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dornish-queen · 4 years

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Pedro Pascal: “I already took all my drugs very early. In middle age, a hangover is not an option ”

When he was approaching 40, he resigned himself to having sporadic papers that would allow him to pay the rent. But playing Oberyn Martell in 'Game of Thrones' changed his life and opened the doors of 'Narcos'. Since then it has not stopped. Now he's the villain from the blockbuster 'Wonder Woman 1984'

JUAN SANGUINO

THE ANGELS OCT 2, 2020 - 3:19 PM EDT

The first big opportunity of his career was presented in 2011, when he participated in the pilot episode of Wonder Woman for NBC, but the network discarded the series and Pedro Pascal returned to his main occupation: casting castings to play the criminal of the week in the Law and order of duty. “That cancellation was a disappointment, of course, I wanted to work. I did not care if it was something good or bad, I just wanted to work, "he recalls today from his home in Los Angeles during a virtual conversation with ICON. Now Pascal plays the villain of Wonder Woman 1984 , one of the blockbusters destined to return audiences to movie theaters .

How can you not believe in fate? The boy who broke his arm twice playing Indiana Jones has ended up becoming the favorite hero of the kids (the bounty hunter in The Mandalorian ), his parents (Agent Peña in Narcos ) and, well, everyone's. world (Oberyn Martell, The Red Viper, in Game of Thrones ). When Pedro was little, the good guys were always white and the bad guys were Russian, Arab or Latino. The Wonder Woman 1984 villain , however, is a white billionaire played by a Chilean.

“The film is set in the United States of the eighties, which were marked by capitalist greed. It was a tainted concept of evil. Stripped of humanity, but still absolutely attractive and alluring. People who dreamed of being rich and successful had to be salivated. It is true that at that time villains in the cinema projected a xenophobic image. Now the white man can finally be the bad guy, ”explains Pascal.

Some already compare his character, Maxwell Lord, to Donald Trump because of that muck in this mud: Reagan's glorification of rogue moguls in America turned guys like Trump into aspirational role models and glamorous stars. “Trump was not the core of inspiration for my character, on our costume designer's board were Gordon Gekko [Michael Douglas on Wall Street ], American Psycho's Patrick Bateman and other suckers in expensive eighties suits. All those millionaires who hid despair, unbridled ambition and terrified masculinity ”, he clarifies. If Pedro Pascal sounds like a socialist infiltrated in Hollywood it is because that is exactly what he is.

“When Reagan was elected, many people around me were frustrated that the worst forms of capitalism were winning. In my home, with refugee and socialist parents, conservatism was not demonized but it did go against what was important to my family, ”he says. Pascal's father, José Balmaceda, was an Allende supporter doctor who saved the life of a priest wounded by Pinochet's militia .

The priest was later tortured and ended up confessing the name of his savior. When the police went to look for Balmaceda at the hospital where he worked, he took his wife and the newborn Pedro and jumped over the wall of the Venezuelan embassy in Santiago de Chile to request political asylum. That's why Pedro ended up growing up in San Antonio (Texas), in a socialist home but in Reagan's land. A Chilean with no memories of Chile who was called Peter in high school.

At the age of 20, Pascal was in Madrid working as a go-go and keeps good memories. Here she is wearing a Prada sweater. Photo: Danielle DeGrasse-Alston / Realization: Warren Alfie Baker

The Chilean-born but US-raised actor wears a Paul Smith sweater and suit. Photo: Danielle DeGrasse-Alston / Realization: Warren Alfie Baker

Pascal has never left the immigrant mentality behind. Even his father, who came to open a practice in California, always lived in terror that at any moment everything could vanish. “It doesn't matter who you are, how much you are working or how much you get paid. Deep down you always think that each job is the last one ”, confesses the actor. Maybe that's why he didn't dare move from his Red Hook, Brooklyn, hovel to a house more suitable for a Hollywood star until filming for Kingsman 2 and Narcos was over . Nor is it that he had spent more than an entire week at his house since, in 2014, Game of Thrones made him the guy most people would want to party with.

Pascal knew right away that Oberyn Martell, the Westerosi rockstar who always seemed willing to fight or fornicate with the same bravado, was going to change his life. “I had done a lot of castings for friends' plays, for copier factory ads or for very serious independent films that no one was going to see, while I watched how many characters that I had been about to play changed the lives of others. actors. And thanks to my experience and maturity, I recognized the potential of Oberyn. I understood who he was and who he could be ”, he presumes.

The actor found out about the audition when one of his acting students told him that he had taken the test but had been discarded because of his youth. Pedro snapped up and must have thought, “What would Oberyn do?” So he recorded a video on his phone and sent it to his good friend, actress Sarah Paulson . She passed it on to her good friend actress Amanda Peet and this one to her husband, David Benioff, one of the creators of Game of Thrones . The rest is the history of television and headaches: when he informed the Narcos producer that he was available to play Pablo Escobar's pursuing policeman, he accused him of making a spoiler for Game of Thrones: If Pascal had a free agenda, it is because Oberyn was going to lose his fight against La Montaña . He couldn't imagine, of course, in what way.

Part of that electric, lively and hedonistic energy of Oberyn comes to Pascal from the summer (that of 1996) that he spent in Madrid, where in addition to studying he worked as a go-go in a disco. That stay was transformative because the actor realized that he had had to adapt his identity all his life with each new move, but in Madrid he felt effortlessly at home. “I was 20 years old and I liked it so much that I almost moved. My main language is English, I have an American accent and I can pass for white. But in my house there were many cultural differences with respect to the outside world and I remember that when I was 20 years old, when I came to Madrid, I felt very comfortable in my own skin in a way that I had never felt anywhere else. I guess I was not aware that I had spent my childhood and adolescence learning new ways of adapting, connecting, learning, and pulling. On the contrary, living in Madrid was organic and easy for me. I made friends right away and I felt supported, ”he recalls.

By the time he was 40 Pascal was resigned to being an actor with enough odd jobs to pay the rent. According to him, his aquiline nose was a bad nose by Hollywood standards. Far from being offended or frustrated by this typecasting, he was looking forward to it, if it translated into a new check. “It is very strange to develop a fantasy as a child, to have the opportunity to turn it into a hobby, then some studies and finally transform all that into a career. That is the bet. But my dream of becoming Leonardo DiCapriodied. He died dozens and dozens of times. So to move on he had to accept that, at best, he was going to be an actor with a job. That was already a triumph, "he says. "Also, I accepted that I was not qualified for anything else, I had no more skills: I had put all my time, my energy and my concentration in being an actor and the rest in living life and having fun."

That absence of vanity lives on today, even when he's been involved in large-scale projects for five years without stopping. After Game of ThronesHe has made eight films, of which seven are action blockbusters. The wave of fame came to him when he was no longer expecting it but when he was well prepared to ride it. Still, every workday is a surprise and she acknowledges that what amazes her most about Hollywood is the sheer physical stamina that people have. “Sometimes a project can look like building a city, with all the hours, all the work and all the energy it requires. Some people have better stamina and can get by with little sleep. That is an interesting contradiction: all the people creatively involved in a film have a special sensitivity and at the same time have developed a very tough skin and energy to go through the physical experience of shooting it, ”he admires.

Then Pascal switches to Spanish (the language he uses to confess intimacies) and explains, in a few words, that he is old for this shit. “I thought I had all the energy in the world and now, in my 40s, I see that ... wow! There are times when I don't know if I will be able to reach the goal, because my energy is not at the necessary level. But I always take it forward ”, he guarantees. Maybe that's why people get so high in Hollywood. Pascal responds between laughter and again in Spanish.

“I already took all my drugs very early. It is something that is already too much in the past, and in middle age a hangover is not an option. No, no, no ”, she assures. What if the other hangover, that of the wave of fame, runs over you? “I was a good waiter. Not at first, because they fired me many times, but I ended up getting the hang of it, ”he jokes. If the Hollywood thing doesn't go well, you can always put drinks again. But for now Pedro Pascal is the personification that the American dream , although sometimes it takes a little longer to materialize, really exists. Even Ronald Reagan would be proud.

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#pedro pascal #el pais icon #whole article

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aserethstorm · 4 years

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The Galaxies inside jars🌌✔️

Levihan +104th Royalty Au Part 2

[Also available on AO3!]

______________________

Hange meets an old foe, the same one storming the depths of her dreams ever since.

Lucky for her, this time she isn’t alone.

———————————

There’s a giant wall of fire in the distance...

Rapidly rushing closer...

The air around her is burning, scorching her lungs every time she breathes.

Panic is evident. It’s present in the screams behind her.

She’s scared too, terrified...but she’s also never felt so sure in her life.

If only...

“Hey, four eyes.”

Hange gasps, body shaking as she pulls up from her rest. Horrified eyes glaring at the pale wall in front of her, the white paint illuminated by the moon.

This is not a port , she utters the words out loud. Engraving them deep into her soul. Admitting her consciousness to the reality in front of her.

It’s doesn’t ease the tension though, as trembling hands grip the covers beside them, the same ones that have now slid down to her waist.

“This...It’s always....”

Hange doesn’t continue, favoring the action of rubbing her left eye instead. She feels the damp wetness that pooled with it. Sniffing she puts her hand down, turning over to glance at her side.

She sees Levi. His chest to the bed exposing his firm back, heaving like the tides in the sea, their shared coverture concealing his lower torso and his well-defined arms swaddled the pillow where his tranquil face, nestled in between.

Hange smiles, thinking how tired he must be to be sleeping so peacefully and unperturbed in this moment.

The Royal Court must have drained him , she assumes.

Moving closer she places a light kiss on the side of his brow. For some unknown reason, the pounding headaches of flashing pictures in the form of her dreams. Events that Hange is sure, that have never happened fades as soon as she feel his life. The sharp scowling features that bore the weight of an entire kingdom, body heavy and scaled by the responsibilities of his people is the same one that is healthy and safe by her side.

Just as she pulls herself off. A sharp cry erupts breaking the humble silence, soft mumbles at first growing louder and louder-

Hearing the noise. Levi lifts his head, instinct making him tilt to its direction. A low groan escapes his lips as his body pleads for him to stand. Hange quickly pushes him back down.

Drowsy with sleep Levi stares at her through blurry grey eyes half begging to be closed. “Sleep. I’ve got this.” Hange whispers. That was the only affirmation Levi needs for his head to meet the pillow once again, his body relaxing as his breathe steadied to a soft rhythm.

The night was still high as Hange pushed herself off the chaises, peeking through the curtains of their balcony. Viewing for a moment the empty night sky with only the moon at its display.

She then makes quick steps towards the cradle on the other side of the room. Reaching out to embrace the tiny bundle in front of her. The baby screaming her lungs out like their life depended on it.

“Hisu, come on now...” she pleads softly, rocking the baby side to side to calm her down. A beautiful mess of tears and blonde locks with sky blue eyes.

Ackerman genetics are truly amazing. Hange momentarily admires, her heart swelling at the image as she continues. Rocking back and forth, she glides across the smooth rug to no avail. Hange decides to resort a different tactic, pulling Historia close to her breast.

The baby pushes away her effort, wailing louder.

The Queen in amidst of panic tries to hum lullabies (where the words were barely uttered) and when that didn’t work Hange swayed her body gently to an imaginary ballroom song, that didn’t either.

It takes a whole minute of peppering before Hange decides to slip on her night robe, draping Historia in a bundle of warm silk.

“Now...Let’s get a move on shall we?” Hange grins, earning a second of curious silence from the child in her arms. Putting on her glasses she exits the room barefoot.

The floor is cold just as expected but Hange doesn’t mind just grateful for the needed distraction her 11-month-old baby provided for her on the spot.

She strides the castle’s familiar halls with determination. A plan set as her gears began to churn to distract Historia with every ornament or painting they come across. “Look here Historia.” Hange beckons, stopping in front of probably the 5th painting they’ve come across.

To the queen’s credit, the tiny princess did stop in her weeping, as if she were waiting patiently for her mother’s explanation. Hange mentally pumps her fist every time Historia does it before proceeding to thoroughly describe it to her, extending her vacant arm to trace its lines.

“This...now this one Hisu is the battle of the titans, a historic movement! Naked men and women battling for territory, all the while-actually let’s move on to the next.” They leave the premises quickly, Hange mentally slapping herself for exposing her month-old infant to the concept of nudity. When was that even there?

Dammit...if the children saw this.

Hange quickly takes note to take down that painting by daybreak. Historia seemingly wanting the opposite, extended her arms forward. Calling out to the tapestry behind them. “Gah!..”

“No Historia...your not ready for that one.” The Queen murmurs as a chubby hand slaps itself across her face, knocking the glasses off the bridge of her nose. Halting, Hange secures her hold of Historia. Reigning the rampant infant before subduing the child in her own blankets, like a cocoon.

Holding her baby in front of her. Hange levels her gaze. Meeting the devil’s eye. Hange adjusts her glasses before saying...” mommy can only handle one naked butt at a time, sweetie.” Historia makes a face, an expression one can muster at months old. The tiny princess sticks her tongue out, ratting her mother in their own lie.

“Okay, maybe two” Hange scoffs, rolling her eyes at the annoyance and Historia for the first time since she cried, giggles. Hange’s whole face lights up at the sound, squealing she brings her daughter close to her lips. Blowing the infant's cheek making her elicit more of the sweet noise.

“Your majesty!” A voice invades, interrupting the short-lived moment as both mother and daughter simultaneously turn their heads to the stranger.

Flinching at the newfound attention the person quickly steps forward. Positioning themselves where the dim lights of the corridor could expose their features. “My apologies your majesty, I was not expecting to see out at this hour.” Her voice trembles and Hange is waft with a sense of familiarity, now pinpointing the attendant in front of her.

“It’s alright, your name’s Nifa right?” Hange waves as she pulls Historia close to her chest. Nifa looks up nodding, “Yes, I was just assisting Mrs. Jaeger with the children your majesty.” Hange nods and the young woman continues. “I hope you don’t mind your grace but they insisted on sleeping together.”

“The kids have just slept?”

“Oh no, your majesty! They slept at their usual hour, we just stayed behind to clean up.” Nifa clarifies, waving her hands frantically at the monarch. Hange smiles, the infant in her arms watching her carefully. “Thank you for your hard work today Nifa, please get some much-needed rest” she beams. Nifa smiles, relieved at the situation she bows before bidding Hange a good night.

Nifa was far down the hall when Hange hears the soft yawn. Her eyes widening as she looks down to the little blonde in her arms. “All that crying must have tired you out eh? Don’t worry I know a place where we can go”. Historia stares, her big blue eyes wide with fascination.

The handle clicks and Hange strides forward, entering the large fray. She easily spots the mess of bodies in one of the giant beds. With a twist of limbs and a handful of snores, Hange senses them all as she pushes away strays of hair before bending down to give each one a peck on the head. She places Historia somewhere else as she works her way in untangling the mess. A tedious process as she uncapped legs and unchained arms from one another.

Once satisfied with her work she carries Historia, bringing them both onto the pile. The baby at first was confused at the sight, noising her frustration.

Only once seeing Connie’s hand she awed, reaching out to hold it. Hange grins, spooning them all whilst protecting Historia from any of the kids' sudden movements.

Peace comes naturally to the queen as their noise lull her back to rest. The pesky nightmares locked away in the darkness of her mind for now. This is nice. She sighs, reflectively pulling them closer, embracing a dreamless slumber.

The sun peeks through the mountains lining the distance, bringing with it a light purple and yellow. Blinking Jean pulls up, the young boy yawns stretching his arms uncomfortably over his head. His early risings have been a habit born out of instinct. He pulls off the blanket, throwing it over Sasha who was beside him. Scratching his back he looks around, shrinking when he meets a pair of gunmetal irises staring right back.

Hange is the next to follow. Bringing herself up she lazily wipes off the little remnants of drool before meeting Jean's gaze, who was situated on the other end of the bed.

The boy cocks a confused brow “Mom?!” He mumbles, turning back quickly to something in between them. Hange follows his gaze, eyes slightly widening at the saturated figure seated on the large chair.

Levi sighs, resuming a straighter sitting position. His nightwear hanging loosely on his figure. Hair half disheveled as strands of his black locks ruffles at the tips.

“Uhmmm...Levi?” Hange questions tilting her head curiously to the side. Levi glares at her and Hange almost immediately understands, the feeling evident when a smile spreads across her cheeks. “What are you doing here?” she chuckles, It doesn’t stop her from asking the question though and Levi crosses his arms. Jean witnessing the display between his two parents hung his mouth lose.

“I find both my wife and youngest daughter nowhere to be found. What did you expect?” Levi answers, tone gruff and defiant he turns his head to the window unwilling to meet her gaze. Hange swears his pouting and the queen couldn’t help contain the boisterous laugh that escaped after it.

She accidentally awakes the rest of the children up. “Wait-Huh???” Connie says flailing his arms as his eyes adjust to the newfound brightness. Mikasa glares at him then at the depressing figure in front of her. Levi seeing her aggravated look glares back, the two ravens immediately locking into a heated stare.

Their gaze broke once Hange stood up from the bed, walking over to Levi and handing him Historia. The little princess still in deep slumber, unaffected by the rest of the family's commotion. His gaze softens, caressing the baby’s cheek. Hange leans over leveling her burnt honey eyes to him, she grins.

“Mission accomplished.”

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pandoraborn · 4 years

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BORN TO RISE

Chapter 7 (AO3 Link)

Content: Injuries, hospital visit, drugs, mention of bruises, self doubt, SBI family fluff, mention of kidnap Characters: Philza, Tommyinnit, Wilbur Soot, Technoblade Word count: 3521 words

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It’s the feeling of fingers in his hair that has him stirring. He’s still half in a dream, and he can imagine those fingers to be from some long-forgotten parent that no longer exists. Tommy imagines a mother singing to him, but the voice whispering to him is too deep to come from a woman. The voice does have the benefit of sounding familiar, so Tommy struggles to blink his eyes open. He’s still far too sleepy to really move around much, but he focuses a blurry gaze on the figure sitting by his bedside.

“Hello, Tommy.” It’s Phil. He’s wearing a gentle smile, and the setting sun coming in behind him is still too bright to be allowed; Tommy’s squinting and turning his head away.

“Phil?” Tommy’s own voice is still too groggy and weak. He’s trying to remember how he ended up here. It’s clearly the hospital, if the sterile aura is anything to judge. He wishes he were at home in his own bed, but at least the hospital bed is comfortable enough for him to stay put for now.

“How’re you feeling, son?” Phil gets up to close the blinds, providing an instant relief. “You’ve been asleep for some time now. Your brothers will be happy to know you’re finally awake.”

Oh. He remembers now. He’d gotten seriously hurt in a training session with Dream. The entire past few days is nothing but a large blur, but Tommy does remember vividly how determined he’d felt toward the end, and how much he still wants to prove himself. It shouldn’t have ended like that.

Flinging an arm across his eyes, he lets out a heavy sigh, not sure what to feel anymore.

“Tommy?” Phil gently moves his arm to the side, and Tommy’s vision blurs again when he sees the concerned expression on Phil’s face. “Are you hurting anywhere?”

“No.” It’s mostly true. Aside from minor, vague aches, Tommy can’t feel much. He assumes it’s because of the drugs in his system, and he knows there are drugs. One does not get admitted to the hospital without being dosed with a plethora of painkillers. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me that,” Phil says. “George called me after you and Dream were admitted, and I came as soon as I could.”

“How long was I even here?”

“About a day or so,” Phil responds. “You’ve been asleep. Sedated, I think. The doctor said every time you woke up you cried out of pain. I heard you took a heavy fall.”

Tommy breathes out slowly. He remembers the fall too well. Falling into a ravine, having to tend to Dream, venting his frustrations... “Yeah. It fucking hurt.” He tries to manage a grin, but it feels lopsided, and Tommy can feel the sluggishness weighing him down again. Tommy doesn’t want to sleep though, he wants to stay awake and talk to Phil. After days of not seeing his family, he wants to spend as much time with them as possible.

