts to get all the heart scenes which translates to about £21 if you start with 0 hearts, which is honestly ridiculous. The same money could be spent on FIVE main routes (or other 400 coin stories). Or FOUR full bundles (MS, epilogue, sequel, sequel epilogue) from Seduced in the Sleepless City (i.e. sixteen stories). Or THREE full bundles from Pirates in Love. Or basically every available route for Subaru, Goto, Ishigami or Kurosawa in MSB.

So while you do get quite a lot of content, it is ridiculously expensive if you wanted Super Happy Ending. Don’t skip the heart scene in chapter 28 if you don’t want to miss a kiss scene. Chapter 7 “Apologize to Takado” doesn’t offer too much I believe. Chapter 22 “Ask for details” and 26 “Explain” options also don’t add too much imo. There are a total of 30 points available, so you can skip 5 points worth of heart scenes if you want SHE but don’t want to spend all those hearts.

You may like this route if you like rogue characters like Kaga and Shin from Pirates in Love. If you are really interested and are willing to pay, I suggest playing before 12/08 (12 August) to get the collector’s edition so at least it won’t feel like a waste of money. I really wish Voltage would get rid of Love Choice and just let us buy routes, but they likely never will because they probably earn so much more with LC compared to regular routes. The normal ending is good enough honestly, he actually confesses in NE and not in SHE, but in SHE you get a kiss scene and CG. I think ultimately it would be more worth saving up your hearts for another LI like Kyogoku lol... or Kasumi (but not my future husband Ekuni because I can already tell that I want him all for myself).

I forgot to make note of how many hearts each heart scene costs before I spent the hearts unfortunately so I’m just taking the word of the blogger who says it costs 207 in total. I know there quite a few options that require ~20 hearts.

ETA: I went through my heart spending history and found the prices of each heart scene

Walkthrough and CGs below:

25 points to Super Happy Ending

Ch 1

Observe Help Takado (Love Meter +1/CG) 5 hearts

Ch 2

Wait till later. Flip back the covers.

Ch 3

Missy Takado

Ch 4

“This isn’t a conversation.” “You’re missing the point.”

Ch 5

Ignore him. “It’s not every little thing.’”

Ch 6

Apologize Offer an excuse.

Ch 7

Don’t apologize to Takado. Apologize to Takado (Love Meter +2) 8 hearts

Ch 8

“Teach me!” “What’s got you in a snit?”

Ch 9

“I’m not ready to die!” “I value my time, you know!” (pick this one to see Kasumi being funny)

Ch 10

Stick a hand on the wall. Lean on Takado (Love Meter +1) 10 hearts

Ch 11

A scalpel. An aspirator (Love Meter +3) 13 hearts

Ch 12

Tail him. Chase him and shout

Ch 13

Ask Takado. Ask Kasumi.

Ch 14

Don’t ask. “I want to know.” (Love Meter +1) (pick this one if you want to hear about Takado’s backstory. If you select “Don’t ask” the first time, they will ask you again if you want to know and it costs 15 hearts)

Ch 15

Ask about the Pen. Ask about Takado. (Love Meter +1) 8 hearts

Ch 16

My duty as a doctor compelled me. I was worried about him. (Love Meter +2) 10 hearts

Ch 17

Avoid his potential wrath. Ask. (Love Meter +3) (pick this one to hear Takado’s full backstory) 15 hearts

Ch 18

Go back to sleep. Carefully sit up (Love Meter +1/CG) 13 hearts

Ch 19

Stay silent, like Takado Defend Takado

Ch 20

Stay out of it Insist on examining the woman (Love Meter +2) 10 hearts

Ch 21

“And then they’d kiss.” “And it’d get all tragic.”

Ch 22

Ignore him Ask for details (Love Meter +1) 10 hearts

Ch 23

Give up for now Talk to Takado again (Love Meter +3) 20 hearts (fml)

Ch 24

“I’m off.” “Dr. Takado…”

Ch 25

Don’t go. Follow Takado.

Ch 26

Feel sorry for him.14 hearts Explain. (Love Meter +2)

Ch 27

“No need.” “Tell me, then.” (Love Meter +1/CG) 15 hearts

Ch 28

Get some sleep. Stay with Takado (Love Meter +3) (kiss scene) 19 hearts

Ch 29

Call Dr. Kasumi. Don’t call him yet. (Love Meter +3) (if you choose to call Kasumi, you get a second chance to not call him which costs 22 hearts fml. If you don’t call him, you get quite a cute scene with the iCU team)

#romance md #romance md: always on call #rmdaoc #munechika takado #voltage inc #otome blog #review #otome game #voltage otome #otome romance #walkthrough #otome walkthrough #love 365 #love choice #voltage

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downspiral · 5 years ago

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* / BPD ( borderline personality damon )

lil talk about damon’s behaviour, emotional patterns and mental health! i’m categorising this as a headcanon for simplicity’s sake but this is all based on canon material, whether unintentional or not i do genuinely think he has it in canon and will sort of be elaborating on why that’s clear to me. as a disclaimer none of this is meant to excuse any of his behaviour and hopefully it won’t come off that way either, but bpd and its associated stigma is a personal topic to me, so please go in with sympathy and an open mind. under the cut bc this could get lengthy!

so to start off with i’ll just briefly explain borderline personality disorder (BPD) for people unfamiliar with it— it’s a mood disorder that has many associated symptoms with various mental illnesses like depression, anxiety and bipolar disorder, as well as substance issues, eating disorders and other personality disorders eg. antisocial or narcissistic personality disorder. it’s classed by four groups of symptoms:

emotional instability

disturbed patterns of thinking or perception

impulsive behaviour

intense but unstable relationships with others

( obviously this definition is too broad for any specific diagnosis, since everyone is different, and can’t be used alone to diagnose someone without ruling out other disorders and subjective opinion of a professional who knows enough about your behaviours to make an assessment, so from here on out i’m going to be drawing on my own experiences, and hopefully i’ll be able to articulate it in a way that makes sense, but please let me know if it doesn’t. )

***

the first and most glaringly obvious identifiers of this where damon is concerned in my opinion is a), his tendency to spiral very suddenly and abruptly after even minor triggers, such as failure, rejection or even just feeling insulted by someone he cares about, and b) his frequent impulsive behaviour, and what might be termed a lack of self-control in following those impulses - the first examples that come to mind would be his leaving for a road trip with katherine despite hating her, or killing jeremy because he was the first person he saw after feeling rejected by elena - and as he later admitted honestly, not knowing that it wouldn’t be permanent.

so starting with a), his irrational spiralling — i’ll preface this by saying that in my own experience, my initial diagnosis where my therapist suggested BPD as a possibility was immediately after i told her that i felt my emotions were just more severe than most people’s, which is why i always felt i was overreacting to things, both bad and good, alternating with feelings of extreme numbness and dissociation which would follow immediately after as a coping method. bouncing between extremes of emotion is also something we see damon do constantly; not regarding the humanity switch detail and focusing solely on his ‘humanity-on’ behaviour, we still see him go between extremely cold, numb and uncaring (albeit often this is hidden behind deflection and humor) to deeply hurt, loving, and willing to make huge sacrifices for causes or for people.

this is also a little muddled by the in-world lore of vampires having very heightened emotions. if you consider that damon already had BPD while a human, which is highly plausible given what we see of the decisions he made even then, then it follows that as a vampire those already-dysfunctional behaviours would be driven to extremes. this isn’t only obvious to the person watching; other characters comment on it constantly, e.g. almost any time katherine shows up, everyone immediately starts worrying if damon’s going to snap, having learned that the tiniest of things can send him into extreme behaviour, harmful to both himself - picking a fight with julian out in the open, described as having a death wish, and various suicide missions - and other people - e.g. attempting to kill jeremy and bonnie, despite it being abundantly clear that those two murders would make everything worse for him, and logically, make no sense, and serve no benefit to him. they were not thought-out decisions, not premeditated, and not something he would do in a sound state of mind, which is part of why they’re so painful to watch - they’re stupid, unjustified decisions, and seem irrational and disproportionate to whatever triggered him to make them. this also falls into the category of ‘lashing out’, something damon is frequently noted to do - often in the form of destroying or severing relationships, which may be done via simple purposeful negative interaction with someone, or doing more, genuine harm so that those relationships are ended regardless.

this ties in both with the impulsive behaviour aspect, but also a comment elena once made which struck a huge chord with me as an identifier of BPD - she said he felt that everyone hated him, and in an attempt to face those perceptions or correct them as someone of sound mind would do, he instead tries to come to terms with the pain of that by making himself believe that they were right - ‘proving’ both to others and to himself that they were right to hate him, via doing bad things. while this particular incident was partially due to enzo’s influence and damon seeking approval from the only person he felt he could still get it from, he still had the agency to make that decision, and this wasn’t the only time where that behavioural pattern could be observed.

the depth to which those thought processes go can sort of be seen when you consider season 8, where enzo and damon were both under the mind control of a siren, leaving only their subconscious with free will to resist. enzo’s instinct was to try and weave messages into the things that the siren had him do, knowing that bonnie would recognise them and be able to save him from doing more harm. on the other hand, damon’s instinct was to sever those relationships so completely that none of them would ever attempt to save him again, thus keeping them, in his eyes, out of harm’s way.

i don’t wanna make this so long it’s unreadable so i’ll try and end it with this last point, which is that another symptom of BPD is latching on to one particular person - whoever might feel most significant to them at the time, whether a friend or romantic interest, though often those feelings can combine and become confused when that emotional connection is made (most obvious example being elena, who damon had a relatively good and stable friendship with, that seemingly functioned fine as it was, yet progressed into romance anyway and became destructive). when that said person is found, the intensity of your emotion leads to a usually unhealthy amount of attachment on your part - often leading to possessive, manipulative or even emotionally abusive elements of relationships that more often than not become toxic. this person becomes the sole way that you feel validation/love/approval/happiness, any good emotion at all - in a way, your brain compensates for previous and more significant traumas, e.g. parental abuse/neglect, by channelling all this emotion into the nearest outlet of love and acceptance you can find. as a result even the tiniest fraction of attention or approval from that person can completely brighten your mental state for weeks, while the tiniest perception of disapproval or neglect from them - note perception, this could be something as miniscule as a misunderstanding, a tone being read wrong in a text, a genuine mistake being interpreted as a deliberate attempt to separate - can be enough to drive you to suicidal ideation.

