#Their lack of self-awareness never ceases to entertain | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

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First, I just want to say that I love reading your rants/head cannons/opinions. I find them VERY entertaining and true. Now, I read your opinions on James, Sirius, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I want to know what you think of Draco and Neville. I honestly think that Draco is an asshole, but I want to know exactly what you think. P.S. Can't wait for the next chapter of "When Harry Met Tom"

Well, at the very least, I’m glad I’m entertaining.

Now for Draco and Neville, interesting choices actually, I don’t usually spend much thought on those two. Never the less, let’s dive in and see what we find.

Draco Malfoy

There’s a lot of varying opinion on Draco Malfoy. In my long tenure of stalking the internet, fanfiction, and even more fanfiction I’ve found that in many cases he ceases to actually be a character but instead becomes this unholy agglomeration of tropes people like.

Seriously, Draco Malfoy isn’t even a person anymore. He’s leather pants.

What’s interesting to me is that it’s not even always the same tropes. Well, you tend to see the same ones bandied about, but it’s not even like characters like Tom Riddle or Hermione Granger where I can usually narrow it down to a few very precise characterizations you see everywhere. Draco’s all over the place.

You have bad boy Draco who’s varying levels of actually being bad boy so that we can use him instead of a young Tom Riddle. This is generally in stories where an author wants an antihero or else villain love interest, they like the Draco or bad boy aesthetic, but Tom Riddle is too spicy for Yog Sothoth. So Draco reminds us he’s evil a lot, he usually betrays our main love interest in a dramatic yet inevitable moment, but he’s not the purest of evil. He leaves the puppy beside the well and watches as Tom drowns it for him. Despite this the story will often pretend that Draco’s the most evil of evil to raise the stakes.

You have non-problematic Draco who suddenly was never a Death Eater, or perhaps his family was always filled with spies for the Order of the Phoenix, who only pretended to hate muggleborns and really has been on the good side this whole time! Alternately, Draco was on the bad side, but within two seconds of the fic he’s switched sides and we’re told it’s cool now because Draco understands.

You have Sexy McLeatherPantsFace Draco who never left My Immortal but authors will claim, should you ask, that bisexual overly emotional Draco’s characterization is nothing like My Immortal’s and how dare you imply such things you swine! Really, his pervasive existence is why My Immortal is such a great satire.

The list goes on but basically Draco’s whatever people need or want him to be to an absurd degree and it always makes me laugh. Oh Draco, what have they done to you? Are you even in there anymore?

Right, where do I land on Draco? Honestly, he’s a bit like Ron in that he has severe character flaws but he’s not goddamn insane like Harry or Hermione.

Mostly though, I just don’t take him seriously.

Throughout the book series he’s an ass, he’s that rich, elitist, entitled jackass that we all have run into at some point or another. He’s the kid who legitimately thinks ‘my father will hear about this’ is a threat and constantly abuses his relationship with Severus Snape just to show how cool he is ‘he practically makes Snape dish out punishment to Harry and Ron needlessly, and Snape is such a sad ridiculous man he actually goes along with it and panders to this brat’.

Draco’s the kind of ridiculous fucking person who pretended to not have the use of his arm for months just so he could get Hagrid fired. When, honestly, Lucius still could have gotten Hagrid fired probably without Draco’s very non-compelling evidence. (Now, that said, I do believe Hagrid never should have had the job/should have been fired, but that’s a different story). And then, when he realized not having an arm kind of sucked, he was miraculously healed.

Harry takes Draco and his rivalry very seriously because he’s also an adolescent, lacks perspective, and just isn’t that bright but Draco is fucking ridiculous and half the time he’s embarrassing himself. I mean, the guy buys his position onto the Slytherin team with an absurd amount of money, and he still loses matches to the Gryffindor team. Draco should never be living that down.

So, basically, I never at any point take Draco seriously. He’s just a kid with a big mouth who grew up in a very racist household and never has any idea what he’s talking about ever. He’s not inherently evil, not particularly good either, he’s just a kid who’s more obnoxious than your usual brand of kid.

I never imagined him particularly good looking (I believe his features are described as pinched or something), I never really saw the appeal in either making him more evil than he was or else redeeming him, he’s kind of the comic relief we all needed in our lives but is really there to keep the filler plot going to give Harry and the gang time to stew on the bigger Hogwarts mysteries. Without Draco what would we even do for hundreds of pages?

When it comes to book six he starts getting a little interesting in that his life completely falls apart but I think many fics paint him as far more self aware than he was. He knows his family is in deep trouble but I don’t think he realizes they’re being punished. I don’t think he realizes that Tom setting up camp in Casa Malfoy is a direct response to a) his failure with the diary b) his failure with the prophecy. Well, he might, but I imagine Lucius or Naricssa had to point it out to him. More, I think he genuinely believes he is meant to succeed in the task of assassinating Dumbledore.

He never realizes that Voldemort fully expects him to fail, that this task is just to essentially torture Draco for months, and when Draco does fail Voldemort will then murder him in front of Lucius saying, “AND THAT’S WHY WE DON’T SELL TOM RIDDLE’S THINGS!” This I think is evident in Draco accepting Bellatrix’s help, but not Snape, legitimately thinking that he has to achieve this on his own and that the Dark Lord has given him this Very Important Task (TM).

Basically, Draco’s a kid over his head and doesn’t even realize he’s in over his head. More, I think even in book seven he still believes in the dark lord’s cause. It’s all become this weird madhouse but we don’t ever really see him come to grips that this is madness. It’s hard to tell because we’re from Harry’s perspective, but Draco never really seems all that unwilling of a Death Eater. Instead he’s very proud to have become one and sure, Hogwarts got a little weird, but that’s okay!

In other words, I don’t think Draco ever really had that redemption arc people thought he did or hoped he would. Harry just saves his life, Narcissa is forever grateful to Harry, and then Draco continues to shuffle along in life perhaps in a daze wondering what even happened.

TL;DR Draco’s just a guy.

Neville Longbottom

Oh man, poor Neville, why is he even friends with the gang when they treat him like such garbage all the time? Neville’s kind of like the friend who’s sort of friends with this one social group but they constantly forget him except when it’s convenient to them.

Not just forget him but brush him off, make fun of him, and barely speak with him.

Neville has no friends and it’s really just sad that he’s stuck with these people.

As for Neville himself, he seems nice, that’s really all I have on him. We don’t see too much of him, his life is garbage from beginning to end (his relatives throw him out a goddamn window), he’s treated like trash by everyone and no one respects him but he still seems nice.

Not particularly interesting, but a nice enough kid who doesn’t deserve to be treated like shit all the time. That said, I guess somebody’s got to be Gryffindor comic relief and plot convenience, so it’s time for Neville to forget the passwords yet again and be left out all night because portraits suck.

#ask #anon #harry potter #head canons #draco malfoy #neville longbottom

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rosemary-is-in-pesterquest · 4 years ago

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HS2's themes are fuckin wack crap cuz like... idk it all starts with the epilogues, right? the thing that the epilogues are trying to say is that all conflict that the characters face within the narrative is there because the audience cast their gaze upon this story and demanded entertainment. something has to happen on the stage to keep us watching, thus, it is the audience's fault that the characters suffer. but that's bullshit for so many reasons. for one thing, it ignores the role of the author. audience demand doesn't force an author's hands to write... that's a decision that the author made. we could've lived with nothing at all.

and conflict comes in many flavors. some stories hardly have any conflict at all. the whole iyashikei genre exists, like, I think we're well past understanding that cynicism, tragedy, and destruction are not the only forces that can drive a narrative. "conflict" is not the only reason for a story to be told. once again, stories tell us as much about the author as their audience. the kind of story an author deems worthy of telling is just as relevant to consider as the kind of story an audience deems worthy of attention.

and even in conflict driven stories... it matters what the conflict is, who wins, how, and why. as a simple example, when the conflict is a battle between good and evil, good wins, it does so by way of the power of friendship, and the reason it is presented this way is to promote the idea that you should be kind and help others... that's a story with a purpose. obviously this is like, children's cartoon level simple, and a story can be written to say different or more complex things, but I should always be able to ask those questions and come up with an answer.

if, as an author, Hussie wanted to accuse his audience of being culpable in the suffering of his characters, he would at least have to present the reader with a meaningful choice. and at first glance, it would almost seem like he did. meat and candy, even by their naming convention, seem as though they are giving you the option to consume a light or dark tale. but even in the names, there is a seed of judgement. Hussie has described the concept of a narrative containing both "meat" and "candy" in terms of story content, wherein meat is anything heavy in terms of plot or drama, and candy is anything that provides levity as a counterbalance, such as jokes or feel good fluff. these categories are already identified as "substance" vs. "a lack of substance" which places value on the cynical, dark route as being more truthful... conflating cynicism with realism.

and already I can see making a case for the idea that neither route is legitimate, because no story should subsist on just one or the other... both need to be at play for the story to be balanced. and you could even argue that the lampooning of the epilogues' legitimacy was the point... that they were supposed to be outside of canon and regarded as illegitimate all along. but then not only does that negate the author's ability to let the audience choose the kind of story they're participating in, but the story itself doesn't play by its own rules.

does candy truly read like some fluffy pandering fanservice filler, the way one might expect it to? and is meat totally devoid of any levity, while focusing only on plot machinations and/or the characters' dramatic downward spiral? I would argue that, even though the consensus seems to be that both routes are equally dismal, neither even gets dark enough to live up to that end of the bargain either. the execution is messy... the concept doesn't hold up.

and what of the initial concept? that the audience's observation of a story forces the characters to enact a conflict for the sake of our entertainment? is that really what's going on here? from the initial pitch, you could already tell that the answer was no. nobody asked for this. and so we cast our apparently destructive audience gaze onto Homestuck 2.

but there, we find another curveball. the story is... almost becoming self aware? in that it casts a character in the role of the author, and also identifies him firmly as the villain. but see, this is still a blame shift. and maybe that would've been less obvious if Andrew Hussie had not introduced himself as a character inside of his own web comic throughout the original narrative. the true author is already here.

the villain of homestuck was never the audience, and it was never a fictional character. if we're really shattering the 4th wall... if we're really ceasing our suspension of disbelief, pulling back the curtain, and acknowledging that these characters are fabricated, manipulated entities with real people behind the wheel, then there is only one conclusion we can possibly come to. the author has control over the narrative... no one else. and the things the author chooses to say with the platform they've made for themselves? those things are on them. what are we to understand about the author, as his audience?

this is why people are looking past the story entirely and engaging with the creative team, for better or for worse. if you break your story enough, it won't work anymore. and when the audience finds it in shambles, completely unusable as a story... you know, the thing it was intended to be? they might actually look to the people who broke it and ask them why they did that. it was a nice story. it performed several functions that people actually enjoyed. was dismantling it like this really the most fulfilling thing they could've done with it?

and I'll tell you another thing. part of why people take it so personally is because, just like how Andrew Hussie, the homestuck character, was a stand-in for Andrew Hussie, the human being... many of the characters in homestuck were stand-ins for us. John Egbert was for people who had an obsessive nerdy interest in movies, Rose was for people who wrote fanfiction, Nepeta was for people who ship characters a lot, she and Terezi were for people who RP, and also... Dave was for people who were trying to act cooler than they felt, Jade was for people who were lonely, Kanaya was for people who wanted to help people and be accepted, Vriska was for people who were hard to love and felt judged for that.

who do these writers think they're messing with?

and I just want to make it clear that I'm not condoning any kind of harassment of them, or anything like that. ultimately, my point here is that we are not our effigies. and in the same way that an author can't blame shift onto a fictional character, a person cannot claim the direction of a fictional story as a reason to do real harm.

but homestuck was always unique in that it spoke very directly to its audience. when Hussie added real pieces of us to his fake people, he had a powerful vehicle for the messages that he wanted us to hear. lots of stories have characters that are written to be relatable, but you'd be hard pressed to find ones that feel quite so specific as the cast of homestuck. to our era. to our humor. to the values of people growing up in our online cultural circumstances.

if this specific author is going to choose to act like a villain, at least in the small-scale context of this comic, then what is that setting us up to be? maybe nothing so presumptuous as a hero... maybe just like, Dave of Guy, y'know? but Dave made normal a pretty heroic thing to be... I think it's up to us to just be normal and have normal fun, in spite of the shit show. regular old homestuck already said all the valuable stuff it was gonna. for my part, I'm just gonna take that and run off with it. ignoring HS2 doesn't make it go away, but paying attention to it doesn't make it good either... so I guess whatever.

that's the themes. the themes are just a big "so what" shrug. most complicated way to say "who cares" I've ever seen.

This is a really good analysis

#long post /#I should probably start using that tag just in case it clogs up people's feeds

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tribus-mantodea · 4 years ago

Text

[ Lingering attachments. ]

Right! I’m sure there’s an AU about this somewhere already that I haven’t found but you know what, I’ll have my take on it regardless.

This post is just some considerations on the AU where the Traitor Lord lives once more through lifeblood shenanigans. (Awkwardly dubbed as “Lastlifeborn AU” because... it’s the Lastborn’s last life. Yeah, I know.)

I also have no idea how to interpret lifeblood so I’ll put that matter aside.

It would be a bit fun to entertain the idea of the dream-ghosts of Cloth and Traitor “speaking” after their due battle just before she finished savoring the moment. While he does hold some implacable resentment (embrace the infection to become stronger and yet for what? being unable to better protect his kin like he had intended? what was it that put these silly-meaningless thoughts in his head, his heart?), he does hold respect for Cloth and the Ghost first and foremost for beating him in an impromptu duel.

“I’m glad to have fought a mighty warrior like you.” “...” (But he wasn’t one. Unlike the other Lords, he had cheated and lost his way.) “For one outside of my tribe, you battled well.” There’s a lot of awkward pauses and general recollection, the Traitor trying to sort out what had just occurred and what had happened before all this.

Maybe the Ghost comes back in time to not both of them, but at least the Traitor staring at both his victor’s and his own’s bodies. It would seem to remember something—pulling out the Mark of Pride charm and showing it to him. See conflict cross his features, how he nodded as if he then understood something it didn’t.

And the Ghost is quite the mender of a bug itself. It’s compelled to try and resolve something that seems rather unresolvable; it breaks cocoons and cradles all these wiggling lifeseeds in arms and forcibly attempts to get the Traitor’s husk moving again. Said dream-ghost Traitor at first regarding the situation dismissively before growing into a strained panic and worry of “Cease your actions! What compels you to desecrate my corpse—?...” “Just how many did you manage to bring with your small stature...?” (It would’ve been more deserved if his body were to be broken into segments much like the others. His mind feels hazier as if overcome with fatigued the longer it tries, and...)

What. Why is this little bug back in his view and why does he feel so. Tired. Oh. The Traitor... does not deserve this, no, unless this was his punishment to burden the weight of his own sins, but it’s ultimately uncomfortable—he died twice already in removing his title and in true battle. (His body felt wrong before for different reasons, but it felt even worse now that he’s reminded of the air and his other senses.)

And the Ghost does its best to try and point him in a direction it wants him to go. Incessantly tries. But he shook his head, clicked, said aloud that he’d resolved to return to the village and accept the sentence that should have been given when he was deposed. (Imprisonment. Death.) It’s only then does the Ghost no longer tries to point him in a direction (and how strange; was this the same way it pointed its nail?) and accompanies him the... the entire way...

It’s not that long of a trek, no, though his mind is clouded with all sorts of thoughts and regrets. He’d seen his Daughter’s grave for the last time. (The little warrior seemed to insist on giving him a flower, but even when he did finally accept if only to appease it, he’d merely set it back by the grave.) He’d seen his reflection in the pools of acid, the glow of an unnatural cerulean he does not remember seeing unlike the festerous cloud of orange. And... the occasional husks of what had been the split of his tribe.

The village is far quieter than his memories. It is a complicated feeling to see the mantids that watch with both confusion and hissing resentment, those that knew of him formerly and those that did not. Perhaps it must look like a show? To observe how the honored outsider escorts the depose Lord, a beast thought mindless returning in its newly sickening form with not the sweet-sickly orange, but a dim blue glow of what they vaguely remember other bugs considering as taboo (how funny of them to worship and pray to begin with). His thoughts grew louder; he wondered if he could ever make amends. He figures it all in vain. That’s fine, really.

...One thing led to another. The summary is that he does not die, and is “punished” to live with his decisions after it is thoroughly seen he is remorseful (to an extent). It does take a long while for this family to sort out their issues properly though.

Bonus side-note is that the Ghost can be treated as part of said family (but not really, but also hey look its horns are notched twice just like the Traitor’s and—)

Bonus reactions to said return:

The First just wants to know why it happened, so she can reflect and see where the both of them (mostly herself) had went wrong. Her own regrets she’d shouldered still smolder long after all the initial anger and confusion. Considering there’s only so many of them left, she just wants to hear him out (and oh, how strange-wrong it is to hear the difference in his voice now, to see him taller but with the lack of pride from before). In the end, she’s... relieved, almost, to see him the way he is now considering how she longed to revisit old things. Not that they could still return to them. But, well, new interactions to unfold, lots of baggage to pack.

The Second’s the one who’s most expressively upset. Frustrated that she cannot take her pains out on him as when she’d forced his claws to a duel, it was more than clear that his heart wasn’t in it (how disrespectful; how dare he seem so inclined to let the end of her nail-lance sink deep and through). She’d always known him to be a great fighter, so the reasoning behind him embracing the infection was more than just insulting as a betrayal. She despises the more passive behavior (this wasn’t the brother she remembered, what had happened to the hint of deserving arrogance he once bore?) and most of all, resents herself for not having done something more given the more responsibility their eldest took on.

The Third is uncharacteristically quiet, unsure and sorting out her emotions just like before (but managing to unintentionally, somehow, be the coldest towards him). She’s always been aware that while he did seek counsel, most often asking the eldest, he also disliked relying on anyone else and she never minded that, no. She felt as if she knew why he’d left. But in knowing what happened to her niece and the other, closer followers that had looked up to him, it was difficult for her to figure out how to respond to him in knowing the losses sustained. It’s... she eventually decides, though, to accept with resignation. He’s dealt with their other sisters and the disdain of the village and would continue to do so (probably). She’s just happy to have him back even despite the changes. She can at least... try, to not make the transition jarring by having even herself different in behavior. Sort of.