“Phil, can I ask you something?” Tommy asks. He watches Phil for a reaction, and gets one in the form of a tilted head and a curious hum. “Why did you let them take me?”

“I think this is a line of questions and answers that’s best left for when you’re feeling better.” Phil’s too good at keeping his voice gentle. “I will tell you though, I am proud of you. I heard from Bad that you did great for your first run. I know how much you’ve been wanting a chance to prove yourself. I’m very proud of you.”

Tommy’s eyes water. It’s the words he’d been wanting to hear for ages, but it feels so hollow right now. Like Phil is only proud of him for doing something big, and not just proud of him in general. There’s no energy left to clarify what Phil actually means, but he can guess what the answer is. Tommy realizes that Phil probably wants to hear ‘dad’ just as much as Tommy wants to hear ‘I’m proud’, but Tommy can’t bring himself to say the words.

“I should go to sleep.” Tommy turns away again, letting depression settle over him. Instead of wishing he was back at home, he’s now wishing he could go back out into the plains and practice speedrunning again. His fingers are itching to craft tools and see how fast he can run this time. It’d be far easier now with all that experience and knowledge under his belt; it’d probably even be easy to accomplish it with all three members of the team chasing after him.

“Tommy, listen.” Phil reaches over and pats Tommy’s shoulder. The teen scoots closer unconsciously, not wanting that comfort to end. “I mean it. I’m proud of you, alright? You’re my son. It doesn’t matter what you do or what you don’t do, I’m always going to be proud of you. I don’t say that enough, and you need to hear it.”

“Thank you.” Tommy’s voice is cracked and hushed. Tears are forming, and he hastily tries to wipe them away, telling himself it’s just the drugs in his system, and not actual emotions. “I just…” The words trail off there. His mind blanks out as soon as the words are out of his mouth, and that’s when Tommy knows he needs to go back to sleep. A pitiful expression is thrown toward Phil, who laughs. Phil goes back to threading his fingers through Tommy’s hair, sending the teen into a more relaxed and sleepy state of mind. For the first time in days, Tommy feels safe and comforted.

“Go to sleep Toms. You’ll be able to go home soon. Your brothers will be happy to see you, alright?”

“Mm.” It’s all Tommy can manage now, and before long, he’s asleep. He doesn’t remember his dreams, but that’s alright. He’s with his dad, and that’s what’s most important.

Whump.

“Tommy, oy.” A finger prods at his cheek, and Tommy swats at it irritatingly. He’d been having a dream about doing parkour in a swimming pool, he’d like to go back to that dream. “Tomathy, wake up.” The finger prods at him again, forcing Tommy to blink his eyes open.

Wilbur’s standing over him. He’s wearing an annoyingly bright smile on his face, the kind that makes Tommy want to shove his brother’s face into a pillow. Groaning, Tommy rolls over onto his stomach, still too out of it to remember he’d already been checked out, and had fallen asleep waiting for a ride.

“You can sleep at home, you know. I’ve come to take you there.” He can hear Wilbur leaning in closer, lowering his voice as well. “This is a dream, Tommy. You’re asleep, and you’re having a dream. You’re dreaming of… of ice cream! You want ice cream. Maybe if you cooperate with me, I’ll buy you some on the way.”

This gets his attention. Pushing himself upright brings a new wave of pain, but Tommy grits his teeth and keeps silent about it. If Wilbur knew Tommy was still hurting, he’d probably try to keep Tommy here a lot longer. Home is far more ideal than the stupid hospital. It’s been what, close to two days now?

“What was that thud earlier?” Tommy grunts. Sitting up makes him feel dizzy. At least Wilbur is nice enough to offer a hand out for him to grip onto. “Did you trip over your own feet again?” He takes the offered hand and tugs on it, pulling himself to his feet. The head rush has Wilbur tightening his grip on Tommy, because he’s dangerously close to falling to the floor.

“It wasn’t a bang, Tommy. I was setting something down on the nightstand.” Wilbur chuckles. “You’re alright, yeah?” The expression on his face is more concern than amusement. Tommy nods without saying anything, though he glances toward the door to indicate where he wants to go.

“Alright.” Wilbur nods in response. He picks up the phone he’d set down. That’s probably the whump he’d heard, it only sounded loud because he’d been asleep. “We’ll get you a milkshake on the way home, alright? You look like you need some.”

“I barely remember anything while here,” Tommy grumbles. “I remember changing a little while ago, and then I guess I fell asleep again.” Oh yeah, his nurse had checked him out already.

“You’re on...I think Phil said a few different painkillers. I’m not surprised you’re feeling loopy right now.” Wilbur puts a hand on Tommy’s shoulder to steer him out of the room. “Also, I already grabbed everything that belongs to you. All that’s left is to go home.”

“Where’s Phil?”

“He had to run a few errands today. He should be at home by the time we get there, so don’t you worry.” He guides Tommy out of the room, down the hall, and toward the exit. Wilbur only lets go of Tommy to open the doors for him, before guiding him out to the car.

Tommy sits and stares at himself in the rear-view mirror. He’s still a mess: covered with bandages and bruises that are fading, but still visible. He looks high, clearly still on pain medication and it visibly shows in the way his eyes are drooping and bloodshot. Turning the mirror away, Tommy resigns himself to staring out the window during the drive.

As promised, Wilbur does stop to get him a milkshake. It’s chocolate, which is okay with Tommy, though he would have preferred something more fun to drink. At the very least, it’s something he can remember putting into his mouth. By the time they arrive home, Tommy’s already mostly finished drinking it. It’s not solid food, but Tommy’s not feeling very hungry anyway. He’d rather go to bed and sleep off whatever drugs are still in his system.

It takes a few moments for him to get out of the car and inside the house. He stops right in the entry, glaring at the house in general. Everything comes rushing back to him; he’d gone to bed one night, and woke up in the middle of a forest. No one had bothered to come looking for him? Had all three of them known where he was the whole time?

He remembers the strange looks he’d gotten from Wilbur and Techno his last night here. Of course they knew. Phil had known. Phil had given permission for Dream to kidnap him. Did that mean his brothers had given that same permission?

Anger rushes through him, stronger than any exhaustion or pain. No longer is he leaning against Wilbur, now he’s pulling himself away stiffly. His trust in his own family is shattered; they’d put him in danger.

“Tommy?” Wilbur sounds concerned. It seems to click a second later, because he clicks his tongue. “Shit. Phil?”

“I’m here!” Phil calls out. He appears in view a second later, wearing a grin on his face. The smile wilts when he sees the furious expression on Tommy’s face. “Hi, Toms. Welcome home, are you alright?”

“You let them take me,” Tommy says flatly. “You knew what they were up to, you knew they were going to kidnap me, and you didn’t tell me.”

Phil lets out a heavy sigh. “You just arrived home. Come sit down, please. I owe you a conversation.”

“I don’t want to have a conversation,” Tommy mutters. “I want to go to bed.”

Wilbur makes the decision for him, by pushing him toward Phil. Tommy stumbles, but Phil is quick to grab at him. “Wil, don’t push him around like that. Tommy, please sit and talk to me.”

Tommy tries to pull back, but Phil tightens his grip on him, guiding him toward the sofa. Sitting down, Tommy squeezes himself into the corner of the couch, glaring at the ground.

“I knew you wanted it,” Phil starts off. “I don’t have any other way to excuse my actions, but we all knew you would want it. You like trying to prove yourself.”

“So you let him kidnap me?”

“The focus shouldn’t be on that,” Phil says. “You’re right, I should have talked to you before it happened, you should have been able to go willingly. We know you though, you’re too afraid to take risks when we all know you’re dying for a chance to rise above us. We can tell it’s got you down.”

Hunching forward, Tommy scrubs at his face. His breathing is quickening, causing his chest to tighten, and he knows he’s on the verge of tears. “I’m never going to be better than any of you,” he admits. “You three are legends. I’m just some dumb-”

“Hey.” Wilbur’s speaking now, Tommy can feel him drop on the couch next to him. “You’re not a dumb kid, alright? You never give yourself any sort of credit, so yeah… we messed up by not talking to you about Dream’s hand beforehand. That’s entirely our fault.”

Tommy grips the edge of Wilbur’s sleeve, realizing he desperately needs some sort of comfort. All his defenses are starting to break down, leaving him feeling vulnerable and helpless, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep the tears at bay.

“I just… I just want to be good,” he whispers. “I’m useless, I’m reckless, and they...I hurt Dream. He’s never gonna talk to me again.”

Wilbur responds by wrapping both arms around Tommy. “Hey, you’re not useless, you’re a damned prodigy. You’re my brother, Tommy. You’re so much better than you’ve ever given yourself credit for. You work hard, you play harder, and you’ve had so many shining moments in the championships. Why are you so hard on yourself?”

He curls into his older brother, letting the dam break. It’s hard to speak for the longest time, though Wilbur is helping by rocking him back and forth. There are so many ways to explain where he went wrong, but the words aren’t coming easily.

Though Phil seems to understand well enough to take a very accurate guess.

“Is it because you feel like you have to compete with us?” Phil asks. “Something about not being good enough, because I adopted you?”

“Oh, Tommy’s home?” Techno’s voice drifts down from upstairs. Tommy immediately pulls away from Wilbur, wiping at his eyes. He can be soft around Wilbur, but Techno is even more of a legend. They love each other, sure, but Techno’s name is the biggest in the league, Tommy still feels intimidated by him, even now. “Heyy, Tommy!” Techno appears at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a thin-lipped smile on his face. “Heard you were coming home from the hospital today… are you crying?”

“Shut up Blade,” Tommy mutters, turning his body away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“He’s having an inferiority complex,” Wilbur stage-whispers. Tommy swats him in the shoulder for that, earning a giggle for his efforts.

“I am not,” Tommy snaps. “We’re talking about how you all fucked up and betrayed me.” He shoots his tongue out at Wilbur, but wilts at the look Phil is throwing at him. “...maybe a little talk about how I’m not good enough for this family.”

“Bruh, you got Dream’s attention,” Techno points out. “Dream doesn’t up and recruit just anyone. I had to chase him down at one of the championships to get his attention.” He rolls his eyes, but sits on the floor in front of Tommy. “If you’re good enough for Dream, you’re good enough for us.” He sounds so confident. It’s so easy for Techno to be confident, he’s a god among gods. There’s no hope of Tommy ever coming close to catching up to his level of skill. At least, that’s what’s currently on his mind.

He rubs at his eye with the heel of his hand. “It’s my fault Dream and I ended up in the hospital,” Tommy reminds him. “Everyone says it behind my back, when they think I can’t hear them. That I don’t listen, I’m too loud, too reckless. Or worse, even too bossy. I’ve heard people say I talk over all three of you too much and that’s why I drag everyone down.”

“Are you seriously taking all that to heart?” Wilbur asks. “Tommy, everyone talks crap about everyone else.”

If this is meant to be reassuring, it’s not working. Tommy buries his face in the arm of the sofa with a dramatic wail.

“Okay no, that’s not what I meant. Let me backup a few sentences.” Wilbur chuckles, but grabs at Tommy’s arm to pull him upright. “Tommy, look at me. Are you looking?”

Tommy faces him, then looks past him at Phil, then finally turns his gaze down toward Techno. All three of them are here, and whatever Wilbur’s about to say has to be important, because they’re all here, and they’re all being so nice to him. It’s overwhelming, because he can’t remember the last time the four of them had sat down for a serious conversation like this.

“Tommy. You’re our brother, you’re Philza’s son. You have to stop comparing yourself to us, you have to stop trying to live up to an impossible standard. It’s impossible to reach because not even we are up there. Not even Dream is up there. You know us, you know us more than you think you do. You know Dream, and Sapnap, and Bad and George now. What have you learned from your time with us, and with them?”

“...Sapnap was kind of a dick,” Tommy mutters, once he thinks everything over. “Bad was annoying, and like...Dream was... “

“They’re human,” Wilbur finishes for him. “We’re all human. We’re not super gods or unreachable. You can’t keep trying to measure up, because there’s nothing to measure up to. You’re already there.”

“Yeah, like. Tommy, c’mon.” Techno starts laughing. His approach seems more lukewarm than Wilbur’s, but Tommy can hear the care in his voice all the same. “You’re really good in the championships. You brought up all the negativity surrounding you, but you’re completely brushing over what good things people’ve said too. You’re a great leader, you fight hard, and you’re really good at taking people down. You’re seriously a force to be reckoned with. If you were really that bad, I don’t think Dream would have picked you out of the crowd.”

“It’s not Dream, is it?” Phil asks quietly.

Tommy shakes his head, confirming their suspicions.

“Oh, Tommy.” Phil breathes lightly. “Of course we love you. You’re more than enough for us. There is no ‘good enough’ or whatever you’ve gotten in your head over the past few days.”

“I want to prove myself.” His voice is shaky, but he’s not crying as hard anymore. “You…you’ve never said you were proud of me. I never knew why you adopted me, I just felt like I had to go into competitions and... and I just…”

“I adopted you because I liked the charisma you had,” Phil says. “And still have. You were a little boy who laughed in spite of the hardships in life, and I wanted your spark to brighten my own life. I never intended to force you into anything. I love you as you. Whatever you do with your life has to be your decision, I’ll be proud of you regardless.”

“You mean it? All of you?” Tommy sits up straighter now. A weight feels like it’s been lifted off his chest and shoulders, and while it’s a nice feeling, it doesn’t change the fact that Dream probably won’t talk to him again.

“Of course. And if you’re still worried about Dream and his team, I can give them a call for you. Perhaps we can arrange another training session, with your permission this time. I’ll not make that same mistake again.”

Tommy nods, finally. He’s ready to go to bed, feeling wiped out all over again. “Yeah. Thanks… dad. I love you too.”

“You called him dad!” Wilbur cheers. “You actually called him dad!”

It takes a minute for Tommy to remember he’d always avoided that word for whatever reason. This conversation had been more therapeutic than he’d expected, so he slumps back against the couch. He’s too tired to really pay attention anymore. Phil’s reaction is hard to miss though; the man looks surprised and near tears himself.

Phil’s clearly happy about the sudden shift in mood though. He’s doing a good job of hiding it as he gets to his feet, moving around Wilbur and Techno to reach for Tommy. “You seem sleepy,” Phil points out. “Why don’t you have a sleep and relax for a few days? We’ll get in touch with Dream and see if we can’t try again?” Tommy nods at the offer. Getting to his feet, he leans against Phil, letting his father guide him upstairs and to his room.

This time, Tommy doesn’t have to worry about waking up somewhere strange. He feels whole and light, much better than he remembers ever feeling. With his family behind him and cheering him on, he’s pretty sure nothing can drag him down again.

19 notes · View notes

notquitecanon · 4 years

Note

hello! i hope you’re doing well and staying safe!! i was wondering if you could do a imagine/fic where y/n is also in the bau and gets hurt on the job, and spencer is super worried, protective and sweet when they finally find her? thank you so much!! i adore your work and honestly can’t wait to read loads more!! 🥺👉🏻👈🏻🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

This is way longer than I anticipated. Sorry I got a little carried away.

TW: uh, blood, guns, basically if you can’t watch criminal minds, don’t read this??

_____

Everything hurt as you started to come to, confused and out of it. Slowly, you remembered what happened, raising a shaky hand to find warm, sticky blood on your temple where you had been hit. It was hard to keep your eyes open, even the dim lighting of the basement was too much for your throbbing head. Nevertheless, you pried them open and looked around for anything you could use against your attacker- who, at this point, was undoubtedly the unsub.

“I knew filling in for JJ while she was on maternity leave might be a little more dangerous than teaching at the FBI academy, but I didn’t expect to get hit in the head just for showing my badge- I know I retired from the field early, but I used to get a lot farther before someone tried to hit me.” You thought, wincing as you tried to sit up- everything from the neck down was hurting, “What did he push me down the stairs too?”

Finally, you were able to push your self so you sat against the wall- which you tried to ignore the dark red smeared and splattered stains on- as you heard the unsub stomping around upstairs. If you strained you could barely hear him talking to himself, definitely delusional, those are the most dangerous types. Delusional or not, he knew you were FBI (and judging by the sun flitting in through the one, tiny window you’d only been out a couple hours) so it wouldn’t be long before people came looking for you.

Peeling off the blazer you had worn that day, you took a deep breath. You just had to stay alive until they found you.

_______

Meanwhile at the local police station:

Spencer tiredly popped his neck before taking a sip of his coffee (the station hadn’t had Tea and he needed the caffeine), relishing the short mental break before he went back to the board. Morgan was with Lewis going over the latest autopsy results while Rossi interviewed a couple of parents in one of the station’s waiting areas- so the conference room they had taken over was unusually quiet. Not that the genius minded. Those meticulous eyes raked over the map where he’d originally designed the geographic profile, but they’d exhausted every possibility in the area. He glanced over his shoulder at the fresh map where he had been trying to come up with another one, but something didn’t feel right. He knew the original geographic profile was right, they just had to be missing something.

In his peripheral, he saw Hotch slip into the room with a folder in his hand- like Reid, his mind was stuck on something too- a missing person's case. The only person in the whole town who fit their profile went missing five years ago at fifteen. They’d already interviewed the man’s parents, who just explained that he was a troubled individual and slipped away in the night. That didn’t sit well with Hotch, so he sent you back to their house to ask some follow-up questions since they hadn’t been answering their phone- he just forgot to tell Spencer.

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment of his arrival, and Hotch gave him a nod, not even looking up. The doctor tapped a finger on the map of the suburban town they were in, sighing “I feel like we’re missing the one piece of information we need to solve this case.”

“Isn’t that how it always goes, though?” Rossi teased lightly as he sauntered in, the three agents could hear the latest victim’s mother sobbing as she left the precinct. They all grimaced but carried on.

“Yes, but I agree. We’re definitely missing something.” Hotch agreed as Morgan and Lewis rushed into the conference room.

“You’ll never guess what we just found.” Lewis announced as she pulled two evidance bags out of her coat pocket, tossing one to Hotch who shared with Rossi and one to Spencer. The clear bags both contained a stained scrap of paper, but the writing was clear.

“I’m Still Here.” Reid read aloud, throwing Morgan a questioning look.

“These were hidden in the last two victims throats, the ME is reexamining the other victims as we speak.” Morgan clarified, “We only found this because a different ME examined the lastest body.”

Hotch frowned, remember the lackluster medical examiner they first encountered. As the team threw around ideas about this new find, Spencer looked around the room realizing a voice was missing.

“Hey, has anyone seen (Y/N)? I haven’t seen her since she left to revisit the dumpsites.” He asked, not paying attention to Morgan’s teasing. (You and Spencer had been dating for months before you got asked to temporarily join the team, and the team had only found out about it recently. Hotch agreed to let you stay, since your work with them was only temporary and JJ would be back in two weeks anyway.)

Hotch glanced at him, furrowing his eyebrows, “After she did that, I asked her to follow up with the Greys since she was already on that side of town.”

Spencer turned his head to gaze out of the large window at the setting sun, Hotch seemed to follow his line of thought, “That was hours ago, has anyone heard from her?”

The air in the room turned tense as everyone drew up blank, everyone in the room could see the lines of worry and stress tension rapidly appearing in the youngest team member as he left the room. Minutes later, he came back looking even worse, “Guys, her phone is going straight to ‘caller unavailable’”

Hotch pressed a button on the conference rooms phone, near immediately Spencer’s claims were confirmed with a monotonous, “I’m sorry the number you're attempting to reach is unavailable please try again at a later date.”

Morgan was quick to do something similar, switching to speaker as the line connected this time to a bright, cheery voice as Spencer began nervously picking at his fingernails, foot-tapping as she greeted them, “Hello, crime fighters, what can I do for you!”