obviously, whether it’s known to them or not, all this puts an unrealistic amount of expectation on the other person - one individual cannot possibly be responsible for the entire mental state of another, and will often - quite rightly - lead to the decision to end the relationship out of self-preservation. this is observed very frequently with damon’s close relationships; at some point, most of the people he’s been closest to have, with some degree of regret, been forced to write him off, because he puts too much strain on their own mental state. without significant effort to change on the part of the disordered person, sadly, this situation doesn’t usually have a resolution, because one’s own mental health is never the sole responsibility of others. it’s worth saying that most of these behaviours are done unintentionally and instinctively, as what seems the first logical conclusion in a brain that has been wired - physically, neurons and pathways in the brain have been grown by trauma that leads to those paths becoming the ‘right’ ones, rather than the healthy alternatives, which is usually what therapy’s end goal is - minimising the disordered pathways while reinforcing the positive ones, via practice of healthy behaviours and identifying bad thought processes so they can be stopped with the hope that those ones will take priority eventually. that being said, decisions that are motivated by and followed by, self-hatred, doesn’t excuse them from the harm they may cause other people. and it’s not fair - none of it is, because immediately what that situation seems to become is, ‘i didn’t ask to be this way, i don’t want to be harmful, but because i have been traumatised this is how i turned out, and now if i want healthy and good relationships, i have to work twice as hard against all my natural instincts just to ensure i come off as a person worth caring about’.

this is getting a little off-topic, but to say - there is a stigma about BPD, often associated with emotional abuse and manipulation, and it’s too complex a topic to sum up in one paragraph, but the gist of it is that sadly in my experience there is truth to it. i feel as though my disorder increases the likelihood of me being harmful, which means i have to work twice as hard to stop it - things that seem like common sense, basic decency, human logic that comes naturally and as first instinct to many, have to be actively strived for by people with this particular disorder. so while failing to do so may happen more for those people, and thus lead to them coming off as a worse person, there is some explanation as to why - and of course that doesn’t mean excusing that behaviour, never! but, there is a grey area between ‘excusing and enabling unhealthy behaviour’ and ‘your disability grants you no leeway whatsoever’. there is a middle ground and it’s hard to find the right place to walk it, and probably differs for everyone, but for me that’s why damon is relatable, and why i think i have more tolerance for things that he’s done.

i’ll just end this by saying that this is all one person’s experience of bpd and what i’ve observed from a few others i’ve known. i don’t speak for everyone with bpd, it’s not my call to make, mental disorder is overwhelmingly complex and hotly debated even in medical circles. but all that being said, i have recognised a lot of my own emotional experiences in damon’s and how the characters around him react to it (without the murder, obviously) and to me it is slightly more complex than ‘this is a shitty person’. thank you for reading all this if you did, it’s kind of hard to talk about, but hopefully for some this adds a little more insight into my portrayal and attachment to the character.

#I WAS. WORKING ON REPLIES I HAVE A FEW HALF DONE BUT thinking abt therapy got me thinking abt this so. i'm dumping this out first #apologies. but *points at him* he's got bpd #you've ruined a perfectly good vampire is what you did look at him hes g #sorry. anyway #HEADCANON.#CHARADEV.#i'm saying headcanon but this is literally his canon portrayal and as a person with bpd i'm diagnosing him so there. periodt #right. adding this tag after i just finished writing this thing. sorry it got long and now i'm emo shun al so i'm gonna go do replies #watch no one read this. it's fine

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bigbadredpanda · 6 years ago

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Chapter 115: Family Feast 2

This chapter contains a sensitive scene in the first half. I swear the rest of the extra is all fluff.

Warning for sexual assault undertones: a non-graphic rape enactment happens, it is mostly talk and there is nothing explicit. If you prefer to skip that part, stop at “he approached the bed” and go directly to “I have something to show you first”.

Family Feast 1 / Family Feast 2 / Family Feast 3

Despite having said that, the two did not find at once the opportunity to "try" in that same evening as Lan Wangji had to first have a long heart-to-heart discussion with the long secluded Lan Xichen.

Wei Wuxian had developed a peculiar habit as of late. The sleeping position he liked best has become lying on Lan Wangji, either on his back on Lan Wangji's own reclined body or facing him on his stomach, nestled against his chest. In short, if he didn't have his oversized living pillow, he was completely unable to sleep. Giving free rein to his mischief, he ransacked the Jingshi and managed to overturn a number of objects.

From childhood, Lan Wangji would unfailingly handle matters in a proper and orderly way. The characters he practised writing, the paintings he drew, the essays he penned were all neatly and tidily categorised and sorted chronologically. Wei Wuxian started with his earliest calligraphy copybook, flipping over the pages with a smile. Lan Qiren's comments written in vermillion ink caused him so much glee that his teeth hurt from laughing. However, after having turned over several thousands of pages, he only succeeded in finding a single page of paper containing one wrongly-written character. Lan Wangji had then used the entirety of another page to scrupulously copy down the proper character a hundred times. Wei Wuxian was left speechless at this, "That's so pitiful, it's not even a character I recognise."

He was still browsing these old pages slightly yellowed by time when a lantern dimly lighted the obscurity outside the Jingshi.

Despite not hearing the sounds of footsteps, Wei Wuxian expertly plunged on Lan Wangji's bed with practiced ease and pulled the quilt over his head. As Lan Wangji gently pushed the door open and came in, he was greeted by the sight of a still form inside the room who was pretending to be sleeping soundly.

Seeing the other already "sleeping", Lan Wangji's already quiet movements became even more muted as if he held his very breath. He slowly closed the door of the Jingshi and after a momentary pause, he approached the bed.

Before he could reach it, the quilt was thrown right at his face, encasing him from the waist up.

Lan Wangji, "…"

Wei Wuxian pounced to clasp the blindfolded Lan Wangji in a tight grip. Pushing him down on the couch, he exclaimed, "Surprise attack! [1]"

Lan Wangji, "…"

Wei Wuxian's hands groped and tugged at his clothes but Lan Wangji remained motionless like a corpse, letting him have his way. Wei Wuxian soon lost interest and asked, "Hanguang-Jun, why aren't you resisting at all? If you stay still like that, what's the point of me ravishing you?"

Lan Wangji's voice sounded out muffled by the quilt, "What do you want me to do?"

Wei Wuxian patiently provided guidance, "I press you down and you push me away. You fight back and you struggle stubbornly to keep your legs closed while shouting for help…"

Lan Wangji interrupted, "It is forbidden to make a racket in the Cloud Recesses."

Wei Wuxian retorted, "Then you can whisper for help. I tear your clothes as well, you have to resist desperately and do all you can to protect your chest from being exposed."

No sound came from the quilt for a while.

Finally, Lan Wangji said, "It sounds laborious."

Wei Wuxian, "Laborious?!"

Lan Wangji, "Mmh."

Wei Wuxian, "Well, there's no helping it. How about we trade places and you ravish me…"

Before he could finish his sentence, his surroundings spun with the quilt flying off and he was the one being pressed down on the bed by Lan Wangji.

Having been forcibly wrapped in the quilt by Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji no longer bore his consistently pristine appearance. His topknot and forehead ribbon were slightly askew, his fine black hair was slightly in disarray with several strands coming loose and the formerly white as jade cheek was faintly tinged with pink. Under the light, he had the appearance of a bashful and nervous beauty. But what broke the illusion was the shockingly exceptional arm strength the beauty in question possessed which was like a steel vice. Thus restrained, Wei Wuxian pleaded, "Hanguang-Jun, great Hanguang-Jun, have some mercy."

Lan Wangji's gaze was unwavering. In his eyes, two lights burning brightly seemed to be flickering but his expression remained otherwise unruffled, "Fine."

Wei Wuxian, "What is fine? A handstand? Ravishing me? Hey! My clothes."

Lan Wangji, "You asked for it."

As he spoke, he pried open Wei Wuxian's legs to insert his body between them and pressed him down before stopping. Wei Wuxian kept waiting but there was no further movement, "What's wrong?"

Lan Wangji moved back slightly, "Why do you not resist?"

Wei Wuxian wrapped his legs around his waist to prevent him from rising. Leisurely rubbing against him, he chuckled, "Oh well, there's no helping it. As soon as you press me, I can't help spreading my legs for you, I can't keep them closed them at all. Where am I supposed to find the strength to resist? You call it laborious, it's also laborious for me… Well, let's stop, come on, I have something to show you first." He took out a sheet of paper from the folds of his clothes, "Lan Zhan, I have something to ask you. How could you make a mistake writing such a simple character? Weren't you paying attention in class? Or were you too busy thinking of something else all day?"

Lan Wangji glanced at the paper without saying a word but what he meant could be read clearly in his gaze: Wei Wuxian was the kind of person whose wild handwriting was barely legible [2] and who was quite adept at denying that his sloppy work was riddled with mistakes and yet he had the nerve to find fault with him for writing a single character wrong.

Wei Wuxian feigned not to understand the meaning in his eyes and continued, "Look, you have the date written, let me think… You were 15 or 16 at the time? To still make a mistake at this age, you…"

A flitting thought on the date inscribed made him realise that it coincided with the three months he spent studying in the Cloud Recesses.

Wei Wuxian was instantly filled with delight, he deliberately prodded, "Could it be that as a little boy Lan Er-Gege couldn't concentrate on what he wrote because he could only think of me instead?"

In those days when Wei Wuxian was made to copy in the Library Pavilion as a punishment, he would spend the day making all sorts of unreasonable scenes in front of Lan Wangji, rolling about, playing possum, disturbing him by every means possible, disrupting Lan Wangji's concentration and generally making thinking difficult. Lan Wangji nevertheless perseveringly bore the burden of both supervising his copying and attending to his own studies. Under the circumstances, writing only one character wrong was truly admirable.

Wei Wuxian said, "Hey, how is it my fault? Are you blaming me?"

"…" Lan Wangji stated in a tight voice, "It is your fault!"

He let out a troubled breath, he wanted to seize the incriminating paper staining his person. Wei Wuxian loved seeing his affected expression, he promptly stuffed the paper back into the depths of his clothes, concealing it against his chest, "Come and take it if you can."

Lan Wangji put his hands inside his clothes without the slightest hesitation. And left them there.

Wei Wuxian, "So you can indeed!"

The two of them made plenty of noise for a long part of the night. Midnight came before they could manage to speak a few proper sentences.

Wei Wuxian was still lying on Lan Wangji with his face nestled in the other's neck. The only thought passing through his mind was that the scent of sandalwood on Lan Wangji's body was even more fragrant. Languidness suffusing his entire body, he squinted, "Is your brother doing well?"

Lan Wangji embraced his bare body, hand repeatedly stroking the length of his back, "Not so well."

The two of them were drenched with sweat. The caresses produced a tickling sensation that Wei Wuxian felt course from his skin to the bottom of his heart. He twisted a bit uncomfortably and from below him Lan Wangji held him tighter.

Lan Wangji said softly, "During my years of seclusion, only Brother came to talk with me."

Now the situation was reversed.

Wei Wuxian no longer needed to ask what Lan Wangji was doing during his years of seclusion.

He laid a kiss on Lan Wangji's white as jade earlobe and pulled the quilt to cover them both.