Redacted consideration was that he’d lose most if not all of the memories during his time of being infected because while it’d be fun for him to think that nothing more than him waking up in a random location happened and then seeing the husks of his tribe(?) along with “Whose grave is this?” and returning to the village almost as if nothing happened, the sisters would have a Horrendous Time alongside the Traitor if he by chance was then told of what happened.

anyways my AUs are to be self-indulgent, not to combust spontaneously :D I probably amplified the inferiority issue a bit too much here but Welp

alright bonus-bonusnonsense below:

little ghost does crimes. shoves lifeseeds into husk (in which some lifeseeds happily run away into said husk to get away from the chance of dying by tiny bug)

bug tries to slap mark of pride charm onto the former traitor lord

aand this:

It watches as he idles a moment longer, bowing his head towards the marked grave of his late Child. Quietly it comes closer, hesitantly, and reaches out—rests its hand onto his side and gently curls its fingers into his cloak. He does not move. So the vessel tilts its head, sits. Decides to wait for him—and rest. (aka it’d be quite nice, you know, to imagine the trek back where the Ghost doesn’t forcibly try to understand the dude, but is a sort of comfort... or maybe... just... a reaper, escorting him to his death. but then jokes on you big man it’s a friend!!)

#;;atone unto the final breath #;;lastborn #;;a heart forged into nail #\\

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ibijau · 4 years ago

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Oh, I love your Worst Engagement AU. I can't wait for Xichen saving Huaisang from water ghouls in Caiyi Town from the perspective of your AU! Hihihihihi~~~~

ok so, I have like half a second of hesitation because that amazing, beautiful, ultimate Xisang scene is only in the donghua, and I wanted to keep this in novel canon. But you know what? You know what? I love that scene and fuck canon.

ok, warning for... mild infidelity, on a technical sense? I mean, it’s not like they’re really emotionally together. Definitely as far as nhs is concerned. And warning for some quick discussion of the possiblity of underage characters having sex, I guess.

Caiyi town isn't exactly the most fun place in the world, but being anywhere outside of the Cloud Recesses feels like a blessing, so Nie Huaisang doesn't complain. It's a little bothersome being forced to carry his sabre around, but that too is a small price to pay for a reprieve from rules.

They are, technically, under Lan Xichen's supervision, and they are in Caiyi town to hunt down... monsters of some kind. Nie Huaisang honestly didn't pay much attention, and even if he had, he knows it wouldn't help him much. What he does know is that Lan Xichen has briefly abandoned them to go secure some boats for their Night Hunt, which means for at least the next half hour, Nie Huaisang is free.

Mostly, he's free to hang out with Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian and complain that there's not much to do, but it's still freedom. Besides, if his plan works well, he'll create his own entertainment later.

“Why did you even agree to come?” Jiang Cheng grumbles when he gets tired of Nie Huaisang whining about the lack of interesting shops.

Nie Huaisang shrugs, but his eyes go down the street, toward the Lans boys who came along and are trailing a little behind them. One in particular happens to be looking at him, although he turns away as soon as their eyes meet, his cheeks colouring.

“No particular reason,” Nie Huaisang says, as if he isn't determined that he'll have given away his first kiss by the time this stupid Night Hunt is over. “I just thought it'd be fun to see how it feels with nicer company.”

“Night Hunts are not a game,” Jiang Cheng points out.

“But they can be fun,” Wei Wuxian quickly adds, grinning. “Maybe you'll start liking them, and we can Night Hunt together again after we're done with classes here. Do you think your brother would let you come to Yunmeng sometimes?”

“Not unless I improve my cultivation a lot,” Nie Huaisang sighs, glancing behind again.

That same Lan boy meets his eyes with more intent this time, before saying something to his companions and drifting from their group. He goes into a small alley, and Nie Huaisang struggles not to grin. He wasn't sure the other one would actually dare to follow along his very shameless plan.

“You know, I've changed my mind about that candy shop we saw earlier,” Nie Huaisang suddenly announces. “I'll go grab some. If Lan gongzi is back before me, tell him I'll be right there, okay? I'll try not to take too long.”

“Oh, grab some for me too,” Wei Wuxian asks, throwing him some money. “We'll be around. Jiang Cheng, do you think we can fine a wine seller somewhere? We'll need something to celebrate our victory with!”

The two brothers start bickering about whether it is appropriate or not to already think of the aftermath of a Night Hunt when it could bring bad luck. Nie Huaisang quickly escapes, and makes his way to that alley.

He does buy some candies in the end, because it'd be odd if he didn't. They're far too sweet for his preferences, but it matters a little less when he gets to taste them on someone else's lips and tongue.

Nie Huaisang, as it turns out, loves kissing. He suspected he would, or he wouldn't have bothered trying, but it really is a nice sensation, even with a clumsy boy whose name he still hasn't bothered to learn.

It's a shame that he won't get much of that once he's married, he thinks after that Lan boy has left the alley first so they won't be seen together. There's little chance that Lan Xichen would want to kiss him, so he'll have to get his fill before their marriage.

He might also try sex, he decides as he, too, finally leaves the alley. He doesn't think there's any real law against him tumbling into bed with someone else before he becomes tied for life to Lan Xichen, so it should be fine, if he can just convince someone to give him a chance. It can't be a girl, there's too much risk of a scandal. It can't be a Lan, that'd create too many problems down the line. Wei Wuxian could be a tolerable option perhaps, but he only looks at girls (and on occasions at Lan Wangji) so that's not going to work. Jiang Cheng is very attractive, but he's both too stuck up and too aware of inter-sect politics to touch the future husband of a future sect leader. Someone else then, someone pretty and self-important enough that he wouldn't care about upsetting Lan Xichen. Someone like...

Just as he is thinking about him, Nie Huaisang hears the voice of Jin Zixuan coming from the canal, followed by that of Wei Wuxian.

It is a gift, a talent that Wei Wuxian had, and it never ceases to amaze Nie Huaisang how his friend, somehow, always ends up bumping into the people who most dislike him. Lan Wangji, Jin Zixuan... Wei Wuxian seems to have a sixth sense to spot them, and for someone so smart, he's really stupid when it comes to realising he could just avoid them.

With a sigh, Nie Huaisang hurries in the direction of their voices. When he realises that these two are alone, without at least Jiang Cheng to keep them in check, he jumps on a small boat and hurries to take it between theirs. Someone has to avoid a diplomatic incident, and it's not going to be these two idiots and their overblown egos.

His peacekeeping efforts are mildly starting to work, or so Nie Huaisang tells himself. It soon stops to matter when a bunch of water bloated corpses spring from the canals and start attacking them.

It all goes very fast. One moment Nie Huaisang was trying to get Jin Zixuan to just calm down for five seconds, the next there's a huge, ugly, stinky creature trying to climb onto his boat. The weight of that thing is such that the other side of the boat starts rising from the water, forcing Nie Huaisang to cling to the sides so he doesn't fall into the monster's grasp.

“Help!” he cries out. “I'm going to fall, somebody help!”

But Wei Wuxian is off saving civilians, and Jin Zixuan is under attack by several water ghouls, so neither can intervene. Nie Huaisang closes his eyes and grasps the wood tighter, wondering if he might manage to unsheathe his sabre without falling, if he can let himself fall and try to strike at the ghoul on his way down. If he were any good as a cultivator, it'd be as easy as breathing, but he's never done anything like this, never had to hit anything scarier than a practice dummy, and that ghoul is big and...

While Nie Huaisang holds on to the boat and panics over what to do, someone joins him on the boat, so light on their feet that the movement barely registers, and with one smooth slash of their sword, they dispatch the ghoul. Immediately the boat falls back on the water with a splash, but Nie Huaisang doesn't even mind that he gets sprayed.

“Thank you!” he exclaims with a grateful smile that turns into a grimace when he wipes the water from his eyes and realises who saved him. “Lan gongzi?”

Of course it'd have to be him. Lan Xichen smiles down at him as if expecting to be praised for the rescue, not a single hair out of place, not a stain on his white robes. Nie Huaisang looks away, refusing to give him that pleasure. It doesn't matter in the end because Lan Xichen quickly leaves him alone to help the others deal with the rest of the creatures while Nie Huaisang sits on his boat, utterly useless.

When the fight is over, they all regroup on the bank of the canal to decide what to do. Nie Huaisang expects Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian to be excited that they got to fight and show off already, but instead he finds them oddly serious. They seem like entirely different people all of a sudden, like real cultivators instead of the two goofy kids he's grown used to play with. It's an unpleasant reminder that with them too, there's a divide he can't ever expect to cross. Nie Huaisang is surrounded by amazing people, while he struggles with flying on his sabre for even an incense's stick duration.

He tries to remind himself that he has qualities too, that he doesn't need to play by their rules, that his friends like him even without any cultivation capacity to speak of. It brings him little comfort, especially when he hears Lan Xichen starts to explain how they will proceed from then on, and he realises that he doesn't know how to do most of the things his fiancé is speaking about.

As if guessing his thoughts, Lan Xichen suddenly turns towards him with a look of doubtful appraisal on his face.

“Huaisang, since you're not up to fight after all, just wait for us here,” he advises.

A second ago, Nie Huaisang was ready to beg to be left behind. Now that Lan Xichen is the one demanding it, he feels for the first time in his life an intense desire to really take part in a Night Hunt.

“Lan-gege has so little trust in me,” he complains with a pout. “How am I ever going to improve if I never get to try? I want to try. I'm sure my brother also would want me to, Lan-gege,” he insists, putting as much emphasis as he dares on the nickname and... yes, just as he hoped, it appears to annoy Lan Xichen.

It annoys him so much that a touch of red appears on his cheeks. Just to have gotten a reaction out of his bothersome fiancé, Nie Huaisang is ready to put up with whatever it is people even do on Night Hunts. Between the kissing and making Lan Xichen flush in anger, this is quite possibly the best day of his life.

“This situation appears more serious than I realised when I invited you along,” Lan Xichen replies. “Of course I trust Nie gongzi to do better than what others might expect, but I do not think this is appropriate for a first Night Hunt.”

It's Nie Huaisang's turn to blush in embarrassment, and he glares at Lan Xichen for saying so casually, in front of so many others, that he's never been on a Night Hunt before. It's not exactly untrue, he's never done more than the sort of very easy stuff any child will do, and it all stopped around the time of the engagement because he was so bad and had become too much of an asset to be put at risk.

Just because it's true doesn't mean it needs to be shared.

“Then I will do as Lan-gege orders, of course,” Nie Huaisang says with a short bow. “Lan-gege always knows best, doesn't he?”

“Go wait for us at the inn,” Lan Xichen orders, apparently pleased with how easily his fiancé complies. “Hopefully we'll be back before sunset. Try to have fun if you can, but don't get in trouble.”

Nie Huaisang bites the inside of his cheeks and smiles as sweetly as he can, because there's people around and he knows better than to publicly humiliate his fiancé. But he'll get revenge for this someday, and for everything else as well.

And what better revenge can there be than to make that annoyingly pure and perfect Lan boy marry someone who has already tried dual cultivation?

Besides, it's not like Lan Xichen is ever going to touch him anyway, so he'll have to get his fun where he can get it, while he can get it.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #I am biased toward the donghua as my favourite adaptation partly for this one scene tbh #it's in episode 4 if you've never seen it and it's on youtube #also nhs doesn't realises this here #but the reason lxc blushes at being called lan-gege is absolutely NOT anger ;3 #jau writes #worst engagement AU #mdzs #Anonymous

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bestofbree · 3 years ago

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Stress vs. Anxiety vs. Depression: Self-Care in an era of misinformation

Be Conscious, not anxious”, sounds like great advice on mental health? It is merely an attractive phrase on social media. If you explore reliable resources on psychology, self-conscious behavior can be healthy as well as unhealthy. In fact, disproportionate self- consciousness can aggravate anxiety & related mental disorders.

Unfortunately, attractive phrases can make misinformation popular. A 2018 MIT study clarifies that over an 11 year period, retweeting of fake news & rumors was 6X times faster & 70% more probable than actual news. The World Health Organization (WHO), Center for Disease Control (CDC) & the American Psychological Association (APA) are aware of this fact. They foresee an epidemic of mental illnesses, aggravated by misinformation.

The Culprit- Misinformation Effect:

The APA recognizes misinformation effect as the interference of post-event information with the actual memory of an event. For example, doing a google search on suicidality does not make you suicidal. Then again, others may misinform you, state the google search as evidence of suicidal behavior, & alter your memory of the event. The outcome could be a misdiagnosis of self. Hence, the misinformation effect is a health risk, especially to those in social isolation or quarantine

How to curb it?

Mental Health is a serious concern. It cannot be subject to the skim & skip habits of consuming online content. Instead, do the following to avoid misinformation.

a. Seek consultation from a mental health expert. View mental health content as nothing more than a secondary resource that can make you an informed patient.

b. Avoid unsolicited advice from social media influencers. You would be surprised to know that viewers get such advice on TikTok. This misinformation and its distribution is so risky, that a psychology professor is compelled to debunk them to prevent their ill effects.

c. Bookmark the news pages for WHO, APA & CDC. Whatever you read, watch, listen or share about mental health, validate it with their public statements.

d. It is important that you verify the information you need, not just the headlines or cited sources. There are a lot of blogs out there with factual headlines & stats, mixed with some irresponsible misinformation in the following text.

e. Use the search tabs of credible sources to find more information about your topic. For example, the APA website can be a good resource for reliable information on mental health.

f. For self–help, you may visit the National Health Service (NHS) self-help guides & scroll down to mental health. You could also enroll in the Mental Health First Aid Course to help those who cannot avail of professional help.

g. Do not self-diagnose the condition beyond the occurrence of the symptoms. Mental health issues can be co-morbid i.e. co-exist with each other, as well as physical health conditions.

h.Before you jump to conclusions about your mental state, Try to access mental health experts before relying on online information. If you are on your own and have no other option but self care, start with the basics

Some of the Basics :

1. Stress

The words stress and tension are often used interchangeably. They are rooted in the expression of feeling strained or stretched by over-exertion. In Psychology, stress is the resulting response to challenging or threatening situations. Usually, it only lasts as long as you are affected by a stressor i.e. some fear or doubt that acts as a barrier to your wellbeing. Once the barrier ceases to be, you no longer feel stressed. It isn’t a disorder but a condition that needs to be managed before it becomes chronic. While entertainment can give temporary relief from stress, the long-term solution lies in therapies for cognition &/or behavior. Stress can cause headaches, loss of sleep, chest pains, rashes & high blood pressure. Long term stress can elevate your cortisol & contribute to higher cholesterol levels. If you get stressed repeatedly in your daily life; it may be chronic. Utilize these stress tips by the APA while you seek immediate professional help.

2. Anxiety

Anxiety is based on the Latin word for choke i.e. angere. In simple words, it is a fear or phobia of a certain person, place or event. Anxiety is a normal response, unless it is persistent. Since anxiety is a result of stress & not a direct outcome of external factors, it is possible for people to sustain it mentally, even in the absence of stressors. Psychologists identify prolonged anxiety as an emotional disorder. Maybe you fear the negative feedback of others & suffer from social anxiety. Maybe you carry the angst of a traumatic event in the form of PTSD. It is also possible that your anxiety manifests into a mandatory behavior that you do repeatedly i.e. Obsessive Compulsive disorder. Lately, separation anxiety and illness anxiety have been common during the pandemic & lockdown. You can never really know the anxiety disorder beyond its symptoms, unless you are a qualified mental health expert. If you feel restless & uncomfortable in supposedly normal environments, always worry about worst case scenarios, & suffer panic attacks without explicit triggers, you require immediate psychotherapy.

3. Depression:

Depressed people pass their days in a low mood of disinterest. They lack self-esteem & confidence. Before you know it, weeks have gone by in the same mental state of helplessness, hopelessness & the probable escalation to thoughts of suicide. Simultaneously, depressed people may suffer chronic fatigue, poor concentration, restlessness & sudden changes in weight & appetite. Usually, depression is comorbid with anxiety & carries the same physical symptoms. Despite popular examples of celebrities, influencers & self-certified depression survivors, it is extremely risky to observe indicators of depression & delay therapy. Depression can be addressed with a prudent combination of therapy, social support & stress management.

#stress #depression #anxiety #mentalhealth #mental health support #misinformation

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elmidol · 4 years ago

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Where the Body Burns - Chapter 2 (NSFW)

Read on AO3

Read Ch. 1

(Banner includes art for fic by @clumsycopy )

[Inspired by Fix Your Attitude by @kylorengarbagedump and Keeping Your Promise by @strongtwiheart ]

Chapter Summary: Kylo Ren senses your thoughts and has you prove yourself worthy.

Words: 5,100

Chapter Warnings: dubcon; possible blasphemous thoughts/themes

Exaltation

Beeping preceded a whirr, suction, hiss, and then the pattern returned to the beginning. Some gods reigned over life and others chose to favor death. You stood above the bed in medbay staring down at the body of the slumbering officer who teetered between the two. Which god would claim him? That was a question not even the medics, droid and human, could yet answer. The horror that had flooded through the hangar upon witnessing the assault had less of an impact for many after it had been revealed what the man had been praying for. The Force remained a mythical power that most did not understand. What was known or believed by the majority who entertained its existence was that those capable of wielding its power could sense things others could not. This included intention and disturbances. The officer lying prone on the medbay bed had not been the first to pray that Kylo Ren would be humbled or even perish in an upcoming fight. Nor would he be the last. Within the First Order, Kylo Ren was one of the few who had tasted a sort of godhood that others could only dream of. He would never be a god of mercy.