“Baby girl, we need a location on (Y/N)’s cell phone.” Morgan was quick to cut to the chase, negating their usual banter. Even over the phone, Spencer could feel the hacker’s mood change only confirmed by the immediate clicking of keys followed by muttering.

“Oh, ok, oh no, that’s never good.” She whispered as she worked, “Oh! oh...”

“What is it?” Spencer pressed immediately, almost tripping over a chair leg as if getting closer to the phone would give him answers faster. Rossi tried to comfort him with a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but Reid didn’t even notice it.

“That last transmitted location was 5 hours ago.” She informed them, “Address is on your phones.”

Spencer did the mental math in a fraction of a second, five hours ago was around noon. You’d been missing since noon and he’d just found out? A flash of frustration went through the doctor before melting into an even greater sense of worry- a lot could happen in five hours.

His genius brain was working so fast in a downward spiral of all the terrible possibilities that could happen that he almost didn’t hear Hotch announce, “That’s Mason Grey’s parent’s house, she was there to ask some follow-up questions.”

“The kid that went missing?” Rossi asked as the missing piece clicked in Spencer’s brain.

“I’m still here! What if Mason Grey didn’t go missing, but his parents just hid him. He was showing early symptoms of mental problems, and we’ve seen it before.” Spencer almost shouted. Garcia was still on the line, and announced, “And, the house is in the middle of the kill zone”

“Neither one of the Grey’s showed up to their jobs today or yesterday. That’s not a good sign is it.”

“That kind of isolation could drive someone crazy, especially if they were already mentally ill,” Lewis added. Spencer had already made up his mind, and every minute that they weren’t on their way to you was slowly driving him crazy.

Hotch only thought about it for another minute, “Vests on, we’re leaving in five minutes.”

Spencer was in the car in two.

__________

You could barely see the sun setting through the tiny basement window, but it didn’t bode well as it was your only source of light. Your attempts to explore hadn’t been very fruitful, as once you finally managed to stand up you were made painfully aware that your knee was dislocated. Nevertheless, with a huff you resigned yourself to limp around.

Fruitful or not, you made some discoveries. First, you found the remained peices of your destroyed phone- considering it was in four large pieces you didn’t even attempt to turn it on. Next, you discovered the tiny window was sealed shut so you couldn’t even attempt an escape. Lastly, you found a locked room in corner of the room with an all too familiar rotting smell seeping from under the door. That must be the Grey’s you decided solemnly. The door itself was old and rickety-splintering in some places, even with bad leg you figured you could probably get it open. I could probably use my shoulder and ram it down, bodies or not, there might be a window in there that isn’t sealed.

“Get away from there!”

A shout startled you, and instinctively you ripped your hand off the doorknob you were jiggling. You didn’t have to turn around to know he had a gun, you heard the safety click off. Holding your hands up, you were quiet. With these types of unsubs, it was best to let him call the shots.

“T-turn around.” He demanded so you did, slowly. Greeted with the face you’d only briefly seen earlier before he’d hit you over the head with a bottle. The same face from the missing posters Hotch had shown you. This had to be Mason Grey, the missing teenager from five years ago- he’d be something like 20 years old now. He was using both hands to point a gun-your gun- at you, hands shaking as he glared at you.

Softly speaking, you rose your eyebrows, “Are you Mason?”

He didn’t answer, using the gun to motion you to kneel down. You were already at a disadvantage, and you didn’t like the added weakness of being on the ground.

“You’re FBI.” It was a statement not a question, but you nodded anyway.

“Yes, I am, and my team knows I’m here. If they get here and you’re pointing a gun at me, I promise you, it won’t end well for you.” You informed him, voice stern but not malicious. It was a fact, not a threat.

“What if you’re dead when you get here?” That wasn’t a threat either, a genuine question. Somehow, that was scarier.

“Well, since your parents are behind that door and they’ll connect you to at least five victims? It still won’t end well for you.” You calmly informed him as he moved one of his hands to nibble on his dirty fingernails. His forehead was sweating, eyes darting around, and hair greasy. He was scared.

“You were never missing were you?” You asked quietly, voice soft and sympathetic. His head shook.

“Did your parents make you stay down here?”

This time he nodded, lip wobbling as he took a sharp, deep breath, “I was different and they didn’t want people to know, so they made me stay down here. If I tried to leave, they’d lock me in there. Once they figured out I was leaving at night to go see my girlfriend, they tried to lock me up again. So I locked them in there, to see how bad it was.”

His girlfriend? Mason Grey’s real girlfriend died shortly after he went missing, maybe he saw all his victims as her? But you couldn’t worry about that, towards the end of his explanation his voice turned angry, erratic.

“If the FBI comes here. They’ll lock me up too. You’re gonna lock me up! I DON’T WANT TO BE LOCKED UP AGAIN.” He was yelling, inching closer to you and jabbing the gun towards you. He was distracted, so he didn’t hear the sirens approaching. But you did.

I just have to hold on a little longer.

“Mason, I don’t want to lock you up. If you put the gun down, I can help you. I’ll tell my friends what happened to you and that you cooperated and didn’t hurt me-” You tried promising him, but you were cut off by the sound of squealing breaks in front of the house. Your eyes flicked to the tiny window, it was dusk which allowed you to see red and blue flashing lights.

“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” He bellowed, for a moment he clawed both hands into his short greasy hair. Nervously, you strained to hear stomping feet above you. Then you heard the basement door open, and at the top of the stairs, you could see those unmistakeable converse paired with Morgan shouting behind him.

“Mason Grey, FBI.”

Spencer was here. You thought, sighing in relief, but it didn’t last long. You could see their feet, but not them so they definitely couldn’t see you- couldn’t see the gun. A moment too late, you saw Mason erratically wave the gun towards them, towards Spence.

“NO!” You shrieked, jumping up and grabbing his arm as you tackled him. The noise and pain came at the exact moment you hit the ground with him, almost immediately rolling off of him and grasping at the warm, wet, extremely painful wound on your stomach as your eyes screwed shut.

“(Y/N)!” You heard distantly as you tried to bring yourself back to reality, “We need an ambulance!”

You cracked your eyes open to Spencer crouched over you, eyes filled with worry as you brushed the hair off your forehead, behind him Morgan was shoving Mason up the basement stairs, probably rougher than he had to.

Breathing heavily, one of your hands pawed at the source of pain but Spencer instead took it in his, “You’re gonna be ok, you’re going to be just fine.”

You barely nodded, trying to slow your breathing as the genius grabbed the blazer you had discarded earlier. Balling it up, he pressed against the wound to stop the bleeding. You cried out in pain at the sudden pressure reflexively squeezing his hand, Spencer winced, “I know, I know, I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

Everything was hazy after that, you honestly didn’t remember much, just flashes of his face, the EMT’s, him kissing your forehead begging you to stay awake, until finally you were allowed to slip off into a dreamless sleep.

_________

Spencer was sitting in the waiting room, hands still bloody as they clasped tightly. To the untrained eye, it would look like he was praying, but really he was mentally recounting everything he could have done different. I could of asked where she was earlier, I could have snuck behind him instead of letting Morgan announce us, I could of gone with her to the dumpsites so I would have been with her when Hotch asked her to go to the Grey’s home. I could of asked her not to take the job with the BAU. Derek was sitting across from him, watching him carefully and sympathetically. He was the one who had to physically hold him back from following the doctors into the surgery area, besides a whispered apology the younger agent hadn’t said anything to him since the doors closed.

Spencer had ridden in the ambulance with you, while Derek and Hotch took an SUV behind. Rossi and Tara stuck around the Grey house to finish up the case and were still there.

Derek watched as Spencer’s knee bounced faster than he thought was possible, the kid’s fingernails were nubs from being bitten, and Spencer had bitten his lip so much that it had started to bleed. The older agent wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how. “Kid-”

He started, but was quickly cut off by Hotch striding back into the waiting room- he had left earlier to demand information, “She’s out of surgery. The doctor said that even though it hit an artery, the bullet missed all her organs. She’s going to be fine.”

Derek had never seen Spencer look so relieved, he practically melted back into his chair before bowing his head. Hotch continued, “They’re getting her settled into a room, but I asked them to come get you when she’s allowed, visitors.”

Spencer just nodded allowing his eyes to close as Hotch turned to Morgan, “I’ll call Lewis and Rossi if you’ll tell Garcia.”

Morgan chuckled before agreeing, but all Spencer could think about was that you were going to be ok.

______

Two hours later, Spencer was sitting beside your bed while you dozed- he’d been informed that you would wake up soon and decided that he wouldn’t move until you did. After the team had all come and checked on you (Spencer might be in love with you, but they were all worried as well), Derek had driven Lewis to your hotel to gather your belongings. Rossi and Hotch periodically checked on him but gave him some privacy by waiting in a lounge down the hall.

Absentmindedly thumbing through a well-loved copy of War and Peace (the Russian Translation mind you), in two hours he could have read the book four times over if was actually focussed on it, but he was still struggling through the first half of the book. Every time you so much as sniffed in your sleep, the book was discarded not to mention that he was so caught in thought he wasn’t reading anywhere near his usual 20,000 words per minute. Sighing, he moved his eyes back to the top of the page, forcing his eyes to read the lines he’d long since memorized and mentally translate them to English.

“You look like shit, honey.”

War and Peace clattered to the floor as his head snapped up to meet your eyes. You hadn’t moved much, but he was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. Still a little fuzzy from the anesthesia, you just watched him read trying to ignore how tired and anxious he looked.

Without thinking you trying to sit up, but both the pain and the man next to were quick to convince you to lay back again. Spencer’s touch was gentle (it always was, but more so than usual), like you’d break if he used to much force. That was going to get annoying quickly, but you’d enjoy the doting for the moment.

“H-How long have you been awake?” He asked as he sat back down, scooting the chair so close to the bed that his long legs had his knees pressed to the underside of the bed. You smiled softly.

“Not long, I just opened my eyes and you were muttering Russian under your breath. You only read aloud like that when you're worried.” You answered, smile turning sassy as you played with his fingers- something that always calmed him down. He managed the slightest chuckle.

“Well, when my girlfriend has a GSW, a concussion, and bruised ribs, I get a little anxious.” He nodded, watching your hand in his.

“Don’t forget the dislocated knee,” Hotch announced from the door, getting yours and his attention. Hotch, Tara, Rossi, and Derek (who was holding Garcia up on facetime) were waiting in the hall. You nodded in stride.

“Oh, can’t forget about that. Is that all? Nothing much to worry about then.” You halfway shrugged, but threw a glance to Spencer and squeezed his hand as if to silently promise him, I’m ok.

He just smiled, raising your hand to his lips to press a sweet kiss to your knuckle. Your cheeks reddened, Spencer had never been one for PDA especially in front of the team, so he must have been really worried.

“Derek Morgan, if you don’t hand me to (Y/N) right now, I’m going to scream!” Garcia demanded, bringing your attention back to the team waiting in the door. You sent Spencer another smile before receiving the phone and tuckering in for a long, classic, Garcia ‘i was so worried’ speech.

_______

After an hour of visiting with the team, Hotch decided it was time to let you get your rest. Derek ruffled your hair and teased you on his way out, while Tara only told you to feel better soon (you weren’t offended, Tara seemed lovely, you just weren’t near as close to her yet). As they filed out, Hotch poked his head back in the room.

“We’re needed back at Quantico, but you won’t be cleared for air travel for some time. I contacted JJ, and she’s ready to come in. Once you’re discharged from the hospital, you’ll have to drive back. Reid, if you want it, you’ve already been approved some days off if you’d like to stay here as well.” He paused to smile, “Thanks again for everything you’ve done for the BAU. It’s been a pleasure working with you, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

This time, Spencer’s cheeks turned red as he nodded, only blushing more when Rossi winked as he left, throwing a last remark over his shoulder, “Feel free to take the scenic route, lovebirds.”

With the rest of the team gone, it was quiet, but you didn’t mind. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a bit until Spencer spoke back up, “As much as I loved having you at the BAU, it’ll be nice to not be so worried about you all the time.”

“Yeah, there’s only room for one person getting shot at in this relationship, besides I miss my students.” You giggled, leaning back against the criminally uncomfortable pillows, “Just keep in mind that I feel that worried about you all the time.”

You hummed as he pressed another sweet kiss to your forehead before spouting off a long winded mathematical statistic about getting shot. You half-listened, but the complex math was going over your head, so instead, you just thought about having to go back to your old job. You’d miss the BAU, but you had plenty of stories to tell your students.

Scooting over as far as you could, you patted the newly empty space beside you. Spencer looked skeptical, afraid to hurt you, so you used a tiny bit of guilt-tripping with puppy dog eyes and a quiet, “I’ve been shot and I just want to be near you.”

Reluctantly, he climbed into the tiny bed beside you after slipping out of his shoes. You giggled at the sight of his mismatched socks as he gingerly settled in beside you. He tensed as you moved to lay in the crook of his shoulder but having you so close, he couldn’t help just relax. His long arms reached over and picked his book back up, and as he started to read again he absentmindedly played with the ends of your hair.

“So, what do you think, wanna take the scenic route with me? We just might get lost.” You smiled up at him after his arm finally, tentatively wrapped around you. First, he glanced at your hand, which had reached up to mess with his fingers and then to meet your eyes.

“Is that a promise?” He asked, taking your hand in his, “Because I kind of like the sound of that.”

“Spencer, I’ll always get lost with you.” You promised, deciding against your better judgment to stretch up to kiss him. You didn’t make it all the way to his lips, so you settled on his jaw before he fussed over you to lay back down.

“Well, now that that’s settled.” You whispered voice strained at the light pain in your abdomen after you settled back into a comfortable position beside him and closing your eyes. “Read to me?”

“Always.”

#spencer reid x reader

164 notes · View notes

kilyra · 5 years

Text

He Did Know Something

Chief Jim Hopper (Stranger Things) One-Shot

A/N: After getting a serious spark of inspiration from @divadinag ‘s awesome gif below, this story immediately formed in my head. I guess it’s not much, but I had fun!

As a journalist who is relatively new to Hawkins, you quickly notice that things don’t add up and your frustration grows that Hopper, a good friend, is no help at all.

Warnings: Mega spoilers for S1 and 2!!! Like all the spoilers. But that’s all…other than depictions of smoking I guess?

If you want to be on my tag list for this or any character just let me know! (All gif credit to the amazing @divadinag)

You should have stopped. A small part of you knew that. The back and forth wasn’t going to get you anywhere, and it was just ruining a perfectly nice and relaxing evening with a good friend.

But…it was too much. Nothing added up and the longer you sat with that fact, the deeper your agitation grew. And each time you looked over at Hopper, who was casually rambling on about some nonsense, it outright spiked.

“I see that look in your eye, Y/n and you can ask me as many times as you want, but my answer’s not gonna change. There’s nothing going on in Hawkins. It’s the same boring little town its always been.” Hopper drawled dismissively as he came back from his fridge with two cans of beer. Raising his thick eyebrows, he set one on the TV tray in front of you before lowering into his recliner.

Grabbing the beer, you took a healthy swig before you pulled your note pad from your bag. Pinching your cigarette between your lips, you flipped through the pages to check your notes while you argued. “Really? A boring little town that…that has obituaries for children who are home and fine? Apparently full funerals for them too?”

Huffing an irritated sigh through his nose, he also took a large chug from his can as he eyed up the muted television. “We’ve been over that. It was a horrible case of mistaken identity, alright?”

“Really? Then who was it? And did the body get excavated or it still in a grave for…um…a William Byers?”

Refusing to look your direction, he pulled his cigarette off the ashtray for a quick inhale. Offering a faint shrug, his voice was softer. “I don’t…”

The words hung in the air, but you weren’t about to stop. “I mean, wouldn’t the actual parents want the chance to claim the body?”

Pausing as you were about to flip the page, you held the paper between your fingers as you looked up and waited for his reaction. He had turned back to the silent screen and grunted in a noise that sounded like he was possibly agreeing.

“And…how is that not major news? How does no one outside the city lines know about this? And on that note, why is it that when I ask anyone about it, everyone instantly clams up? I can’t get a peep out of anyone here. Small town people not oversharing? That seems perfectly normal right?”

Rubbing his fingers across his forehead, his lit cigarette traced smoke circles with the motion. When he looked at you, every bit of wariness he seemed to feel was etched across his face. “Go figure that something so tragic doesn’t leave everyone chatty.”

“Except, normally, it does. People fall over themselves to talk about horrible shit like that. But not here. Guess maybe that’s because of the…what was it…Oh right, the toxin leak? Right? The Department of Energy has some crazy chemicals that just make people go quiet?” Sharply, you tapped your finger on your notepad as you found each point to throw at him.

Pressing his thumb to his temple as the smoke danced up towards the ceiling, he didn’t even dignify that with a response.

After glancing at the rest of your notes, you snapped the pad closed. “I mean, other than when those toxins kill people, of course. One mystery kid died just as another was killed by DoE, and that was before the big…rather vague…incident that killed a lot more people before the lab was shut down. I mea-”

“Is this seriously why you came over tonight? Just to grill me about all this shit? Get me in the comfort of my own home, have a few beers and what? Hope I lower my guard or something?” Shaking his head slightly as he drew his shoulders up, he asked everything as much with his body as with his words.

“No…but I-”

“Because my answers are going to be the same as they were at my office,” he added, his gruff voice slightly raised.

Tossing the notepad into your bag, you let out a long sigh. “What answers were those?”

You mumbled your reply, but Hopper’s eyebrow shot up as his hand tightened around his beer can. “There something you want to say to me? Because Magnum is on in ten minutes, so you may as well get it out now.”

As he stiffly held his drink, it suddenly dawned on you how tense he was. And how quickly that tension descended on him as soon as you started nudging the conversation towards the oddities of Hawkins.

Frowning, you forced your stare away from his hand and let it drift over the muddy-coloured rug covering the hardwood. Taking another drag, you plucked the cigarette from your mouth to rest between your knuckles as you exhaled the smoke through your nose. It wasn’t even helping to calm the rising feeling of dread. “Look, Hop, I’m not trying to get you drunk and trick you. Hell. I don’t even know if there’s a publishable story here.”

When you risked a glance back at him, you saw the same intense stare as before while he continued to study you. “But?”

“But…you haven’t actually answered a question. Not really. You spit out common facts that everyone knows – the same things everyone else says. And if I press anything, you just start answering with questions of your own.”

“That so?” His eyes seemed to harden as he kept his focus squarely on you as though he were challenging you to finish your thought.

The awkward silence hanging in the air didn’t seem to leave you much choice. “It’s just…it just seems a little suspect is all.”

“Suspect? And what is it you’re suspecting me of?” Although his voice was calm, you didn’t miss the subtle flare of his nostrils.

Your mouth ran dry and you took another sip. But it didn’t help.

Leaning forward in his chair, Hopper narrowed his eyes. “Did you ever think I keep trying to steer you away from that line of questioning for your own good?”

As you snapped your gaze up to meet his, your heart raced. Firmly holding your attention with his unyielding stare, his hand squeezed tightly around the beer can. He couldn’t have just threatened you but you were too stunned to clarify.

“You say everyone enjoys piling onto a bad situation, but it was bad. Really bad. For some, it hasn’t exactly ended and they don’t take kindly to people trying to poke around in that. It’s not safe.“ The crunch of the crumpling aluminum in his hand finished his point.

Safe?

That was the first time safety was ever a concern. It broke your silence.

“What do you mean safe, Hop?”

Blinking, he straightened and loosened his death grip on the beer can. “Your…career. You want to be a journalist and dig into everything. But that’s going to crumble if you turn the town against you.”

“Are you part of this?” The words dropped out of your mouth before they took a second to pass by your brain first.

“No.”

His reply came equally as fast, and that said it all. As you both stared at each other with slightly widened eyes, a cold, numb curtain dropped over the sick feeling in your stomach.