In the early morning of the following day, Lan Wangji rose at 5 o'clock as per usual.

He and Wei Wuxian had been living together for several months during which Lan Wangji had strived to correct Wei Wuxian's sleeping pattern. However, it turned out to be a futile attempt. By the time the disciples brought the hot water for the bath, Lan Wangji had already been dressed properly long before. He extracted the stark naked figure of Wei Wuxian from the thin quilt and carried him in his arms to the bath. Wei Wuxian had the remarkable ability to soak in the water while remaining asleep. As Lan Wangji gently massaged him, he took Lan Wangji's hand to kiss the palm and the back of his hand and to nuzzle his face against it, still asleep. He let out a few annoyed groans during the massage and pulled Lan Wangji to him, eyes still closed. He cupped Lan Wangji's face and kissed his cheeks several times, mumbling unintelligibly, "Be a good boy, be quiet. Pretty please, I'll get up in a bit. Mmh."

After a yawn, he rested against the edge of the cask, still asleep.

Were the house to catch on fire, Wei Wuxian would most likely just find another place to keep on sleeping. Despite this, Lan Wangji persevered relentlessly every morning, starting to call his name at 5 o'clock and withstanding composedly a barrage of small pecks peppering haphazardly his face.

Bringing breakfast to the Jingshi, Lan Wangji placed it on his writing desk where in the past there had solely ever been his brush, paper and ink-stone. Afterwards, he pulled out the still heavily sleeping Wei Wuxian from the bath, wiped him dry, put on his clothing and tied his sash. Lan Wangji then casually fetched a book, flipped it open to the pages containing a bookmark with a dried flower and sat at the table to read at leisure.

At precisely 9 o'clock, Wei Wuxian bolted upright as expected and sat on the bed. He fumbled drowsily out of bed and made a beeline for Lan Wangji, finding his way to his embrace and rubbing customarily his thigh. After washing his face clean at full speed, he was a bit more clear-headed and felt his way back to the writing desk. Wei Wuxian took several bites of an apple and then saw that the plates were piled high with food. As the corners of his mouth rose, he asked, "Isn't your Sect holding a family feast today? Isn't that a problem to eat so much beforehand?"

Lan Wangji calmly straightened out the headband and forehead ribbon Wei Wuxian had been fiddling with a moment ago and replied, "Eat your fill before."

Wei Wuxian had already had the pleasure of sampling the meals served in the Cloud Recesses: watery soup and insipid fare that were dominated by vegetarian dishes. Everything in sight was filled with various shades of green, there was tree bark, grass turfs and a profusion of medicinal ingredients. From all of the dishes emanated an ominously bitter smell tinged with a strange underlying sweetness. Were it not for this, Wei Wuxian would not have proposed to roast these two rabbits when they were younger. It was highly likely that the food served at their Sect’s family feast would leave much to be desired in terms of quantity and quality.

Wei Wuxian knew in his heart that the Gusu Lan Sect regarded these matters of the upmost importance. Letting him attend was tantamount to acknowledging his position as Lan Wangji's cultivation partner. Lan Wangji had to unremittingly wear Lan Qiren down while fighting for his merits. He sighed before putting on a smile, "Don't worry. I'll be on my best behaviour, I won't embarrass you."

Concerning the family feast, the one held in the Cloud Recesses was completely different from the other family feasts Wei Wuxian knew of.

The family feast of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect was held outdoors in the training grounds of Lotus Pier where a dozen long tables would be installed. Everyone, men and women, the older and the younger, all sat together with calls and shouts ringing out throughout the feast. The kitchen was also relocated outside, the blaze from a row of stoves rose high and the aroma wafted in the air. You could help yourself to whatever you wanted to eat and the food never seemed to be cooked quickly enough. Although he did not attend the family feast of the Lanling Jin Sect, their Sect was never stingy and spared no effort spreading far and wide the sumptuous details such as the performance of a sword-dancing master, jade corals in a wine pond, red brocades spread as far the eye can see and other astonishing sights.

Compared to this, the family feast held in the Cloud Recesses was both dull and plain.

The Gusu Lan Sect's teachings have always been dreadfully strict, do not speak when eating and stay silent. Even though the family feast had not officially began, none of the people attending uttered a single word apart from those entering the hall greeting respectfully the seniors in a low voice. There was hardly any talk, let alone cheerful banter. Wearing the same white clothes, the same rolling clouds patterned on white forehead ribbons, the same facial expression solemn to the point of appearing wooden, they seemed to all have come out from the same mould.

Beholding the "mourning clothes" filling the entire hall, Wei Wuxian pretended not to notice the astonished or hostile stares of other people. He complained inwardly, "They call it a family feast but a funeral is more lively than this."

Right at this moment, Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren entered the hall. Lan Wangji who was quietly seated at Wei Wuxian's side made a slight move in reaction.

Lan Qiren probably only needed a glance at Wei Wuxian to have a stroke and consequently he simply chose not to look at him at all, gazing fixedly ahead. Lan Xichen wore his habitual genial smiling expression like a cleansing spring breeze with the corners of his mouth carefully held. However, Wei Wuxian did not know if it was due to the seclusion or not but he thought that Zewu-Jun appeared considerably thinner.

After sitting down as head of the family, Lan Xichen spoke in a few sentences the conventional greetings and inaugurated the feast.

The first dish brought out was a soup.

It was customary for the Gusu Lan Sect to start meals with a soup. The container was an unadorned round cup in black eggshell pottery, small enough to fit in one's palm and smooth to the touch. Lifting the delicate lid to take a look, he discovered as he expected another heap of greenish vegetables, leaves, tree barks and grassroots.

A look was enough to make Wei Wuxian shudder a bit. Despite steeling himself earlier, he couldn't help closing his eyes and resting his head in his hand after drinking a spoonful.

After a moment, he recovered from the brutal attack that overwhelmed his sense of taste, elbows on the table barely keeping him upright. He thought, "…If the ancestor of the Lan family was indeed a Buddhist monk, he was an ascetic one for sure."

Wei Wuxian could not help reminiscing about the family feast held in the training grounds of Lotus Pier, the cauldron filled to the brim with lotus roots and pork ribs soup and the mouth-wateringly fragrant smells of the meat and lotus floating at the surface. All the neighbouring children drawn by the scent tried to climb the courtyard wall to catch a peep, saliva dripping. They all returned home wailing and shouting that they wanted to become disciples of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect. In contrast, he did not know at this very moment who was more pitiable between his current self whose mouth was saturated with bitterly sweetness and Lan Wangji who was brought up eating that from childhood.

Seeing in the hall that all the Lan family members had finished drinking their soup without batting an eyelid, their movements and expressions effortlessly graceful with perfect composure, Wei Wuxian was embarrassed that he alone left his cup mostly untouched. Moreover, among the four thousand rules of the Lan Sect, wait, he did not know how many thousands there actually were now, he remembered several pertaining to table manners, for instance do not be picky about food and leave leftovers, do not eat more than three bowls. Although he felt that this kind of family rules was simply outrageous, he did not want to give Lan Qiren a reason to spurn him so quickly.

He was bracing himself for another spoonful of that foul medicinal soup but just as he raised his head, he unexpectedly discovered that the cup in front of him was already empty.

Wei Wuxian was stupefied.

He involuntarily picked up the delicate cup, thinking to himself, "I'm sure I only drank once? Did it leak from a hole at the bottom?"

But the top of the table was evidently clean, no soup had spilled.

Wei Wuxian looked sideways just at the moment Lan Wangji nonchalantly finished the last sip of his soup. He put back the lid on top and he used a snow-white napkin to lightly wipe the corners of his mouth, eyes downcast.

But Wei Wuxian remembered distinctly that Lan Wangji had already finished his soup at an earlier time.

He also realised that Lan Wangji's part of the table seemed to be much closer to him than before the start of the feast as if he had discreetly shifted nearer.

Wei Wuxian, "…"

Raising an eyebrow, he mouthed silently towards Lan Wangji: Hanguang-Jun, you're pretty quick with your hands, huh?

Lan Wangji put down the napkin, glanced briefly aside at him before tranquilly gazing away.

Translator's notes

[1] The actual wording is 强奸 whose literal translation is 'rape'. Since the scene is supposed to come across as playful, I'm purposefully using the milder term 'surprise attack' here instead and afterwards the word 'ravish' which is more in line with their kink.

[2] Wei Wuxian's handwriting is 狂草 (kuángcǎo) which means 'wild cursive', it is a type of calligraphy with fast unbridled strokes which can be beautiful aesthetically but is is generally illegible (Example). In contrast, an earlier chapter mentions that Lan Wangji writes in 正楷 (zhèngkǎi) or regular script, the proper and tidy way of writing (Example).

#mo dao zu shi #mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #lan qiren #lan xichen #mdzs translation #my translations #mdzs spoilers #warning

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phantom-le6 · 2 years ago

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Ramble of the month April 2023: Autism Month Ramble on Education

For the second time since I started doing these monthly rambles, Autism Awareness Month is upon us. This year, the month is a bit special because while I was basically diagnosed by education professionals as a child, it’s only just now that I’ve got a formal autism diagnosis via the NHS, though that process is still on-going until I get any post saying no more appointments, etc.

Last year when I did something about autism, I focused on relationships. This year, I’m going to instead look at education because I know it’s a very hot-button topic for a lot of parents and families, and subject to regular press scrutiny as well. Now because my day job happens to relate to SEN education, I’m going to try and tread very carefully here, as I don’t want to say anything that would reflect poorly on that day job in any way. However, much like last year’s article, most of this content comes from a book on autism that I’ve been writing, drafts of which have been read by people I trust from work, and I’ve not received any adverse feedback on it previously.

Nonetheless, just as a bit of clarification, what I’m writing here is very much going to be based on me as a private autistic individual. Nothing I say here should be in any way taken as a reflection on my day job, and if anyone does, that’s your mistake, and I bear no responsibility for it. Also, some aspects of this will touch on my views regarding adult intervention in the lives of all young people and will be intended to take a pro-LGBTQ+ stance. No offense is intended in anything I say, but if you take anything pro-LGBTQ+ as offensive, I recommend you stop reading now. For those carrying on, remember, I’m ok with constructive criticism, but I have no tolerance for bullying/trolling/abuse of any kind, so remember to keep any feedback civil, or otherwise please just refrain from commenting.

Having covered all this information on autism, I’m sure you can probably understand the kinds of difficulties autistic children would have in education settings, especially if they lack for anything official that declares their autism to education professionals. A literal understanding of language, for example, might make them prone to misinterpreting instructions, and while a subject playing to their special interests will see them do well, getting them to focus and achieve in other subject areas could be more challenging, especially if it’s anything new or outside of their routine. With diagnosis, some of these difficulties can be compensated for, but without that formal label, appropriate support is even harder to come by. It also doesn’t help that these issues then spill over into their peer relationships at break and lunch times, and of course outside of schools.