Some pilots arrogantly believed that they were the master of the galaxy because they could fly amongst the stars. They sought to touch godhood. Weightlessness went to their heads. The power of weaponry twisted their minds and built upon the egos that had started to inflate when they had slid into the cockpit of whatever vessel they could. The slang was flyboy. Cockpit. It was not only the male gender that could claim their wings--although this did vary on the planet in question as to the ease the gender granted--however the focus did remain. TIE pilots had a high mortality rate. It was more dangerous and addicting than spice in many respects yet just as deadly. A quicker death, in fact. The lack of drawn out, long term consequences was a siren’s whisper.

You wondered for another time which god or gods the officer had prayed to, this man who would be incapable of proper speech due to the mutilation of his tongue and teeth. Bacta surrounded his mouth in a way not dissimilar to the salve that had been used on your lips after your promotion. The order for the salve had been submitted by Commander Kylo Ren himself, and it had arrived alongside a new badge. You toyed with the identification badge whilst staring at the wounded officer. An IV fed the saline solution to keep him hydrated. Earlier a droid had injected painkillers through the IV, although as to the exact drug used that remained a mystery.

All these men and their false gods working to own the stars that stretched across the vastness of space. Even this officer, who teetered on the edge of oblivion, ignored the signs that his actions were foolhardy; on each occasion that one shook their fists in defiance of true greatness, it was akin to a child stubbornly rejecting the existence of air. Unseen but felt. Some paid for these foolish endeavors at dismantling the truth of Kylo Ren's power with their lives. This officer had paid with his tongue--and you had paid with your name.

The new identification badge bore the same alphanumeric combination as your previous one, however in place of your birth name was a single word: Spacedust. The gluttonous god gave you a taste of his malevolence as a promise to destroy you should you disappoint him. Unlike this officer, however, you had been granted a sign of what you took to be respect: Commander Kylo Ren had not robbed you of your voice, and furthermore had demanded to hear his name with it. As though your tongue was meant to worship him. He demanded praise from you. To deny him was to reject transcension. Your wings would be clipped if you failed to obey this merciless god whose wrath was swift.

You touched your shoulders with arms crossed over your chest in a weak embrace that failed to offer a semblance of warmth. The air in medbay was stale and with a chill. Two blankets covered the injured officer. One of the nurse droids smoothed out wrinkled each time it came by. You touched the edge of the top blanket, once more bunching it together towards the officer’s abdomen. His eyes dashed back and forth behind their lids. You, bent at a sharp angle, peered at his face for signs of consciousness. A single flicker would have captured your breath. Disappointment wafted through you. Straightening, you turned on your heel and headed towards the transparisteel doors that slid in opposite directions from one another to permit you leave.

The transfer into Kylo Ren’s direct command entailed that you left this base when he did. Likewise there would be no climbing into a TIE fighter unless flying alongside him and the others in the unit. As it was, due to Supreme Leader Snoke’s orders, you were grounded. It was enough to drive any pilot crazy, and this offered a glimpse as to why it was Commander Kylo Ren had been wound so tightly since his arrival. His disdain for those lives that kept him anchored to this planet grew until he lashed out against and even killed those when their failures provoked his wrath. Since the incident in the hangar bay, however, the Commander had been like a shadow. Elusive and hardly seen when not looming over others. The rage within him had quieted whilst not disappearing entirely.

Windows stretched across this wing of the base to allow in sunlight that warmed the area. It was a welcomed difference after spending a quarter of an hour at the officer’s bedside. The sight of TIE fighters dancing across the sky as they patrolled caused your heart to skip a beat. Your chest swelled with increased envy for the pilots of those vessels. Previously that would have been you; this was your former rotation, the pilots that had been in your squadron in the skies now without you. You paused in your steps and traced the path that the lead TIE would take with your eyes seconds before the ship followed it. The leader pilot was the same as when you had been in that squadron; a man born from a prodigious family of former Imperials that had served the Empire Two of his five siblings had perished in service to the First Order.. His skills were impressive, and it had been against him that you had always measured yourself as a means of self improvement. You wanted to close the gap that existed between the pair of you.

Memories of the Commander in his TIE Silencer cut through the previous thoughts. You jerked your gaze away from the window, resumed walking, and considered that you would be graced with the new challenge of measuring yourself against the best pilot the First Order had to offer.

Stormtroopers numbered fewer in comparison with the officers on the base. A sea of white prompted you to swerve in favor of seeking the darker colored uniforms wherein you could blend. Standing apart did not fluster you normally. It was the knowledge that somewhere the shadow lurked; to draw his attention before you were ready would offer him the higher ground when your footing was already rocky at best. While not in his presence you could pretend that you retained a name of your own. For years you had worked hard, pushed yourself beyond your limits for recognition by the other pilots on each base that you were assigned to. Each pilot began training in childhood, and most grew up on Star Destroyers. You had been an exception, which was one of the reasons that planetary assignments often came your way. When it came to interacting with First Order personnel, you were kindred spirits with neither the stormtroopers nor the officers.

This was better exemplified when the officers in the sea you had selected to join parted, rippling away and leaving you bare. Though just as replaceable--more easily replaced in your opinion--the officers considered themselves above TIE pilots, whom they viewed as expendable pawns. Such was the paradox, that you were a being they revered and envied due to your capabilities in a TIE simultaneous to being faceless and subhuman. A fictitious hero that sprang to life as a symbol of the First Order’s might, little different than Commander Kylo Ren. He was the anomaly, you supposed.

A scan of the faces in the parting crowd revealed a mounting fear. You searched for the source of their agitation, which when revealed caused you to cease walking. The shadow had blended into the background for you, though now that you had glimpsed him you wondered how his presence could have gone unnoticed. His power was a dark wave crashing over you. It drowned out your ability to breathe for the seconds it took you to recover after that jolt of surprise upon seeing his masked visage. Tendrils of an unseen force, an indescribable feeling, crawled up your spine. This was not fear, you realized, but something else. The unnamed sensation spurring you into action anew. Your feet began to carry you in the direction of the godlike being that had stripped you of your former life.

“I see your mind has finished its introspective blathering.” There was no recoiling from him though mentally you reeled at the notion that he might have been in your head. Limited knowledge of the Force left you susceptible to minor paranoia. You were aware of Commander Kylo Ren’s abilities to peer into the minds of others during interrogation, however not how he completed this feat. Said man stepped forward and gestured with his hand for you to follow.

It was with amusement that the observation of white and black seas meeting swam into view when the two had the alternative option of allowing Kylo Ren amongst them. The contrast allowed you to discover that they had embraced you, along with other TIE pilots, more than you had given them credit for. Your lips inched upwards in amusement that you swiftly quashed. Commander Kylo Ren carried himself forward in long strides that, while not struggling, took effort on your part to complement. His robes failed to billow behind him as he walked; you understood here that the functionality of his belt was not simply to hold his lightsaber. Regardless, it was astonishing that his feet failed to catch on the stray material given his speed. You trained your eye on the soles of his boots, your gaze interrupted on each occasion the robe swished past.

Familiarity with the base offered the final destination without the Commander needing to verbalize his intentions. Windows appeared with less frequency the nearer to the hangar bay you arrived. Sunlight increased in strength and volume, and you lifted your chin to take in the outdoors that were exposed by the open doors. There was no indication that a storm similar to the one experienced days ago would appear. You turned your head without pausing in your steps as a means of keeping the clear sky in view until it was obscured by the rows of TIEs you passed. Again did the Commander’s feet hold an allure. Your pulse quickened as the robe skipped along the sole. At the final moment, it pulled away and Kylo Ren did not trip on it.

You were led to the secluded section of the hangar bay where pilots not in uniform could change into one of the spare flight suits that was available. There was no further prompting required. You stepped around Commander Kylo Ren when he stopped. His hands were rolling into fists then relaxing in alteration. The leather provided a crunching squeak that you echoed minutes later with your flight gloves. You were careful to ensure the life support gear was fully functional. Exiting the small room, you found your helmeted reflection in Kylo Ren’s visor.

“Hmm.” That grunt was the only sound that escaped either of you and it had come from him. Subsequent to the release of this noise, Commander Kylo Ren lifted his arm and flicked two fingers towards himself. You stared at the back of his hand. Moved only after he did first. The line of TIEs contained predominantly TIE/fo models though it was peppered with the occasional TIE/sf. The Silencer drew the eye. Alongside the sleek, new model was one TIE/fo that you could instantly tell was prepared for flight. “You think you can outmaneuver me.”

It was chilling how perceptive he was. You sucked in air through your nose to limit the noises that escaped you. The difference in size between the TIE/fo and the Silencer hit on a new level as you walked between the two ships in an attempt to rid yourself of the mounting discomfort that had arisen when Kylo Ren had spoken those words. It was nearly triple in size. The TIE/fo ran a length of 6.69 meters in comparison to the 17.43 meters that the Silencer boasted. The access hatch to the Silencer was located behind the seat and led into its cabin. There was no such room in the starships that you had piloted. To outmaneuver this? You at last faltered and thus lost the inner battle that had been waged; you shuddered, knowing all the while that Commander Kylo Ren was tracking your every move.

The proposed challenge had stemmed from his abilities to sense your thoughts, or at least your intentions, on the day that you had lost your name. You rolled your fingers inwards towards your palms, curling them and creating a tight fist. To yield now without making an attempt to prove your capabilities, subpar though they may be in facing this specific task, would further rob you of any respect that you had built in the years you had piloted for the First Order.

“I can last longer than the Resistance pilots you have taken down.” Murmuring these words bolstered your confidence. The confidence that resided in you from every past mission surged forward and flooded your entire being. The spreading warmth enlivened your spirits, a grin crawling across your face. You half twisted to consider your Commander. “Are we leaving atmosphere?” A jolt of apprehension quickly seeped into the mix. Your stomach felt as though it executed a somersault before beginning to settle once more. Commander Kylo Ren gave an almost imperceptible nod.

He was wrapped in a calm mood that prevented the others in the hangar from reacting to his presence as they had mere days before. Yet they were not the ones who would be acting as prey in the vastness of space.

Successfully suppressing a second shudder, you climbed into the cockpit of the TIE that had been prepared for you. You gripped the flight controls with both hands after sealing the access hatch and checking the cockpit display. The readouts confirmed a lack of obstructions in the ship’s path. Powering the starfighter, you looked to your left and observed Kylo Ren climbing into the Silencer. You snorted as you returned your attention to the TIE/fo. The earlier bout of envy was eliminated. The skies opened up after screaming past the open hangar bay doors. You twirled in a loop that was more for relaxation than serving any true purpose. Then obeyed the demands of your superior by aiming for the stars.

In comparison with the TIE/sf models, the TIE/fo was more limited with the distance it could place between itself and its assigned base. You had ample fuel to run this exercise with Kylo Ren, however that was the extent of what would be accomplished before a refuel was necessary. The limited fuel within the starfighter had caught your attention when first you had boarded. The First Order was not going to waste resources, however, and you attributed the fourth of a tank cap on this mission to that.

The TIE could take a beating; its plating assisting in preventing it from breaking apart as you left the atmosphere. Day became a sea of black that was punctuated by an assortment of stars. More often than not you ignored their existence when flying to instead pay heed to whatever target you happened to be pursuing at the time. Until the Commander joined you, however, you took advantage of the calm to scan the heavens. It made you feel small instead of large. The merciless being that had better tasted potential godhood was on his way. Your lips parted. Widened eyes scanned the stars briefly before settling on the sensors of the TIE’s control panel.

A blip on the radar offered a caress of icy tendrils along the back of your neck. The Silencer was closing in more swiftly than any Resistance ship you had ever faced. Gnashing your teeth together in defiance, you increased the pressure on the grip of your flight controls, thrusting them forward to send your TIE through space.

The first laser fire zipped past your viewport too far off the side to have been an accidental miss. A warning shot. Swearing, you jerked to the left, executing a triple spin that had in the past shaken ships off your tail. Not so for the Silencer, which mimicked your moves. Rather than fear, excitement erupted. Its heaviness weighed on your chest, and laughter bubbled up, escaping you in a single bark.

“He’s insane.” You ran your tongue along your lips. Peered through your visor at the scan and glanced up in time to see another blast miss you--this time only because you had moved the TIE. You had outmaneuvered him with that, even if only a little. Pride surged through you; it was the downfall of man more often than not, but you entertained the deadly sin with another laugh and wide grin.

The next shot clipped your wing, causing an alarm to blare at you in acknowledgment of the damage taken. The flashing discontinued when you skipped a gloved hand along the sensor. You had sustained worse in skirmishes with the Resistance.

The TIE Silencer zipped past, its momentum rocking the TIE/fo. You jerked your right hand towards your body without loosening hold on the controls and while keeping your left hand in place. The correction righted the TIE without overcompensation. Goosebumps spread along your flesh under your flight suit. You directed your TIE straight ahead in pursuit of the Commander. Your thumb skimmed the weapons control. The tingling along your spine felt in the hangar returned. It was more potent. You rejected its threat to your nerves and pressed on, your thumb squashing the switch that released a weak blast.

Unsurprisingly, the Silencer avoided the hit with an elegant spin. You witnessed by the first half, much too distracted by Kylo Ren’s return fire to keep your gaze trained his ship. You rolled, however the superiority of the Silencer in comparison with the TIE/fo made itself known. The wing of your ship sustained more damage. This time the flashing red refused to quiet. A second hit rocked you along with your TIE. A third. You growled low in your throat. There was no fourth strike. Soon your TIE registered that its major systems were not compromised. It would not erupt in a ball of flame. The red faded away into blackness. Despite this, you had nevertheless lost the game. Your TIE was dead in space.

“Eject.” The command was warbled by his vocoder and filled with static from the transmission. You glowered at the display on your ship, aware that your TIE was disabled. There were no warning lights to indicate impending doom. “Now or you will die.” He left the connection open so that you could hear the tell-tale sign of him readying to fire. Your pulse quickened, respiration erratic as you listened to him switching to a more powerful weapon. “Now.”

You squeezed closed your eyes whilst submitting to his tyrannical rule; memories of the officer’s oral mutilation cut you to the core as your body was jerked, rocking with the propulsion of ejection. You had heard tales of deaths during ejection from ships. Had witnessed, during your training, mutilations that included loss of limb. Exercises had prompted you to eject from TIEs in both simulations and real ships. You well knew what to expect, which sensations should be experienced. This decelerated pace was not it. Your already irregular heartbeat worsened. Nausea crept through you, bile rising and acid lapping at the lining of your stomach. You were looking downwards--upwards? sideways? it was space, so who could tell?--at the blossoming flames that consumed the wreckage of your TIE.

Had you not ejected, you would have been spacedust. Your mouth was agape as the first gag rocked your entire body. An invisible force that should not have been present in space tugged you towards the side and dragged you away from potential injury. Your breathing soon registered in your ear. It cut through the all-consuming silence of space. The sea of stars amongst which you swam--no, you floated, lost, at the mercy of some powerful being you could not see. Tears sprang into your eyes; this foreign sense of helplessness rocked you to your core. Impaled by insecurity, you opened your mouth to speak only to choke out nonsensical syllables. He could leave you there to die a slow death. Becoming spacedust would have been a mercy.

Merciless, you thought for the millionth time in reference to the Commander.

A sleek shadow crept underneath you. Mind requiring three seconds to process what it was, you gagged around a sob that you had desperately tried to swallow. The gulp was painful as a result. You endured this discomfort similarly to the increased pressure that locked around your limbs and dragged you towards the access hatch of the TIE Silencer. Near enough to reach it, the power relinquished its grip on your arms. You unlatched the belts that had kept you attached to the ejector seat. Your heart hiccuped in your chest, apprehension that he would release you and let you drift off without the seat enveloping you like an all-consuming flame. The burning in your stomach and the pressure on your chest from the worsening panic was causation of your sudden vertigo.

“You’re so afraid.” Commander Kylo Ren’s voice was louder now than it had been before. Decorated by genuine confusion and curiosity, it stilled the roaring inferno as though it was a welcome stream of water that doused all flames. The statement had reminded you of who you were, of the training you had endured since childhood. Why were you afraid when this had always been a possibility--when worse things had been possibilities? This was but a lesson in trust and obedience.

Your hands scrambled to find the latch on the hatch. The trembling in your limbs embarrassed you. This new heat was as unwelcome as the previous. You scowled, eyebrows knitting towards one another. Kylo Ren shifted the grip of the Force onto your hips. Had he not, it would have been excruciatingly awkward to climb into the Silencer after opening the access hatch. He dragged you into his ship as much as you worked your limbs to pull yourself within. Only once you were within were you freed from his invisible touch. This was where your positive gravity pressure boots took over, keeping you anchored to the floor of the Silencer even as Kylo Ren executed a spin in the ship. You could feel your inner organs swooping as he flipped the Silencer.

Commander Kylo Ren did not look over his shoulder though you walked over to him. Your legs were more unsteady than you would have liked. You pressed your lips into a thin line. A fresh wave of frustration rolled forth. The timing of the explosion in comparison with your ejection meant that he had fired before you had hit to be released. Had you failed to obey him, you would have died. Kylo Ren had nearly killed you. You glowered at the back of his head.

“You nearly killed me.” His breathing sounded like static, an indication of amusement that felt like a knife to the abdomen. There was pleasure surrounding it. “Is that how you get off?”

You observed his right hand abandoning the TIE Silencer’s control to land out of sight, presumably in his lap. A step closer. Peering over his shoulder, you saw proof of the sadism in his actions against the decimated TIE. Your breath caught in your throat. Kylo Ren palmed the bulge he had exposed by drawing aside the front of his robes. “Yes.” The single syllable made you swallow the saliva that had gathered in your mouth. Your throat bobbed, feeling thick and full. Commander Kylo Ren bent his fingers. The tips disappeared from your view, hooking around the underside of the tent in his pants. “Perhaps you should thank me for my mercy.” He at long last turned his head, albeit only a fraction. You peered at your own visor in the reflection of his. Neither of you were human here. He was a cruel god of death and you were barely living, a step above spacedust.