Hopper had become a close friend after helping you through some difficult times when you first moved to Hawkins. And it was impossible to deny your attraction to him, even if you wouldn’t act on it. But even with all of that, as you tried to process what he just admitted to, you had to leave.

Hopper’s eyebrows furrowed deeply as his faint alarm turned to disgust. “I’m not part of anything because there’s nothing to be part of!”

Roughly butting out your cigarette, you turned enough in your seat to stand up without knocking over the TV tray. Shooting him one last glare, you scooped up your bag and stormed towards the door.

As you passed his chair, his hand shot out and grabbed yours. His chilled fingers wrapped around your hand, lightly digging into your palm. A jolt rushed through you at the contact as heat rushed to your cheeks. Refusing to look at him, you pulled away and kept walking.

From behind, you heard the loud clatter of the metal tray as he shoved it out of the way. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I…I don’t know. But I know I’m not going to find any answers here. Maybe someone missed cleaning up something at what’s left of the lab? I…I don’t kn-”

With surprising agility, he stepped past you, stopping in front of the door. Facing his palms out, he blocked your way without grabbing you. “You can’t just go breaking into the abandoned lab. It’s not…safe.”

“Give me a break, I can handle a bit of broken glass.”

Stepping forward, you moved to pass him when he lurched back and pressed himself against the door. His eyes held yours with the same heated look they had all night.

More insulted than worried, you immediately tried to push him out of the way. Staring down at you, he refused to move. His tongue subtly ran over his lips as his gaze briefly darted down to your mouth.

“Could you just, for once, trust that I might actually know what I’m talking about, Y/n? You can’t go there.”

Pausing, with your hands still resting on his chest, you glared as your insult fanned into anger. “You’re going to literally stand between me and my story?”

The muscles along his cheek rippled as he clenched his jaw. He raised his hands, hovering them on either side of your face with his fingers flexing into fists as he spoke through grit teeth. “I don’t give a shit about your story.”

Balling your own hands, you caught the fabric of his shirt between your fingers as you uselessly shoved at him. “Then what?!”

Gritting his teeth harder, his lip curled up as he let out a soft growl. Relaxing his hands, they suddenly cupped your face as his mouth crashed against yours. The scent of smoke wrapped around you and you could taste the stale beer on his lips. His rough fingertips trailed gently down your neck, dropping against your back to pull you closer as he deepened the kiss. You didn’t fight it. Hell, you welcomed it as your hands snaked up to his shoulders, grabbing new handfuls of fabric.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours and took a steadying breath. “I know I can’t stop you, but please, not like this. I’ll go with you tomorrow when we’ve got our heads on straight, okay?”

As you let out a soft exhale, you felt his shoulders relax slightly under your fingers. The heat from his hands melted into your skin as you noticed how tightly he was holding you, like he was scared to let go.

Scared.

It was in that moment when you realized what you had been seeing in his eyes all night. It wasn’t tension, it wasn’t anger…it was fear.

He did know something, and he was afraid for you.

Nodding against his forehead, you caved. You wanted answers, but you trusted Hopper more…and if he was worried, it was bad.

“Okay.”

Taglist: @foreverfaeries @flower-two @getlostinyourparadise @selfishkiddo @angelicshinigami @pansmexualparker @givemeabite

#jim hopper x reader #chief jim hopper x reader #hopper x reader #stranger things

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pickledchickenetti · 5 years

Text

So I’ve had something on my mind for the last week or two that I’ve been trying to figure out how to best start a post about and coming up short. We all know that I have a tendency to be long-winded, and some of this post is going to be stream of consciousness, at least moreso than my usual longer posts, which I usually wait to start until I have a pretty solid idea of what I want to say and how I want to say it. I may go back and edit this some at the end, I may not, probably depends on how it comes out. (Edited at the end to add: I’m not editing anything. It’s long and I’m not expecting anyone to force themselves through it, but thanks to those who do!) Since this is partially me using my blog as a place to ruminate on some things, I’m going to put it under a read more for those who don’t want to have it clogging up their dashboard.

Lately I’ve had a lot of mixed feelings regarding social media and what voices and mindsets I allow to be a part of my everyday life. I put a lot of effort into carefully treading the line between taking unnecessary negativity out of my social media feeds and creating an echo chamber where I only see people who agree with me. Most of the time, the decision comes down to the tone and intent. If someone is consistently rude, angry, or condescending, with very little useful contribution to any conversation I unfollow them. This applies to people on Facebook who constantly use slurs, post hateful things about people with opposing beliefs or political stances (even if I generally agree with that person’s beliefs or stances) with little attention to facts, and it also applies to people here are just needlessly rude with no real contributions to the overall conversation.

The older I get, the more I find choosing kindness to be a priority in my life. I’m not perfect; I fully admit there are still times when I’m rude or condescending. Sometimes this is an accident, and unfortunately sometimes it isn’t. I don’t like this, and I try especially hard not to be intentionally condescending. Kindness is a choice, and progress takes time.

As I’m sure most of you know, I am often very critical of @kristagay‘s posts. I still stand by many, possibly even most, of the opinions I’ve shared. Kindness is important to me, but it’s also important to me to not let other people’s hurtful words or actions go unchecked when I have the ability to say/do something. (This applies to everyone in my radar, not just Krista.) I have very strong opinions on a number of subjects, but it’s especially important to me to speak up in defense of others in the LGBTQA community as that’s a community I belong to and those struggles are more personal to me.

A little while back, I got a string of anons (many were answered, some were deleted) that made it seem like someone was trying to create some sort of feud between me and Krista. As I said in one of the posts at that time, I was under no illusion that Krista was reading any of my posts that didn’t tag her directly, and had no interest in any sort of feud. Krista does not follow me, and in general does not seem to interact much on Tumblr beyond asks to her and posts she is directly tagged in (or reblogs/comments on her posts of course). I would likely be the same way if I stumbled onto a community of people discussing every little detail of people I was friends with in real life. I would want to set the record straight and defend my friends while also respecting their privacy, and as a result I doubt I’d interact much anyway. I respect her choice to not discuss them at all, even the things seen on TV, and hope she will continue to make that choice no matter how annoying people asking her for info might get. (And to Pickles and anyone else who has crossed the line and sent her intentionally inflammatory messages/questions about the Duggars or hate for the sake of hate, please kindly delete your accounts and learn how to interact with actual humans in a respectful way.)

When I got the string of anons asking me about Krista, I took a step back and tried to objectively examine why I followed Krista, why I continued to devote energy in responding to her posts, and if it was worth my time and emotional energy to continue doing so. The difference I found between Krista’s posts, which do often frustrate me, and posts from others who I have chosen to unfollow and/or block is the intent and context behind the posts.

At the end of the day, Krista and I are very similar. We were both raised in very conservative families/churches, who had different plans for us than the lives we’ve chosen to pursue. We’ve both come to believe differently about God than the churches we were raised in. And we both know what it’s like to have to keep up appearances, especially online, in order to not destroy (or majorly hurt) relationships with people in our lives offline who it’s still important to maintain a relationship with.

There are a couple big differences between us. First of all, I’m gay. I came to believe differently than the church I was raised in largely because I’ve had to just to be who I am and not feel depressed and suicidal all the time. When you grow up gay in a conservative family, life gives you two choices: shut off who you are and spend your life convincing yourself you are who you were told you were supposed to be or do major amounts of soul-searching to figure out who you are and how to accept yourself. When you’re already evaluating one major aspect of who you are and what you believe it becomes nearly impossible to not do that same evaluation on the other beliefs you were raised in. Because of this process, I’ve come to see a lot of hypocrisy and downright lies in the belief system I was raised in. This has pushed me into developing a pretty strong set of opinions, beliefs, and political stances that stand in stark contrast to my family and lifelong family friends.

As a cisgendered straight woman, Krista did not have this huge thing forcing her to do major soul-searching. Despite this, she has done soul-searching, and seems to still be doing it. (It’s really a lifelong process, after all.) She has stepped out into a world that she likely didn’t consider being able to live in as a little girl. She’s pursued an educational and career path that’s impressive for even women who were raised being encouraged to focus on education, so for someone in her church and belief system to get to where she is is monumental, and for that I applaud her. So while I definitely disagree with her beliefs on a number of subjects, and will continue to say so (with thoughtful responses, not just complaints) when I feel her posts call for it, I am doing my best to remember that no one was born perfect, and she is still learning just as much as the rest of us are. I’ve said many times that I really do believe her intentions are good, and I stand by that belief. She’s learning. She’s trying. She may be one of the more conservative voices in our tumblr community, but many of us have admitted we used to be worse than we are now, and she’s come a long way from who she once was too.

The other big difference between us, at least as far as tumblr goes, is that she has chosen to attach her name and face to her posts on here, and I have not. Many of you know who I am, follow me elsewhere, etc. That doesn’t change the fact that publicly, all you see is a food-based username and (currently) a photo of Jana Duggar on a boat. I share my first name, my age, and my general location. While someone who knew me offline could likely piece together my identity if they paid enough attention, I am careful to not overly-identify myself. This relative anonymity grants me the privilege of speaking freely online without worrying about offline consequences. Krista has not granted herself that same anonymity. I’m honestly a little embarrassed that I had never considered before the fact that she likely does not feel she can speak freely on Tumblr. I am very careful what I post on my other social media platforms. When my name and face are attached, I pretty much never mention LGBTQA issues for fear of outing myself and losing family members I’m not ready to lose. I don’t post about the abuses found in many Baptist churches or the lasting harmful effects I feel from my overly-religious childhood. This is partially to avoid a can of worms with a widespread ripple effect and partially out of respect for my parents and their desire to not have to defend me for believing things they don’t even agree with themselves. For Krista, the things she says here can and likely do affect her life offline, and it’s something that’s important to keep in mind when reading her posts.

I don’t say all of this to say that Krista gets a pass for hurtful things she says. We all are still accountable for the things we say, and she has chosen to put herself in the position of having to choose between saying things that will hurt her offline life, censoring herself, or staying silent. There are topics I still wish she would just address openly or not at all. But at the end of the day, she has the same right to censor herself here as I do elsewhere, and I will be trying to keep that in mind going forward. When interacting with her privately, she’s only ever proven herself to be kind and open to hearing what I have to say. In the future, I may give her the same respect I often give my offline friends where I just send her a DM to clarify her intent of a seemingly rude or hateful post instead of just calling her out publicly. We’re all learning, Krista included.

Social media, especially Tumblr, has given in to a dangerous mindset that’s often referred to as “cancel culture”. There are times when it is absolutely the right choice to “cancel” someone. Like I said at the beginning of my post, we have the right to choose what voices to allow into our feeds. We should all take advantage of that right and do what’s best for our mental health. I just think we should also be more mindful of context and intent when deciding whether or not to “cancel” someone. We all say we want young girls (and boys) in fundie communities to get out of that lifestyle and find better beliefs, but getting out doesn’t happen overnight. Many of us have the benefit of getting here after shedding many of our toxic beliefs. For those who aren’t there yet, I hope we will just remember to choose kindness and respect and do our best to be open to educating them without being hateful or derogatory.

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rufousnmacska · 6 years

Text

Witch Blade

A manorian story set after Kingdom of Ash

fanfic master list and on ao3

KoA spoilers so it’s going under a cut

Rhia lunged, grunting as her short sword slammed into the training dummy. It struck just below her intended target. Her father and uncle had just walked in and their appearance in the edge of her vision threw her off step.

“Focus!”

A blunted sword tip slapped against the back of her legs and she snarled, turning around to glare at her instructor.

Una just huffed a laugh and pointed to the dummy. “Again. This time with your left hand.”

Her weaker side.

Rhia closed her eyes to concentrate, blocking out the muffled words coming from the corner where her father and uncle stood. They were both fierce swordsmen, almost as good as her mother. But she couldn’t get sidelined trying to eavesdrop on what they thought of her technique.

“Eyes up, Rhia!” Una barked.

All of her attention went back to the sword in her hand - the left one now - and the way her feet floated over the floor as she moved in to strike. She ignored the audience and lost herself in the movements, pretending she was facing a demon horde instead of a bag stuffed with grain.

When her training had finished for the day, she thanked Una and ran over to her father. Uncle Chaol was already gone, no doubt off to some meeting.

“What did you think papa? Am I improving?”

***

Dorian knelt down, brushing back his daughter’s dark hair from her sweaty face. She was still catching her breath from the exercises Una had ended the training with. Her golden eyes, as beautiful as her mother’s, flared in anticipation of his answer. His own narrowed, as if in deep concentration, trying to decide what he thought of her developing skills.

Rhia sighed inpatiently and he laughed, ruffling the top of her head.

“You were brilliant, my love! Getting better every day.” Her face beamed, a sight he would never tire of, never stop trying to elicit from her.

Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck and he stood, picking her up with him. “Bath time, witchling.”

“Aww papa,” she groused, but made no move to push out of his arms.

As they walked to the royal suite, Dorian told Rhia her favorite story. About how her mother defeated the old Ironteeth matrons to become Witch Queen. About how her mother moved like the wind, battling against three witches to defend her people. About how when the fight ended, her mother was aglow from the crown now sitting atop her head.

Every time he told it, she’d listen in rapt silence, taking in each word. He did his best to describe it, drawing imagery from all his favorite books, knowing she was trying to picture it all in her mind. But he didn’t think he ever really did it justice.

By the time they reached their bathing room, the tale was done and she was quiet.

“What’s happening in there, witchling?” he asked, tapping her head gently.

Rhia’s golden eyes settled on him as he turned on the water. “Will I ever be as good a fighter as mama?”

Dorian heard movement from the bedroom but kept his attention on the seven year old in front of him. He saw her mind working, wondering at all she’d need to be someday. A Queen of Adarlan and a Queen of the Witches.

Leaning down to meet her troubled gaze, he said, “You will be the fiercest queen to wield a sword since the queen you’re named after, Rhiannon.” She didn’t look convinced.

Reaching over to test the water, he said, “You know... I’m not too bad with a sword.”

“I know, papa.”

“Did you also know that I trained not only with Uncle Chaol, but also with your Blackbeak aunts?” His hand fell to the sheath hanging from his belt.

Her sharp eyes caught the movement and widened.

“I know you’ve heard the stories about them. The Thirteen who followed your mother into battle, never once straying from her side. The Thirteen who saved a city and all of our world.”

Rhia nodded. She had most of the tales memorized.

“Those witches were known across continents for their skills with the sword and bow.” Dorian placed the object he pulled from his hip onto his daughter’s lap. “And the blade.”

With tiny, trembling hands, Rhia touched the witch blade. It was something that never left his side except to sleep, and even then, it was slid under his pillow. Not really for protection, but as a reminder.

“Your Aunt Sorrel was the best hand fighter of the Thirteen. Of all of the Ironteeth. She taught me. And on the day I finally bested her, she gave me that blade.”

A soft sound from the door had him turning.

Manon watched them, her eyes bright and burning, a hand over her mouth.

“So... you mean...”

He looked back to Rhia.

“I will be a great warrior because both of my parents are?”

Dorian smiled, twisting back to find the doorway empty.

He took the blade and laid it on the side table. Rhia’s gaze followed it like a hawk, never leaving it even as he helped her out of her training leathers.

“I’m definitely not as skilled as your mother. But I’m certain you will surpass me.” Water splashed as she climbed into the large tub. “I have a feeling that if you keep training hard, and never forget that your aunts are watching over you, you will be a great warrior queen.”

A distracted nod, her attention still on the blade.

“Let’s make a deal.” Rhia looked at him then, hearing the promise in his voice. “When you can beat me with your sword...” She gasped. “Left handed,” he clarified, biting back a smile at her crestfallen face.

But it lasted less than a second, replaced almost immediately with a look of steely determination. A look that was as familiar to him as the sun that rose each day. “Then you will inherit Sorrel’s blade.”

“Deal!”

Leaving her to play in her bath, Dorian glanced around the corner into their bedroom.

Manon sat on the bed, head bowed. She didn’t look up at his approach, but wrapped her arms around his neck as he knelt and embraced her.

“I wish she’d met them,” Manon whispered in his ear.

“I know,” he said, squeezing tighter after a shudder ran through her body. “She’s here because of them. They’re watching.” She nodded. “And they’re probably placing bets on how quickly it will take her to win that blade from me.”

Her shoulders shook with laughter and she pulled away. “They probably are.”

He feigned offense, then kissed away the tear that had fallen down her cheek.

“Mama!” Rhia’s voice rang out from the bathing room.

Manon and Dorian both smiled, knowing what was coming. “Yes, witchling?”

“Can you start training me tomorrow instead of Una? Left handed?”

They held in laughter and it took a moment for Manon to reply. “Only if you go to bed every night when you’re told to. Deal?”

They heard a loud, frustrated sigh. “Okay.” Then, more quietly, “But I’m getting tired of deals.”

The King of Adarlan burst out laughing and the Witch Queen shook her head.

“She gets it from you,” Manon said, rising and walking into the other room.

He didn’t argue, too busy basking in the glow of her smile. And when he joined her, he found his wife and daughter grinning wickedly as they began to plan his inevitable defeat.

#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #the thirteen #koa spoiler #kingdom of ash spoiler #throne of glass #kingdom of ash #koa spoilers #kingdom of ash spoilers #sorrel blackbeak #💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔#I wasn't sure how I could ever write manorian again especially after chapter 90 but I guess I'll never let them go #my writing #manorian fanfic #manorian fanfiction

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timeoutforthee · 5 years

Text

This is a commission piece for @ask-villegas-sides, featuring his original characters Beckett, Reese, Flint, and Lev!

Words: 2,127

“Well, this is it,” Lev says looking up at the orphanage. He glances over at Flint and smiles. “Are you ready?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Flint asks. “We are preparing to walk through a door.”

“It’s not a door,” Lev knocks his shoulder against his husband’s, “It’s what the door represents.”

“Oh. You mean the entire concept of parenthood?”

“Yeah!”

“Then I am absolutely not prepared for that,” Flint admits, adjusting his tie.

“Aw, come on! We’ve been planning for this for so long!” Lev says.

“I know, but…,” Flint vaguely gestures at the building, “Children are intimidating.”

“You don’t know if it’ll be a child, it could be a teen!”

“That’s even more intimidating.”

“Aw, come on,” Lev says again, but his eyes go softer, “You’ll be a great dad.”

Despite himself, Flint smiles. “As will you.”

“Are you here for the event?” Someone calls from the front of the building.

Flint and Lev tear their eyes away from each other and start walking up the sidewalk, calling out a “yes!” Lev slips his hands into Flint’s.

“Welcome,” the woman smiles, gesturing for them to follow her.

They go into the orphanage, and are immediately surrounded by bright lights and people. Children and teens are loitered around, some playing, some watching with narrowed eyes. Lev smiles at them all.

The event the woman is referring to is a day that has been marked on their calendar for nearly three months. Flint and Lev have wanted children for a long time, and after some discussions, they decided adoption was right for them. They took the foster parent class, and now they were here at the group home, seeing all the children available for adoption.

“We have the babies and toddlers in a separate room, if you’re more interested…,” the woman hints at them, waiting to see their reaction.

Flint and Lev exchange a glance.

“This is fine for now, thank you,” Flint says.

The woman’s face breaks into a smile, “I’ll leave you two to it, then.”

When she left the two alone, some kids also turned their attention away from them. Others tried to shift their attention back to their toys and homework, but their eyes kept drifting over to them.

Flint looked over all of them, trying to wrap his head around the fact that at the end of the day, one of them could be a part of his family. The thought almost overwhelms him, so he pushes it down. One step at a time, he thinks to himself.

He feels Lev knock his shoulder and he glances over. Lev smiles at him.

“Well, we’re not getting to know anyone standing around, silly!”

Flint ducks into a room, to try and find a bit of quiet. He’s been introducing himself and his husband to children for the past hour, trying to find a good fit.

A good fit? He questions himself, This is a change in our life, not a new tie.