On top of this, it’s worth realising that education has failed to really update itself much over the course of history. Our school year is a relic of the agrarian age when children helped tend crops in the summer, the “sit at desks and learn” model of teaching a hold-over from Victorian times when it was made to mimic the production lines of this industrial quantum leap. Even through the recent trials of the Covid pandemic and home-learning en masse, these elements remain unchanged, while in comparison, we’ve gone from horse-and-carriage to the modern motor car, from old crank-dial landline telephones and telegraph lines to smart phones.

If this isn’t bad enough, our education system has in more recent times become extremely exam-centric, in many cases cutting out classroom assessment and/or coursework as any true kind of metric for progress. Now all that anyone cares about when it comes to school children is exams, or more accurately, how well can they parrot information on cue. Great skill if you plan to spend your life up in front of crowds reading from an auto-cue of some kind, and technically useful for when you have to do tests as part of a job interview. For a lot of other things, though, exam skills aren’t going to be the be-all and end-all of what you need to know, and it’s not unreasonable to expect a child’s education to reflect this simple, basic reality.

The best analogy for all of this, especially when factoring in children who are neurodiverse or differently abled, is the satirical cartoon that’s been doing the rounds of social media for the last decade or so at least. It’s the one where a myriad variety of animals are lined up and asked to climb a tree. That’s our education system in a nutshell; a wide variety of varied individuals being judged by how well or how poorly they do at a single task, disregarding all other abilities that they possess. Given this, I think it’s fair to say that almost every child will struggle in education if things remain that way, special needs or not.

This then brings us to the existing provision for special needs education, which as I noted before is generally only there if you’ve got documentary evidence to prove your child has special needs. First of all, as I understand it, since the Equality Act and the Autism Act were both passed in or around 2010, reasonable adjustments to a child’s education where they have SEN have been part of our national law. As such, some level of adaptability is supposed to exist within our existing national curriculum, and in theory that should help some students achieve in education. There are also various support services available, whether through charities, the NHS or local councils, and then we come to the question of what used to be called Statements of SEN, but are now Education, Health and Care Plans, or EHCPs.

These documents changed names and other things following a legislation change back in 2014, the idea of which was apparently to get things to a point where only children needing special school placements would need EHCPs, and other forms of support would cater to mainstream SEN pupils. However, because the legal changes also included an expanded age-range to cover nursery and further education, as well as the legislation possibly not altering the national curriculum or how it was taught, there was no reduction in EHCP students. Instead, there was and is an ever-increasing demand for this form of support that shows no signs of abating.

In recent times, local councils have begun taking a lot of flak from the public and the press as they struggle to meet this ever-rising demand, but in reality, they’re trying to do their best with a situation not of their making. Over the past several years at least, budgets for local councils have, as with other public services, been cut time and time again, and as funds to councils become increasingly scarce, so does their ability to supply the public demand. The decision to make those cuts is undertaken at the central government level, which is why I would urge anyone with an SEN child to seriously review who they vote for in elections. Who you elect into power dictates how well local authorities get funded, as well as other legislative changes that impact how differently abled children and adults are treated in this country. Don’t just buy into the catchiest soundbite; really investigate and make sure you’re picking a councillor, an MP, a prime minister that honestly cares about SEN support.

The other main contention that can arise around SEN support is whether it’s better to integrate SEN children with mainstream peers or to segregate them via dedicated specialist schools. My own childhood took a kind of middle-route, as under my statement of SEN, I was allocated placements in specialist units within mainstream schools, and over time I spent more and more lessons in mainstream instead of the unit. Now there are parents and professionals who would argue for either extreme, and those who would argue for the middle. Personally, I believe there will always be some children too impaired to even come close to mainstream education, but that in most cases integration should at least be the end-goal, if only because integration with mainstream society is a vital skill for any differently abled person as an adult.

To achieve this, however, there needs to be change. Despite legal provisions allowing for differentiated learning through reasonable adjustments, this doesn’t always seem to happen. Some schools still teachers trapped in archaic views on special needs, viewing differently abled children as simply “naughty”, and while some schools might educate children on special needs so they can understand their peers, others don’t. This in turn results in a lot of the same bullying I went through in school, back when no one even tried explaining my special needs or those of other unit students to our mainstream peers.

As such, I believe that schools need to get proactive and begin weeding out teachers that maintain anti-SEN attitudes of old, and that the national curriculum needs to alter by default, because as difficult as all these challenges are for the diagnosed SEN child, imagine those on the autistic spectrum who are high-masking and shutdown rather than meltdown under stress. Granted, some changes will always be unique to certain special needs, and some will cost extra money, but some won’t. Consider the issue autistic people have with taking things literally. A teacher will have to speak and write instructions to their class many times during a school year, and the cost of hand-outs, whiteboard pens, powering an electronic keyboard, that’s all factored in. The cost of changing certain words on things you already have to write will be no different that whatever you would have written before, but the impact on any autistic or otherwise neurodiverse children needing more literal instructions? Priceless.

Another point I would raise when dealing with autistic people of any age is the three C’s; be clear, be concise, be consistent. Not only does more literal language help, but so does how you set instructions out, and how you act in general, and not just for autistic and other neurodiverse children. Classes may also contain children with chaotic or abusive home lives or just find certain subjects difficult. Making lessons harder with obtuse instructions or erratic staff behaviour and conflicting methodologies do not help such situations, but clear, simple instructions, acting predictably and showing a consistent approach will.

More practical education is another change that would benefit autistic children, but would also benefit those without special needs as well. There’s so much knowledge that gets taught simply “in case” a child wants to follow a specific subject to a higher level, and very often a lot of useful information is left untaught that should be. My cooking lessons in school all related to cakes and pizzas, but not once did anyone teach me how to prepare carrots, peas, potatoes or Yorkshire Puddings; all this I had to learn as an adult from my parents. I learned quadratic equations, but never once were we taught how much living expenses could be, how to do a household budget or check if our income was correctly taxed. So much emphasis was put on picking French or German for a foreign language, but nothing mentioned about learning sign language, which would certainly be useful given that most of us will meet more deaf people than will travel to France or Germany.

Going back to language, avoiding the use of redundant or inaccurate language is another thing to consider. I remember almost getting tripped up on a Maths exam because I was asked to “describe” an equation. That term had no place whatsoever in anything to do with Maths. In any mathematic operation, you calculate, you work out, you can even deduce, but you’re not trying to “describe” a sum, just work out its answer. I was lucky enough to be well-educated enough to compensate for this, but not every SEN student would have been so fortunate. As such, exam writers should be more careful about which exams they decide to go using a thesaurus to write. Maths is not a subject that needs a lot of wordplay, thank you.

Speaking of exams, these should go back to only being part of a subject grade instead of the sum total. For all students of all abilities, exams alone will not be the answer; it stresses them all out to no good cause. For those students who excel more in other types of assessment, that stress could undermine their whole grade without the change to compensate in another area. I know that if essays I wrote for homework during my A-Level Biology course had counted, I might have actually passed.

Speaking of A-Levels, it would also be wise for schools to make clear what is expected at this level of study. No one ever told me I had to do a lot of independent study, never mind what aspects of each subject I should study to achieve a high grade. There’s a lot of supposition regarding students having the initiative to teach themselves at this level, but if you’re autistic and take things literally, you’re more likely to just do what’s assigned and no more because no one has said “you should also do x, y and z to get a proper grade.” Don’t suppose, don’t assume, don’t think we’ll “work this out for ourselves”. The neurotypical fallacy that anyone can read minds is a myth, which is why telepaths only exist in things like X-Men and Star Trek. Real people can’t read minds, so stop acting like they can and spell everything out properly. Not rocket science, not brain surgery, just simple common sense, good manners and good education practice.

Another phrase I believe in is “credit where credit is due, blame where blame is due.” As an autistic student, I don’t think anything ever annoyed me in school quite as much as a teacher telling the whole class off, especially if they kept us late, when I wasn’t involved and had to get out to catch my taxi home. This is lazy behaviour and no worthwhile teacher would ever employ it, which shows what I think about a lot of my former teachers. Punishment should only be administered to students who have broken the rules, and the innocent students should be left alone. This was even more annoying when considering that while I was at school, I was frequently bullied and in most cases school staff never dealt with this.

Because of this, my next improvement suggestion for schools the world over is stop being soft on bullies. Whenever I see news reports about a child bringing a weapon into a school, my first thought is never that the kid in question might be in a gang, nor do I ever believe that’s the first domino in the chain. My first thought about such stories is how much has that child been bullied to believe they need to be armed to be safe. It’s not something I ever did myself, and yet I think there were times when the thought might have occurred to me if I’d seen more examples of that behaviour. The reality is that while some cases of children possessing weapons will be related to teenage gangs, a lot will be bullying-related, which is why I believe bullying should be effectively criminalised, in order to prevent situations reaching a greater magnitude than they need to. If bullies were caught and punished properly, their victims would never seek to be armed and would avoid being seen as criminals themselves.

Next, let’s consider choice in education. I know that for some exams and other assessments of learning to work, there needs to be a few subjects where what you learn is set by school staff. In other areas, however, there is more scope for choice than one might initially suppose, and this can really help autistic children. Say for example that a child has a special interest in superhero lore. Just handing them certain classic literature to study might bore them, and seeing no value in the study of that story they won’t do it. However, if you gave them a graphic novel in which a given superhero deals with similar events to the classic literature, and then you point out the connection, this can be an effective motivator. With sufficient leeway, they could even make scholarly points linking the two and be given higher marks for that. After all, it’s often been noted that the Hulk combines elements of Frankenstein with those of Jekyll and Hyde, and if you consider the Rick Jones-Hulk relationship, an element from Of Mice and Men is also prevalent in early Hulk lore.

For my last couple of points, I’m going to start by pointing out that homework should be better co-ordinated between different subjects. When I was in school, I often felt that we were assigned certain levels of homework that made me think the teacher was of the belief their class was the only one we had. Now for autistics like me, home is meant to be a place to wind down from the demands of school, both social-skill related and otherwise, so having a large amount of homework eat into that destress time can often be counter-productive. As such, I think when students reach a level of education where they’re hoping from class to class for their lessons, schools should co-ordinate across all subject areas to make sure homework levels are reasonable on the whole.

Point number 2 is around the area of when teachers, and other adults as well, should or shouldn’t intervene in an autistic child’s personal life. The reason I bring this up is because during my time at my first secondary school, I went a bit girl-mad, and at one stage I did manage to get a girlfriend for a time. She was a fellow student in the same SEN unit as myself, but a couple of years younger than me, and at one point we had our teachers in that unit trying to basically split us up, claiming we were too young. Given that my mainstream peers were all/mostly getting girlfriends, etc. I have always felt that they really meant we were too autistic/neurodiverse for romantic relationships.