The memory of the lightsaber’s crossguard impaling the officer’s mouth presented itself to you. A jolt ran through your body. It started cold at the base of your spine and warmed as it drifted lower. Pooled into a wetness that escaped from your body, which clenched at the thought of the Commander’s power, the power that had refused to give you up to death. You lifted your hands towards your helmet, unfastening it and allowing the vacuum seal to break. If Kylo Ren opened the hatch, you would perish while he would live. Another jolt, this one electrifying your system as it spiderwebbed throughout your limbs. Your fingers were tingling. You wiggled them whilst shuffling forward as best you could, lodging yourself at his side.

You reached for the exposed front of his pants. Leather sliding underneath leather. He momentarily squeezed you, a physical pressure not so unlike the grip you had felt when he had used the Force to anchor you. Biting your bottom lip, you lifted your eyes towards his visor and were struck with how you appeared in that reflection without your helmet.

“Worship me with your mouth, with your tongue.” You observed your own eyes widening as the man behind the mask spoke. The thing that threatened to frighten you most of all was not that he had somehow learned thoughts you had not given voice to; it was the detachment with which he spoke, punctuating just how insignificant he found you to be. You ripped your hand away from him and stood. Your eyes trained on that visor and its cold, unforgiving gaze. “This is how insignificant you are.”

Kylo Ren pushed aside the front of his pants and freed himself. Against your better judgment--more accurately, without thought--you glanced down. From that point on you could not look away. Commander Kylo Ren wrapped his gloved hand around his shaft, the thumb skimming up along the vein as he stroked his pulsating cock. What impressed you was not merely the size of him but his skill as well. The TIE Silencer did not wobble even as Kylo Ren released a shaky breath. The little exposed flesh of his abdomen tightened with his next stroke. You placed your hand on the back of his seat to steady yourself. The warmth situated in your belly grew in intensity. It spread, your inner walls clenching around nothing as Kylo Ren bucked his hips to fuck into his own touch.

Beads of precum were smeared on the reddened head of his cock. His hand paused, lifted, and extended towards your face. The power that had anchored you now gripped your throat like a vice. You were brought to your knees before him, slammed to the floor of the TIE so roughly that your mouth sprang open in a cry of pain that was warbled, muffled by the leather clad fingers slipping towards your throat. You gagged around them. Felt your jaw pop with the intrusion of his large hand, three fingers thrusting back and forth as they gathered your saliva. Drool slipped past them and spilled down your jaw to the floor. Commander Kylo Ren grunted and, his hand lubricated to the desired amount, withdrew.

He masturbated more quickly now, using your spit to slick his cock, moving his hand up and down inch by inch then as swiftly as possible. “Perhaps you aren’t completely useless.” His breathing was uneven, his words shaking as he spoke. The sound of flesh smacking into leather, into the wetness of your spit. You pressed your thighs together. Cursed your body for reaction, the traitor that it was. “Fuck.”

The speed of the TIE Silencer did not compensate for Kylo Ren’s own capabilities. Had you blinked, you would have missed the movement of his hand as it shot towards you. He gripped the back of your head, shoved you down onto his cock, which hit the back of your throat. The sudden intrusion shocked your body. Your limbs jerked, knees hitting the metal of the seat you were made to kneel beside. You grabbed hold of Kylo’s thigh. Your mind barely processed that he was in your mouth when you tasted him. His cum filled your mouth then hit your face as you jerked backwards. That he had not kept his hold on you was, to you, spiteful. He had wanted to observe his hot cum hit your face in streaks. You glared up at the visor that was pointed down.

Temptation to spit his load into his lap faded as he touched the tips of two fingers under your chin. You swallowed. Ran your tongue along your lips, moved your hand to his lap and trailed a single finger up and down his softening length. “You’re an ass.” You tucked him away back into his pants.

Returning to the cabin of the TIE Silencer, you grabbed a spare cloth to clean evidence of your activities. It was difficult to stand straight with the ache that remained between your legs. Suddenly names were inconsequential in comparison with this experience of transcension. To touch the stars and cheat death. To make a powerful being come undone and feel him shudder beneath your tongue. You cupped yourself through your flight suit and stuffed two gloved fingers into your mouth, aware that the leather would taste the same as his. Falling to your knees, you threw back your head and held in reverence the gift you had been given.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren smut #kylo ren fanfic #wherethebodyburns

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tsarisfanfiction · 5 years ago

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Phobos

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: John, Scott, Grandma, Tracy family

John looks at his brothers, and worries.

John worries. It's not an unusual trait amongst the Tracys – Scott smothers, Virgil frets and even Gordon's façade can't entirely hide the panic that bubbles up from time to time, to say nothing of their long-enduring grandmother. Alan has yet to fully pick up the mantle, but he's still young and a little too naïve – intellectually aware that things don't always work themselves out but still wholeheartedly believes his brothers can fix everything anyway.

It's not unusual, but John is aware his worries are not the same as his brothers'. Closer to Grandma's, perhaps, although he's never approached the matter with her to confirm. See, while Alan might naively believe that his older brothers – Scott especially, but the rest of them on pedestals not much lower – can fix everything, his other brothers believe that Dad can fix everything.

John understands that. John wants to believe that, too, but being the ears of International Rescue has left him entirely disillusioned, a lack of fairy tale endings brutally hammered into him by the lives lost, the lives he'd never told his brothers about because the chance of saving them had been a total flat zero, even when taking into account their persistence that the impossible was just another challenge to surmount. Even if he'd never listened to dying words, kept children and adults company as the reaper came to collect, he'd know that Dad's return wouldn't fix things.

That's the thing with living in orbit – specifically in Thunderbird Five – isolated physically but more connected to his brothers than even they realise. They can't hide anything from him. The Thunderbirds, Tracy Island – all of it is linked back to him, not a single blindspot in either location, if he deigns to look. And look he does, now. There was a time when he didn't, always announcing his presence with a hologram when he checked in on his family, but that time is long, long gone.

He keeps constant tabs on his brothers now, a self-appointed task made far easier to maintain by the acquisition of EOS. The AI doesn't understand, really, but she respects his need to always know what his brothers are doing. How they're doing. They don't know that he does. He'd receive a tongue lashing about invasion from each of them if they found out, presented differently but identically affronted at the core. He watches them stay strong in front of each other and break down in the sanctuary of their own rooms, when they think they're alone.

This is why he worries. Of course, he worries about the other stuff, too. The missions gone wrong, the search for Dad, how much longer Grandma has until she can't keep up – most people her age would have stopped years ago. Scott's worries. But most of all, he worries about what will happen if – when, because 'impossible' has long since ceased to truly mean that for them – Dad comes home.

Virgil and Gordon believe he'll fix it all. That he'll take back control of what he needs to and Scott no longer needs to worry himself into an early grave because the worst of the responsibility will be off his shoulders again. It's Virgil who worries most obviously about Scott – approaching him with all the subtlety of a raging bull about it whilst still keeping a soft edge of tact in a unique mix that only the middle Tracy brother has ever mastered – but John knows better, knows that more often than not there are two pairs of warm brown eyes watching the fading shell that still tries to hold everything together with concern. Gordon does his part by taking responsibility for entertaining Alan, keeping the Terrible Two going despite them both being far too old for that, now. They still hold Dad up on that incredible pedestal – Jeff Tracy, the Hero. The Unshakeable Dad.

Scott… John doesn't think Scott has even thought about what will happen after they get Dad back. Scott is a here and now person, sets a goal and charges towards it, woe betide anything that tries to stand in his way – John has never seen anything succeed in that endeavour, although he knows Grandma and Virgil have forced brief pauses on occasion. Right now, Scott's goal is rescue Dad.

This is what worries John the most. Scott carries the weight of the world and then some on his shoulders, refusing to share the burden and brushing their attempts away with the practice of an older brother slash pseudo father. His hair is turning grey at an accelerating rate, which he either pretends not to acknowledge or is too blinkered to notice in the first place. When they found that footage from the Zero-X's capsule, the weight on Scott's shoulders had only got heavier.

This, his brothers have seen – even Alan. It's hard not to when Scott's on a hair-trigger, complaining about PR stunts arranged by Lady Penelope in a way he would never have done before, because it's wasting time. Because he's wasting time, even though Brains didn't stop working on the T-Drive at all and there's really nothing for Scott to do until the Zero-X is ready to fly.

What John fears they don't see, is what will happen when Dad comes home and the weight is lifted all at once. What will happen to Scott when Dad's back in the driving seat, Commander of International Rescue and CEO of Tracy Industries? When the head of the family is no longer Scott, but Dad (Grandma will always be the shadow matriarch, but here it's the visible head that matters)?

John is acutely aware that underneath the layers upon layers of responsibility heaped on his shoulders, Scott is a lost child. He was only a teenager when they lost Mom, Dad still a famous astronaut spending more time on Mars and the Moon than planet Earth, and Scott had to jump from child to adult. Grandma helped, of course she did, but Scott has always been someone to throw himself headlong into challenges. His first big challenge: raising four younger brothers, ranging from the ages of two to twelve.

John is self-aware enough to know that he is not okay, either. He was on the cusp of being able to largely look after himself, more caregiver than receiver, and did what he could to help out. But Scott, in his infinite teenage hypocrisy, refused to let him give too much. John still had his teenage years, an awkward transition from child to adult that more or less took place at the pace society dictated it should. Physically, Scott had gone through that, too, but he'd never had the chance to learn who he was through stupid mistakes. Aged fourteen, his life had gone an abrupt switch from boy to adult, and if you know what to look for, it's obvious.

Beneath the façade of Commander, Head of Family, CEO, there is that rebellious spirit. It's the same thing that makes Colonel Casey and the GDF despair, because Scott rigidly follows "my way or the high way" and refuses to compromise, just like a headstrong young teen. There's the recklessness, risk-taking better suited to an immature Alan (who is grilled worse than Grandma's chicken whenever he tries to emulate it) than a fully grown man reaching the end of his twenties.

And there's the way that Scott throws himself into work. He's a workaholic, ironically most comfortable when he's stressing himself into more grey hairs, because if he's not working, or training, or corralling younger brothers, he doesn't know what to do with himself. Who is Scott Tracy, once you strip away the responsibility he's laden upon himself?

John suspects they'll find out once Dad is home and everything leaves him all at once as he slips into the same trap Virgil and Gordon have caught themselves in – the Dad will make everything okay trap. He fears they'll be left with the lost child. He's terrified that it might be something worse.

From the way he sees Grandma looking at Scott, when she knows the eldest brother isn't looking, he doesn't think he's the only one.

(He never lets himself consider a scenario in which their Dad is not okay – because Jeff Tracy is only human, too – and instead of relieving the burden on Scott it just adds another layer. What that would do to Scott – and the rest of them, John himself very much included.)

#Thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #john tracy #scott tracy #grandma tracy #virgil tracy #alan tracy #tsari writes fanfiction #phobos #thunderangst

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iraklismytridis · 5 years ago

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Arcturian Group Dear ones, the world is increasingly moving toward more revelations with regard to negative actions and those involved in them. Be not afraid of what you may see and hear from commercial news sources or your technology for everything that resonates with old energy cannot help but change or actually disappear as new and higher frequencies integrate into the collective.

Many commonly accepted rules, beliefs, and concepts that over time have resulted in today's belief system, must be exposed for what they really represent before those who consider them acceptable will be able to see them for what they really are--programs based in false beliefs and the surrendering of personal power to those who seek it for themselves.

Appearances would testify that mankind is going backwards and reverting to an old state of consciousness. In reality, consciousness is going forward. Each day as higher frequencies of Light increase, more individuals become aware of what up to now has either been sanitized through false teachings or simply hidden behind closed doors.

Allow your light to shine in each now moment of the day for this is what adds to the incoming frequencies of Light flowing from higher dimensions. Accept that you are the one you have searched for over lifetimes. The high resonating energy of each awakened consciousness is what will bring change, expose shadows, and assist the un-awakened to wake up.

All is proceeding according to plan. Rejoice as you witness increasingly more people become aware of the need for change and better ways of living for all rather than a select few. Changes are coming, but don't spend your days waiting and looking for them while dwelling on and adding energy to negative appearances. Rather keep your focus in truth, in the higher frequencies of conscious Oneness with Source and what that means. Remember, you are creators.

Honestly examine how much time and energy you spend thinking about negative issues and learn to be very selective with regard to networking, websites, or groups that easily pull followers into dense energy under the guise of information. Many of you are beginning to recognize an energetic heaviness when visiting certain websites, news sources, or even entertainments.

Be intuitively selective with regard to what you accept into your consciousness. Many sites that began as light fun and interaction with others have become platforms for promoting fear and separation.

Understand that as your consciousness increasingly shifts to new levels, you automatically move out of alignment with some previous interests--online or in person. Attempting to make something from a previous state of consciousness work as it once did is futile and only serves to hold one in bondage to energy that is familiar but which has been outgrown.

Be very honest with regard to how some people, places, or things effect you and have the courage to withdraw from them if they no longer serve. Not only are you changing, but many things that began innocently enough also changed as they were recognized to be excellent platforms from which to to promote an agenda. Always listen to and trust your intuition in these things.

There is much to come dear ones, much that we cannot yet speak about for we do not wish to influence you or cause you to sit back awaiting the arrival of some concept of "savior".

Love yourselves, all of yourselves not just the "good" parts, and allow your inner process to unfold. A great deal of clearing-- physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually is taking place at this time. Many of you are experiencing odd symptoms of one sort or another on one or all levels,

The clearing of old energy is individual because energies needing to be cleared result from individual experiences and different lifetimes. One person's process may be to actually re-experience something while another's will simply be to feel exhausted or sick. Allow you process without comparing it to another's.

Allowing indicates a consciousness able to trust that the God/I AM of your being knows how to express ITSELF as and through you without your need to tell it how. In every situation, simply say; "I allow..." rather than "Teach me how to allow" because if your intention is to be taught, opportunities for practice will indeed present themselves.

Rest and pamper yourself when you feel the need but don't endow your clearing symptoms with power. Love and support your physical body as it clears old cellular memory and integrates new frequencies of Light . Speak to your cells telling them to release low resonating energies acquired through inheritance and experience, and allow frequencies of Light to replace them. Visualize bright golden Light moving into each cell and pushing out any shadow as it does so.

Everyone at some point reaches a level of awareness in which they must cease looking to others for love, cooperation, gratitude, appreciation, friendship, support, etc. even from those where it is most expected.

These things are God qualities, facets of Oneness, that human beings in and of themselves do not have to give. Looking to some person for what God alone possesses can only result in disappointment because individuals are only able to express God qualities at the level of their attained state of consciousness.

Every person eventually evolves to a place where they must begin to acknowledge their Oneness with Source and seek only from IT. This then allows whatever is needed, be it the solution to a problem or the receiving of appreciation, to manifest outwardly though the avenue best qualified.

Solutions often appear through a person from whom it is least expected or even a stranger. Never doubt that what you need will appear, often before you know there is a need if you rest always in a consciousness of Divine completeness.

Third dimensional energy is and always has been about looking outside of self for everything. This is because third dimensional energy can only express as duality and separation. Enlightenment means realizing that harmony, wholeness, completeness, abundance, love, acceptance, appreciation, safety, security, and infinite supply are already fully present within never dependent upon outer appearances but rather upon a conscious realization of SELF versus self.

God qualities express and flow through humans, but can never flow from them, simply because human beings in and of themselves do not have these qualities to give. Once you understand this, you stop being disappointed by another's lack of empathy, appreciation, friendship, love, support, or gratitude because you understand that every person is only capable expressing God at their level of consciousness. Everyone is expressing their highest level of awareness.

By not expecting another to give what only God has to give you are loving and allowing them to be who they are at this particular point in their evolutionary journey. At the same time you are allowing yourself to trust that what you may seem to need at any given time already exists within and so you allow the God qualities of your own Divine Consciousness to flow wherever and through whomever is the best vehicle.

In these times of change you are witnessing the disappearance of much that has always been held as being "tried and true"-- facts about successful living that you could rely on. Fear often arises for even the spiritually evolved when suddenly they discover certain solutions no longer work or carefully laid plans fall apart.

You have all lived lifetimes based in mind alone, where plotting and planning was the only acceptable way to resolve issues of any kind. Shifting away from mind alone and into truth and intuition is difficult at first when things begin to no longer work the way they are "supposed" to.

Because almost everyone still carries frequencies reflective of familiar and commonly accepted ways of doing things, panic, confusion, and fear will often manifest as an individual moves to a level of consciousness that requires trust and allowing.

Begin to put everything you have learned about truth throughout this and your many other lifetimes into practice and begin to totally embrace the fact that you are a Divine Being having third dimensional experiences through your own choice.

Spirituality was all well and good and even quite comfortable when it was something discussed in classes, listened to in lectures, read in metaphysical books, given through a psychic, or by meditating now and then. It was something you enjoyed with like minded people and left you feeling "holy" and perhaps even a little "better" than those who didn't know what you did.

That work is complete. You are ready to leave behind spiritual tools based in a sense of separation that promoted struggle in a vain attempts to contact some far away God or become enlightened. You came to believe that spirituality could only be attained through effort, ceremony, right practices, and a whole lot of work. You now know that everything you sought through these practices is within.

You may still be guided to seek help from a certain teacher, book, or class to help you move through a "stuck" place, but spiritual tools are never intended to become one's lifeline. A continuing reliance on anything outside of SELF simply prevents one from realizing that everything they need is fully present within. The books, classes, crystals, mantras, and gurus necessary to one's earlier steps are meant to be bridges leading within.

Example; Crystals carry unique and often very powerful energy, but are meant to align with and strengthen this same energy within the individual, rather than give them something they don't already posses.

Those of you who are spiritual teachers in some capacity must keep in mind that it is vitally important that you never allow human ego to keep your student coming after they are ready to go "solo". A spiritual teacher's job to give wings to each student as they lovingly guide them toward realizing their Oneness with Source.

Integrate each truth as it reveals itself to you and live from your highest attained level of awareness. At some point IT begins living ITSELF as you without effort or study on your part. Most of you are either already there, or close to it or you would not be drawn to or even understand these messages.