He looks up, and notices that this room has one teenager in it. He’s off in the corner, with large headphones over his head. Judging by his lack of reaction, he doesn’t seem to even know Flint is there.

Flint takes a deep breath, savoring the bit of peace, before walking up to him and tapping on his shoulder. The teen jumps, turning to face him and yanking the headphones down.

“Greetings,” he says, “I am Flint. I’m sorry, I did not mean to startle you-”

“It’s, uh, it’s fine,” the teen says, “I’m Beckett.”

“What are you listening to, Beckett?”

If it’s possible, Beckett’s face goes even paler.

“You probably haven’t heard of it, or maybe you have and you just wouldn’t like it, but it’s twenty one pilots.”

“Hm. You’re correct in your first statement, I have not heard of them.”

Beckett looks down at his music player and sighs, before holding his headphones out to Flint. “Here. I mean, if you want to hear them.”

Flint takes the headphones carefully and holds them up to his ears. A light ukulele plays, and the lyrics are quite lovely, about a mother and son and growing old.

“It’s adequate,” Flint says simply.

Beckett stares at him and, very tentatively, smiles up at him.

“Beckett,” he says, “would you like to come meet my husband?”

It doesn’t take him long to find his husband. He’s in a room that seems to be some sort of makeshift theater, with a space centered off for the “stage,” and rows of chairs.

“Flint! I was just going to come look for you!” Lev says, beaming brightly. He’s sat in a chair near the front with another teen in a red and white striped shirt next to him. Lev gestures to him, “This is Reese!”

Beckett feels his stomach drop. He thought he had a chance with this family, like maybe he made a connection with Flint, but if someone like Reese was a better match for their family…

Reese looks over at them both. “Hello!” He calls out.

“That’s my husband I was telling you about,” Lev says. “Flint.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” he says, walking up the aisle to meet them. Beckett follows him, hunched inside his hoodie.

“And who is this?” Lev says, offering him a warm smile.

“Beckett,” he wonders if he should hold his hand out and shake it properly, but right now his hands are trembling too much so he leaves them stuffed in his hoodie pockets where they belong.

If Lev minds, he doesn’t say anything. “Reese was telling me about how he’s interested in singing. Do you like music, Beckett?”

“Oh, Beckett is obsessed with music,” Reese chimes in, “He’s always listening to it on his headphones.”

“Yeah, listening, I don’t sing or anything,” he rushes to clarify.

“Nothing wrong with that, liking it is still interesting! What kind of music is your favorite?”

“I like stuff like twenty one pilots, Panic! At the Disco… that sort of thing.”

“Don’t let him lie,” Reese chimes in again, “He also likes Disney songs. Trust me, I’ve made him sit through movie nights with me.”

“Really?” Flint says, “What are your favorite Disney songs?”

“Uh, Princess and the Frog, Lion King-”

Lev gasps, which almost makes Beckett jump.

“I love Lion King!” Lev claps his hands excitedly, “What was your favorite part?”

And as the three continue talking, Flint gets a sense of peace. A sense that tells him that, yes, this could be their new normal and he’d be okay with that. In fact, more than okay.

After talking for a while, the woman who welcomed them appears again, telling them their time will be up soon.

Flint and Lev exchange a knowing look. Reese and Beckett share an anxious one.

“So, honey,” Lev says to Flint, “How do you feel about having two kids?”

And just like that, the guest room is no longer for guests. They had already set up one room, leaving it well organized but clean so that whoever moved in could design the space however they wanted. The guest room was a little more decorated, so they had to undo that in preparation for the boys’ arrival. When the day came, both boys had rooms next to each other and down the hall from their new parents’. They tried to make them as nice and comfortable and welcoming as possible.

And it was almost too much for Beckett to handle.

The second they walked through the door, Beckett was suddenly hyper aware of everything he did wrong in his life that could possibly lead to him getting sent back. His parents didn’t seem to care about him, how could he expect these total strangers to?

Reese was lamenting about how he was going to decorate his room, the posters he was going to need, the colors he needed to use, when he saw Beckett’s face go pale. He had seen it happen before, but this time it made his heart sink for his new brother.

“Beckett?” he whispered, “Are you okay?”

Beckett tried to take deep, calming breaths as they moved his stuff back to his room. But it wasn’t working.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he whispered back, which makes Reese furrow his eyebrows.

“What do you mean? You’re already doing it,” Reese says, still quiet, “They liked you for you, remember?”

“But they don’t know me,” Beckett hisses, frustrated, “And when they do, they’ll just want to get rid of me.”

“You don’t know-”

“Okay, that was the last of it,” Lev says, walking out of Beckett’s room. He pauses when both boys snaps their heads to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Beckett says, pointedly, giving Reese a look. Reese sighs, but doesn’t say anything. “Nothing at all.”

“Well, okay…,” Lev is pretty sure that’s a lie, but he won’t push. “If you’re sure, then you guys are all set! Now, how about we make you a nice welcome dinner? What do you guys like? Pizza? Everyone likes pizza!”

“Actually, we’re both vegan,” Reese says.

“What a coincidence, so are we! We know some great dishes, we have a recipe book here, if you want to look-”

“Actually,” Beckett says, “If you don’t mind, I’m going to do a little unpacking. You guys can decide what to have, I’m sure it’ll be great.”

“Oh, okay,” Lev says, just a bit disappointed, but then he immediately perks up, “As long as you’re out here for dinner! But yeah, go unpack, you too, Reese, if you want to, I’m sure you guys are a bit overwhelmed, if you need some time, that’s fine!”

“Great,” Beckett says, heading back to his room.

There, right next to his bed, is a window. He can slip out and escape back to the orphanage. Lev and Flint are probably already regretting their decision, so it will be a relief for them. And if by some chance they’re not, it will probably piss them off enough to change their mind.

It’s for the best, Beckett reminds himself.

He walks over to the window and opens it up. He swings one leg out the window and-

“We are not done talking!” Reese says, opening the door without knocking. They both freeze when they see the other.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” it’s a lame excuse and Beckett knows it, but it’s worth a shot.

“Oh yeah? What is it then?”

“Uh…”

“Lev! Flint!”

“What are you doing?” Beckett whispers harshly, finally pulling himself away from the window.

“Yes?” Flint appears at the door, followed closely by Lev.

“Beckett was trying to jump out the window,” Reese tells them.

“I was not!” Beckett says.

“Well, I sure hope not!” Lev says, “That’s dangerous, you could get hurt!”

“Why would you want to do that?” Flint says.

“I wasn’t,” Beckett says, trying to be reassuring.

“He thinks you don’t like him,” Reese says. Beckett shoots him a glare.

“Don’t like him? We welcomed you into our home, I don’t know how we could be more obvious that we do like you,” Flint says, confused.

“I know, and I appreciate it, I do, but I just,” Beckett hangs his head, “I can’t do this.”

“Beckett,” Lev says slowly, trying to hide the panic. He doesn’t want to lose his little family already, “If you really, truly think we’re a bad match, then we can discuss it, but if this is about us not liking you, it’s not true. We love you.”

“How can you say that?!” Beckett snaps, “You barely know me!”

“So we’ll get to know you,” Flint says.

“But when you do, you’re only going to be disappointed, I know you will.”

“We could never be disappointed,” Lev says, placing a hand on Beckett’s shoulder. “Even if we don’t know you yet, we want you to be a part of this family. You’re meant to be a part of this family, I know you are. I knew it as soon as I met you at the orphanage.”

Beckett takes a breath. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’m going to screw this up.”

“Beckett, nothing you could do could ever make us stop loving you. No matter how many times you say you hate us, or slam the door, or try and jump out the window. You’re our son now,” Lev says.

“We will all make mistakes,” Flint says, “That’s just what families do. But as long as we have each other, that is the most important thing.”

“So, what do you say?” Lev asks.

“I think...I think we should sit down and have some dinner,” Beckett says, making the two men-making his parents break into a smile. “And by the way? I love you guys, too.”

#my writing #commission

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friendshiponalternia · 6 years

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Can you do a piece about the route where Amisia figures out the PC's blood color and is suddenly inspired? I'm curious about what would happen in the long term.

Ever since you had somehow more or less (un)luckily weaseled your way into Amisia’s hive, you have regularly had to “help” the blueblood out in her artistic ambitions. If this would have been what Earth considered part of such, it wouldn’t have been much else of a Problem.

However, in your case, it meant largely helping Amisia make her paints, aka helping to murder some kids you had never met before. At some Point, you had decided to try and numb yourself to the horrid fates of the troll deliveries your friend received. Trolls had a fucking weird way of handling friendship, you thought, but you dared not to call into question whatever Alien conventions you might offend. Like hell you’d risk the more or less safe place you had right now.

You had lost track of all the days and nights that had passed since you had set foot into Amisia’s home. She did not allow you to leave the hive without her by your side, and considering the crazy shit that you had endured outside all by yourself or with these other weirdos, you hadn’t much to object on the matter. Frankly, if you ignored all the strange oddities about Amisia, and trolls as a whole for that matter, you didn’t have such a horrid life. Sure, you often wound up hurting yourself in the massive hivehold the highblood held, but the medicalizer was never not ready to tend to your injuries.

You were currently busy on the Sofa polishing your small friend’s huge axe. carefully having placed the sharp side away from you, just in case. Not the faintest interest in feeling the blade cut through your thin hide once again, sprawling everything in red. Whilst she had been no less fascinated and kinda obsessed with your bloodcolor, Amisia had started to become sort of huffy and strict the more often she saw how clumsy you were and as a result ended up with stupid scratches and cuts that you could do well without. She loved pointing out what a waste of rescources the spilled blood posed in her eyes, which in turn made you furrow your eyebrows at her.You often used calm moments like this to reminisce about your life, how you ended up here, and what you’d do in the future. As your towel wiped across the shimmering, blue surface of the axe for the third time by now, you had come to the conclusion, that you’d never find home again.

Your eyes moved up to look at the empty canvases. Well, not as empty as they used to be. There were red squiggles everywhere now, only rarely actually depicting a recognizable shape. You directed all your attention at the cute drawings in order to ignore the light burning you felt in your eyes when you realized that your dumb face wanted to tear up.

No no

, you thought,

it’s no use to feel blue

, bluer than her you couldn’t be.Your Hand lifted to quickly rub your eyes and move the axe to lay beside you on the messy sofa as you heard light footsteps approaching quickly from the entrance. “Oh, gross, you’re crying?” Amisia’s voice rings in your ears despite her not having been that loud at all. In General, she tended to be on the less loud side, which you appreciated.The troll was carrying a paperbag in her hands, both dainty hands clutching the dark, somewhat wettened paper softly when she stood there in the doorframe. “Yes, what of it?” you almost snapped, but instead restrained yourself in order to sound no less confident than before. Not that you had ever been actually confident here before, like, ever. But this was a great moment to start!Amisia’s messy eyebrow rose sceptically and she frowned, scrunching her nose up ever so slighty. “Well, nothing! I’m just asking! Is a troll not allowed to ask her friend why they’re crying These nights? Jeez.” Oh, she was doing the Thing again. The huffy Thing. You loved it when she did it usually, but sometimes it could be seriously annoying, since it usually also meant that she switched into stubborn mode.You played with your own fingers in your lap. She eyed your hands. Then she came a few steps closer, not letting her gaze wander off of your hands. “No, no, you can.” you began, somewhat hesitantly. “I just sort of… didn’t think you wanted to know.”“Usually I wouldn’t. Considering your disgusting mutant self I should rid myself of you, but you’re a precious thing with brilliant Color!” she said. “What? Oh yeah, red. Right.” you muttered, rubbing your neck. “Well, tell me! Maybe I have something good for you to reward your efforts.”God, she still thought you’re her pet now, didn’t she? You sighed with a tad frustration, kindly ignoring the insults as always.“I remembered that I will never get home.” you say and rest your face in your hands for a Moment. “Back when I was still there I never regarded it with much sympathy. I’ve always wanted to go to space because I wanted to get away from my family. We were… really estranged.” Amisia nodded, not looking like she was actually listening, but then again, she always seemed like she was thinking of god-knows-what and yet attentive to her surroundings. So you just suspended your disbelief and continued. Meanwhile, the troll was rummaging in her paperbag.“You probably don’t even know what a family is.” “Nope, I don’t. But go on!”“Well, my Family was pretty much just my parents - uh, lususes I guess? And that’s it. They never actually harmed me but I never felt like what I did was enough for them. But… now that I know I will never see them again, I sort of still miss them. Weird, huh?”When you looked up you found the artistic troll sit beside you on the Couch, chewing something. You had no idea what she was eating there, but it had legs. most foods had. You had numbed yourself to the fact. Just nod and chew. That’s what you did each meal. Amisia looked up from the crumbs in her claws and stared you straight in the eyes. You felt pretty weird about it. Time to look elsewhere!Your look trailed to the canvases again. “You’re pretty weird in general, but that’s probably just you being the alien you are.” Amisia said. “I have no idea what a family is, but you know, you’re my friend, and this hive is now where you live too. It’s still mine! As if everything in here, don’t misunderstand me.” God, how hastily she felt the need to clarify that. You had never had any Intention to claim anything in her hive as yours. You felt like that would be ungrateful and in bad taste. “That can maybe not make up for the loss of your own home, but like, maybe you won’t feel as bad about it someday anymore. I for one, am pretty glad you appeared here.” Weird that she smiled. You looked at her with utter surprise, but pleasantly so. “No one else has the Color you provide me with!”Oh. Of course it would be this.“I like your crimson so much! It’s gotten me out of the stump of not being able to actually art. I like it so much, I bought These fucking oblong meatproducts because they’re vaguely more like your red than the others!” Amisia reached into her somewhat trashed paperbag, pulling out what looked like a legged hotdog. At this point, the limbs on the food didn’t faze you the slightest anymore.What was even more interesting was the fact that she said she bought them purely because their red reminded her of yours. That was actually Kind of sweet.You smiled.She took a Moment when she saw your smile, then reached the oblong meatproduct to you. “But they still aren’t nearly as pretty as your disgusting, shameful blood. Even gross Things can be pretty, ahah…” The highblood appeared surprised at herself and scratched herself behind her ear somewhat embarassed. “Take it already before I eat it myself!!!” she then bursted out, visible frustration taking over her face like a swat shield protecting it’s wielder. You grasped the hotdog and the blueblood looked at you expectantly, moving her feet up and down. “Well? It may be a bit less warm than before. Some weirdo wasted my time trying to talk me into sharing with him.” You… had sort of a vague idea who that could have been. You didn’t mention that to her, however, and took a bite of the foot.Oh, it tasted amazing! Much better than anticipated, actually. The meat tasted nothing like anything you had on Earth, but was tender and practically melted on your tongue. You sighed, so very content.“Ch!” You looked at your friend. She was having that very weird smile on her face, like the first night you had met. Fascinated and pleased. “What?” You said.“Nothing!! Just glad you’re not crying anymore!”You surpressed an affectionate chuckle, instead choosing to smile toothily at her after you swallowed, and with great happiness, you found the highblood smile back at her, with rosey cheeks (or well, the blueblooded equivalent).

How nice to know she actually cared enough to comfort you.

#Amisia Erdehn #Friendsim #Readerinsert #Hurt/Comfort #Hurt #Comfort #Friendship #Ask to tag/#Food m/#Amisia x Reader

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mr-hawkmoth · 7 years

Text

Adrienette: M4r1 <3 4dri3n

Pay what you can commission for @stirredbrew ; Thank you so so so much for the commission you have no idea how much it helps. You asked for a math study date and it took some interesting turns but I think you’ll enjoy it :) Enjoy!!!

“Girl, how are you failing algebra?” Alya asked incredulous. Marinette groaned letting her head fall flat onto the desk.

“I’ve just been… busy,” Marinette fumbled for words. She couldn’t exactly tell Alya about her nights as Ladybug. “And I guess I got a little behind.”

“Well you better catch up before finals, otherwise we won’t be in the same class next year, and I cannot handle Chloe without you girl,” Alya pointed out. Marinette winced. It was a bit harsh but Alya was right. There was no way she would be in the same class next year unless she did well on her final exams. Marinette had just gotten so far behind in her studies with the recent influx in akuma attacks.

“Final exams are in less than two weeks! I’m never going to catch up in time,” Marinette lamented.

“You can if you get a tutor,”Alya reassured her. Marinette immediately brightened.

“Alya, you’re a genius! Can you tutor me?” Marinette asked eagerly. Alya’s eyes widened.

“What? No way! I barely understand this stuff myself! You need a real tutor!” Alya backpedaled. Marinette’s shoulders slumped.

“I’m doomed,” Marinette groaned falling forward onto her desk feeling a little defeated. “Where are we going to find a tutor who can teach me everything I need to know before exams?” Marinette muttered.

“I have someone in mind.” Alya smiled coyly as she eyed Adrien. Marinette quickly sat up suddenly on guard.

“Alya,” Marinette warned, “no. I wouldn’t be able to focus, don’t you dare-” before Marinette could finish her threat Alya was already calling on Adrien’s attention.

“Hey Adrien!” Alya said a little too loudly as she leaned over her desk. Adrien turned to them. Marinette froze in place. “You’re good at math right?” Alya asked feigning naivety. She and Marinette knew very well that Adrien was top in their class when it came to math.

“Yeah I guess you could say that.” Adrien smiled at them both. Marinette would have swooned had her heart not already been about to implode.

“Great because Marinette here needs a tutor!” Alya looked at Adrien pleadingly. Adrien grinned turning to Marinette.

“I can help you with math Marinette! What time are you free?” Adrien’s eyes lit up as he spoke.

“Um- you don’t- you don’t have to-“ Marinette stammered.

“She’s fee after six!” Alya chimed in.

“Great I’ll come by around then!” Adrien beamed at Marinette before turning back to the front of the classroom. Alya gave her friend a cheeky smile. Was it just her or did Adrien seem a little too overzealous about his study date with Mari?

Marinette glared daggers at her plotting friend. Now Marinette would have to rush home to hide all her pictures of Adrien, and any other embarrassing stuff in her room. Not to mention she would have to make sure she looked somewhat decent before he came over and on top of that she would have to give her parents a refresher course on how they were allowed to act around him since they didn’t seem to be able to act normal the last time he was over. Marinette groaned as she hit her head on the desk again. Alya would pay for this.

‘A new camera-- no, a new camera plus another exclusive with Ladybug,’ Marinette thought as she registered the meaning of the solution she had just written out. “I am not a Negative Nancy!” she laughed, mock pouting at her computer screen. She felt her cheeks warm at the giggle snorting that came through loud and clear on her speakers. Thankfully for her, Adrien had been unable to come over to her house, and so they had settled on Skyping instead. While she still had to take down all her posters and clippings, at least it also meant she wasn’t at risk of spontaneously combusting due to his mere presence. And she was more grateful for that than ever as Adrien finally calmed down enough to shoot her a mischievously handsome smirk. “You’re right, you’re probably closer to a Drama Queen, Miss ‘I’m-Gonna-Fail-And-Become-A-Hobo-Cat-Lady’--” “Hey!” she retorted, sticking her tongue out. “It’s a valid concern!” “Marinette, you missed one question earlier,” he deadpanned, referring to the practice quiz she had finished over an hour ago. “And you’ve been nailing all the math puzzles I’ve thrown at you, so I think you’ll be fine.” Marinette hunched her shoulder defiantly, but knew he was right. They had finished actual studying some time ago, and he’d just been sending her silly math puzzles and riddles since, including beghilos equations for her calculator. Honestly, she;d never realized that Adrien had such a sweet, if somewhat nerdy, sense of humor. And if she didn’t know better, she would think he might have actually been trying to flirt with her a little… ‘A new camera, an exclusive with Ladybug, and a giant Toblerone…?’ She definitely owed Alya for setting this up for her. “Okay, last one!” A formula popped up on their shared DrawPile app, and Marinette grinned. “What, getting tired of me already?” she quipped, even as she set about solving it. She was so focused, she failed to notice Adrien flush slightly. 7x-7i > h*(7(x-8u)) Solve for i. “No, it’s just this one has a special message for you at the end that I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while…” Marinette felt her heart skip, and she quickly rewrote the problem, simplifying and balancing the different sides of the equation the way Adrien had shown her earlier. Marinette finished scrawling out the answer only for her hand to freeze as her mind finally translated the hidden message.