Not only is such an attitude discriminatory, but it’s outside their remit to interfere with a student’s person life in most cases, whether that student is autistic or not. That being said, there are situations where a young person’s personal life can be infringed upon or invaded by parents or guardians rather than teachers, and school staff end up having to be the ones have to interfere for that young person’s benefit. At times, this sort of behaviour gets demonised in the conservative press, as sometimes this interference isn’t just about who starts getting into relationships when. Sometimes it’s about a young person wanting to do what is right for them, but are not allowed to because of the religious superstitions or idiotic conspiracy theories and prejudices of their parents or guardians.

As such, the question always lingers as to how much interference from any adult is appropriate, whether autism is an element in the equation or not. This is never an easy question to answer, and that’s for a lot of reasons. First of all, children and young people are all individuals, growing and getting into things at different ages, and that’s equally true whether they’re neurodiverse or not. It’s part and parcel of why age of consent laws and other age-based limits vary internationally; scientifically, each child develops into an adult in their own time, and each nation has its own ideas about when most young people are able to drive, to vote, to drink, to have sex and so on. As a result, you get the law setting a standard only some children will ever adhere to, while the rest will either be ready earlier or later than that standard.

Second, because children and young people hit their various mental and physical milestones at different times to each other, you’re never going to know with absolute certainty at what age they will be ready for certain things. For example, one young person maybe ready for romantic relationships with their peers from the age of 12 or 13, another young person might not be ready until they’re closer to 16, and some are never going to be ready or will only be ready as adults. Autism can be factor here, but so can a lot of other things, and relationships are just one example. Others may include following a different religion, or exploring aspects of their identity that come under the LGBTQ+ umbrella.

Now among the autistic friends I’ve made over the years, I know a couple of autistics that are homosexual and one who is trans-gender. This is why when I look at the whole area of adult interference in autistic personal lives, both in education and at home, I try not to look just at my own experience around relationships. Interference can be a teacher trying to convince an autistic young person who is gay, trans, both or something else entirely that they aren’t these things, or it can be a parent disowning the young person over laying claim to these labels. Neither is appropriate or healthy, and the same applies when non-autistic young people make such claims. However, as we’ve just noted, children reach their mental milestones at different ages, and sometimes they’re not going to work out which labels apply to them at the first time of trying.

In essence, each person’s life is a voyage of self-discovery, and during childhood and adolescence, each person is developing the initial knowledge and skills they will need to continue that journey as independent adults. This means any adult intervention in a young person’s personal life has to be a measured response, something that strikes a balance between outright dismissal and carte blanche permission. During their formative years, children and young people need a bit leeway to explore who they are and begin establishing their identity, but until they’re capable of making sound independent decisions, a certain level of safeguarding is also required.

How this balanced approach might apply is something that almost certainly needs to vary from case to case, but in general, the basic structure would be to take an interest, research the subject well with the young person and give them appropriate chances to explore whatever they’ve expressed an interest in. Ideally, this should be handled more by parents, perhaps with the assistance of other family or close friends, and perhaps only involving school where it’s really appropriate because it might impact their education. Indeed, impact on education is what I would generally put down as the principal factor, perhaps the only factor, in whether teachers interfere in the personal affairs of students. Things like bullying fall into this category because the adverse mental impact impairs a child’s ability to focus on lessons, as does parental abuse. Pursuing a romantic relationship with a classmate, provided it’s checked at the classroom door, wouldn’t have an adverse impact, and so that’s not a matter for teacher intervention.

Where autistic children and young people are concerned, the waters can get a little muddier because our social skill difficulties mean we’re a little more prone to misunderstanding and misinterpretation, as well as being deceived by our peers into handling a situation inappropriately. However, the rule of “if it’s not impacting their learning, don’t butt in” should remain the school staff rule-of-thumb. Where home life is the point of non-acceptance, that again impacts a young person’s ability to learn, so again school staff intervention becomes appropriate to shield a young person from horrendous parental reaction. In this scenario, it might be that school staff or other professionals have to act as supporting adults in a young person’s self-discovery instead of parents, in which case greater care is required in case certain actions or counsel fall outside any given professional remit.

Now I imagine that when I talked an approach of taking an interest in a young person’s decisions, researching the issue with them and giving them appropriate opportunities, some people might be a bit confused what I meant. Well, let’s run through a couple of examples. First is the one from my own experience; relationships of a romantic nature. Never an easy subject to broach, but let’s consider how that could be handled. Step one of taking an interest means asking the young person what they understand about such things and giving them a good baseline idea of what relationships might entail. This doesn’t necessarily mean doing a sex education talk, as they might be too young for that stage yet, and schools generally cover this anyway. More likely topics could be dating versus advancing a friendship to romance, proper relationship etiquette, correcting for any misunderstandings born from pop culture knowledge of romance and so on.

Research could then be a matter of asking slightly older children in the family (older siblings, cousins, etc.) to talk about their own experiences, pointing them towards other trusted sources of experience in this area, and in the case of autistic children, tools like social stories might help to explain certain points. A provision of appropriate experiences would then probably consist of liaising with the other young person’s parents/guardians to let a young couple have some dating experiences, or provide a young person with some age-appropriate chances to gain a romantic interest. Where an autistic teenager is concerned, I would advise that where the latter option is concerned, try not to suggest clubs of any description. I for one always hated that suggestion because if it didn’t result in a relationship, I would have joined a club for nothing. Very often autistic people want to be direct, so the more direct our opportunities are, the more likely we are to take them.

For our second example, let’s consider the idea of trans-genderism. This one is very much more contentious, but the same basic principles from the first example apply. Again, begin with taking an interest; why does the young person believe they are trans-gender? Are they fully aware of what the term means, what different forms trans-genderism can take? What aspects of their birth-assigned gender do they not identify with, and so on. Look into the subject yourself, avoiding any right-wing hysteria and bigotry and focusing on more balanced sources of information, then go through this with the young person in question, maybe reach out to trans-gender support and information groups to learn more.

Appropriate opportunities can then consist of allowing a young person to explore the gender they now identify as, provided the exploration doesn’t involve anything that is irreversible or extremely difficult to reverse. For example, if a young person has been designated male when they were born but now identifies as female, wearing female clothing and make-up is ok because clothes and make-up can be removed if they find this isn’t for them. In this case, appropriate exploration means dipping your toe in the pool for now and not diving in until old enough to weight the consequences accurately and make an independent decision. That way, exploration can go ahead, and those who have mis-identified can change their minds while those who have landed on the right label will have confirmation that they’re on their own right track.

So, to sum this all up, education is not an easy experience for people on the autistic spectrum, and odds are this will always be the case to some extent. The only question is whether or not the society in which we live has the will and the courage to try being more inclusive and tolerant, and to create an autism-inclusive education system that reflects such an attitude change. Based on my experience of neurotypical society, I’m hanging hopes on this anytime soon, but if anyone has the guts to prove me wrong, I’m more than happy for them to try. Until my next ramble, ta-ta for now.

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writing-away-in-ingo · 4 years ago

Text

She is. - feedback

Most of the feedback this week related to the plot rather than the writing style of the piece, so I altered the ending of the story to make the conclusion more satisfying, by creating more terror for the attacker, giving the reader a chance to feel angry but also allowing them a cathartic ending so that the story is more emotionally conclusive.

I’ve been talking to this girl for about an hour now. When we started, she was already swaying a little, dizzy on her feet from just two mojitos. It was easy to ply her with a little more alcohol, to encourage her to open up to me just the right amount, so that in her mind, we’ve both been talking, sharing. She thinks I’m here by chance.

Across the dance floor, I see her, lift my hand in a wave. That’s a big part of it that most guys miss. You can’t be following the whole time, or they start to realise that you’re there for them, not the club, and then it all becomes too much. They get startled, sometimes you lose them. Give a little freedom at the start, give her a little trust, and she’ll follow you so much easier.

Right on cue, she stumbles over to me, unsteady on her neon platforms. Somewhere between the bathroom and the dance floor, she’s picked up another drink. I gently remove it from her hand and place it on the nearest table, and she sticks out her tongue at me. It’s another trick most people miss – if you’re constantly pushing the drinks on her, she’ll pick up on it, get flighty. I take her by the arm, gently righting her as she wobbles dangerously back towards the dance floor. She giggles, swatting at my hands, her tone and stance are playful.

“I wanna da-ance!” Her voice is loud, even over the blaring music pumping through the speakers. She bites her lip, flutters her eyelashes. “Come dance with me.”

“Oh, I know. But you’re plastered, love, and it’s getting late.”

She pulls me close, mock serious. The drink is sharp on her breath; she whispers, half into my shoulder, half into my ear. “I know.” The thought is inherently funny to her, and she spins around in a lazy loop, before her balance gets the better of her and she falls back against my shoulder, heels wobbling against the floor. I put my arm around her in a steadying motion, and she beams at me.

“I’m taking you home.”

The night air is frigid compared to the sweaty heat of the bar, but that doesn’t matter to me. I even slip off my jacket, gently placing it around her shoulders, every inch the gentleman. She angles her head backwards, half resting her head on my shoulder in her efforts to look me in the eye.

“Thank you.”

Her words are slurred, half formed in the quiet of the carpark. I give her my most chivalrous smile, pulling open the door to the passenger’s side.

“My lady.”

She laughs, flops down into the car with a graceless thump. I bend down and scoop her purse up from where it fell, soaked on one side with the rainwater gathered on the tarmac. Her fumbling fingers almost drop it again, and when I catch her hand in mine, she looks up at me, letting her head fall backwards onto the car-seat.

“Men are so mean sometimes. Where did you come from?”

My smile isn’t an answer, but she seems to take it as one, running her hands over the leather seat.

We make the drive in silence.

It’s hard to see in the darkness, but I can just about make out her shape on the bed, curled onto the side, her hair falling across her face. She wasn’t the type to fight back before, and now, I’m not sure she could if she wanted to. My jeans rustle as I move them down my legs.

Softly, I roll her onto her back, settling myself over her. My knees press into the mattress.

She whimpers, trying to curl in on herself, hands crossing over her chest. I laugh, low and soft.

“Shhh. I’ll be quick. Just relax.”

She’s moving, something is happening in the space between our stomachs. There’s something… sharp? It’s cold against my skin- I realise too late what it is, and by the time I’ve scrambled away, there’s already blood dripping down my abdomen. My heart pounds, so fast that I’m dizzy with it – I fall backwards off the bed and my back hits the floor, sending jitters of pain dancing up and down my spine.

“What the fuck? What did you-?”

There’s blood on my fingers. My blood. The thought is struggling to make it past my brain into reality – it won’t process the situation properly. She stabbed me. She had a knife, has a knife. I’m in danger.

My body won’t move.