Let go dear ones. Let go and jump off that spiritual cliff you have teetered on for so long. Allow your Divine self to be your sword and shield. Accept that you really are a Divine expression of God in material form and never have been a powerless human subject to all the manifestations of duality and separation.

I AM everything I have sought for lifetimes...there is no longer any need to keep seeking.

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hcwkward · 5 years ago

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Hidden Liaisons (18+)

Summary: Hiding from the team leaves you in a very precarious position, namely between the legs of one Steve Rogers.

Ship: Steve Rogers/Reader

Word Count: 2.3k+

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: SMUT. Specifically: oral sex

Author’s Notes: If you’re under 18, stay away from this fic. This is not a suggestion. It is against the law for you to be reading this if you are under 18.

Tagging: N/A

Want to be added to a tag list? Click here!

The sound of footsteps had your gaze rushing towards the closed door, knowing all too well that the team was on their way. You had to leave, you knew that, but the desire to stay was too strong. Straddled above his thighs, his hands still holding you tightly against him, refusing to cease in the way he rocked your body forwards and backwards, continuing to draw that tantalizing friction between you both.

Pulling back ever so slightly, just enough to pull his lips from that sweet spot on your neck, you had to hold back a huff of laughter at the groan of disappointment that came from deep within him. Gazing up at you from behind long lashes, Steve’s lower lip pouted out slightly, knowing you had to leave yet wishing desperately you would stay so you could continue the enticing actions you were engaged in.

“I should go before they get here,” you spoke in a hushed tone, all too aware of the suspicious gazes you would receive from the group if you were found alone with Steve again. But despite your words your hands remained firmly placed on his shoulders, drawing nonsense against the tightly drawn cotton shirt that sat there.

A heavy sigh came from the blond beneath you, acceptance and resignation settling in his features before he pulled you forwards once more, leaning in for one last kiss. Despit eht fact you knew you had to leave the kiss was still filled with heat, albeit somewhat softer, as if a silent promise of things to come.

The sounds of voices suddenly reached your ears, just on the other side of the door, and you looked to Steve with wide eyes. You had procrastinated leaving for too long, and you were about to get caught. Perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered to some, but you had been so careful about hiding your liaisons, and you’d be damned if you were going to let Stark know he was right about his suspicions about the two of you.

Before you even knew what you were doing you were ducking under the desk, Steve pulling his chair in towards you to help hide you, along with hiding the rather excited state you had left him in.

The grumbled sounds of the rest of the team entering had your full attention as you kept as quiet as possible, silently hoping no one would notice your crouched form hidden under the expansive table. Shuffling of chairs and you found yourself surrounded by legs, thankfully far enough from you that you didn’t have to fear accidentally brushing up against anyone or getting kicked. You kept close to Steve, your forearm leaning against his calf in a silent message that you were staying close.

It felt like forever before the meeting finally started, Tony taking his place in front of the holographic screen as he began to go over excruciatingly dull details that barely held the room’s attention for more than a few minutes. If it felt that long before he had even begun you knew it would seem like an age before the meeting was over, and there you were, trapped under the desk between Steve’s legs without even your phone to keep you entertained.

Suddenly a thought came to you, a wicked grin pulling at your lips as you looked straight ahead at the still semi-erect member in front of you. Well, that was definitely one way to keep yourself entertained, and you certainly wouldn’t hear any complaints from Steve about how dull the meeting was if you went ahead with your plan.

A curved palm kneeded at the still clearly visible bulge in front of you, and suddenly Steve was buckling forwards, his elbows leaning against the table above you as he tried to play off the sudden reaction. You could imagine the stern glare he would be throwing your way if he were able to get away with it, but you knew all too well that he couldn’t, or rather, wouldn’t. There was too much at risk if you should be caught, and the thought of having him right in front of you, completely at your mercy had you beyond excited.

Your other hand traced against the inside of his thigh with a feather light touch, delighting as you watched the muscles beneath clench with excitement.

With an excruciatingly drawn out pace you made your way up, continuing to draw those mindless patterns against his thighs, making a deliberate decision to avoid the place you knew he desired you most. A single finger traced against the edge of his trousers, drawing a soft line against his stomach that had him jostling against your touch once more. Your lips quirked into a smug at the instant reaction, entranced by just how much control you had over the situation, about how eagerly he was responding to your touch despite the fact that the team was surrounding him, filling his ears with boring details of administrative information he couldn’t care less about.

With a wicked grin you began to pull his shirt from his trousers, careful to use the slightest of movements so as to not capture the attention of any of the others that sat around the round table. Only when it was free and the pads of your fingers were able to lightly trace over heated skin did you move onwards.

Taking careful hold of his belt, you made sure one hand sat over the metal of the buckle, ready to stifle any sound the metal might make as you slowly took the belt out from it’s loop, the palm of your hand slowly easing it through the next loop to make sure you had plenty of space.

Your fingers taking a hold of the edge of his boxers, you found yourself with a slight problem. Moving them down to a more appropriate place where you were actually able to continue would require movement from his part, and you weren’t entirely certain how to get that from him without drawing unwanted attention in your direction. But, as if he was able to read your mind, Steve was suddenly shifting his weight back in his chair, his hips lifting just enough for you to ease the fabric down enough to get to what you wanted.

His gaze met yours for the shortest of seconds, a mixture of curiosity and desire flittering through his eyes before quickly being replaced by a seemingly bored look as he returned his attention to the meeting taking place around him, pushing his chair as far in as he possibly could to make sure you were completely hidden.

With a gentle hold you pulled him free of the fabric that remained partially covering him, excitement filling you as you felt his thighs clench once more in anticipation. You had never done anything like this before, but the thrill of your surroundings, of the possibility of being caught seemed to turn you on even more and you could practically feel yourself dripping with desire. There was no way you were going to back down now.

You could feel his dick hardening against your touch before you even began to move, and with just a few careful movements down his length you had him hard in your grasp. It was a gorgeous sight, not only because of that enticing size but the fact that you had him so turned on so quickly.

Your tongue darted out to wet your seemingly parched lips before you even knew it, and you were quick to lower yourself onto him, taking just his head between your lips as you placed a wet kiss against him.

A sudden jut forwards from his hips and he was pushed further against you, his arms reaching blindly out behind him as he struggled to hide his movements in an awkward stretch, his hands clenching in a barely contained desire to grasp at your hair and pull you against him.

Pulling back with a smug smirk, your hand kept him still in front of you. Oh, this was going to be fun. Moving forwards once more you traced a deliberate line with your tongue along the underside of his shaft, careful to not let your lips touch him. You may not be able to make him beg you, but oh how you planned on making him want to.

With your hand making lazy movements against the base of his shaft you returned your attention to his head, swirling your tongue over it before withdrawing once more. Your hand shifts up and down his length in slow light motions and then with intentional lack of warning you take him slowly into your mouth, inching your way along him until you can take no more.

A shuddering sigh from above you and you pause your movements, silently listening as he assures the others he’s fine. Only when his hand comes to stretch over his thigh in a desperate need to hold onto something do you dare continue, taking deliberate slow drags up and down him. You take your time with each bob of your head, knowing there’s little he can do about the way you drew out the excitement, watching as his hand grasped tightly at his thigh next to you.

You could tell he was struggling as his hips shifted once more, desperate to thrust himself into your warm wet mouth, but he had too much self control to give himself away to the rest of the team. Watching him get more and more caught up in your attention, you let your hand rejoin the movements, stroking what you could not fit in between your lips. His fingers stretch out at the sudden extra touch and before he can calm himself you change it up again.

Shifting closer until your body is jammed between his open thighs, you move your head around him, hollowing your cheeks as you feel every part of his girth surrounded by your mouth. The taste of him almost has you moaning, and you consider for a moment dropping your hand between your thighs, desperate for some friction against that swollen bud of nerves, but this is not the time. No, you want to see just how desperate you can make him, just how hard you can make him cum whilst struggling to hide it from his friends.

Another bob of your head and you release him from your mouth, running a figure of eight against his head with your tongue before swiping over it with the flat of your tongue. Your hand continues to pump him, as you lavish his head with attention, barely holding back a hum of approval as you watch him shift again at the feeling.

A gentle kiss against his head and you’re slowly taking him into your mouth again, but you soon find yourself being pushed forwards, his hand moving from his thigh to the back of your head. He doesn’t force you, doesn’t push himself further than you’re able to take, but with his hand tightly wrapped through your hair he guides you into a faster pace, no longer able to take the teasingly slow movements you were making.

You smirk against him, loving the feeling of desperation you feel in the way he pulls you along his length. But you aren’t about to give up control, not now, not after such careful precision in your movements this far. Hollowing your cheeks once more, you let him guide you into the pace he desires, your hand continuing your movements at the base of his cock. A heavy exhale from him and you know he’s close.

With careful motions you move your free hand from it’s spot on his thigh where you had anchored yourself earlier and slip it carefully to his balls, tracing those same feather light shapes against them as you feel him struggle beneath you. It barely takes a moment before you feel his hand tighten in your hair once more, the only warning you get before he’s gushing cum down into your mouth. You don’t stop your movements, taking all that he is able to give until he finally settles somewhat in his seat, a heavy exhalation the only evidence for the team to witness.

A smug smirk plays on your features as you slowly trail your lips off of him, wiping at the corners of your mouth to make sure you had every drop of that sin filled desire. His hand moves to right himself, carefully tucking himself back into his pants before subtly doing up his belt once more.

Somehow time doesn’t seem to go quite so slowly now, you can still hear Tony droning on above you, but the thrill of what you had just done makes it far less painful to witness, and it seems only moments pass before chairs are being pushed backwards and the room is emptying once more. It takes almost a minute before Steve is throwing his chair backwards, his hand stretched out to help out out from your cramped hiding space. A wicked grin is on his lips as he takes in the sight of you, lips still plump from their previous activity, but otherwise looking completely unaffected were it not for the mischief reflecting in both your eyes.

“Some meeting,” he practically exhales the words, his gaze falling to your lips with a quirk of amusement.

You hum in agreement, free hand moving to pat down an imaginary crease in his shirt. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch most of it,” you reply with a playful tone, your features pulled into what was meant to resemble innocence. “My attention was… elsewhere.”

A single huff of laughter falls from his lips as he tugs you closer until your flat against his chest, his hand tracing patterns against your hip. “I think I should probably return the favour,” he speaks in a low husky voice that has you nearly moaning at the very sound.

Excitement fills you instantly, knowing all too well that you were soon to receive the release you craved. “Your place or mine?”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers smut #smut #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu imagines #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #imagine #imagines #my fic

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beaflower77 · 5 years ago

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Imparati Suparati : Part 1

“They stole my winnings,” indignantly she complained the them.

Looking at her as she stood next to the tethered horses, they could see Beatrice was visually upset, which led the elves to complete and utter confusion. “What? What does she say?,” they asked, questioning with their eyes. “What is she talking about? What winnings?”

“Beatrice,” Lindir interjected, “What are you talking about? We were inside but a moment. What winnings are you talking of?” Looking up at Lindir with defeat and disappointment, “A few moments? You were gone three hours. and my winnings. That I won fair and square, inside that tavern. That Ghostly Abbey Tavern over there,” as she flippantly, angrily gestured off toward the dark brown and gray stone tavern across what was loosely deemed a muddy, murky looking street.

“You realize,” she mentioned, “That is more than just a tavern we’re staying at, don’t you?”

No, actually, they hadn’t. They changed locales.

This town, a rather small but neatly arranged town was in close enough proximity for a few days travel, and had many trading advantages for the elves. They had traveled here to get a sense of the present community. Elrond would be dealing with this small, unique town ever so often and it behooved the elves to know exactly whom and what they would be dealing with, an honest, transparent magistrate, or a shady and shred blowhard like the present one Mayor Turnbull. Either way, this town was in the correct pivotal position for Elf and Mortal alike.

They had sent Erestor for diplomacy, and Lindir for note taking and such. Athlidon and another soldier went as well. Why then did Beatrice need to go? “It will get you out in the sunshine a bit,” Lindir promised on a Tuesday’s ride with a simple smile. “Sunshine?,” she questioned by their third morning out. “If I wanted sunshine, I would have gone to Hawaii Lidir. I am dusty, sweat, hot, and I wuold like to clean my hair. With all this humidity I’m already a mess. I can feel as if I am in the deepest jungles of .. oh, who knows?”

Lindir curiously looked at Beatrice balanced on her mare. Her hair was held together in a short clip, he could see was beginning to droop and come undone. Beatrice was correct, the ride was long, and the humidity at this time of year was thick, dense, and horrid. His mind also reeled in confusion. Hawaii? He just decided it was best to stay quiet, as she spoke like this sometimes. Instead Lindir turned back in his saddle and continued their journey onward. As they rode, Lindir concentrated on his own grooming habits. I would like to clean up as well. A bath would have been lovely this morning, however there will be none until we arrive. I hope there is a comfortable chamber in which to bathe later. For separate baths of course.

They had traveled this particular way because it was supposedly more scenic a route. It wasn’t This route proved poorly traveled, extremely narrow, and dense with foliage. The trees, bushes, provided little comfort for privacy of bodily functions or semi intimate contact. The ground itself was not a proper place to set nightly camps, as it afforded no barrier of shelter or defense. Whoever suggested this way, the elves were dismayed with the route, and lack of reasonable propriety, however it was Beatrice who suffered the most, being female and needing, wishing more privacy. Her usual mood went from content, to joyless, to pained each day. After three days the elves noticed, or more so heard Beatrice’s level of discomfort, discontent, and displeasure. She thought there would be, or should be, a welcomed bath at the least at the end of the night, at most the beginning before each day’s ride. The assumption came from the belief she was promised that before hand. She irritably rode her mare, picked at her nails every so often, frowned, and tried hard at not being snippy. Her horse gave a snort from the dust.

“I could have gotten sunshine at home,” Beatrice complained within earshot of some elves. “Your hair still looks nice,” she grumbled to herself. “Mine is a mess. And I don’t care for riding horses either, except you’re okay,” she confided to her own mare, patting its’ neck and head. Continuing on, “There are bruises up and down the insides of my legs, not to mention ..” On and on it went.

Lindir took note of her increasing disfavor with his early urging she come along. There was little in way he could do to change it now. He should have left her at home, instead of insisting her accompanying them. And during her monthly business Lindir thought was not the best of his ideas this time round he thought.

Lindir had so wished her mutterings to cease, “What were you thinking in insisting I tag along? A little midnight dirty dancing on the dirt? My fat ass.” Athlidon had the unfortuante ability to hear that comment, he wondered what sort of dancing on dirt Beatrice meant, what it felt like, how dirty your feet must become. but with the dawning of his senses coming to him, of Beatrice in the nude, the image made him shudder and gag. Athlidon shook his head to be rid of the imagery, muffling his voice low, “Dancing in the dirt, my arse,” and he clicked his horse up farther. Erester pretended not to notice, and lagged behind Athlidon, leaving Lindir to deal with her instead.

Ah, yes. Lindir was aware of the dirty dancing issues. That was one of the nuances while traveling, and Beatrice was forwarned ahead of time, knowing all elves could easily deal with self control, physically and emotionally. This lovely subject became a nightly game of teasing among them, all at her expense. Perhaps Lindir as well, ramping up his mortification. They weren’t sure. “Have you found a comfortable spot to dance in yet Beatrice?,” Athlidon questioned. She ignored him for the third time. “Does Lindir also partake in such dances?,” he kept on. To which Lindir made an unweighty comment, “I have no idea to what you are referring to Athlidon,” unrolling his bedroll, looking for a flat enough surface.

“I believe it is termed a sexual union Lindir,” Erestor calmly suggested, and continued with, “I am sure you have heard of it. Perhaps the tow of you should go farther up the road. A ways up the road. How long do you think it will take? Or else, if you must, just do it quietly among us.” A look of horror and mortification crossed both Lindir’s and Beatrice’s face. After more snickers and horselaughs ensued, “This is hardly worthy conversation. Especially coming from particular mouths. Good night. I will take second watch.” Another comment, laughter drifted through the air, however Beatrice had plugged her ears by then, rolling her back toward the elves, tossing stones from under her mat aside.

As the days rolled by, the elves could see, no, hear Beatrice’s tolerance thinning out, her emotions beginning to droop. Even Athlidon taking pity tried consoling her. “Cheer up Beatrice. Do you see those thick crop of trees ahead?,” he pleasantly asked, pointing off into the gray distance. “Right beyond is ...” He never got that far, she finished for him, “No. No. Let me guess. Another crop of trees.” Athlidon, slightly offended, looked off in the distance after that, ignoring her mumbling until later that night when she apologized. Athlidon had warned Lindir against bring Beatrice along. Erestor disagree. Beatrice should be there. She would see this particular town from a different viewpoint than they. What better way to get a fair opinion of everything. “This town does hold humans, does it not?” he had asked. “Would not Beatrice have a certain connection with them? Being able to distinguish true from false speech from her own kind? The elves could benefit from her knowledge, therefore she should come along.” Elrond had agreed, Lindir was thrilled, now not so much.

But now, out on the town’s main street, Beatrice had waited, and waited, and waited for her traveling companions to return from speaking with the town’s mayor. However, it was no wonder after waiting so long, standing alone by their five horses, Beatrice’s stomach gurgled and clenched, causing her to decide to seek out her meal sooner in the accommodations they had chosen for the night, The Ghostly Abbey.

However, “They stole my winnings!,” is what her companions now heard.

She explained how she had waited outside for them while people passing by gave her odd looks. How the meal in the tavern was bad, the bread stale, moldy, the fruit soft, the drink had a blob of something horrible tasting in it. She spit it back in the cup, ordered tea instead, something else floated in that as well.She ate an apple, at least it was still red looking. And she explained while sitting by herself, she had watched a threesome of men laughing at a nearby table playing a familiar game. How she had ventured over to look, peering round their shoulders. This game the men played was a similar one played in Rivendell. She could easily play this game. Beatrice could see the correct pieces to move in order to win. It wasn’t hard. She could easily see that which was not visible to them. Beatrice explained she was confused as being part of the tavern nightly help. All she wanted was to be included in the game as well.