“Marinette?” Adrien asked hesitantly.

“I-I should go,” Marinette whispered almost to herself. Her heart hammered in her chest and she prayed she could hold it together long enough to end the call.

“Marinette, what’s wrong? If it’s the message, we don’t have to-” Adrien started.

“I’ve taken up enough of your time today. I promise I won’t bother you anymore,” Marinette cut him off before he could finish. Adrien opened his mouth as if to speak again and Marinette knew if she let him there was no stopping the waterworks. “I’ll see you at school,” Marinette squeaked before promptly terminating the call. She slammed her laptop shut as the tears began to roll down her cheek with careless abandon. How could she have actually thought that he might have been interested?

“Marinette sucked in a deep breath before sweeping the pages of scrap paper into the wastebasket. One loan sheet fluttered to the ground missing it’s target. The answer to the equation appeared glaringly large to Marinette as if to taunt her. Marinette growled in frustration as she hastily scrunched the offending paper up in her hand and thrust it deep into the wastebasket wishing to never see the equation again.

The answer to the equation read: i < h(8u)

“Plagg this isn’t funny!” Adrien shouted at his hysteric kwami.

“Are you kidding this is hilarious! Seriously how do you give the girl the wrong equation?” Plagg snickered.

“I wasn’t thinking straight!” Adrien defended.

“No kidding, that was a pretty dummy move,” Plagg added.

“She-she distracted me,” Adrien stammered.

“Oh yes because a girl writing down math problems is just so distracting!” Plagg mocked.

“It is when she does it!” Adrien argued. Plagg raised an eyebrow at Adrien giving him a pointed look.

“She was doing math kid not a lap dance,” Plagg said incredulously.

“She just- when she’s so focused she does this cute thing where she sticks out her tongue and- and her eyes- I just- I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing,” Adrien justified.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Plagg muttered under his breath. He most definitely didn’t want to deal with Adrien being lovesick over yet another girl.

“I’ve got to fix this! Plagg, I have an idea.” Adrien hit his fist with his palm which could only mean one thing…

“Oh no no no! I don’t want any part of your plan! Count me out!” Plagg crossed his arms turning his back to a desperate Adrien.

“Plagg I just need to transform so I can go over and explain to her, and you know my dad won’t let me out of the house,” Adrien trailed off.

“No! Nu-uh! Nien! I’m not doing it! I’m not letting you transform just to go make kiss-y faces at some girl!” Plagg refused.

“We don’t make kiss-y faces at each other!” Adrien said indignantly. “Look Plagg. We’re going. I’m sorry. I promise to give you extra camembert later,” Adrien assured him.

“Kid… w-what are you doing- wait-“ Plagg made a mad dash to get away.

“Plagg, claws out!” With those words Plagg was sucked into the ring and the transformation took hold. Adrien took a deep breath. “I’ll make it up to you later, I’m sorry buddy,” Adrien whispered into his ring.

Adrien made it all the way to Marinette’s before he hesitated. Sitting on the rooftop next door he suddenly lost his nerve. How was he supposed to do this? He couldn’t very well show up as Chat Noir. Not to mention Marinette seemed pretty upset when she ended the call with him. He had really screwed up this time, was there even a way he could fix this?

“You got this Adrien, you can do this you just have to- Aargh! What the hell?!” Adrien squeaked. Pain rolled through his body causing him to collapse to his knees. Green light flashed in front of his eyes and the cold night air seemed to envelope him. What’s going on?! I didn’t call off my transformation! Adrien thought worriedly to himself.

“You little brat! You can’t just abuse me like that ya’ know!” Plagg hissed. Adrien’s head snapped up to meet Plagg’s gaze. Adrien looked down at his bare arms.

“How- how did you do that?” Adrien breathed.

“I can expel myself from a user at any given time it’s just a lot of effort I would rather not spend,” Plagg clarified rolling his eyes as he did so.

“So you waited until we were halfway across town to do it?!” Adrien practically shrieked.

“Well like I said its a lot of work! And I don’t want to be a part of your sexcapades!” Plagg spat.

“They’re not- never mind, Plagg how am I supposed to get over there now?” Adrien whined. Plagg gave Adrien a cruel smile.

“Tough love my friend. If you really want to go talk to the pretty girl you can do it like a normal hormonal boy,” Plagg said brightly.

“Plagg,” Adrein growled “Claws out!” Adrien waited but nothing happened.

“Oh yeah did I forget to mention after a kwami expels itself it needs to recharge. You can’t be Chat Noir again until I have some camembert.” Plagg smiled feigning innocence.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Adrien muttered. “But right now I have to take care of Marinette.” Plagg flew into Adrien’s pocket. Adrien walked up to the edge of the rooftop looking over to Marinette’s balcony. Taking a shaky breath Adrien prepared himself. He could do this as Chat Noir right? So why couldn’t he do it as Adrien to?

Feeling completely terrified and slightly out of his mind Adrien took a couple steps back and broke out in a run towards the rooftops edge. He leapt into the air and for a wild second Adrien thought he might actually make it onto the balcony without any hiccups. Unfortunately for Adrien Plagg’s bad luck spread into more than just his romantic life. Adrien went plummeting to the ground below just shy of the balcony. Adrien’s hands grasped the air for anything to catch hold of. As it turned out that included the string of lights hung up around Marinette’s balcony. Hanging precariously from the stretched string of lights Adrien swung his legs over to the storm pipe desperately grabbing hold before his light lifeline snapped. Adrien looked at the ground below his heart racing. That was a little too close for comfort. He slowly started inching his way up the storm pipe.

“Adrien? What are you doing?” Marinette’s voice caused Adrien’s head to snap up.

“I- uh- sorry about your lights,” Adrien stammered out idiotically. Marinette looked blankly at him.

“Do- do you need help?” Marinette asked hesitantly. After some awkward shuffling and a surprising amount of strength on Marinette’s part the pair were able to heft Adrien up to the balcony.

“What are you doing here?” Marinette asked solemnly, not meeting his gaze. Adrien noted her eyes looked a bit puffy and more than a little red. Had she been crying? Snapping back to attention Adrien forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

“I uh- I brought something for you,” Adrien said, digging around in his pocket. With some struggle (his pants were fairly tight) Adrien was able to produce the scrap of paper containing the equation he hoped would fix everything. He handed it to a not so eager Marinette who looked down at the scrap of paper with both bewilderment and fear. Cautiously she took the scrap from him. She merely glanced at his script before ferociously throwing the note down at his feet.

“You came all the way over here to give me another equation?! You’ve made yourself clear Adrien, I don’t need you climbing up to my balcony to remind me!” Marinette snapped looking more than just a little hurt. Adrien could see clearly now that she had indeed been crying. He felt like a monster. Red faced Marinette turned away from him and headed towards her trap door. Adrien scrambled to the door to follow her, scooping up his crumpled equation as he did so. He dove in after Marinette, barely missing being crushed by the door itself on his way through.

“Marinette, if you just solve the equation I promise it will fix everything,” Adrien assured her. Marinette turned to him startled. She had not expected him to follow her inside.

“I-I really can’t right now alright Adrien.” Marinette’s eyes welled with tears as she looked away from him. Adrien’s heart constricted. Tentatively Adrien reached out towards her gently brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. Marinette looked at him briefly before quickly shying away from both his gaze and his touch.

“I gave you the wrong equation,” Adrien attempted to explain.

“H-huh?” Marinette hiccuped.

“I gave you the wrong equation earlier. It was supposed to say something else,” Adrien rushed.

“Adrien you don’t have to…” Marinette shook her head sorrowfully still refusing to look at him. Adrien placed his hands on her shoulders in an effort to force her to look up him. His efforts were greeted by two large blue eyes staring back at him.

“You think I would have spent all that time sending you things to make you laugh and then send you something like that?” Adrien asked her eyes wide, a smile tugging at his lips. Marinette looked away uncertainly. “Marinette I-I-” Adrien struggled for words. He didn’t have the nerve to tell her himself. Instead he stepped back from her and took her hand pressing the crumpled note into her palm. “Please just solve it. This is what I meant to send.” Adrien could feel his own face warming as he looked down at her pleadingly. Marinette’s eyes flicked up at him and back down to the note. She sniffled but nodded anyways moving towards her desk where she began working out the problem with paper and pencil. Adrien hovered over her to monitor her work. He double checked that he wrote the write problem down several times. 9x-7i > 3(3x-7u) .

“The ‘u’ goes there.” Adrien pointed out guiding Marinette’s problem solving which earned him an irritated grumble. As Marinette finished writing out the last letter of the answer she froze her mouth falling slightly open. Adrien smiled as he read the answer in her script- i <3 u. She opened and closed her mouth several times unable to form a response she turned to him confused. She looked as though she was about to ask him what it meant but Adrien couldn’t stand to explain it any further to her instead he simply grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her.

Her lips were extremely warm and soft to the touch. Adrien worried he might have overstepped his bounds when Marinette’s lips finally moved against his. Self control be damned Adrien began to kiss Marinette in earnest pushing her back until she bumped into the desk with a squeak. Adrien’s fingers drifted into her hair. He smiled as he played with the soft tendrils. His only concern in that moment was getting closer to her. Marinette pulled away from him with a gasp. Both were panting as they looked at each other. Marinette’s hands lay splayed on her desk. She was half sitting on the desk now. Her eyes were wide with questions her cheeks flushed pink. She looked stunned but at least now she no longer seemed to be hurt.

“Do you really-” Marinette began, Adrien was quick to cut her off with another lingering kiss. This time he only pulled a fraction of an inch away before nodding his nose brushing lightly against her own. Marinette swallowed hard looking up at him through long lashes.

“Sorry I couldn’t say it before. I guess I kind of messed it up earlier with the other equation,” Adrien breathed nervously, his voice hitching in awkward places. To his relief Marinette finally smiled.

“Well you did climb all the way up my storm pipe to apologize so I guess I can forgive you,” Marinette whispered. Adrien smiled ducking his head back in for another kiss that left him breathless.

“Marinette,” Adrien panted, “before I forget you don’t happen to have any camembert do you?”

Thank you so much for the commission- Pay what you can commissions are still open and @squirrellygirlart and I are in need of the help (the commissions I’m doing are split between the two of us because I love her and and know she is going through some tough times right now). Please message me if you have any questions, thank you :)

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akiharashizuka · 7 years

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Yu-Gi-Oh Vrains episode 33 thoughts

Just to clarify things: the episode wasn’t released on Crunchyroll because of the holidays. Only the group working on the Vrains subs took off, since other series which come out on Wednesdays were released. Luckily someone uploaded a raw on Nyaa, so here we go~

Oh yeah, since there’s no translation for the moment, except the one posted on NAC, I’ll try to explain the dialogue as well. The more important stuff. (hopefully I didn’t misunderstand the lines)

Angel With Blue Tears

Didn’t think Blue Angel would ask about Ghost Girl. To me, Pkaymaker’s explanation sounded clear enough. Maybe getting the info directly from the source is more reliable...Not sure if this applies to Specter though. Since he gives a joke of an answer xD He basically says he thought they can get along because of the name. Ghosts and specters are kind of the same thing. In the end he does give a proper answer, but no new info here.

I feel like this scene adds to Specter’s creepiness. He is not only calm, but jokes around, much to Aoi’s frustration.

Aoi certainly isn’t stupid. She guessed right that the tree Monster has an effect that might mess up her offense. Only that it wasn’t what most people would expect. So, when Specter takes damage, he can Special Summon a Link Monster next to one of the tree’s arrows. and can also recover LP. It’s like this deck was made specifically to deal with Burn decks xD Also those tentacle/vines make me uncomfortable...

Here’s the part I’ve been waiting for. I’ve been wondering what Specter has to do with the book and it turns out he also read it once. And actually liked it..

It’s easy to see the similarities between the protagonist and Aoi herself. The protagonist had a reserved nature (specter uses “cold-hearted”, but I think that’s too strong of a word) and acted like she wanted to be alone, while in fact the loneliness was making he sadder and sadder. As she was attacked by evil creatures, other angels came to her aid and she learned open up. However, for some reason she would shed tears whenever defeating the creatures.

I feel like that last detail has some importance, but it’s left unexplained...

Hmm, I’m not sure if Specter is just taunting her or he really gets some twisted excitement in looking into people’s past.

Here’s something to think about: How would you deal with a deck like Specter’s? Whenever you inflict damage, the opponent gets a new Monster on the field and also increases their LP. Guess it depends on the deck you have at hand. Let’s say for something very offense oriented, like Aoi’s.

If it was me, I’d try to inflict a large amount of damage, so the opponent’s LP hit zero and there would be nothing for them to do (except if they have Infernity Zero or something similar). And that’s basically what Aoi tried to do. It sure was a well-thought plan and she had the means to fulfill it. Except that...Specter’s set card was a counter for that as well.

To take a break from the duel, we have some funny moments with Frog and Pigeon. It’s the usual stuff, until the rock knocks them down xD It’s even funnier that before that they were talking about the possibility of the Knights of Hanoi sneaking on them xD

Anyways, it turns out that this chibi-Playmaker is the one who threw the rock, having mistaken them for Hanoi...Ok... I gotta give Frog some credit for pointing out that even if the avatar looks like a kid, it might be an old man behind it. And, despite saying that, he is moved to tears by this innocent kid who wants to protect Link Vrains because it’s important to him.

Then some building collapses near them...I think they could have grabbed the kid as well...Let’s say it happened too fast...

Luckily the real Playmaker rescued him. I wonder what was going through his head when he saw that mini version of himself xD At least he convinced him to log out. And Pigeon forgot to turn on the camera again xD

Now, this moment, while it was kind of cute, it felt random. I don’t think it was solely to bring some more humor with the reporters. It also showed the kind side of Playmaker. But is that really all to it? I kind of can’t get out of my head what Frog said earlier. It can’t be a coincidence that he said it right after meeting the kid. Maybe it’s not really an old man using the chibi-Playmaker avatar, but it could be a teenager or a young adult. What makes me doubt it it’s that he was really behaving like a kid. But, at the same time, it could have been an act. As to why someone would bother to set this up, it could be to test Playmaker. It’s just a speculation. If it turns out that it really was just a random kid who was suddenly feeling brave and there was no one around to stop him from logging in, then that’s it.

back to the duel, we find the reason what Specter’s card does. It reveals a set card and it banishes it if it’s a Trap, along with other cards with the same name. So, I guess Aoi won’t be able to set up a similar strategy again...

It sure must be bugging when someone can read you so well. Not only can Specter predict what she’s planning, but he also knows a lot about her.

Like how the death of her parents affected her so badly, and the only things which helped her through was that picture book and her brother. The “parents are dead” backstory might be overused, especially in shounen anime, but it really depends on how it’s done. Here, I think it was handled well. Aoi was only 6 years old and what child would not cry if something like this happened to them?

It seems Frog and Pigeon finally get to record something. Akira didn’t get to say much this episode, just that he recognized Specter as the one who defeated Kitamura. Hayami said that the voices can’t be heard very well, which is a shame because I wanted to see Akira’s reaction on how Specter is taunting his sister.

On a second thought, maybe it’s better if he doesn’t hear anything...

Another tree...Since it’s like the evolution if the previous one, this one must be more annoying.

But first, I’m impressed with Aoi here. Earlier she claimed that Specter is just like the monsters in the book, but now she sees the similarities between her and him. It might be thanks to him saying that the tree protects him, just like Akira protects Aoi. As well as him stating that the book was good.

So yeah, Aoi reaches the conclusion that Specter was also alone, but unlike her, he didn’t receive the needed emotional support, which is why he is full of hatred.

Interestingly, Specter doesn’t really respond to that. he only asks why she tries to understand him. He seems to accept her answer: “Because I’m Blue Angel”. Honestly, I would have preferred a more concrete one. I’m guessing she wants to say that this is the kind of person she wants to be. Someone who isn’t ignorant when it comes to her opponents.

Oh, it’s the Monster that finished off Kitamura. Looks like this is the offense of the deck. And it can also bring defeated Monsters from the Graveyard. That’s quite an interesting card.

And the episode ends with Aoi figuring a way out. Of course, that’s left for the next episode. I also hope we’ll get a backstory for Specter.

Also, episode 34 will come out on January 10th. New Year is celebrated in Japan from Dec 31st to Jan 4th and it’s a national holiday. That’s why during this period there are no new anime episodes or manga chapters (most of the time at least).

#yugioh vrains #vrains #vrains spoilers #Akihara's random opinion thing

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empresswrites · 7 years

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Anonymous asked:

oh my god that last drabble!!😭🙏 I’m sad that Marco and Ace are over forever but also Marco deserves this. would you be willing to write a more confrontational addition to this scene, where Marco tries to reconnect but is refused, and Sabo’s involved? its cool if you’re too busy/focused on spideypool, though

Well, since I was still having feels over it too! Here it is and the last of it as this is to end it all. Yes, Marco deserved it for hurting Acey! Ace is now happy with Sabo, who making sure Ace does what he wants! :3 I did this as I haven’t delved into another fic yet, so luckily I was able to set my mind straight for it XD

Ace had been surprised that his time the past few days in Moby have been splendid, feeling as Sabo keeps him grounded while there. It was a little stressful on certain places, but experiencing them with Sabo had turned things to that of ‘we should come by again’ instead of when Ace avoided it all like the plague. It was being washed over gratefully and they took a bunch of pictures together with their phones. Posting to show their friends on social media, Koala happy to see them having a great time as she was housing sitting for them and sending frequent pictures of Kotatsu, for Ace mainly.

A soft giggle leaves Ace as he views over the three pictures sent to him by Koala on what his little baby feline was up to, the mischief he got into as he missed his daddies. sitting on the bench on the docks to overlook the large lake, he was waiting for Sabo to bring along a drink so they could make new memories for him before having some lunch. The water is beautiful as it always has been and he lounged in the bench with a hand adjusting his shorts, the weather feeling great to linger around. Everyone was at work or lunch at this hour, which is why they wanted to linger to get past the rush hour.

“Ace...?” The voice brings a pang into the mention male’s chest with a rolling in his stomach as he pulls eyes away from the picture of Kotatsu standing ignorant to the potted plant on the ground next to him. The smile on him falls into a frown promptly as not too far from where he sits is standing someone he left for good to get himself to stop from drowning in sorrows and anxiety.

Remembering on what Sabo said, Ace immediately turns his head away as even with the years going by it left a pain in him. At some point he had gave this man a piece of his heart and he took that and merely kept a tight clutch on it in the darkest depths out of his reach, like a siren dragging it to drown it. The only way to refill that empty space was when he was with Sabo. Quickly moving, he stands and shoves his phone away after locking the screen and goes to walk away.

“Come on, yoi. Just wait a minute and... and let me explain...” It’s almost a plea in the voice and brings a pull in Ace’s chest of gripping anxiety and light anger. Feet stop as he tries to control himself from trembling as he was weak still, not understanding on why and it was like the anchor was attached to him now, pulling him into the depths again.

“Explain? Explain what?” Ace tries out while turning to face those blue eyes with a scowl on his freckled face, trying to fight that the other looks guilty.

“Look, I was wrong, okay? I thought I was helping you see the reality of the world as most things require education.” Marco starts up with hands out, looking to be on his lunch break from his attire and it was any wonder how he found Ace here.

“It’s not that I am not smart, it’s just I like other aspects than those stupid STEM things that everyone seems to think are so important than the creative side of someone’s brain.” Ace snaps to defend himself, anything about education brought that out of him as Marco did that to him, always defensive on his intelligence as his brain functioned differently and it wasn’t like he couldn’t understand; Ace just didn’t like it.