On the bed, I see the girl shift, swinging her legs over the edge. Suddenly she doesn’t seem so small anymore. Her stance is straighter, her eyes are clear. My sluggish brain frantically peddles – she was so drunk she could barely stand; I saw it, I knew it. How is this happening?

She crouches down next to me, her eyes fixed on my face. Her expression is an awful mask, mingled fury and exuberance. I try to squirm away, but she places a hand on my chest, holding me in place. My heart hammers frantically under her bitten fingernails.

“You’re not going to die. Not just yet.”

I snap up at her: “I was kind to you. Anyone in that bar could have taken you anywhere. You could be dead, you could be-”

“Being assaulted?” She raises an eyebrow, swings the knife in a lazy arc.

I clutch the wound in my side, feeling the pain flare up. “You were drunk, you were fucking drunk, you lying bitch.”

She looms over me, tilting her head to look me in the eye. Then, without a word, she raises her foot, and brings it down on my head. Mercifully, the impact is enough to knock me into unconsciousness.

When I come to again, she’s staring out of the window. My hands and feet are bound. The wound in my stomach is still lazily oozing blood. It can’t have been too long, or I’d be dead already.

“The first time this happened to me, I wasn’t prepared for it. I didn’t struggle, or fight. I just sort of… froze. He was so pleased with himself. I guess I should be thankful for that. He finished quick, didn’t waste time. I didn’t know how to tell him how scared I was, how much I wanted him to stop.”

“I’m going to assume you’re the kind of person who thinks I was asking for it because I didn’t know how to say no.” She crouches in front of me, waves the knife in my face. “Are you that kind of person, Liam?” I flinch away, unable to speak. The knife hovers in front of my nose for just a second too long, then she pulls it away.

“I have a question. You know a lot about this girl you met; she was drunk, she was sloppy, she was a tease. I’m willing to bet you could pick her out of a line up, her body, her hair.” She’s pacing again, circling my body. I have the awful notion this is what a gazelle feels like on one of those nature programs, the moment before it’s pounced on.

“Just one little question, and then I might consider letting you go.”

She crouches down, and I feel her long hair tickle my throat.

“What’s my name?”

My mind struggles to find the answer and comes up blank. Did she tell me? She must have. I categorise the facts I’ve gleaned about her in my mind.

1. Ex-smoker

2. Graduated uni last year

3. Lives alone

4. No siblings

5. Few friends

I stare up at her, and she knows.

“You didn’t even notice, did you? Too focused on trying to get me to get in your car, in your bed.”

Her voice, soft at first, is getting louder. She spits the words like venom. The knife in her hands draws closer, inexorable. I try to squirm away from it but she notices, a faint smirk curling across her face. She brings the knife down, carving an angry red line into my arm. The noise that leaves my mouth is new, unrecognisable, a shout mingled with a gasp. My legs are shaking, uncontrolled, muscles tensed and terrified.

“How does it feel being entirely at someone’s mercy, Liam?”

Her voice is quiet again, perhaps she’s been calmed by the sight of my blood, of my panic. I don’t know what she’s thinking, there’s no way to get myself out of this fucking situation, no way to reach out to her. She’s crouched so close to me, but I’ve never felt so isolated, so alone. Helplessness isn’t a strong enough word. I’ve locked myself in a panic room before realising I won’t have enough air to last the night. My flat is inaccessible, even if someone knew I was here, even if someone knew I was in trouble.

My thoughts keep screaming that there must be some way out of this, there must be something than can still be done. I’m not the half-baked side character in this story, I’m the protagonist, there must be some last-minute rescue that allows me to keep living. The finality of it won’t compute.

The knife slices against my cheek in a white-hot flash of pain and I jolt back to myself, shaking all over now, ice clawing up my spine. She’s examining the blade, her face calm and impassive. I realise, faintly, that there are tears streaking my face, dripping into the open wound she’s just slit into the skin. I try to speak, and the words clatter against each other, jolted by the all-consuming panic running through every fibre of my being.

“Please- p-please don’t do thi- you don’t have t- I swear, I’ll- please please don’t do this I’m begging you I’m begging-”

She arches an eyebrow, gives me a long look. It makes my whole body shudder.

“I wonder how many times you’ve been on the other side of this.”

Against my neck, I feel the cool edge of the knife, then a flash of warmth, then-

#posted22.11.20

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trashrightsactivist · 7 years ago

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Sorry if this is an insensitive question, but prompted by your last post how common do you think mixed red/nonred relationships are? I saw a study from doet that claimed the number of half red children was much higher than officially acknowledged [link to technically good but condescendingly written paper]. Though they didn't investigate if they were secret but consensual relationships, or not.

It’s not insensitive, this is the kind of blog for that and it’s a thing that I think it’s important for people to know about. But thanks for like, caring whether it might be insensitive.

The consensual thing is tough? Like I know consensual stuff happens, but to me it’s all super grey area because if you were with a nonred, even if they 100% would stop if you wanted them to and wouldn’t get you in trouble if you refused, the red can never be 100% sure of that. So you could basically be raping them even if that wasn’t at all your intention.

You might naively expect the red to have equivalent leverage because if it came out that you were doing a red it would probably ruin your life, but in practice, but the stakes aren’t the same. Even if the red thinks he’ll be believed, he can ruin your life but you can get his whole family and/or random neighbours of his killed, and red beatings and panicmurders go up across a whole city following a serious pollution scare like that. For that reason, there’s also pressure from his own community to keep quiet, and being on good terms with your community is life-or-death for reds because it’s the only safety net we have.

Thanks to all this, (ignoring pollution concerns, assume they shower really good) I’m not sure if it’s ever really ethical for a cleen to enter into an intimate relationship with a red. Like, it’s theoretically possible probably but if I take the stance of not trusting anyone who’s rumoured to have done it and take steps to never be alone with them, that would feel reasonable.

As for how often it happens… these things are not reported. People talk about it on red online spaces, but they’re usually anonymous and won’t represent all instances of it happening anyway, so there’s doubly no way to compare the figure with like the population of that district and know how common it is. Which means I can only speak to my district, and I can’t guarantee that I know about every case there. I’d say for kids it’s probably similar to in the study? Like almost 20% of people dye, which is higher than the study suggests, but if around half of them are grandkids or more distant throwbacks or just a shade that resembles orange or purple too much*, that fits. (And I know for a fact - well, okay, I haven’t seen a DNA test but it is generally accepted - that several people who dye do have two red parents.)

* I don’t have stats for this but I’m quite sure that when it comes to reds - whether it’s a cleen looking red or a red looking something else - the threshold for ‘this shade is too awkward, you have to dye’ is much, much lower than for, say, a yellowish orange or blueish green. So you probably end up with a higher proportion of the population who dye. Or I guess maybe the same since reds don’t tend to dye for aesthetic reasons.

Looking at relationships/encounters rather than kids, I live in a big district and hear about a couple of these incidents a season, more in the spring. There’s probably at least twice that number I don’t hear about. Every few years I hear about someone getting pregnant that way, usually because the family are asking the community to try to help pay for an aftermarket credit. From the stories I hear I’d categorise them as:

one in ten: the story is that it’s consensual and I don’t have indications otherwise but I’m still suspicious because see above.

a bit under half: dubiously consensual/abusive/started consensual but didn’t stay that way.

the rest: rape with violence.

[ooc: @luminousalicorn I’m kinda doing a combination of like worldbuildingish, extrapolating from fic and guessing based on real world stats for marginalised groups? With a buffer for how my character’s not always gonna be 100% correct and truthful? So I guess what I’m saying is that if I have anything blatantly wrong here, could you please let me know and I can edit or not based on how accurate I think I’m being IC.]

DigressionAmong young people (under 10) slightly more people, maybe one in six, will claim or at least imply that they are half-red or quarter-red, but this doesn’t correlate all that well with who actually is. People who are often hide it, and very often young people who aren’t will fantasise/imply/claim that they are. I don’t mean they ever falsely accuse anyone, I mean they’ll tell their peers their dad/grandad who isn’t around was some other caste. This happens for a few reasons:

1: They believe it, because their mum thought this was a kinder way to explain to them why their dad isn’t around than ‘he’s dead because people murder us a lot’. Generally the kid will figure out the truth when they’re older.2: Prestige thing? Like, we are not immune from the thing where society teaches everyone that we’re terrible and not-reds are better than us, so people who’ve internalised that might also think people with cleen ancestry are better than full reds. This provides a motive to seem cool and impress your preferred gender by pretending to be mixed, or to enhance your self esteem by just fantasising so hard that you’re mixed that you convince yourself.

3: Like 2, but also it’s the only way you or other people will take seriously a particular talent you have, or you think it will help you get the job you want. The caste involved here is usually green, the talent is being smart, and the goal is to be a doctor or autopsy tech instead of a plumber or garbage collector.

This is dumb, although not surprising in a population that largely doesn’t get to learn statistics, because even if you accept that reds are on average less intelligent*, green/red kids are so rare that we should expect to see ordinary red kids who happens to be green levels of smart more often than green/red kids. So what it’s really about is not even red kids believing that red kids can be smart, which is… really sad.

(*and I do, but I think the difference is mostly lack of education and poor health through pregnancy and early childhood resulting in people not reaching their potential plus some selection pressure, rather than any kind of natural category)

#cw rape #amenta rp #cw babies #kinda

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whatdoyouexpectthistime · 8 years ago

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First Annual Tres Spades Jello Wrestling Tournament - Part Two

Last episode on ‘First Annual Tres Spades Jello Wrestling Tournament’

Tres Spades owner and greatest ego in Japan, Eisuke Ichinomiya, has learned that the latest individual to join the auction managers, Miho Fujiwara, has somehow managed to get his approval for a jello wrestling tournament. He is none too pleased and has no clue how she managed to get his signature. Luckily, Miho has sound economic reasons to validate the event, as well as the potential positive influence the favour of hundreds of rich women might bring to the hotel – that and she don’t take no shit from Eisuke.

CLICK TO READ Part One

“Let me get this straight,” Eisuke levelled, after Miho had revealed how she’d managed to slip the jello tournament passed his notice. “I signed your proposal while drunk?”

“Yep,” she affirmed, perched on the edge of his desk. “I took total advantage.”

“Total advantage?” he emphasised, and Miho crafted a deeply hurt expression.

“You really don’t remember that wonderful night?” she pouted sulkily. “Wow, I’m wounded.”

“Why don’t you,” he sniffed, and in two strides he was before her, sandwiching her legs between his, “remind me?”

This time it was Miho who tensed, and as she straightened, Eisuke placed his hands either side of her and bent forward, forcing her to lean back to avoid him.

In warning her eyes flashed, but Eisuke remained, looming over her.

“No?” he sneered, fierce gaze burning into her relentlessly.

“You know I beat the shit out of Soryu sparring yesterday, right?” she hissed, angry at herself for sounding far less menacing than she desired. “I would fucking, break you.”