She asked to play. They were surprised. They laughed at her. She felt offended, humiliated and embarrassed. Two of the men folded their arms in amused diffadance, however, they were willing to play along, entertain her. she won three of five turns. They were scrambling in their seats. they were annoyed, embarrassed. They would lose their week’s winnings. They changed the rules midstream, she shifted her mindset, began again, and outwit them yet again. Beatrice easily saw what they couldn’t. So they cheated. She lost her winnings. They wiped their hands, threw their hands, shoulder up. That was the chance she took when playing at a man’s game they claimed surprised. Why she ever wanted to play in the first place, to think she could play this game fathomed them. They lied. They said she should return home, fix supper for her husband. Be a good girl now.

“I am not a girl,” Beatrice scoffed. “I am a woman.” Then finding her outspokenness bewildering, annoying and distasteful, “Then you should be home pleasing your husband.” Bristled by that comment, fuck you she imagined saying, for she was the one to be pleasured and toyed with, not the other way round offering submission to anyone else. “My husband,” she primly replied. “Alright.”

Angered, Beatrice stood, looking at two of the three offending men, “I know you have cheated me. I will return to my husband. And you will not like it when I do come back with him. You are jealous, petty and insignificant worms to me. I won that money fair. Those winnings belong to me. Yes, my husband will know.” Stunned and shaken, they watched Beatrice leave out the door. They breathed hard. “Who is she?,” they questioned the other. They were just travelers themselves, not having seen her before today. “If her husband does come, we will simply say, she cheated, or, she misunderstood the rules,” coaxed the one. “We could say she should not have even been here. Not in this tavern. We thought she was a doxy playing us for our coin,” invented the second. The two agreed between themselves, fashioning more excuses.

“Why not just say, you cheated her? Clearly she know how to play better than you,” the third one strongly suggested. “Close you mouth,” came from the other two, “Or we’ll close it for you.” The third moved off repulsed, going so far as to inquire of the mayor.

Erestor listened, they all did. All were most adamant they bust in there to reclaim Beatrice’s winnings, and honor. Such men they chimed. Is this the town Elrond will have to deal with?! Are these the types of people we will have to barter with? Sell to? No! We demand retribution! How dare they treat Beatrice like this!

“Stop,” Lindir insisted. “We cannot just barge in and demand Beatrice’s coin. As angry as this makes me, there must be a different way, some other way more eloquent, more persuasive.” “My Lord Lindir,” Athlidon protested, “Would you have Beatrice forfeit her winnings if she played fair as she explains? Or would you rather she dance before them to earn her coin back?” “No. No. That is not want I meant. I meant ...”

“Lindir is correct,” Erestor interjected, his hand on Lindir’s arm. “Athlidon, let’s you and I go peruse the environment in the tavern. If it is as Beatrice says, there are other ways to combat offensive forces. Tula. There is always a better way.” As annoyed and upset as Erestor was, he dragged Athlidon, one of Rivendell’s most loyal of soldiers off the The Ghostly Abbey, which is how Erestor and Athlidon ended up playing a very eye opening human version of an old Elven game.

“Ah. I see,” pronounced Erestor, sitting, matching skills with the men. “Moving my game piece to the left causes the other moves to become obsolete. However, when I move this piece forward, I not only cause one piece to fall, but a multitude of other pieces to move in its’ place, thereby winning the second hand. And gaining more pieces to work with, more points, and to win more coin.” Erestor took a moment to observe his move and noted the changing of the men’s sly and devious rules. And their faces, as he rapidly learned to re-adapt his skills, despite their best efforts to trick him. “However,” he continued, “I I should move to the right, like such, the rules slightly change, for me, but not for you, and when I move here, you have decided, I do not win. when in fact, I should have.” The men looked at each other. Elves, they concluded. Too smart with the out smarting. “Well, yes, that is one way you play the game, you see.” Looking slyly, “Ah, but that is only one version of the rules,” Erestor concluded. “The rules vary depending upon the players, or their skill level, does it not?” and the men could not avoid his trap. “Well, yes ..”

Hmmm, Erestor learned, they played deceptively well, or badly, whichever way you wished to see it. No wonder Beatrice lost. They cheated. Many times over. What to do now?

He then had an idea. “There is another in our company,” Erestor coolly mentioned while relaxing into his chair. “I would be pleased to introduce you to this player. It may be an interesting game. Why not?,” he asked. The two men looked themselves over. “Alright,” one decided for them both, “Tomorrow night. Here. We will challenge your player.” Countering their decision, “No. Not tomorrow night,” Erestor shot back. “My companion is not here at the moment. In two days time.” Erestor quickly stood before the men could protest or think of another answer. All was agreed. “Good night,” he concluded, nodded and left.

In the meantime ...

Athlidon leaned against the bar. The third man in the company took a sip of lager. “Your friend is good. He’s a quick learner.” Athlidon ruffled, huffed. “And your friends are...,” Athlidon began. But, “Oh, they are not my friends,” the man stated. “I merely traveled here with them during the same time. They were on the same road as I. We shared a few stories, a few drinks, but friend, No. I am merely here on a business venture, I suppose. These men,” the man continued, “are braggarts, cheats.” He continued his drink, picked at the bew berries left on the counter, bat at something flying. “If this were my town, I’d run it differently. There wouldn’t be men like them here.” Athlidon pressed more, “They cheat?,” he casually mentioned. “Hmmm Mmmm.” The man was not drunk, merely more liberated than most.

“There was a player in here the other day, “ he continued. “Was very good. Knew her stuff.I had hoped she would win. They fooled with her. Disgusting business.” “She?,” pried Athlidon once again. “Yes. A woman. Pretty. Petite. Self assured. Very sweet I thought. Don’t see many like her around. I confronted them, but they didn’t seem to care. I have half a mind to wish she would come back, she was fair.” And he smiled shyly. “But I don’t want her to be fooled like that again, besides, she’s married. So, best to leave alone.” He rubbed his nose. “I did speak with the current magistrate about it. He’s leaving, you know.” “Is he?” The two resumed their drink and small talk along different avenues. Athlidon was curious now even more.

Athlidon mused on this information, continuing with his own drink. He would later share this news with Erestor when they were alone. “Yes,” the man warmly mentioned, giving a quick smile. “I was thinking of applying for his position myself.” Athlidon studied the man, took in his full measure. “You? What would you do with a town this size? You realize you would have to deal with the Elven Lord, Lord Elrond. He trades here ever so often I here.” “Oh? Elrond you say? Yes. I know him. Tall, dark hair? Nice fellow. I’ve met him. Good man.” He suddenly knew his mistake, checked himself when Athlidon gave him a curious look. “Well, Elf really.” He then gave Athlidon a silly smile, asking, changing the subject, “You know him?” What was Athlidon to say to that? “I know his name,” and he drank more.

Deciding to stay at the Leof Doe, a different Inn, for the duration they were in town, as it would afford more privacy for all, Erestor let them in on his and athlidon’s observations. “Yes. They cheated. And I believe they forcefully cheated Beatrice. How much did you say you lost again?,” Erestor asked. Beatrice was embarrassed. Not only did she lose her entire coin for the trip, but she was gambling, for three hours, which was probably worse. “Some pfennig. Twenty maybe.” “Twenty?!,” reiterated Lindir, a little shocked she had that much, and lost it all. “Well, that is a bit to lose, but still, it is morally wrong. You have a plan then?,” he asked, turning to Erestor. Beatrice slunk her head down. Athlidon watched. “I hope you do,” Lindir maintained. “I will not stand for this business. Not only will Elrond have to barter and deal with them, but I will not have Beatrice treated so callously by men so opportunistic and skamelar.” Rarely did Beatrice of anyone else here Lindir swear so poetically in public.

Athlidon directed his attention at that moment toward LIndir, taking a step back, raising his eyes, while repeating to them what the man in The Ghostly Abbey told him in confidence. “The third man is not with them. He wishes to be magistrate of this drab town.” Erestor grumbled at that fact. “Then he has much to clean up here for that to happen. This town is a sewage pit.” “By the way, my Lord,” Athlidon brought up, “You mentioned your player was not here, when we were in the tavern. You lied” Erestor unflappably replied to such a silly question. “Of course not. My mentioning my ‘player’ not being here in that tavern, merely meant, my ‘player’, was there, meaning this Inn, which we are not occupying. It was never a lie.” Athlidon let it go again, he was used to this sort of language games.

However, Erestor did have a plan of sorts. “let us keep this to ourselves for now. Athlidon, you and I will go backto the The Ghostly Abbey tonight. Tonare, you will find a better, faster way to get out of this town, if we so need.” Turning to Beatrice he continued, “Beatrice. How would you like to get your winnings back? Perhaps make more as well? Do what I say, and it is almost a guarantee.” She thought about it. “I would rather whip them instead,” she confessed truthfully, bitterly. A graceful smile came over Erestor. “Hmm.Yes. However, mind games are better. And we will teach you the best ones. Agreed?” After she reluctantly agree, Erestor set his eyes on Lindir. “Lindir, a moment in private.”

Following his friend from the Inn, out of earshot from passer-bys, Erestor bluntly threw this down. “Lindir, this is crass of me, however, Beatrice needs something only you can give her. She is angry, annoyed, cranky, starved for intimacy, and I can see, unfocused. Her mind is elsewhere on who knows what again. If this is to work in our favor, Beatrice will need to play and match wits with them. I need her focused on this game. Which means, you need to take care of your wife and her needs. A little shocked, and embarrassed at first, Lindir thought how best to reply to the implications Erestor described. “There is no privacy on the road Erestor. Even if there were, Beatrice is mid month. It would be a mess. The bedding,” Lindir complained. Erestor perhaps thought better, “Is she? Mid-month? You think?” No to be offended or deterred, “It is your responsibility Lindir,” Erestor suggested, “I want her focused. Do whatever she wishes. And outfit her in a presentable dress. When she confronts them, I do not want Beatrice wearing leggings, no matter how much more comfortable she is. They will not see her as a worthy opponent otherwise.” Lindir’s mouth opened, closed, and resigned himself. “Of course. Agreed.”

But then Lindir truly wanted to know, “Can she do this? Can Beatrice truly accomplish this? I would not want to see her further humiliated by being outsmarted twice.” Erestor listened, looking at his friend. He did understand Lindir’s misgivings, however he understood something more concerning Beatrice, and he had thought Lindir knew as well. So, Erestor thought a reminder would be good at this juncture. “Does your memory fail you so Lindir? Do I need to remind you Beatrice sees more that most are aware? Does she not see into the hearts of certain entities? Of certain individuals? Mortals? Elves? Do you discount her abilities? Do you not think her worthy of such an ability? Her perception is her primary source of joyousness. And sorrow both. Tell me you are not unaware of such of gift as this?”

Lindir knew this, still he looked away, uncertain of his allowing Beatrice time with those men, and what it would cost her emotionally if she failed. “I am,” he simply replied. A slight, sad sigh escaped from is lips. “Lindir,” Erestor coaxed, “She can do this. She can sometimes see that which others cannot. You know it is true. You must let her go sometimes Lindir. I am certain, of this, she can accomplish. And she should. It would do her good, she will feel better about herself. Sometimes we all give Beatrice too little credit, and treat her as too little, or fragile a thing.” Erestor put his hand softly on Lindir’s arm, squeezing warmly. “Go, tend your wife,” he said, before going back inside to consider the remainder of his plan. “All will be well. You must trust her.”

Lingering a bit outside, Lindir sighed, closing his eyes. He had to consider Beatrice as independent of him. And in tending his wife, he had also to consider his options, as he was not too fond of mid-month fondling, however. Finally settling on how best to approach his task, lovely but messy, he walked in and laid two coins across the bar counter. “A tub. How water please. Bring it to my room as soon as it is ready.” The Inn maid protested, “But Master Elf, dis the middle of the afternoon. Who takes a bath in the middle of the afternoon Sir?” Lindir unflinchingly again pushed the coins toward her. “A tub and hot water please.” His friends overheard him, they did not quail when he asked, “Where has Beatrice got to?” “The privy. Again,” and they motioned with their heads. He went to collect her. She questioned why. Lindir said not in return. They silently walked upstairs together.

When the night fell, and the dusk took over the sky, Erestor quietly knocked on their door. He was delighted to find Beatrice already dressed in a soft pink and wine, richly velvety gown, loosely cinched with a full burgundy square neckline, showing off her smooth neck. The long bell sleeves bothered her and were continuously being rolled up. “Lovely,” Erestor commented, looking Beatrice over several times, front to back. “Loose but lovely. Very feminine as well.” He had no idea where Lindir had acquired the gown, nor did he wish to know, but nodded his assent to Lindir’s fashion sense. “Ready Beatrice? I have brought two adequate game boards. You will have to compare the same game twice and learn multiple rules which will change depending on these men’s whims.” He smiled charmingly at her growing form. She cringed, wondering what he knew. Erestor set the room and boards accordingly. And waited. “Athlidon and Tonare should be here momentarily,” he stated. “You have been adequately fed and are more focused?” Beatrice needed a moment to understand his meaning. Lindir felt his face flush, drawing in a horrified breath of everyone knowing what they were possibly doing upstairs alone all day.

“Wait a minute,” Beatrice yelped. “I have to play them? Me?” She was dumbfounded. “I thought, I thought this dress, this was just for show,” as she addressed her person. “I thought you could just go in there and demand my money back. That I was just supposed to dress nicely, instead of leggings.” “No,” Erestor gave her. “You will have to play them. If you want your money back, and your honor, you will have to compete for it. And I warn you, they are indeed shady. They are not honest. However I will teach you how to play them to their own disadvantage.” Beatrice sighed, looked at Lindir. “Did you know this?” Stepping closer, “Yes,” Lindir admitted. This business was difficult for Lindir. He did not want Beatrice to be involved in this charade, but he did agree this could be the only way to play a player. “Yes Beatrice. I did not tell you. I am sorry.” What else could he say?

“They intimidate me,” Beatrice whispered her confession to the elves. Athlidon spoke up, “Of course they do. And we will teach you the art of counter intimidation.” She didn’t think it really mattered much at this point, but Beatrice was crestfallen, and it showed. “Cheer up Beatrice,” Athlidon tried. “Do you see those crops of trees over there? Beyond that ...,” “Shut up Elf,” she gave him back. Athlidon smirked in return. “She’ll be fine,” he firmly suggested. Lindir breathed deeply, still not pleased with the whole affair.

#Erestor Fiction #Lindir Fiction #Lindir & Beatrice Fiction #Medieval Games #Leof Doe Medieval For Pretty Girl Goat #Ghostly Abbey Medieval Poetry #Pfennig Medieval Silver Penny #Wag / Clown #Implied Love Making During Perhaps Or Not Menstruation #Imparati Suparati = King's Surcoat #Why Is Beatrice Gambling?#Pictures Coming From Northville and Mackinaw Island and Forks Wa

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drakonics · 5 years ago

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<DIR> // HC DUMP: GENERIC.

/under the cut for potentially disturbing/mature mentions. you’ve been warned.

<o1> contrary to annoyingly popular and recurring belief seto is/was the furthest thing from spoiled given his seemingly polished upbringing and generally standoffish person as a whole. after a watered down past at the orphanage his new life he intended to give mokuba was the very furthest from anything he ever wanted. everything and anything gozaburo ever ‘gave’ him was double edged and even though seto could truly have cared less about the abusive fool inflicting on him he broke his stubborn streak when the bastard truly surpassed all unthinkable lows and began using mokuba as leverage to ensure seto did whatever he wanted. that being said any accomplishments made by seto are strictly his own. he has built his own network of success from the very ground up fully eliminating any and all traces of his ‘father’ over the years ensuring kaiba corporation became something all his own without the stain of adoptive ties to reflect on the company when mokuba someday succeeds him.

<o2> despite being unable to recall the exact events leading up to the untimely deaths of his real parents seto suffers from vivid recurring dreams/chronic nightmares centering around the scattered cause. born to a japanese father and a mother with egyptian roots dating as far back as the ancient days, the two met during an expedition in giza where seto’s father was conducting research on the first pyramids and his mother doubled as a tour guide at the time and was later revealed ( due to extensive research conducted by seto himself ) to be the successor of ancient tomb guardians with blood of the medjay hailing from the old kingdom. fittingly enough seto inherited her striking blue eyes and sinfully soft brown hair with his father’s more stern personality as an opposing trait, whereas mokuba took after their father in terms of looks but maintained their mother’s immovably caring personality. the kaiba brother’s pendants although made by mokuba also contain a second digitally reconstructed and salvaged image of their deceased parents, courtesy of seto’s personal additions alongside the intricate self destruct mechanism integrated in conjunction to the duel tower.

<o3> for all of his top of the line prowess and upkeep with personal/public appearance the greatly esteemed president of kaiba corporation is in fact not in the prime of health. the true meaning of rest is simply lost him and not an option given he is expected to be anywhere at any time whenever the occasion calls for it day or night. seto wages around 3-5 hours of sleep within a 24 period and never manages them consecutively resulting in consistent sleep depravation, chronic insomnia and bouts of sickness. in effort to counter balance the tolls taken on his health seto maintains a strict self-training regimen, a particular diet and coffee in dangerous dependability. when confronted about his overall decline of health seto merely states he will sleep when he is dead and the path he shapes known as his life will never stop regardless if he sleeps or not.

<o4> courtesy of kaiba corporation and his personal profits, seto has officially deemed a select percent of his entire generated revenue in donations to orphanages worldwide. to better the future and generations to come seto believes giving children like him and mokuba a chance to reclaim and successfully live their lives will make the most lasting impact. depending on their schooling success kaiba corporation also offers free admission to the duel academy upon graduating base grade school or fully paid tuition up front for college. as per seto’s endless pursuits in bettering his own technological finesse continue to evolve he is constantly adjusting the prices of all other kaiba related entertainment: kaiba land officially has multiple locations set up worldwide which operate strictly on their own real time via the intricate crystal cloud network. a handful of nature reserves are also in continued production as well as personal cruise lines that offer travel to and from all forms of attraction or personal getaways. all parks and attractions are operated at significantly cut costs to make them more easily accessible and affordable to the people with mandatory pre-release periods, however mainly focal on children in general.