“I never said you weren’t smart, I just said it was better to have that. Showing places that you are, yoi.” Marco persists with a small frown as if he was scolding a child and that tone, Ace hated it.

“Oh? Then what about all the magazines I help out? All I did was show my pictures and they didn’t care about the school part of things. I even write articles for them about what happens. I even do photos and drawings for books, I’ll have you know.” Arms crossed as he was sure to rub it all in on how much Marco held him back, no matter how much he felt the need to run.

“I know, I noticed your name on them. It took time to get there, which we could have done together and I may have been able to get you there quicker.” The words show how much Marco wanted to control the situation and it was bad for Ace as he was used to that with him specifically.

“I did this myself and the support from my friends and my boyfriend.” Ace grits out, wanting to clarify that he was with someone new and not leaving them no matter what.

“I always supported you, helped by giving you a place to live and not feeling like you were burdening someone else. I gave you love and affection that you wanted, plus made sure to keep you on track, what more was there for me to do? I gave my all and then you started to distance from me, yoi. My words never seemed to sink into you.” The way his tone turns to fully stern has Ace frustrated and arms tightening across his chest.

“They did sink into me like a fucking anchor and drowning me!” Ace snaps back as he holds his ground as much as he can and the other shifts lightly with a tilt of his head.

Oh no...

“Ace, I did everything because I love you. Trying to lead you down a path that would help you and give you a stable outcome. I told you that, every time I held you at night with a hand running along your side with reassurance.” Marco dips his tone softer in a coaxing that always drove Ace back into his arms and he felt his body tremble slightly in anxiety, not wanting to remember the good as there was a fine line when the lines blurred from what was controlling and what was affection. “You started to push me away, but I stayed strong next to you while you figured out everything. I knew it was something that you were feeling overwhelmed and I told you it was fine to come home once you settled down.”

“You said ‘once you are done being a brat then you can come home’.” The new voice has Ace shift and look to behind him, a relief bursts through him as something was sent out to help him stay afloat once again. “Not a very good way to try and get someone to forgive you, Mr. Fennec.” The sharp tone leaves Sabo as he comes up next to Ace with a reassuring smile and lightly rubs his hand to an arm. Those arms uncrossed to immediately have a hand in the other’s, feeling a thumb rub his in comfort.

“Well, when a tantrum is thrown you must be stern, yoi.” Marco remarks, looking displeased of someone joining the conversation.

“A tantrum? Ace was having an argument, unless that’s what you also see it at work? Is that what others at your workplace do? Throw a tantrum? Then I guess it was good my friend never went to work for your company.” Sabo uses his sharp tongue, being someone who went to college in mostly English classes to be a writer. He had been raised in a home where high grades were only acceptable and you had to go to college. The first two years of college had been picked by his parents until he left to pursue what he wanted, staying with Hack at the time.

“No, we have a calm debate to come to an agreement.”

“Oh, good, then this can easily be solved. Stay out of my boyfriend’s life, you have done enough damage to him. Plus, it was ten years ago, so I feel like you should have moved on as well, Mr. Fennec?” Avoiding the first name as he speaks stern with that of a business atmosphere brings comfort that Ace was being defended so firmly. He had been losing himself in anxiety, never turning back to Marco as he loved Sabo, but he felt himself drowning again from his thoughts from before.

Marco seems to understand the little control of the situation he has no with a third party involved, jaw clenching as he looks to be observing the two of them. Ace is clutching to his boyfriend’s hand, wanting to be anywhere but here. It brings a spiral in him on how he had been having such a great time and it was ruined again from the same person who had done this to him in the first place.

“I think that’s all that needs to be said. Wanna go eat now, babe? We could go to that one you loved?” Sabo already starts distracting him, trying to pull his mind away from drowning too much into the depths and he smiles up.

“Yeah, I love their burgers and promise they have pasta you would love!” Ace almost chirps, feeling comfort as a hand slides along his hip to start directing him away.

“Sounds great, especially as the shack for drinks was busy... Maybe tomorrow have some of those drinks?” Sabo is sure to bring up the conversation while leading his lover on back to shore to be back into that embrace he has established with him. Ace leans into him more as he feels safe and finally complete, the clenching being pushed away by that soothing breeze.

He cuts that rope to separate himself from the anchor and hopes this is the last time he will ever talk with the man.

#established SaboAce #past MarcoAce #Ace #Marco #Sabo #sequel #Both fics I listened to #'I Feel Like I'm Drowning' by Two Feet #its super good #But yes #here we are #confrontation #Marco trying to control the situation #Ace wouldn't leave Sabo #but Marco was digging at him to basically regret leaving him #Sabo to the rescue #Ace needs a hug #Poor baby

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jouissezduprintemps · 7 years

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Operation Horror Movie (Part 2/2)

Rating: T - Swearing Words: 3428 Fandom: Naruto Summary: Sequel to Short Attention Span. After Hinata successfully spends time with Naruto, the kunoichi are determined to make it happen again.

Part One

Temari walked down the street, a stack of rented movies in her hand. The best way to go about choosing the movie would be a democratic vote; while everyone might not like the movie, at least their frustration would be on the majority rather than directed at Temari herself for choosing poorly. It was a constant learning process when she spent time in Konoha. She sometimes felt as drained as she did that one time when Kankuro kept himself awake for thirty-six hours. To quote Ino, it could be ‘a lot’.

She was pulled from her thoughts when Shikamaru snapped his fingers in front of her face. She swatted away his hand. “You okay?” he asked, shaking his stinging hand.

“Fine. I’m just trying to think of how to get through this with as little trouble as possible.”

Shikamaru stopped walking, and Temari turned back to see why. He studied her face as he asked, “Why are you doing all this?”

Temari paused, trying to think of a valid response. If she was honest with herself, she wasn’t entirely sure. “Hinata’s a good person. I think she could do a helluva lot better than Naruto, but if it makes her happy…” she shrugged.

He smirked in a way that made her skin crawl. Leaning forward, he extended his index finger and poked her shoulder; it was a rare moment when he knew he wouldn’t face retaliation for being snide. “You’re getting attached.”

“So? I’m here so damned much, I might as well make some friends. Sometimes I want to do more than play shogi.”

“We do more than that.”

“Or watch the clouds and smoke.”

“Don’t make this into a fight.”

“I’m not, but I also want to do something different every now and then. As much as I like what we do, you have to admit, it can be nice to be around people who are higher-energy.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Shikamaru looked up at the sky. “But I still don’t know why you’re letting everyone over.”

“I’m taking one for the team,” Temari admitted. “It’s not like anyone’s parents would want that many of us over. It’s just easier.”

“You know this means that people will know where you stay when you’re here, right?”

Temari grimaced, and Shikamaru chuckled at the look on her face. He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around before walking again. “If you’re not careful, people are going to start thinking that you’re nice.”

“That’s not hard to fix.” Temari lifted the curtain that hung over the entryway to their next destination.

The pair approached the counter, where Temari turned to Shikamaru. “What did you put the food under?”

“Nara,” Shimakaru informed the employee, who disappeared into the back. When he reappeared, he had two large bags in his arms. He set them down, and Temari pulled out her wallet to pay. When she looked back up, he was gone.

“How much did you order?” she asked incredulously, eyes widening by a fraction.

“Enough to feed all of us, plus Choji and Kiba.”

Temari grabbed him by the wrist and turned his hand palm-up before handing him her wallet. “I don’t want to know how much this cost. Just use the money in the back pocket.”

The employee returned, this time carrying two more bags. Temari paled, worried that he would go back for more. To her relief, he stayed at the counter. She did her best to ignore the exchange at the counter, busying herself by reading a flier taped to the wall, which advertised the release of the latest Icha Icha movie adaptation.

“Little help?”

She turned to the counter, where Shikmaru was struggling with the load. She took one of the bags from him, and he could steady the rest. Once they were back on the street, Temari hesitated before asking, “Just tell me: is there any money left in my travel fund?”

“A little.”

Temari flinched. “How little?”

“Let’s just say that your highness isn’t going to be living the royal lifestyle.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“I was being serious.”

“Every time you use a title or honorific you sound like you’re insulting me.”

“Not all the time.” Shikamaru frowned.

As they rounded the corner of the apartment building, they saw Ino sitting at the top of the steps. Shikamaru and Temari exchanged a glance before approaching the staircase. When Ino noticed them, her head shot up and her face brightened. “There you are!”

“You’re early,” Temari commented, stating the obvious.

“Really early.” Shikamaru looked at his teammate with suspicious eyes.

Ino took the bag from Temari so she could open the door, at which point she shot back, “What, am I interrupting?”

Shikamaru sighed and walked past her, setting the bags down on the table. “Are you coming in, or what?” he asked as he removed his flak vest.

Still not sure if she was welcome, Ino stepped inside and shut the door behind her. “I thought I’d come early and help set up.”

“There’s not a whole lot to set up,” Temari mused. “Shikamaru was going to move the coffee table, but there’s not much else we can do with limited space.”

“There should be a futon in the bedroom closet,” Shikamaru pointed out as he moved the table out of the way. “It’ll fit if we move the chairs back by the couch.”

“I’ve got it!” Ino exclaimed, happy to be of use. It was weird how she was feeling like a third wheel, and she didn’t understand it. She resisted the temptation to poke around Temari’s room and headed straight for the closet, focusing on her mission. The futon was cumbersome, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. She set it down on the living room floor with a ‘fwump,’ rather pleased with herself. A glance at the clock told her it was fifty after six; in retrospect, she was glad that Temari and Shikamaru hadn’t been there when she arrived twenty minutes ago. Talk about a social faux pas.

Relief washed over her when there was a knock at the door, announcing Sakura and Hinata’s arrival. Hinata looked like a scared fawn, and Ino pulled her to the couch, spouting reassurances.

“I told him that everyone was coming here to watch a movie, and the only thing he texted back was ‘ok,’” Hinata rambled anxiously. “Did any of you hear from him? Maybe you, Shikamaru?”

“Nah. I don’t use my cellphone for that kind of stuff,” Shikamaru shrugged.

Temari sat a glass down on the counter with a little more force than necessary. “For the love of God, Nara, no one cares about your personal crap. If your technology was compromised, and if they cared enough to look through your texts and emails, they’re not gonna find anything.”

“No, they wouldn’t, because I don’t use it.”

“For a genius, you’re really fucking stupid.”

“Shikamaru, do you really not use text or email?” Ino asked hesitantly, looking at her teammate with skepticism.

“This isn’t about me,” Shikamaru snapped, trying to divert the conversation. “We were talking about Naruto. No, Hinata, I haven’t talked to him.” Behind his back, Temari answered Ino’s question with a dramatic shake of her head.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sakura assured Hinata, patting her hand. “It’s Naruto. The fact that he texted you back at all is a good sign.”

“What about Naruto?” Choji asked, taking advantage of the door Hinata and Sakura had forgotten to close.

“He didn’t respond to a text that asked if he was coming,” Ino clarified.

“Yeah, he’s really bad at that,” Choji mused, unintentionally lifting Hinata’s spirits. The conversation was forgotten when he saw the bags of takeout on the table.

Tenten peered around the doorway into the apartment, rapping her knuckles against the door before entering, a very reluctant Neji in tow. “I hope you don’t mind that I asked Neji to join us.” Tenten smiled, realizing that she should have asked first.

“It’s fine,” Shikamaru answered, to Temari’s annoyance. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Neji; she thought that Shikamaru was presumptuous to give a response for her. “I didn’t think you were into movies, Neji.”

“I’m not,” he admitted when Tenten left his side to speak to Hinata. “But, I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“It’ll be fun,” Choji assured him with a pat on the shoulder.

A large, white dog bolted through the doorway and jumped on Hinata, bathing her in licks. Temari watched on in disbelief as Hinata laughed, allowing this to happen.

Kiba brought the dog. No one asked me if he could bring the dog. There’s a dog on my couch. She was pulled from her thoughts when Shikamaru sighed, looking at the figure standing over the threshold.

“Kiba, what’s Akamaru doing here?”

“He wanted to come, too,” Kiba explained like it was completely natural. “He loves scary movies.” A sharp whistle caught the ninja hound’s attention, and he obediently put all four paws on the ground. His tail beat heavily against the side of the couch.

“Man, you know you’ve gotta ask-” Shikamaru cut himself off when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Naruto. The yellow-haired ninja was clad in a vibrant set of pyjamas.

“Umm, Naruto?” Sakura probed hesitantly. “What are you wearing?”

“It’s movie night, right? I thought this was a pyjama thing.” Naruto shrugged as he kicked off his shoes. “I don’t know why you guys are wearing your everyday clothes.”

“But aren’t you scared of horror movies?” Sakura pressed, looking at him warily.

“Me? What? No.” Naruto scoffed and stood a little taller. “I’m a shinobi! Like I’d be scared of some stupid movie.”

“Oh, my god,” Ino whispered to herself. This wasn’t just a plan gone wrong. It was a plan that was taken out back and shot with 100 senbon. It was a massacre, and there was no way to save it.

“So what’re we watching?” Naruto demanded as he threw himself down on the futon.

A silent exchange passed between Shikamaru and Temari. Neither of them had planned on this. It was so unlikely that they hadn’t bothered. Taking his cue, Shikamaru picked up the stack of movies and walked into the living room. “Well, we got a few, so we’ll have to vote.”

“Double feature!” Kiba suggested, and Akamaru barked his agreement.

Ino shuffled across the floor, panic in her eyes. “What do we do?” she hissed through clenched teeth, tugging on Temari’s sleeve.

“Nothing.” She saw that Ino needed more explanation. “We have no way of controlling him now that he’s here. He won’t leave with Hinata, and we can’t guarantee that he’ll even acknowledge her. We did this so that she wouldn’t have to worry about getting his attention on her own.”

“I know,” Ino lamented. “But what about Hinata?”

Before Temari could answer, Sai knocked on the open door, offering a smile. He was dressed in a set of pyjamas more outrageously printed than Naruto’s.

“Sai? What are you wearing?” Ino gaped, having never seen him in a color that wasn’t black.

“Naruto lent them to me. He said to wear pyjamas, but I don’t own any.”

Ino shot an accusing glance at Sakura, who mouthed ‘what am I supposed to do about it?’

“Sai!” Naruto exclaimed, waving him over. “Come on, we’re gonna vote on the first movie!”

First? Temari fought to keep from groaning aloud. Shikamaru had tried to tell her that she didn’t know what she’d done by inviting them over, but she assumed he was being dramatic because he didn’t want to put in the effort. Well, if she couldn’t beat them… “I’m going to put on some sweats,” she informed her guests as she walked to her bedroom. “Ino, Sakura, Tenten, Hinata? Do you want to borrow some?” Her eyes told them to come with her, and they all picked up her signal. Temari shut the door behind them before whispering, “What the hell?”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Sakura growled quietly.

Tenten turned sympathetically to Hinata. “It’s okay if you want to go home. I know you don’t like these movies. I’m sorry Naruto’s such an idiot.”

“It’s okay.” Hinata focused on the string pull on her jacket. “I’m just sorry you went through so much trouble.”

“It’s not your fault,” Temari reassured her. “I should have planned for this.”

“Please. Even Shikamaru was surprised,” Ino countered. “There was no planning for him to be a complete dumbass.”

Temari rifled through her drawers, searching for comfortable clothing. “If we go back out there dressed like this, they’re going to get suspicious. Here.” She pulled out some loose-fitting bottoms and handed them to Ino and Tenten, who would fit in them the best; she was worried that Sakura’s slighter hips wouldn’t keep them up. Sakura was handed a pair of drawstring shorts, which she could take in as much as she needed. For herself, she kept her favorite lounge pants.

“Pick whatever shirt you like,” Temari offered, pulling out the drawer above. She took first pick, opting for her favorite tanktop, before letting her friends rifle through. She had just undone her obi when she heard Ino say her name.

“Umm, Tema?” Ino held up a well-worn, faded tee-shirt that she had found. The fabric was soft from wear, and she hadn’t noticed anything odd about it until she unfolded it. She held the back toward Temari, her fingertip tapping the washed-out symbol of the Nara clan just below the collar.

The color drained from Temari’s face. She had borrowed that shirt years ago, and she’d hung onto it because it was comfortable. That was why. They’d buy that, right?

Ino snorted at the look Temari was giving her, and Sakura laughed outright.

“Stop it,” Tenten scolded, taking the shirt from Ino.

“Come on, let me wear it. I want to see Shikamaru’s face,” Ino insisted.

Tenten hid it behind her back and narrowed her eyes. “We’re not here to meddle with Temari’s love life. We’re here to meddle with Hinata’s.”

“It’s not like everyone here hasn’t figured it out,” Ino protested with a frown. “I just wanted to have some fun.”

“Leave them alone, Ino.” Sakura withdrew another shirt and shoved it against her friend’s chest. “Don’t make me play the Sai card, because I will.”

“Whatever.” Ino took the shirt she had been handed. She would have plenty of time to mess with her teammate later on, after Temari left.

Temari pulled the wraps from her hair and shared a glance with Hinata, who gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Hurry up, already!” Naruto shouted as he knocked on the bedroom door.

Sakura opened the door and glared at him in a way that sent a chill down his spine. Naruto glanced past her, having noticed that Hinata hadn’t taken the same liberties as everyone else. “You know, if you want to go home and change, we’ll wait.”

Hinata shook her head, slipping out the door. “I think I’m just going to go home,” she admitted, feeling awkward.

“Well, I mean, if you want to.” The disappointment in Naruto’s voice was clear.

She looked down at her feet, mumbling “I guess I could stay.”

“Yeah, get over here, Hinata!” Kiba shouted. “Don’t worry, Akamaru won’t let you get scared!”

“Come on.” Naruto placed a hand on her shoulder and steered her over to the living room.

Thinking ahead, Sakura lay claim to the smaller chair. She knew that Naruto would sit with her if given the chance. With her move, the scramble began for the best viewing spaces.

Neji claimed a seat on the couch and looked ready to fight anyone who tried to take it. He’d grabbed Tenten’s wrist in the fray and pulled her with him, earning her the second seat. Sai had already been sitting on the couch, suspecting that this might happen. He beckoned Ino to join him; it would be a bit of a squeeze for four, but not anything uncomfortable.

Shikamaru had taken the large, plush chair for himself.

“Move,” Temari told him, and he gave her a strange look. “Move over,” she repeated, and he obliged, confused by her instigation of physical proximity.

This left Choji and Kiba on the floor, along with Naruto and Hinata. Choji had been preoccupied with the food, and Naruto and Kiba were too focused on getting Hinata to stay. None of them were pleased with the result, but they had no one to blame but themselves.

“So, what did you pick?” Ino asked when Kiba put the movie in.

“Presumed Dead. It’s some reanimation, zombie thing.” Shikamaru shrugged. “It sounds pretty cheesy, but hey, majority rules.”

The film itself was, from the very beginning, gratuitous in every way. It became clear that Hinata did not like body horror. Her face was buried in Naruto’s shoulder, trying to trap out even the light on the screen. Naruto sat ramrod straight, like he was watching a train wreck. He couldn’t look away even though he wanted to.

Kiba lay on his stomach, completely dedicated to the movie. He’d tried yelling at the screen, but Tenten pelted him with a chopstick with alarming accuracy. She’d made him get up and bring it back to her, adding insult to injury.

Sakura watched, almost bored. She’d been a medical ninja for years now; after working in a hospital, nothing was quite as scary anymore. Sai was also unfazed, although his detachment came from an entirely different training. Ino had grabbed his knee when she jumped at a pop scare, and her fingers were digging into his skin. She was unaware of it, and he didn’t seem to mind.

Tenten was riveted, repeatedly telling Neji to focus on the movie. Neji was feeling sick to his stomach, and although he tried to look out the window and avoid the film, there were only so many times a man could take a punch to the shoulder.