“Let’s just go with the first half of that statement,” he growled, drawing nearer still.

“Mr. Ichinomiya?” came a voice from outside the office, followed by a couple of knocks.

Zain.

He’d had the upper hand, but Zain’s well timed interruption allowed Miho to bring her legs up flush with her chest and push Eisuke away.

“Fancy hesitating,” she smirked as she hopped off the desk, then raised her voice. “Come in Zain.”

And Eisuke fumed beneath the skin – a tantrum he would never show on the surface, but one which in utter outrage shook violently inside. Seething, his eyes told an angry story, one he wrote all over her body.

“Weigh up that thought,” Miho posed as Zain opened the door, “against the money this will put in your pocket, and the brand new customer base the Tres Spades will enjoy.”

“Miho,” Eisuke dropped, two syllables like violent claps of thunder. “One day you’re going to push too hard.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” she grinned, winked, and slipped out past Zain.

The company Miho had contracted to stage the jello wrestling extravaganza, comprised some of the most pleasingly muscular and well endowed ‘athletes’ she’d ever had the honour to ‘test drive’. She’d been sold on the idea almost instantly, as the marketing director blabbed in her ear about crowd draw and revenue – but her focus had been fixed on the slip and writhe of two fully grown men, naked and grappling in a sea of glittering green jello.

She knew she’d have to trick Eisuke into it, and that was a dangerous proposition, but she convinced herself tempting fate was what she did now. Her success was sweet, his defeat so much sweeter, despite the fact he glared at her with renewed displeasure every time they crossed paths in the hotel.

“Give up, Ichinomiya,” she grinned, purposefully bumping into his shoulder. “Accept it and maybe, maybe you’ll not only make an obscene amount of money from this, but also enjoy it.”

“Grown men fighting for the spectacle of women is…” he began, but Miho cut him off.

“Objectification?” she offered cheekily, sliding sideways as his body language suggested he might try to corner her in the door recess of the room outside of which they stood. “Yes, yes it is,” she agreed, “and I’m certainly not for the categorisation of anyone as a mere sex object, regardless of gender – however – the narrator and her audience have demanded some measure of recompense for the foul way women are generally treated by you and most of the other managers so…”

“What are you talking about?” he sneered, looking down his nose at her.

“Embrace it,” she instructed, giving his left cheek a light tap, withdrawing before he could bat her away, “because it’s happening whether you like it or not.”

“I could squash you like a bug,” he pointed out.

“Buuuut you won’t,” she smiled sweetly. “Because all money aside, you actually like having a woman around who offers you a challenge.”

This, Eisuke neither confirmed nor denied. Instead he departed, stalking down the corridor like he was on a mission – and Miho watched him go… Mmhm… those perfectly tailored pants did his retreating figure great justice.

“Stirring up Mr. Ichinomiya again?” a female voice enquired, and Miho turned to see Selina shaking her head in amusement. “When you do cross the line with him, it’s going to be very messy.”

“And I’m sure you’ll read a beautiful eulogy at my funeral,” Miho laughed. “But until that time, I intend to have fun.”

“Jazz’ll be there too,” Selina then affirmed, and Miho gave a decisive nod.

“Perfect. All I need to do now is get final confirmation from the tournament group,” Miho declared. “Then we wait for the big day.”

Then there was pandemonium.

Women promised a raunchy, rollicking good time, flooded to the Tres Spades – women of society and wealth, dressed as if on their way to an opera performance, hyped for something very, very different.

“Okay, you have got to have some wicked magic powers or something,” Baba told Miho as he and Ota followed her to the venue, “because seriously, you not only got Eisuke to agree to this, you got him to preside over a bunch of dudes with their gear out, groping each other in jello?”

“What can I say,” she shrugged happily, “my patron god is as powerful as she is twisted.”

“I think you need to introduce me to this god,” Ota put in, and this caused Miho to chuckle.

“Believe me, Ota, the last think you want, is her attention,” she laughed. “Though you might get your wish… who knows?”

As they approached staff entrance to the grand hall, arranged like an arena with terraced seating all around its circumference, the noise grew until Miho could barely hear her own thoughts. The three were met at the end of the corridor by a sour looking Soryu, and disconcerted Inui, and a smug looking Mieke.

“I can’t believe Eisuke is going through with this,” Soryu dropped coldly, but Miho was not intimidated by his usual lack of enthusiasm.

“It’s not a difficult equation, Soryu,” she chuckled out. “Eisuke loves power and money, I can deliver him both, even if he doesn’t entirely like my methods.”

“Hell, I approve,” Mieke declared, tipping her chin to Miho, but this caused Inui’s brows to knit.

“You’re really looking forward to this?” he questioned, maybe even looking a little bit hurt.

At that moment, Miho’s phone rang, and she stepped to the side to answer it.

“What are you scowling for? Mieke sniffed at Inui. “We’re here to work.”

“But, you’re still going to watch, right?” he added, and Mieke rolled her eyes. “Other naked men.”

“Other naked men?” Ota repeated with a wicked grin. “You been getting dirty with Sor’s little dog, Genever?”

“Damnit, I’m not a dog!” Inui ejected, then what Ota had implied actually sunk in, and his face exploded with embarrassment.

Mieke on the other hand, looked Ota right in the eyes and grinned back.

“Of course,” she declared triumphantly. “And unlike yours, my puppy doesn’t run away.”

“Hey!” Ota snapped and started forward, Mieke looking like she would happily throw down, but Miho’s hand on Ota’s chest stopped him.

She looked grave.

“Soryu, things are about to get ugly,” she declared, her voice low.

“Problem?” he questioned, and there was no hint of satisfaction at all in his tone.

“Oooh yeah,” Miho grimaced. “That was the tournament organiser. Three of his boys have just been diagnosed with measles, and since they’re all plebs who think dancing under a full moon or going vegan can protect you from scientifically preventable diseases instead of modern, safe vaccines, the rest of them are quarantined as well.”

“It’s going to be a bloodbath if those women don’t see some action soon,” Baba pointed out, leaning toward the door to hear the roar.

“Where’s Eisuke?” Soryu asked, and Miho cracked her neck from side to side like she was preparing for a real fight.

Then she fell completely still, staring off into the distance for a moment, until the thin press of her lips turned into a widening smile.

“Okay, I can fix this,” she declared, looking around at the small group, “but I’m going to need your help.”

“That’s going to cost you,” Ota smirked.

“I pay my debts,” Miho replied.

“Like you even have to ask,” Baba nodded to her easily.

“Soryu, can you and the others position yourselves ring-side?” Miho requested. “Maybe get Kishi down there too, and Aihara – we don’t want our guests to crush the arena in their excitement.”

With a curt nod, Soryu gave Mieke and Inui their directions, before Baba and Ota also moved to enter the arena – but before Ota could pass through the door, Miho caught the back of his shirt.

“If you go along with this,” she whispered against his ear, purposefully kissing the lobe with each word, “I will let you do anything.”

Ota straightened, and turned his head a little, his perverted interest clearly piqued.

“Anything?” he sought in clarification, and Miho leaned her chest against his back a little more firmly, before hissing out her response.

“Woof.”

“Done,” Ota smirked, and then disappeared through the doors.

“Well that was easy,” Miho muttered to herself, pausing to steel herself against her next hurdle. “Now… for Eisuke.”

Continue to Part Three... soon!

Author’s note: I apologise for the short length (not a dick pun for a change), however I thought it best to release a little now, than nothing for ages. I promise though, things are about to get... messy.

OH! And don’t forget to leave comments, especially if there’s something you’d like to see happen - maybe Miho’s patron god will grant your wish!

@nitelotus @hifftn @smutmylifeup @lady0721 Hmm don’t know if any one else cared to be tagged. Let me know if you would like to be.

#voltage #voltage inc #voltage otome #voltage games #voltage crack #kbtbb #kbtbb fanfic #kbtbb crack #kissed by the baddest bidder #kissed by the baddest bidder crack #Ichinomiya Eisuke #Baba Mitsunari #Kisaki Ota #Oh Soryu #Inui Ryusuke

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downtowns-universe · 8 years ago

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The Job

Part 2

Characters: Chris, Jack, Dai

Words: 2883

As they passed through Turnach’s streets, Chris tried to stay as close to Jack as possible. He wouldn’t want to lose sight of him and be stranded here alone. He had no clue where they even were, and more importantly, where they were going. In the meantime he tried to take in as much as he could of his surroundings. The town didn’t seem to have a structure or plan of any kind. Houses of different styles and time periods stood next to each other, with between them a tangle of streets. Some of the bigger roads had cars on them, although there weren’t many of them to be seen. Most of the streets were too narrow and only accessible on foot. And then there were countless alleys, leading between or sometimes even under the houses. These were so narrow Chris could touch the walls on both sides simultaneously. It didn’t take him long to be completely lost in them. He hoped Jack knew where he was going.

He didn’t see many people on the streets, but the ones they passed regarded them with suspicion. Or perhaps he just stared at them too long. At first, the fact that demons just walked around without any kind of disguise had taken him off guard. But why wouldn’t they? This was their home, after all. Still it took him a lot of effort not to instinctively grab his gun every time they turned a corner. Especially in the narrow alleyways, where they had to pass by strangers very close and he’d feel a shoulder or wing brush against him.

Of course, not everyone he saw on the streets frightened him. Some of them looked completely normal, but he didn’t think any of them actually were human. They were either disguised demons, different creatures, or recruited people like Jack. From what he’d seen when they entered Hell, a human wouldn’t be able to get in unsupervised. The entrances were hidden, and if the human didn’t have a pass, they weren’t let in. Even if they did have one, they were still regarded with scrutiny. At the gate they’d examined his bag, and only after some explanation from Jack he’d gotten it back. He’d noticed earlier that Jack tried to act cool, but had still let out a relieved sigh as soon as they’d passed all of the checks. He imagined it would be quite stressful to bring a hunter along to such a place.

Jack suddenly stopped and ducked into an alley, dragging Chris in behind him.

“What is it?” he asked, slightly disorientated.

“Nothing.” He didn’t sound very convincing. “This is just a better route to take.”

“If you say so. You know the place better than I do.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“…What?”

“Never been to this town before,” Jack grinned.

“And you're telling me this now?!”

“I didn’t think it was relevant. I mean, I do know the way.” He tapped the side of his head.

“But you’ve been Downtown before, right?”

“A couple of times. Under supervision. This is the first time I’m allowed in on my own, actually.”

“Just pretend I’m not here. Nice.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But this time I’m the one supervising. So please behave.”

“I’ll behave as long as everyone else does.”

Chris cast a look over his shoulder when he thought he heard something. Someone had entered the alley behind them. He tried to not look again and to just keep walking, but it was hard. What if they were being followed?

“Will you relax?” Jack sighed after a while.