<o5> it is excruciatingly important to note that a bout of sudden ‘kindness’ from seto is hardly true kindness at all up front if at all strictly due to him believing ( and being forcibly taught by ) that kindness is an immediate show of weakness. at many points seto was beaten by gozaboru whenever he cried due to the afflictions gozaboru made on mokuba. as such was just proclaimed another weakness gozaboru refused in a heir, seto grew to resent tears and emotions as a whole, effectively crushing his own as a detrimental drawback. lack of proper upbringing paired with a stunt in social growth since childhood effectively cut him off from normal development one would have according to generation and therefore seto suffers from severe social impairment and is unable to make emotional connections. many defining factors of his tyrannical business front and hellbent on remaining top-of-the-world persona were injected by gozaboru himself and forcibly imprinted ( to the point of both physical and mental ) abuse that carried into and ultimately tarnished his adulthood. seto has been put through more forced consumation attempts than he cares to count in one lifetime, compliments of gozaboru wishing to extend his own corporate clutches and influence via other rich or corporate owned families worldwide. attempts that have scarred seto to such a degree he is wary of women in general and utilizes sex in itself as a power play and tool and inherited gozaboru’s manipulation in the form of trauma ( as if unwanted sexual occurrences and attempted assassination efforts were not enough. ) adding to his already fiercely independent and withdrawn personality, seto firmly believes others will never simply approach him but that they all have an underlying motive and purely intend to use him because of his position, wealth and grand success; a defining paranoia that has sadly been proven time and again throughout the course of his arranged future successes which only further contributed to his inability and overall unwillingness to trust, forging the cold settlement that most if not everyone is out to hurt him so he fully intends to shut them down and hurt them first. while even but a fraction of his trust is ten times hard earned and rarely given, seto is loyal to a fault and would staunchly go to the very ends of this world and the next if it means protecting anything ( or anyone ) he cares about.

<o6> although official records state seto dropped out of high school by choice, gozaboru withdrew his son seeing his intellect was years beyond what modern day education was capable of on the falsified notion that seto himself was above normal schooling and destined for much greater. in reality, gozaboru already knew seto surpassed him in every way possible and despite having groomed him as the perfect heir to someday succeed him, implemented a planned attempt to murder his own son in fear of losing his company and having everything taken from him. gozaboru attempted a number of recurring set ups in attempt to separate mokuba from his older brother and kill him off long before deciding seto was a liability, attempts that Seto was not only fully aware of in entirety but also planning a counter measure in turn. while it is known seto effectively manipulated the big five against gozaboru in conjunction with his inhumane treatment towards his own subordinates, official records state gozaboru was driven to suicide and took his own life by jumping out of the window of kaiba corporation’s presidential office on the top floor. the unpublished truth remains undiscovered to this day: seto turned gozaboru’s own murderous machinations against him and killed the man himself solely based on the belief that he was merely giving back everything that bastard ever gave him and his little brother. thanks for nothing, gozaburo.

<o7> officially unreleased to the public and deemed solely for his own personal use, seto’s next generation of neurons links him to an encrypted network constructed with any and all depictions of ancient egyptian lore he has personally salvaged in effort to hopefully someday fully piece together the ongoing mysteries shrouding his past life and any ongoing connection he clearly has to the departed pharaoh. utilizing the original state of the art bleeding technology seto has successfully constructed a subconscious research vein dubbed the STEM, allowing it not only to connect with and create images solely based on the user’s brainwave activity but fully reconstruct scenarios based on their dreams and fleeting visions. In its final stages the STEM places the user in a catatonic state by integrating itself directly into their central nervous system and works in perfect conjunction with the nervous system to provide real time feedback, lifelike sensations and produce results generated directly from either. by diving his subconscious, seto has been able to place himself at the heart of many scattered memories pertaining to his past, effectively allowing him to ‘re live’ or experience certain occurrences as his past self, courtesy of obtaining DNA sequences in unorthodox means. ground breaking as it is the STEM is it hardly comes without its immediate faults and dangers as it forcibly dives into genetic memory and imprints at an alarming and often much too realistic rate. as the centered drawback of reproducing a near immaculate 3D world and structure at will, due to the overall strain placed on the user’s body their vitals are continually monitored and the system is set to cease immediate operations should they fall beneath the natural threshold of safety.

<o8> prolonged use of the STEM has adverse and potentially life threatening side effects, one such that seto has deemed the ‘bleeding edge effect’ where the user will experience severe bouts of hallucinations caused by the user’s past life memories ‘bleeding’ into the present and can cause permanent mental disorientation or push the user to insanity if proper rest between sequences and extended safety protocol is not met during use and after. unbeknownst to seto himself by linking to his ancestor and diving his subconscious to the egyptian afterlife he has unwillingly attached the soul of his past incarnation to himself, effectively transcending the plane of digital space and dimensions alike. by utilizing this alongside his breakthrough with the quantum cube, seto has ultimately forced his own soul and that of his priest side to exist as one in present day.

#❐┊DATA ENTRY: CMD PROMPT!#MY INTELLECT IS UNPARALLELED!#PERSONAL DIRECTORY!#catch me writing whole novels up in here #fight me

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the-uptake · 5 years ago

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Concrete Boxes Made of Ticky-Tacky

The Uptake, With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence. Book III, Chapter 9. Go to previous. Go to next. TW: Disaster area navigation. That’s not suspicious at all.

_________________________________

A month after Central Day, Tri-City announced acceptance of the initial wave of returning citizens, public transportation filled to capacity which was dedicated to just the task of easing the displaced out of Manhattan Premier. On the triple-decker bus headed to Level 10, ‘Choly’s wheelchair wedged up close to Cecil’s seat. Albeit grateful to be rid of the impermanence of the Hillock Plaza and its Overflow, none of the bus’s passengers felt any reprieve from the dread of uncertainty ahead.

“There’ll always be another page of billing,” Cecil finally sighed. He glared at the screen in the front of their floor’s cabin, as it looped instructional clips how to proceed upon returning home. He shifted in his seat at ‘Choly’s slowly elongating face. “We’re increasingly tethered, through lack of choices otherwise, to federal aid programs. Billing is the least of my worries. How the rolling sector housing provisional care will pan out is a definite concern. But what we’ve been allotted is all we’ve got at the moment. We don’t even have a ‘who’ or a ‘why’ yet. So we’ve got to make do.”

“It’s a long time before we have to worry about moving,” ‘Choly offered unhelpfully. “Silver linings, that we were federal employees, I suppose. Surely five years’ provisions will be long enough for them to get Central repaired, or even replaced.”

“It’s less that we don’t have to move, and more that we can’t. That’s probably the one thing I’ve signed off on in the past month that I straight up can’t stand the thought of.” Cecil squirmed in place to straighten in his fiberglass seat. “Look. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s all we’ve been discussing for days, between getting packed up and speaking with the FEMA attorneys. I’m going to turn off my ears until we’re at the complex, okay? Try out your new reader’s headset, get used to it. Chill a bit. We both need a chance to unplug from this shit for a moment.”

Cecil put a hand to ‘Choly’s knee, then used his other hand to gesture along the surface of the thetic halo to free the handshake. The faint glowing of the circuitry within the translucent organometallic structure encircling his head went dark, and he slouched back with a slow grunting exhale to stare out the window.

With a pouting nasal snort, ‘Choly pulled the bone conduction headset from his diamond bag, unfolded it, and slipped it on. He had many ways in which he envied Cecil’s survivorship. Here and now, he most envied the feature of his boyfriend’s accommodations which enabled him the ability to unplug from unpleasant discussions. He did wonder if Cecil had any theories as to motive and perpetrator, but despite all the time they’d already had to discuss the Central bombing, Cecil always conveniently found the means to sideline the subject in favor of just about anything else. But this felt nothing like how Cecil had withheld from ‘Choly that the Fulton Mass and the Supermarket Geek had been one in the same, despite vocal interest in both Web sensations. He could chalk up Cecil’s behavior to the traumatic nature of such an experience: Cecil had, after all, survived an explosion which destroyed a majority of the building which housed the city’s largest concentration of servers, networks, and energy sources.

Maybe ‘Choly was being insensitive, forcing Cecil to talk about it any more than he had. It was one thing, to disclose secondhand information about a tragic event, but another entirely to have been directly involved and impacted to the extent as his other half.

So he focused on fidgeting with the new reader. The model nearly felt like a totally different type of technology compared to the reader ‘Choly had had for eight years leading up to Central Day. His last reader had been rooted and customized to his specifications, and he’d had all the settings just as he liked them and hadn’t had to adapt to a new model or interface every four months like the Levelers. This reader had nothing in common with his last one, barring the fact they were both readers. Last time he’d tried to set it up, to his chagrin he’d figured out how to handshake the cube tray wrist loop to the reader storage. It had no mounted cube tray, and he hated it, but he’d just have to deal. He still couldn’t figure out how to pull up the screen’s keyboard, and the Web settings were greyed out where he couldn’t edit them. The notifications reminded him on the regular that the reader’s operating system awaited pending updates. He couldn’t turn off these reminders, either. His jaw tightened.

A hybrid slasher sounded like an easy distraction at first, since he knew they had a long transit ahead of them, but he knew he couldn’t focus on a film in his mental state. As he set his music cubes to shuffle and adjusted the volume of his headset, he realized that the reason he couldn’t access Web settings was because Web in Tri-City had ceased to exist. Can’t pull up specs on a dead network. He swallowed and Cecil let him hold his hand, joining him in watching the cityscape flicker by around them.

He had to look at the time on his reader to be certain of the time of day, because the trichotomy of the rolling blackout made it impossible to tell just by the qualities of the neobrutalist building surfaces. Tesla Incorporated had divided the city into sectors five levels high and roughly one mile square. Primary sectors aligned with the first shift of midnight to eight in the morning, secondary sectors with the second shift of eight to four in the afternoon, and tertiary sectors four to midnight. The city already reflected the effects of the roll. Projected adverts and running lifts animated the active secondary sectors. Charged Wolfram concrete alone illuminated the stretches of yawning primary sectors. And tertiary sectors lay dark and silent, as they had not yet received any returning inhabitants. They’d have to get used to the Tesla employees, vehicles, and equipment now a present and constant sight in Tri-City for the indefinite future. Only emergency vehicles, public transportation, and ShipShop drones shuttled about the thoroughfares.

The denizens of the bus had all come from HP and HP Overflow. ‘Choly got stuck surveying the survivors. He didn’t often feel much camaraderie with strangers, and it dulled him to find himself reflected in the angles of others’ segmented thetic limb prostheses and cosmetic reconstructions, and the haggard fabric of their faces. He wondered if they, too, experienced the sense of this othering unity, like they all belonged to a new class of citizen altogether, when they regarded his wheelchair, and his leg brace. He shook his head of it and assumed no one else would entertain this brand of nonsense.

His eyes lolled in dismissal of his mentality, silently cursing out those living higher than Level 19. How dare they have access to solar energy? He had never really given the upper crust much thought or attention, but in that moment, his sentiment throttled him to tremendous jealousy. The disaster had all but not affected them. Besides the loss of Tri-City specific Web broadcasts, ‘Choly couldn’t think of a single way the Twentisomes didn’t simply go on as they always had.

He sneered. Except those in the Newark Bay area, of course. But somehow, ‘Choly was jealous of those evacuees most of all. They’d been affected by the bombing more than any survivor. Only the block directly adjacent to Central, Levels 5 to 19, had been evacuated until the reactor explosion. FEMA thought they had the nuclear facility under control, only for twenty thousand civilians to get irradiated by four of the nine reactors melting bottom-out. One of the four exploded outright, sending two reactors into the bay with it. The entire Newark Bay would be in a permanent state of phosphorescent excitation until federal employees could seal up the waste fuel and any irradiated debris. Newark Bay survivors would remain under the care of Overflow facilities throughout New Jersey and New York for indefinite supervision and medical care. ‘Choly had been glued to documentation of this nascent exclusion zone, and he endeared it as though some transcendental slurry of ghosts trapped in place for centuries to come.

The bus let out at its next Level 10 stop, this time in Journal Square. Everyone unloading here retrieved their luggage from the under-bus cargo, and besides those who lived on Level 10, they filed out to the public lifts appropriate to their final destination. Tesla operated the lifts with on-site generators dedicated just to this mode of public transportation, already acutely aware of not just the heightened necessity for vertical mobility, but also the varying injuries the returning population had sustained. Almost too graciously, the power company, cooperating with federal emergency agencies, had taken injury and disability accommodations into consideration, and extended all the help they could within the apartment complexes for those who could not simply take the stairs once they were on the right level.

‘Choly removed his headset, and Cecil turned his halo back on. Cecil pulled a piece rolling luggage behind them and put the smaller piece in ‘Choly’s lap, and pushed ‘Choly along inside the public lift. Once the lift was to its five hundred occupant capacity, the Tesla worker ordered the pocket doors shut and they were on their way to Level 15. Fortunately for the pair, they would exit on Level 12 about fifteen minutes later.

The facade of their apartment complex crawled with advertisements for ShipShop’s new drone program. They filed in with about a hundred of their technical neighbors, and waited in line for the Tesla-operated elevators. Many of those who had the option grew impatient and dragged themselves up the stairwells rather than wait ten at a time. When ‘Choly and Cecil rode, only eight could fit from the wheelchair, and the Tesla employee cited space and weight limits. At the last minute, a heavyset tall blond man in a white bodysuit and a thetic with insectoid quadrupedal limbs squeezed their way into the elevator, its ninth and tenth occupants.

Everyone in line yelled and groaned at him. The pocket doors shut, and the Tesla employee slapped him in the chest. The thetic’s heavily stylized mannequin-like holographic features swiveled around to apologize to the group in the elevator without turning its cylindrical head.

“Did you not just hear me, ShipShop?” the operator snapped. “You of all people should know better than to push capacity.”

“We just got off shift.” He rolled his eyes and slicked back his short sweaty hair. “Gimme a break.”

“Please forgive him, if you could,” the thetic insisted with hesitant posture. It telescoped itself tight up into the back corner of the elevator to occupy the least amount of space possible. “We’ve had a particularly dicey day of it.”

The Tesla employee ignored the pair and addressed the other eight people.

“Floors, everyone?” She instructed the elevator as indicated.

“–Wait.” ‘Choly couldn’t decide whether to stare at the ShipShop employee or the thetic, whose upper half very clearly had once belonged to some manner of public transit autopilot system. “You already got back home? You sure you’re in the right building?”

The blond shoved his gloved hands in his pockets with a matter of fact slouch.

“Never left. ShipShop associates weren’t allowed to evacuate. Ninth floor, by the way.”

The Tesla worker jammed the button a second time for emphasis. ‘Choly and Cecil both flinched that he lived on the same floor.

“That’s sure an interesting customization,” Cecil commented of the thetic, not making eye contact with either. “ShipShop approve that?”

“If you let me help you carry your luggage,” he sleazed, “I’ll tell you all about it.”

‘Choly flipped his sunglasses down and shrank in his chair. Despite obvious body language that ‘Choly disapproved, Cecil nodded and shrugged with a bored frown.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Not sure why you’re offering to lug anything after what you said was a particularly awful shift, but I imagine not too many of the neighbors we knew before all this are coming back. Might as well get familiar with our floor mates.”

The ShipShop employee tried to take the handles of the wheelchair to shuttle ‘Choly along, but Cecil shouldered the man away and gave him the luggage. Cecil pushed ‘Choly, and the blond let out a hesitant chuckle as he let the thetic carry both the rolling luggage and the carry-on from ‘Choly’s lap, trawling along on its four long spindly legs.

“A natural redhead, then, I’m presuming,” he grinned as he trailed along behind them.

“You were saying?” Cecil quipped, not looking back.

“Oh! Angel here?” It let out a digital chirp when mentioned, but said nothing. “It was the navigation system of the ShipShop delivery truck I was working on April Fools, but it crashed on the Lincoln Skybridge. ShipShop wanted to scrap it ‘cause they faulted its navigation matrix for the six-car wreck. Funny how I haven’t met a single person who had a good night on the First, right? Anyway, I smuggled it into the taxi that picked me up before crash collection could haul it off. Been working on it all month. It’s given me something to busy myself with, mostly alone here. The legs are a work in progress, but it’s pretty great, right?”

“Gives me the creeps,” ‘Choly blurted out with a sharp saucer-eyed sniff. “Fff. Franken-thetic.”

“Giving him the creeps is a good thing,” Cecil translated wryly. “I’d be lying if I said I weren’t a little impressed.”

“What are those legs even from?” ‘Choly continued, fidgeting.

“That’s my secret.” The blond grinned. “Name’s Jacob, by the way.”

“Cecil. And this is Melancholy.”

“Jus’ ‘Choly’s fine.” They got to Cecil’s door and ‘Choly glanced to Angel. “Hazarding a guess. Those legs are somethin’ salvaged from a yard on Level 2.”

Jacob straightened in place, not blinking for a moment while he processed the theory.

“Now that’s an interesting thing to suppose.” He whet his lips and pressed them together. “I guess I could say you answered one of many questions, by asking one of your own.”

“He’s on the level.” Cecil gestured for Angel to relinquish their luggage. “Though I wonder if you are.”

“What coy dialogue. I was right to help you along to satisfy my curiosity. Is it just the two of you here?”

“Yes– Wish I could say one way or another if it’s been a pleasure.” Cecil shrugged gratefully at the thetic. “Thank you, Angel.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. I was just acting on Jacob’s behalf.”

“I don’t like sayin’ stuff besides what’s meant,” ‘Choly started with a frown. He glanced both ways down the hall. “Why did you follow us? You didn’t just want our impression of your robot.”