Temari had twisted around in the chair so that her back rested against Shikamaru’s side, her legs thrown over one of the arm rests. Both of them kept gesturing at the television and whispering in harsh tones as they critiqued the movie and the poorly-written protagonists.

As time went on, they became invested in the film. The plot was at least somewhat compelling, and the series of plot twists kept them on their toes. Even Hinata had started watching.

Unable to get his master’s attention, Akamaru let out a loud, sharp bark. Ino shot clean off the couch and over the back. Neji seemed frozen in place, whereas Hinata swayed and fell back on the futon. Naruto was on his feet, trying to hide his terror by being aggressive. Once their hearts stopped pounding, Kiba snapped, “Damn it, Akamaru!”

“Your dog’s an asshole!” Naruto shouted, glaring at his friend.

“Oh yeah? Well, screw you. He just needs to go out.” Kiba stood and walked to the door, stopping to scratch Akamaru’s head. “I’m sorry, boy. I should have realized.”

Tenten started to laugh at the absurdity of it all, which snapped Neji back to reality. Sai turned in his seat and leaned over the back of the couch. “You can come out now, beautiful.”

Trying to maintain some of her dignity, Ino stood and walked around the couch to take her seat. Sakura couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s mildly disheveled appearance.

“Damn, woman,” Shikamaru grumbled, prying Temari’s hand from on top of his. She’d left fingernail marks in his skin. “What’d I do?”

“C’mon, Hinata,” Naruto urged as he helped her sit back up, an arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Hinata put a hand to her head. “I’m okay.”

“God, you people are dramatic,” Kiba complained once he opened the door. Akamaru let out an apologetic whimper when Naruto and Ino glared daggers at him. Kiba stalked back to his spot and sat down in a huff before pressing play on the movie again.

Ino abandoned watching the movie, instead noticing that Naruto hadn’t bothered to move his arm. She cheered internally when Hinata found the courage to rest her head on his shoulder. She leaned over Sai and tapped Sakura, gesturing to the miracle. Tenten caught on and made Neji get Shikamaru’s attention, then gestured for him to make Temari look. With a tap against her leg and a point, he succeeded in showing her what Tenten wanted.

Ino leaned in so that she could whisper to Sakura. “This is a helluva lot better than ramen!”

#naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto fanfiction #drabble #hinata hyuga #tenten #ino yamanaka #sakura haruno #temari of the sand #shikamaru nara #naruhina #shikatema #saiino

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ahnsael · 7 years

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Today I learned just how difficult it is to install a TV wall mount when you don’t own a drill.

The securing bolts are about 4″ long.

I went out and bought a stud finder (it beeped as soon as I picked it up).

youtube

But before I picked that up, I missed the bit about needing a drill.

You know how hard it is to use an awl to make a pilot hole in a wooden stud? It literally took me an hour and a half to get those four bolts into the wall. And hours later, my arms are still sore from the pressure I had to put on them as I was using a not-very-good socket wrench to get them to start gripping into the wood.

But...I got the job done.

The hard part was then mounting the TV to the bracket (it’s above my dresser, and it was REALLY hard to get a good angle to (a) even see the brackets on the TV that I needed to match up to the wall bracket, and (b) reach it in the first place (over a four-foot tall, three-feet-deep dresser that is FAR too heavy to move by myself), and (c) not drop the TV behind the dresser as I climbed on top of it, holding the TV (which is not as light as I thought it would be), to get a decent angle, and (d) hook up the power cord, which was almost impossible, even though my bracket lets me move the TV about 6″ from the wall.

And it’s a good thing I bought the wall mount as an afterthought. If I didn’t have it, I’d still be watching my old TV. If I had to rely on the legs that were included with the TV, well...those would be 45″ apart. And my dresser is 42″ wide. It wouldn’t have worked.

But now I have a gigantic 55″ TV on the wall of my room, and I’ve angled/tilted it so that I see the actual picture, and not the reflection of my bedroom ceiling lighting fixture.

[insert Read More here because I rambled about both the new and old TV]

Turned out that, even using a laser level, I mounted the wall bracket a little crooked -- when I was done, the right side of the TV was about 1″ lower than the left. But the manufacturer accounted for that possibility and included a way to adjust the TV brackets in order to raise each side of the TV separately without disassembling and starting over (and putting more large holes in the wall).

It was a LOT of work (if I’d known what I was in for, I’d have just had Best Buy do the installation [[ free installation was included, but I ordered my wall mount a day later and wasn’t sure it would have been here, and the 5.1 sound bar still isn’t here yet, and I’m too macho in my head for my own good and say “I can install it myself! but there are things that could have been done better than I did them with the right tools), but...it’s up, and it looks fantastic.Any larger would have been too big (not that I wouldn’t want a full-wall TV, but...with the furniture and the wall decorations, this BARELY fit without blocking anything or being blocked by anything). And don’t get me wrong...if it was just hooking up cables to the TV, I would be golden

But a wall mount? That was VERY new to me. And I screwed it up.

But since I ordered it a day after the TV, I said no to the installation, thinking they’d come to install the TV to my wall only to find that I had no wall mount.

It all worked out (so far -- after about 12 hours, my TV hasn’t fallen off the wall, so I’m thinking I probably did it right (despite the fact that one of the bolts went in at about 30º upper-left instead of going striaght int the wood stud) even though the TV is FAR from centered on the mount -- bust MOSTLY centered where I need it, and angled to where the reflection of my bedroom light isn’t glaraing back at me via the TV screen -- because of where the studs in my wall are).

But for wood stud installations, the manufacturer says that positioning the TV at ANY POINT along the wall bracket works, so I think I’ll be okay.

I leveled it. I raised it on both sides (I was about 2″ short in where I installed the mount, but the TV portion of the mount had a work-around that I used).

And unlike my old TV (which I have to figure out how to legally get rid of -- see below for how Ive decided to try to get rid of it without paying reycling fees; if someone ffers me $5, I’m gonna take it), the new one hasn’t restarted itself once when I didn’t want it to so far (it did restart when it was first turned on and downloading software updates, but that was just part of the update process).

I had thought about waiting until tomorrow to install the new TV, but when I turned on my old TV earlier, the sound cut out -- and it literally took 15 minutes for the TV to reboot with sound. That was when I decided that today was the day. And I was without a TV in my room for HOURS while I installed the new one.

The only thing -- I went into my parents’ room to get a step stool which I knew was there to help me reach where I needed to install the wall mount (and, later, climb on top of my dresser, which I’m REALLY glad I didn’t end up tipping over as I carefully shifted my weight onto it -- there was one pretty close call). Their bedroom door was closed. They usually leave it open when they’re out of town.

And right by their dresser, there’s a 40″ flat screen TV, brand new in the box.

When my mom asked about birthday gifts, my reply included a new TV. They ended up getting me the Disneyland Spirit Award pin (which I mentioned in the same email), but...they may have decided to save that TV for a Christmas gift (and a very nice one, don’t get me wrong).

So tomorrow I’d better text to say Happy Thanksgiving and also mention that I bought myself something nice for my birthday. That way they can (hopefully) return the TV when they get home (if it is for me -- I don’t know that for sure), and if it will have been too long since they purchased it, maybe use it as an upgrade from their own smaller 32″ TV in their room.

Now I’m just waiting for my 5.1-Channel Sound Bar (with wireless sub-woofer and rear speakers -- which now costs $20 more on Best Buy’s website than it did when I bought it in their “pre-Black Friday sale”).

I ordered it in the same transaction as the wall mount, but while the wall mount arrived a day earlier than promised, the sound bar -- instead of being shipped from California to here in a couple days -- was sent from California to Utah for some reason. Even at 2:00 Wednesday morning, the tracking info from UPS said “on time delivery by the end of the day Tuesday the 21st.” Now it’s expected to arrive on the 24th, while I’m at work (hopefully it won’t get stolen from my front porch). I see on the tracking that it made it earlier tonight to the place in Nevada where it will be put on a truck to my house, but UPS also says that they don’t do deliveries on Thanksgiving (which is fine...just hoping that nobody steals this $170 sound bar as it sits on my porch all day until I get home from work.) Also, I decided to sell my old TV on CraistList rather than try to find a legal way to dispose of it (which might cost me money -- Best Buy wanted $15 to haul it away).

But fear not, my integrity is intact. The following is the ad I submitted (which can be seen at https://reno.craigslist.org/ele/d/flat-screen-smart-tv-works-as/6397825672.html):

I just replaced a 38½" 1080P Insignia flat screen Smart TV and it's yours for a low price. The original box (not included) said 39" Class but official diagonal measurement is 38½" (which my tape measure agrees with). For full product details, see https://www.insigniaproducts.com/pdp/NS-39DR510NA17/4863802 (this is the exact model I am selling -- they are still selling it new for $180, so you can save some money here if you can accept that it's a TV bought in July of 2016 and used daily since then). A couple of caveats, because I want to run an honest ad: The TV has a history of restarting itself at random times. You might be watching a favorite show, and the TV will reset, go to the Insignia/ROKU logo, and start from scratch, so you may miss a part of what you are watching. Sometimes the sound gives out, and a reboot to fix it (large square button on the back left of the TV -- hold it down until it starts the reboot process) can take up to 10-15 minutes before you're back to watching TV. The basic restarts happen, on average, once a day (some days it happens twice, other days it doesn't happen at all), and those generally take a minute or two before you're back to watching TV or playing your video game (I would NOT recommend this TV for a gamer who can't press "pause" when this happens, like if you are playing a multiplayer online game). The 10-15 minute reboots, maybe once every two weeks. If you can handle that, the TV has very good picture quality, and fit very well on top of a tall dresser that is 42" wide. No wall mount included. Legs can be easily removed if you have a wall mount already. Usually these restarts happen within 10-15 minutes of powering it on, but once in a while, you can be watching TV for hours, be really into a sports event, and...suddenly, there's an Insignia logo in place of the great play you were about to see, and now will have to look up on YouTube. This is why I replaced the TV after just 16 months -- it was frustrating to me. But if you're okay with this, or know how to fix it, or have a friend that you like a *little bit* that you feel obligated to get a gift for...this could be the TV for you. Cable box and compact DVD/Blu-Ray player fit comfortably in the space between the TV and the surface -- your experience may vary based on the size of your cable/satellite box and/or DVD/Blu-Ray player (actual under-TV clearance: 2" on the left and right of center, 1½" at the center where the LED light and remote control sensor are located). Has original remote, and the legs are still attached. All settings have been restored to factory default. For inputs, see images. To clarify dimensions: TV itself is 3½" deep (9½" if you include the legs), 34½" wide (if you have limited space on your flat surface, a surface 27" wide would accommodate the legs with the TV hanging just over the sides), and 22" high (with legs -- 20 5/8" high without legs). As far as when this sale (or barter, if you've got something you think I might want -- I'm certainly open to negotiations) can happen -- I work in a local casino, and cannot be seen on camera accepting cash when I'm at work since I'm a manager who is ineligible for tips, and a transaction like this could be seen as taking a tip if it happened while I am at work. I work from 3pm-11pm Friday through Tuesday. I would be available after 11:00pm any of those days (before work, I sleep until it's time to get ready for work -- if you work out a 12pm-1pm meeting in advance, I can adjust my sleep schedule for that day). Wednesdays and Thursdays, I am free whenever works for you (this includes today, Thanksgiving). Given the problems that the TV has with restarting, I will accept offers. The $50 list price is not firm. I will say, though, that if I tell you we have a deal, we have a deal. If I get a higher offer while you're on your way, I'm going to honor our deal. If I accept your offer, that acceptance is firm and not going to change, even if I get a higher offer after the fact. I absolutely guarantee that you won't get a call on the way to my house telling you that the deal is off if I agreed to it. That's on me, not you. But if my phone is ringing off the hook (I know, wishful thinking) and people are outbidding each other, I'll keep you all informed as to the most recent deal. Again...this is Craigslist, and I live in a relatively small community, so...what I actually expect is for one person to call (if I'm lucky), offer a price, and then for me to accept that price and you take the TV away and give it to someone you sort of like, but don't like as much as you like [insert favorite food/music/movie/vacation destination here]. And again, I'm not against a barter if you have something cool that you no longer want. Either way, it beats me having to pay to have the TV recycled...especially when it works (most of the time) and has just about as many bells and whistles as the TV I just bought.

If someone actually pays the $50 asking price, I’d be shocked (though the TV does, honestly, work as well as it did out of the box -- it just sucked out of the box but I disclosed that so I wouldn’t feel any guilt), but...the fact that I said “If I get a higher offer while you’re on your way, I’m going to honor our deal” (and not be greedy and go for a higher offer from someone who may call 20 minutes later) might get me some takers. I’ve never sold on Craigslist before, although I helped my parents sell a lawnmower so I’m not a TOTAL newb). but...the promise of “I know I said we had a deal, but someone else just offered $10 more, do you want to match/beat it?” seems like such a slimeball move that.

I don’t want to go there. I’m not a used car salesman. I’m just looking to pawn a mostly-working (but not without problems) TV off on someone else, after being honest with the TV’s pluses and minuses, so I don’t have to pay to have it recycled. Let someone else have my lemon TV -- as long as they have had the chance to see that it’s a lemon before they drop some money on it (honestly, I’d be THRILLED if I got $20 of my $50 asking price...I don’t know Craigslist well, but even getting $20 would be worth saying no when Best Buy said they’d haul my old TV away -- which they sold me -- if I paid them $15.

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photomattjames · 6 years

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<p><h2><strong><font color="#f79646">What Is The Focus of Your Photography?</font></strong></h2></p>

Does your photography have a point? And how can your images engage with more viewers? You can help define your photography by implementing these few very helpful following techniques, especially if you have reached that stage where it may be a struggle to clearly answer those opening questions.

If you are grasping for creativity and inspiration in your photography there may be some very insightful things that will help sweep away the fog and clarify things for you. It’s not the kind of overnight epiphany that Eckhart Tolle might have rather more of a reinforcement of what you already know but might not have been able to incorporate into your work as you might have wanted to. It’s the realization that your work needs to be a reflection of you: from your life perspectives, your character, your views, and your emotions. How many people state the obvious by putting themselves in their work?

For example, you may have been focusing on just one aspect up until this point, like how to get great portraits if you are a portrait photographer or landscapes if a landscape photographer. Camera settings, light, colour combinations, composition - these are all technical aspects of photography which tend to be the focus. These things are all extremely important and there is much material out there to help you learn those aspects of photography but once you’ve sharpened and honed those skills sufficiently you don’t want to allow your photography to become mundane and tedious. This is where you should make a concerted effort to put more of yourself into your photos, and not necessarily in a selfie-type way.

Using People To Tell Stories.

Let’s boil it down to two main things you can do with your photos once you’ve mastered the technical aspects. First, give insight into your character and emotions, and second, tell a story to evoke emotions from others. Storytelling is one of the most common aspects of your photography that experts will tell you to work on. Without anyone telling you what that actually means, however, the phrase can be extremely frustrating. There needs to be depth to the recommendation as opposed to a soundbite for the pseudo experts to spout off in conversation. Give it your own interpretation by means of it going beyond the technical, pretty aspects of the image in order to engender in viewers a strong desire to ask more questions about the image and their reactions to it.

Let’s look at the technical aspects of the above image: the surfer being in the bottom right and the sun being in the top left gives symmetry to the composition; both sit on a rule of thirds gridline; it uses warm, analogous colours and positions the surfer so he’s paddling towards the sun. These aspects show that from a technical analysis viewpoint it’s a good shot but it’s also easy to see that the photograph is likeable because it reflects the soul of the photographer. The photographer, Iain Stanley, grew up surfing on a beach in Sydney where he would spend a large amount of his childhood spent in scenes like this. It speaks to those who revel in solitude or those that feel uncomfortable in crowded places as the image perfectly encapsulates what is precious to the photographer and what he has in common with the viewer.

Iain says: “When people view this image they tend to respond the same way. Invariably, they don't talk to me about settings or which lens I used, but more about the ocean, surfing, their childhood, or memories that this evokes. To me, that's what storytelling is — conjuring up thoughts in people that go beyond colors, or gear, or rules of composition.”

This is another image that has a resonant feeling. Technically, it’s not perfect but it’s not too bad either. Compositionally, there is the river that divides the frame and there is a contrast in colour - the gorgeous, soft hues of a dimming sky, and moreover, the subject of a father and a daughter exiting to the left which reflects closure. But what are the emotions that this image evokes? For example, a young parent might have precious little time and this image raises those feelings in the viewer - time spent with family, what kind of parent you’d want to be, introducing children to the beauty of nature and what that would mean to them when it’s passed on down through the generations.

Iain says: “This scene brings together absolutely everything that I cherish — my daughters, the beauty of nature, and solitude. When you look at this photo, I sure hope you have a lot more running around inside your head than simply “I wonder if he shot this with a prime lens or zoom lens.” That's what storytelling should do — provoke thought.”

Telling Stories Without People.

So, we have seen two examples of Iain’s work that use people in a frame but what about without a subject? What does the focus of storytelling become? You need to think about insight into how you see the world and the opportunity for viewers to conjure up a raft of thoughts and emotions that go beyond the compositional elements. Naturally, utilising people is easier because they can be used as reference points for viewers to empathise with but it’s not a black and white rule.

Obviously, you need to learn the importance of compositional elements. As the rocks get smaller upstream the eye is lead through the frame because of the way that the bigger rock is situated as a strong point of focus in the bottom left corner. Once again, using a rule of thirds gridline helps the viewer to see light at the end of a natural tunnel with an intersection in the top right. You are drawn into the subject by the leading line of the river. And, analogous yellows and greens form the colour scheme. But there is more to Iain’s picture than just the compositional elements.

Again, it speaks to the lover of solitude. He says: “I never had brothers or sisters to play with, nor cousins, aunts, uncles, or grandparents because they all live in England (my parents migrated to Australia just before I was born). I spent pretty much my entire childhood and most of my teenage years finding things out for myself and exploring the beautiful coastline and nature trails around my home in Sydney. And I've carried that love of solitary exploration through to my adult life and into my photography. This photo is a representation of that as I took it high, high up in a valley without a soul around for miles and miles. It took me about 2.5 hours to get there, hiking alone.”

Iain goes on to say: “But I also love that opening of light in the distance. It's almost like a light at the end of the tunnel and can be used as a metaphor for life for those who like to have philosophical whims. This photo has led to many a conversation about the afterlife, religion, and near death experiences among other things, again, exactly what storytelling is all about for me.”

Evoking Emotion.

Again, to return to using people to evoke emotion in the viewer: it is important, Iain thinks, that whenever possible, to leave people in your photos unidentified, or unidentifiable by things such as clothing or hairstyles. This is for the very reason that you want to make your viewers believe that the people in the scenes could be them. When they spend time looking at your image you want them to be allowed to daydream about thoughts that are conjured up because they have placed themselves in that scene.

Silhouettes are a good way to bring that ambiguity to your subjects.

You’ll notice that in each of Iain’s three images with people subjects he has used silhouettes. The above image of the fisherman shows how you can leave your subject unidentifiable. We can’t see his face, hair colour, race, age, or even brand of clothing; to take it a step further, it may even be a woman. This allows anyone to gaze at this image and place themselves here without any effort. Identifiers like loud clothing or specific styles act as distractions.

Final Thoughts.

The summary of this piece is to reiterate the importance of giving yourself to your craft. How can it be more than just going out and shooting nie scenes with beautiful colours? There's nothing wrong with that from time to time (or in situations where it might be a paid job, for example) but you will feel much more of an affinity for photography when it became something you begin to emotionally invest in. And when you do that, your storytelling becomes so much stronger because you're trying to say something more with your images and put a part of yourself into them and that really does resonate with people. Iain says: “You genuinely feel that there is much more of a point to what you're trying to create.”

Words by Elijah (Content Marketer).

#photography #tips and advice

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