Chris didn’t respond. Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one surrounded by enemies, and about to receive a task that would decide the rest of his life. Either he’d fail, which would mean his death, or he’d succeed and be at Hell’s mercy for the rest of his life. He wasn’t such which option frightened him more, to be honest. He’d have to take every job they offered him, a sharp contrast to the freelance work he did now. Before, if a job didn’t feel right, he refused. In the future there’d be no backing out, he’d either do what he was told or be pushed aside. And if he was no longer useful they’d most likely get rid of him permanently. They couldn’t just allow someone with that much knowledge to roam free and possibly share his findings with the other hunters.

“Look,” Jack said in an attempt to break the long awkward silence. “Downtown might seem bad, and life here is definitely more dangerous than on earth… but it’s not Hell. Not every demon you see is out to kill you. A lot of them are just trying to live their life. Their way of life is just very different from what we’re used to. Sure, there’s a lot of people and places you should probably avoid, being a human and all. But overall it isn’t so bad here as you’d think.”

“If it’s so great here then why haven’t you moved here yet?”

“I have things to take care of at home. And it’s not like living here is a requirement. Perhaps if I’d actually have a job here I’d consider it. But for now I’m a bit all over the place.”

“What is it you do, anyway?” Chris asked.

“Oh, all kinds of stuff. Mostly locating things, or people. Gathering information, that sort of thing. There hasn’t been much lately, apart from that job at the DCIO. But that was my biggest job yet, so I’m hoping it left a good impression. I’d sure love to be more than just an errand boy.”

He sighed, then looked back at Chris.

“But for now, I guess watching you is a job,” he grinned.

Chris considered this, then halted. “Wait a minute. What about those times you came to visit me?”

“What about them?”

“Were you there just because he told you to? To keep an eye on me?”

“No, I was there because I was concerned about my friend! The one who hadn’t left the house, or even showered in weeks! Who tried to shoot me when I walked in! Does that sound familiar to you?!”

Jack took a breath to calm down.

Chris shrugged, not sure about what to say. He felt like he wasn’t sure of anything these days, like his head was all foggy. When was the last time he’d showered, anyway?

“Besides,” Jack added. “He wouldn’t need me to watch you anyway, he probably has agents for that.”

“There was an agent spying on me?!”

“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe. Or perhaps you weren’t interesting enough to watch. I know I’d be bored out of my mind watching you.”

“Gee, thanks. You really know how to make someone feel better…”

“It’s my specialty.”

“Definitely.”

Chris cast another look over his shoulder, but the person following them was gone.

“They were just heading for work,” Jack said, like he’d read his mind. And technically, he had.

“This power of yours is creeping me out, you know that?”

“I’m aware.”

Of course he was.

“If it makes you feel any better; I don’t know everything. Just random bits and pieces.”

“So what’s that like?”

Jack thought for a moment.

“Imagine a group of small children constantly asking for your attention. And when you finally listen, they just blurt out some random fact you weren’t really interested to know, like: “hey, I ate cereal for breakfast!” Okay, good for you, small child, now leave me alone.”

“I hope that’s not what you’d actually say to a small child,” Chris laughed.

“Of course not. I just used them as an example since both give me headaches. Although one is a bit worse than the other.”

“That sucks.”

“Sometimes it decides to be nice to me, though. Like when it’s quiet unless I need something.”

“What’s it saying now?”

“Nothing special, really. But a couple of minutes ago it told me Downtown’s administration officially recognises 15 genders. Fifteen! I don’t think I can even name that many. I mean, if I tried a little harder, probably…”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty chill about gender and such. Good for you, I guess.”

“So I can cross one thing off the list of reasons to kill me. Such a relief.”

“I suppose so. If it makes you feel better.”

“Not really.”

They’d arrived at a busier part of town, with shops on both sides of the road, and more people regarding them with suspicion.

“This way,” Jack said while taking a right turn.

Chris followed him closely, still not at ease. He noticed the signs in front of the shops were written in a script he didn’t know. Occasionally this was followed by an English translation, but those appeared to be rare. One shop claimed to have Topside specialties – whatever that might mean. Most stores seemed to sell relatively normal things like food, clothes or electronics. Others he couldn’t so easily categorise, although they highly reminded him of new age stores. Although these would probably sell magic that actually worked.

Just when he’d seen something that interested him – weapons – Jack pulled him back.

“Here it is.”

They were standing in front of what appeared to be a coffee shop, judging from the sign, but looked rather peculiar. It was as if someone had started constructing the building, then someone else had taken over but decided they actually wanted to build something completely different, and proceeded to just stack that on top of it. Then there was a side room in yet another style, with big stained glass windows, which was probably also added later. The building towered over the rest of the street, both because of its height and because it slightly leaned forwards.

On the inside it looked exactly the way you’d expect it to look when you’d seen the outside. The interior seemed to be randomly thrown together, with furniture and decoration of all styles and time periods, but somehow still managed to look like it belonged there. The place had a lot of stairs, connecting to elevated floors on different heights, with two or three tables on it. No two tables were alike, and the same went for the chairs surrounding them. The place was lit by strangely glowing spheres, seemingly floating in the air above the tables. Chris wondered whether they stayed there by themselves or if someone was keeping them up all the time. What a boring job that must be.

Figuring out which stairs to take to get to the right place would’ve been a bit of a puzzle if he hadn’t had Jack with him, who immediately took a staircase on the right. Going up, they passed a group of demons who were laughing very loudly, already drinking on the early morning. Although, was it even morning here? It was hard to tell with the greenish looking overcast sky. It might as well be getting dark soon. That portal could’ve taken them anywhere. Were time zones a thing Downtown? He’d have to ask Jack about that later.

Three short flights of stairs higher he spotted someone sitting at a table in the corner, looking at his phone while casually leaning back against the seat’s comfy pillows, a cup of coffee in his hand. Dai looked up when they approached and stored his phone away in his coat pocket. Jack went to sit across from him and Chris hesitantly followed his example.

“You’re late.”

If Chris wanted to make a good first impression, so far it wasn’t going very well.

“I think we’re pretty early,” Jack objected. “Seeing as you’ve only told me we were meeting a few hours ago.”

“You were faster last time, though.”

“Yeah. Chris doesn’t like flying.”

“You haven’t even asked me!” Chris interrupted.

“I don’t need to.”

“I guess you’re right,” he sighed.

They sat in silence while Dai finished the last bit of his coffee. Chris stared at the table, nervously playing with the cords of his hoodie.

“Would you like to order anything?”

He almost jumped out of his seat when the waitress appeared out of nowhere next to their table. He cast a look at the unintelligible menu.

“Uh… a coffee?”

“A coffee for me as well,” Jack said. “Oh, and raserran pie!”

“And for you, sir?”

“Another one of these, please,” Dai said while gesturing at his cup.

“Alright, thank you!”

Chris watched her walk away, to make sure she wouldn’t disappear into thin air again. You never knew in a place like this.

“So, how have you been holding up?” Dai asked.

The question came a bit unexpected as Chris had assumed he’d want to go straight to business. Maybe he didn’t want to bring it up before the waitress had brought them their coffee. With a task like this he had to be careful with prying eyes.

“Uh, I’m alright.”

“If you don’t count the paranoia and lack of sleep, sure,” Jack added.

“Will you never shut up!?”

“What? It’s the truth,” he shrugged.

“Well, I’m sure you did great when you found out Hell is real.”

“Eh, I’d seen some things already. Wasn’t even that surprised,” Jack waved away his comment. “But I thought you already knew Hell existed. I mean, you knew demons existed.”

“True. It’s that Hell now knows I exist that’s the problem.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a problem,” Dai said. “Because we know who you are, you get to live, while the other hunters will all be dead soon.”

“…Right.”

The waitress arrived with their coffee, and a slice of pie that smelled really good.

“Looks great. What’s in it?” he asked Jack.

“You know, the usual,” Jack said while taking a bite. “Flour, eggs, human organs…”

Chris almost choked on his coffee. “What?”

Jack grinned. “Just kidding. Raserran is a fruit that only grows Downtown.”

“If I’d known you wanted human organs I should’ve picked a different restaurant,” Dai grinned.

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

Chris couldn’t tell whether he was joking or there was really a restaurant like that. He was hoping the former.

“Let’s get to the point. There’s more places I have to be today.”

“Like with Tharryn?” Jack asked.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Why don’t you let me do the talking, okay?” Chris suggested. He figured it would be best for both of them if Jack kept his big mouth shut. Although he’d probably interrupt him again, like he always did.

“…Fine.” Jack sighed. In this situation his powers wouldn’t be of any help anyway, since Dai had a way of blocking them.

“So, what is it you got?” Chris asked.

“Ever heard of the Fae?” Dai asked, after taking a sip of coffee.

“More or less. Never seen one though.”

“I’m not surprised. They tend to keep to themselves, and stay out of human business. But there’s one that doesn’t, and I need you to do something about it.”

“And by that you mean take him out.”

“If I wanted someone to sit down and have a talk with him I’d have picked someone else.”

“Fair enough.”

“I don’t care how you do it, as long as it looks like a hunter kill.”

Chris knew this basically meant ‘make sure it can’t be traced back to me’. He wondered what kind of relationship Downtown and the Fae had.

Dai put a folder on the table and slid it across.

“Everything you need to know is in here. If you can’t find him with this, you should probably reconsider.”

“Can I help?” Jack asked.

“Not with this one. What kind of test would it be if someone else did all the work?”

“You wouldn’t want to be seen on the crime scene either,” Chris added.

“See? He gets it.”

Dai took another sip of his coffee.

“There’s another reason you wouldn’t want to come, but I’ll let you figure that one out for yourself.”

Chris looked at Jack to see if he knew what Dai meant, but he seemed to be just as clueless. He probably wouldn’t figure it out until after they’d left.

Dai cast a glance at his phone.

“Any more questions? I have to go to a meeting.”

“Yeah,” Chris said. “What do I do when it’s done? Do I …call someone?”

“It’s all in the file,” Dai said while getting up. “Like I said, it’s all you need.”

“…Alright.”

“Don’t let anyone read it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, at least someone calls me sir,” Dai said, side-eyeing Jack before he left.

They watched him walk down several staircases until he disappeared out of sight. Chris noticed he’d forgotten how to breathe properly in the last couple of minutes, and took a deep breath while wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“That was…” Jack started. He didn’t finish his sentence.

“Terrifying?” Chris suggested.

“I was going for ‘weird’, but that works too.”

Jack finished the last bit of his coffee and moved closer.

“So, what’s it say?”

His curiosity winning it from his caution, Chris opened the file. Inside it was only one sheet of paper. With shaking hands, he took it out and looked at it. He flipped it over, then flipped it back, confirming what he thought he’d seen.

It was empty.

#story #~to be continued~#chris #dai #jack

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yourrainycollectorhologram-blog · 7 years ago

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