“910-B. We’re down at 925-B.” Jacob eyed the apartment door. “You said it yourself, Cecil. What’s the matter with helping a couple of my floor mates get settled back in? We were going the same way.”

“Do let us know if you need a thing, will you?” Angel swiveled behind Jacob to the other side, trying to nudge him along, its features flickering anxiously. “Jacob keeps odd hours, but if we’re present, we’re more than happy to be at your beck.”

“Right. Y’all need help inside?”

“We appreciate the help, but I hope you’ll understand that we’re not inviting you in at the moment.”

“I’ll come borrow a cuppa glow later then.” Jacob kind of hopped in place and gave them a jerking salute with his left hand, his head askew. “I’m gonna go crash.”

“Goodnight,” ‘Choly called out after them jokingly as they walked off without further circumstance. He double-checked the time on his reader. Not quite three in the afternoon yet.

Jacob thoughtfully mumbled Melancholy under his breath, just loud enough to be heard.

Cecil already had the door open before ‘Choly noticed, and shoved him inside to use the wheelchair to prop the door open. He dragged the luggage inside. A good number of lights and appliances were still on. ‘Choly wheeled himself down the hall track to the kitchen, and spaced out in disgust at the thought of what the void of electricity might have wrought of the living space. He realized he was staring at the coffee carafe in particular. Cecil abandoned the luggage in front of his reading chair and joined ‘Choly in the back half of the apartment.

“I don’t like him,” Cecil remarked.

“I do. He’s just weird enough to get stuff. The. The coffee maker.” ‘Choly sniffed, and pushed his sunglasses lenses back up. “That half carafe’s been brewing for a month.”

“I’m not looking forward to investigating the fridge. We’ll deal with that later. Promise me if Jacob or that thetic come to the door, you won’t answer it. –Think it’s stuffy in here, or is it just me?”

“I promise,” ‘Choly echoed dully, registering the remark to the air quality. “Guess the HVAC hasn’t got working full swing quite yet.”

“Hopefully it’ll get circulating soon. It’s hot and… not dusty. Stale? in here.”

“Agreed.”

Cecil tried the faucet in the kitchen, eliciting a deep groan in the wall and little else. Then he tried the bathroom sink, and finally the bathtub faucet. A successful splatter of stale-smelling water spilled out into the tub, and he let it keep running, hoping to jog the plumbing a bit. He stared at the water for some time before leaving to fish through the kitchen cabinets, and returned to fill the one large resealable container they had on hand. He also filled a drinking glass and smelled of it before sipping it. When it passed his inspection, he filled the next two largest containers as well. All the while, ‘Choly had retrieved his cane from beside him and righted himself, leaving the chair in the kitchen to flop on the daybed. He pushed everything off the bed that he’d strewn about trying to quickly get ready to meet Augen for lunch a month ago, and readily dozed off. Cecil let him rest while he unpacked to distract himself.

“I’m thinking ordering dinner from ShipShop,” Cecil half-asked, half-announced from across the apartment. “Chinese?”

“Mm? Yeah. Sure.” ‘Choly took off his glasses and rubbed at his face. “Guessing that’s our main option until they get the lift situation hashed–”

The walls of the building hummed in decline, and everything fell dark. Only one of the two long walls of the apartment had exposed Wolfram concrete, and ‘Choly and Cecil just sat in place trying to accept this phase of the rolling blackout.

“–out.”

“Guess I’m done unpacking for now.” Cecil sighed. “We should buy some more Wolfram installments. One wall isn’t gonna cut it long-term.”

‘Choly got up and made the executive decision to open the blackout curtains over the window which took up the entire outer wall of the apartment. He stared out from where he stood with a difficult brow.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing the city only lit by the concrete,” he murmured.

“We’re inside. It’s fine. Come on, tell me what you want for dinner. The Web reception tanked with the power. I’ll go up to the rooftop kiosk and order in person. For once I’m glad we’re on the ninth floor of a twelve story building.”

“Let’s split something with shrimp.” ‘Choly started to walk toward Cecil, but stopped short. “I just put a finger on why that guy followed us. He recognized me.”

“From where?”

“The wreck on the Skybridge. He saw me and Augen walk away. Fuck–” He tugged at his sweatshirt in the twilight. “I’m even wearing the same shirt I was wearing–”

‘Choly could hear Cecil’s agitation mounting.

“…How were you two involved in that wreck?”

Go to Next »»»

#biopunk #cyberpunk #dystopian #postapocalyptic #robotics #the uptake #with symbiotic self indulgence #concrete boxes made out of ticky tacky #ticky tacky #melanochro kara #george cecil #angel #jacob thorn

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cloudtgfreewritingblog · 6 years ago

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My Opinion of Pewdiepie vs T-Series

Who hasn’t heard about it? The “battle for subscribers” to be the top subscribed channel on YouTube... it is a very popular subject. I’ve actually known about the subject because... I’ve occasionally spotted people in the comments section for many YouTube videos promoting either channel. And of course videos would occasionally appear in either the recommended or trending tabs related to those topics. So I had a relative idea that there was a battle going on for many months, but I never understood the context of the battle. Honestly, I hadn’t really paid any attention until like a month ago, and I did not want to get actively engaged in the highlights of the story until like 2-3 weeks ago. It wasn’t important to me back then. But it is now, that’s why I’m going to talk about what I’ve learned, and how my opinion has formed.

So before my awareness of the existence of the “battle”, I only knew the existence of Pewdiepie. I had originally subscribed to his channel back in 2014, mostly because I watched and liked his gaming collaborations with other YouTubers. I liked watching gaming videos with collabs, and after seeing his history of videos it made sense to watch him. As his channel transitioned to less gaming, I lost interest so I stopped subscribing to him. Not sure when that was, but it was probably around 2016... Probably. Idk. I don’t have a history book of every moment of my life, so I lack that information, but I know I unsubscribed. After that point, I almost never watched any video of his other than the occasional 2-3 in a year that would be very relevant to me. And I was aware that journalists were trying to frame him as a bad person, either being greedy or racist, based on who he was and the content on his channel... or occasionally based on what other people did.

So anyways, once the “battle” was being promoted, I didn’t initially notice it occurring. Sure, I might’ve seen comments on YouTube mentioning Pewdiepie vs. T-Series, but I kinda ignored them. Or rather, dismissed them. I didn’t really understand the meaning nor the context of the battle. And it wasn’t really that relevant to me. I also had absolutely no idea who or what T-Series was. To me, I just assumed it was another gaming channel. It’s kind of laughable that was what I thought it was. So... who is T-Series?

Obviously, Pewdiepie’s competition. Okay, bad joke aside, it turns out T-Series is actually an Indian music channel (not to be mistaken for Native American). In India, it’s known as a big music corporation. From my understanding of what I’ve read, India has been starting to transition to the online world, and the number of people with mobile phones has grown rapidly over the past several years. T-Series has been working with YouTube/Google, and so it isn’t surprising that its consistent rise in subscribers correlates with the amount of people in India being exposed to the online world. I do wonder if T-Series is just focused on being the top youtube channel that does music videos, or if it is interested in doing content that is more culturally globalized. Just as a side note, I know that it made a deal with Amazon back in 2016 to do some movie production, so I know that music isn’t its only service, but it is its primary service... at least as far as I’m aware.

Anyways, let’s get into the controversy. Yes, there is controversy, and there’s only a small amount because T-Series has not reached headlines over a span of years as Pewdiepie has. No surprise about that....

Anyways...

T-Series is a corporation whose goal must be to profit... because a business that cannot make money will lose money... and those who lose money will not survive. So it should not be surprising that I read an article from this past December about a story of T-Series trying to tax evade. In particular, Indian tax officials had come to T-Series because they were not paying taxes. After searching their documents, they learned that T-Series were storing their taxes in other places... like New Delhi... or the U.S..... Basically the purpose was to store them in another place like a tax haven. It was hard to understand the context of the article because I’m not certain on how tax havens work, but I think the article said that they had some employees have registered residences in other places, and used them as a place to store their money. I could be wrong in my understanding of the article that I read, but that’s besides the point. T-Series is acting just like any big, greedy corporation that I know of.

Of course, T-Series seems to have a shady background, but unfortunately the background of this information seems too.... empty... to bring up as relevant points, but I’ll mention it anyways. T-Series started up in the 1980s as a business selling pirated cassettes. Nice. Assuming this is true, that means that this corporation was making money off of the hard work that others created... Is my bias showing yet? Lmao.

Anyways, just putting in a side note that Pewdiepie’s recent video congratulating T-Series for passing him had mentioned that T-Series had sent him a cease and desist letter, basically accusing Pewdiepie of defaming T-Series. It’s a powerful initiative that corporations usually take to stop the actions of critics that have the power to give them negative press. I say powerful, because in the U.S. usually the next step would be some sort of litigation, or some lawful proceeding that would take place in some sort of court. A collaborator of Pewdiepie’s video had said (well I’m paraphrasing here) that the letter itself was just ridiculous, and the wording of the letter made them believe that T-Series doesn’t even know what defamation is. Of course, since at this time we don’t actually know what the letter actually says, there’s no way for us to determine if we can agree or disagree with their assessment.

There’s one more interesting piece of information regarding T-Series: they had removed Pakistani pop artists’ music from their channel. This was a reaction to the standoff of India and Pakistan... which are some military bombing skirmishes between the two countries which started in February. Due to this initiative by T-Series, the pop artists reacted by marching on their streets and telling people to unsubscribe to T-Series and subscribe to Pewdiepie. Ignoring the artists’ reaction, I wonder why T-Series acted the way they did? Now, if there were artists promoting bad music, it would make sense to remove just the music or the particular artist. But all of them? If this was the action of a single person, this would be considered racist and would have blown up. But it hasn’t. After all, this is a corporation. Their objective is to make money. As an Indian company, I’m guessing that they didn’t want to be involved with the politics surrounding the situation, and so they cut off their involvement with Pakistan. I wonder if it was worth the risk on their side...

But I’m more interested in talking about the man that has intrigued me for a long time. Pewdiepie.

Everyone wants to either love or hate Pewdiepie. For those that love him, he’s an entertainer, a gamer, a funny guy, a kind person. For those that hate him, he’s greedy, a racist... And what do I think? Well, honestly I have to separate the audiences to two types of people - the ones who are relaxed, chill, not serious; and then the others who are serious. So yea, the not serious people and the serious people. That’s who I think they are. The not serious people love pewds, and the serious people hate on him. The serious people tend to be goal-driven. These people have brought up controversies about Pewdiepie, and right now my objective is to debunk the theories... at least I’ll try to. I’ll probably fail though lol.

Proceeding onwards...

The first controversy is that Pewdiepie is greedy. Mainstream journalists would argue that he is money-driven. I’m sure that the Pewdiepie that started his YouTube channel, back when he was working at a hot dog stand, was thinking that he was going to get rich making a YouTube channel. Yea, he definitely only wants money, when over the past several years he has donated to several different charities, which the total monetary value accumulates to over a million dollars. I’m SO sure that T-Series has a similar record, despite the fact that there is no record of them ever donating to any sort of charity. The most recent charity that Pewdiepie has done... well hold the phone because I want to get into the next controversy or two before talking about it.

The second controversy is that due to the “battle of subscribers”, loyal fans of Pewdiepie decided to actively promote his channel. Some would do it in legal ways, some in questionable ways but not harmful... but a small number would do it illegally. Pewdiepie condemns these illegal actions. I mean, I definitely would if I was in his position. I would be acting out of self-interest because I wouldn’t want to cause myself more trouble, and I’d rather not cause trouble for someone who enjoys my content. Anyways, the worst happened about a month ago. I don’t want to go into the details, but a mass shooting took place, and the person responsible for it had been promoting the channel leading up to the event. The people who decide to illegally promote the channel are causing themselves trouble, and potentially giving mainstream journalists an excuse to blame Pewdiepie for the actions of others.

Realistically, Pewdiepie does not have any control over the action of others, especially if he does not directly communicate with them. At most, Pewdiepie could be considered a role model for his subscribers who adore him. So I can definitely believe that his existence will influence those that watch him. But journalists should not take that one single influence as the primary blame for the action of others. If Pewdiepie was truly promoting this bad behavior, wouldn’t we be seeing far more illegal actions on a global scale? Not just a few, not just dozens, but either hundreds, thousands, or tens of thousands a day? Obviously not. In my mind, I now personally believe that any attempts to attack Pewdiepie are goal-driven attempts to label him as a bad person.

Which brings me to the final controversy - he’s a racist... or so the mainstream journalists and the haters would say. They have the strongest evidence to push this type of propaganda, so that naturally makes it harder to argue against it. Naturally I’m the type of person who just wants people to get along, and doesn’t want anything to do with hate speech... Therefore, trying to defend Pewdiepie regarding this subject has to be the most annoying thing I’ve ever done. But it will definitely give myself a chance to know how to deal with this sort of subject in the future.

The evidence of the controversy lies within his videos. And just to clarify, the intent of Pewdiepie’s videos is to entertain, or to be funny. That’s the type of channel that he is. It isn’t a channel that people are supposed to take seriously. It should’ve been obvious from all the goofiness and childish screamings that anyone could see from his channel over the years. But anyways, in some of his childish schemes, he occasionally says things or does things that, in a different context, could be considered to be racist or offensive. It doesn’t really help him that he went on fiverr a while back to ask for some childish services. If it was for any context other than providing entertainment for his video, then his actions could definitely have been considered racist. That’s why it is understandable why some people providing services on fiverr did not provide their services, because they believed it would breach the service agreement. That’s not the only time people have labeled him as a racist.

Remember the diss-track video B****-Lasagna? I’m going to be honest, I’ve listened to music 2-3 weeks ago a few times, but I have absolutely no idea what is in the lyrics. However, knowing Pewdiepie, the intent is the same as always: be childishly funny to entertain his audience. It’s obviously not meant to be taken seriously. This didn’t stop haters and journalists from pointing it out. It also didn’t help that his subscribers starting acting like Pewdiepie, and started making jokes that could be seen as racist towards Indians. That’s why Pewdiepie made a bold decision. I’m betting he was worried that his subscribers would end up being divided. Remember how I mentioned that I would talk about another charity? Pewdiepie started a charity that would donate to a service for nine-year olds in India. I don’t really remember the details, but I recommend anyone interested researching the details yourselves. You won’t really find the details from haters or mainstream journalists.

Pewdiepie obviously is almost never serious, and is acting childish to be funny. I mean, who seriously wants to be serious? There are only a few videos that Pewdiepie tries to be serious, and when he does, he just can’t help but make a few childish jokes here and there. Probably because it’s hard for him to be serious. I think it’s fair to me to assess that for the most part he isn’t a serious person. I also think it’s fair for me to say that he doesn’t care about what happens to himself, but he worries about keeping his subscribers out of trouble when it is significant enough and relates to himself. Honestly, I cannot really find any bad intent from Pewdiepie.

So just getting back to T-Series real quick to summarize their controveries... They had tried to evade taxes to maximize their profits. As a person who despises the current system of economics in general due to my personal moral reasons, I generally consider corporations as bad because they do business with their consumers, but don’t give their fair share of taxes which are partially used to give back to the economy. As a company who started by selling pirated cassettes, I can’t really be surprised that their moral grounds are so low, or maybe they’ve never given this any sort of moral reasoning (this is my bad attempt at giving them a benefit of a doubt). Additionally, they sent that cease and desist letter to Pewdiepie. I don’t think that they’ve gotten any damages from anything Pewdiepie’s done now that I think about it. On the contrary, I think they’ve only gotten more subscribers, more money, more popularity and headlines... So I really don’t think they have a case for defamation. It just sounds like an attempt to make Pewdiepie stop or an attempt for them to get as much money as possible. Finally, they removed the Pakistani pop artists’ music videos from their channel due to the standoff between India and Pakistan. It could be understandable if they were obligated to do it due to politics, but honestly... it just makes no sense. There’s really no context to it. The real problem is that T-Series is just too big of a mystery and its actions are just too shady. There is really no historical context surrounding T-Series (at least outside of India).

As it stands, I support Pewdiepie far more than T-Series, which is why I subscribed to him 2-3 weeks ago... That was right before T-Series struggled over a few days trying to take 1st, before finally getting into first, only for Pewdiepie to release his final diss-track, and as of now pewds is ahead by over 150k. So that makes me feel pretty good about the situation.

Regarding T-Series... I’m going to treat it like any corporation or political entity. If it expects to be treated better than Pewdiepie, then honestly, it needs to express its humanity. I don’t even know what good things they do outside of their regular services. They really need to begin from scratch. Start by expressing its moral grounds, and base its business goals around its sense of morality. Secondly, start being more transparent... about everything. The more transparent, the better. If it’s got a good morality, being transparent would only benefit itself in the eyes of the public... And if it’s got a bad sense of morality... Well we’ll know because it’ll continue being shady and a mystery. I expect people that want to know the truth of T-Series to seriously start investigating everything they can about it. If T-Series is good, it’ll be naturally transparent and it’ll be easy to learn about it and its employees. If it isn’t, they’ll be hiding their secrets and it will require lawful investigations, like in the case of the tax officials, to learn about them.

So in conclusion, my opinion has been formed. Pewdiepie and T-Series have their controversies, but Pewdiepie’s can at least be reasonably explainable, while T-Series is just too big of a mystery. I’ll give my trust and subscription to the YouTuber that I’ve seen develop over the years, who I’ve seen grown as a person (albeit still regularly acting childish in his videos)... On the other hand, I’ll definitely be keeping a close eye on T-Series. The “battle for subscribers” will be continuing on for some time, and everyone wants to know who will reach 100 million first. Some of my time will be invested in observing this, so... yea..

P.S. Regarding sources, I’m too lazy to mention sources, but wikipedia is a good place to start... Pewdiepie vs T-Series... You’ll probably have to search for Pewdiepie charities somewhere else though, although I didn’t try his wiki page. Anyways, I’ve been working on this for 3 hours, time to rest... G’d day.

#sub to pewds #pewdiepie vs. t-series #congratulations

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