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kookie-doughs · 3 years

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Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 19: Sand On My Feet Are The Worst

Imagine the largest concert crowd you've ever seen, a football field packed with a million fans. Now imagine a field a million times that big, packed with people, and imagine the electricity has gone out, and there is no noise, no light, no beach ball bouncing around over the crowd. Something tragic has happened backstage. Whispering masses of people are just milling around in the shadows, waiting for a concert that will never start.

If you can picture that, you have a pretty good idea what the Fields of Asphodel looked like. The black grass had been trampled by eons of dead feet. A warm, moist wind blew like the breath of a swamp. Black trees—Grover told me they were poplars—grew in clumps here and there.

The cavern ceiling was so high above us it might've been a bank of storm clouds, except for the stalactites, which glowed faint gray and looked wickedly pointed. I tried not to imagine they'd fall on us at any moment, but dotted around the fields were several that had fallen and impaled themselves in the black grass. I guess the dead didn't have to worry about little hazards like being speared by stalactites the size of booster rockets. Annabeth, Grover, Percy, and I tried to blend into the crowd, keeping an eye out for security ghouls. I couldn't help looking for familiar faces among the spirits of Asphodel, but the dead are hard to look at. Their faces shimmer. They all look slightly angry or confused. They will come up to you and speak, but their voices sound like chatter, like bats twittering. Once they realize you can't understand them, they frown and move away. The dead aren't scary. They're just sad.

Don't worry... Death isn't bad compared to life. We crept along, following the line of new arrivals that snaked from the main gates toward a black-tented pavilion with a banner that read: JUDGMENTS FOR ELYSIUM AND ETERNAL DAMNATION Welcome, Newly Deceased! Out the back of the tent came two much smaller lines. To the left, spirits flanked by security ghouls were marched down a rocky path toward the Fields of Punishment, which glowed and smoked in the distance, a vast, cracked wasteland with rivers of lava and minefields and miles of barbed wire separating the different torture areas. Even from far away, I could see people being chased by hellhounds, burned at the stake, forced to run naked through cactus patches or listen to opera music. I could just make out a tiny hill, with the ant-size figure of Sisyphus struggling to move his boulder to the top. And I saw worse tortures, too—things I don't want to describe. The line coming from the right side of the judgment pavilion was much better. This one led down toward a small valley surrounded by walls—a gated community, which seemed to be the only happy part of the Underworld. Beyond the security gate were neighborhoods of beautiful houses from every time period in history, Roman villas and medieval castles and Victorian mansions. Silver and gold flowers bloomed on the lawns. The grass rippled in rainbow colors. I could hear laughter and smell barbecue cooking. Elysium. In the middle of that valley was a glittering blue lake, with three small islands like a vacation resort in the Bahamas. The Isles of the Blest, for people who had chosen to be reborn three times, and three times achieved Elysium. Immediately I knew that's where I wanted to go when I died. If I die.

"I am so ready to die if that's where I'll go." "That's what it's all about," Annabeth said, "That's the place for heroes." But I thought of how few people there were in Elysium, how tiny it was compared to the Fields of Asphodel or even the Fields of Punishment. So few people did good in their lives. It was depressing. We left the judgment pavilion and moved deeper into the Asphodel Fields. It got darker. The colors faded from our clothes. The crowds of chattering spirits began to thin. After a few miles of walking, we began to hear a familiar screech in the distance. Looming on the horizon was a palace of glittering black obsidian. Above the parapets swirled three dark bat like creatures: the Furies. I got the feeling they were waiting for us. "I suppose it's too late to turn back," Percy said wistfully. "We'll be okay." I smiled. "Maybe we should search some of the other places first," Grover suggested. "Like, Elysium, for instance..." "Come on, goat boy." Annabeth grabbed his arm. Grover yelped. His sneakers sprouted wings and his legs shot forward, pulling him away from Annabeth. He landed flat on his back in the grass. "Grover," Annabeth chided. "Stop messing around." "But I didn't—" He yelped again. His shoes were flapping like crazy now. They levitated off the ground and started dragging him away from us. "Maia!" he yelled, but the magic word seemed to have no effect. "Maia, already! Nine-one-one! Help!" I got over being stunned and made a grab for Grover's hand, but too late. He was picking up speed, skidding downhill like a bobsled. We ran after him. Annabeth shouted, "Untie the shoes!" It was a smart idea, but I guess it's not so easy when your shoes are pulling you along feetfirst at full speed. Grover tried to sit up, but he couldn't get close to the laces. We kept after him, trying to keep him in sight as he ripped between the legs of spirits who chattered at him in annoyance. I was sure Grover was going to barrel straight through the gates of Hades's palace, but his shoes veered sharply to the right and dragged him in the opposite direction. The slope got steeper. Grover picked up speed. Annabeth, Percy and I had to sprint to keep up. The cavern walls narrowed on either side, and I realized we'd entered some kind of side tunnel. No black grass or trees now, just rock underfoot, and the dim light of the stalactites above. "Grover!" Percy yelled, my voice echoing. "Hold on to something!" "What?" he yelled back. He was grabbing at gravel, but there was nothing big enough to slow him down. The tunnel got darker and colder. The hairs on my arms bristled. It smelled evil down here. It made me think of things I shouldn't even know about—blood spilled on an ancient stone altar, the foul breath of a murderer. Percy saw what was ahead of us, and he stopped dead in my tracks. The tunnel widened into a huge dark cavern, and in the middle was a chasm the size of a city block. Grover was sliding straight toward the edge. "Come on, Percy!" I yelled, tugging at his wrist. "But that's—" "I know!" Annabeth shouted. "The place you described in your dream! But Grover's going to fall if we don't catch him." She was right, of course. Grover's predicament got me moving again. He was yelling, clawing at the ground, but the winged shoes kept dragging him toward the pit, and it didn't look like we could possibly get to him in time. What saved him were his hooves. The flying sneakers had always been a loose fit on him, and finally Grover hit a big rock and the left shoe came flying off. It sped into the darkness, down into the chasm. The right shoe kept tugging him along, but not as fast. Grover was able to slow himself down by grabbing on to the big rock and using it like an anchor. He was ten feet from the edge of the pit when we caught him and hauled him back up the slope. The other winged shoe tugged itself off, circled around us angrily and kicked our heads in protest before flying off into the chasm to join its twin. We all collapsed, exhausted, on the obsidian gravel.

"Are you okay?" Grover was scratched up pretty bad. His hands were bleeding. His eyes had gone slit-pupiled, goat style, the way they did whenever he was terrified. "I don't know how..." he panted. "I didn't..." "Wait," I said. "Listen." I heard something—a deep whisper in the darkness. Another few seconds, and Annabeth said, "Y/N, this place—" "Shh." I stood. The sound was getting louder, a muttering, evil voice from far, far below us. Coming from the pit. Grover sat up. "Wh—what's that noise?" Annabeth heard it too, now. I could see it in her eyes. "Tartarus. The entrance to Tartarus."

I turned to Percy, he uncapped Riptide. The bronze sword expanded, gleaming in the darkness, and the evil voice seemed to falter, just for a moment, before resuming its chant. I could almost make out words now, ancient, ancient words, older even than Greek. As if... "Magic," I said. "We have to get out of here," Annabeth said. Annabeth and I dragged Grover to his hooves and started back up the tunnel. Percy was lagging behind us. The voice got louder and angrier behind us, and we broke into a run. Not a moment too soon. A cold blast of wind pulled at our backs, as if the entire pit were inhaling. For a terrifying moment, Percy lost ground, I luckily got a hold of him. If we'd been any closer to the edge, we would've been sucked in. We kept struggling forward, and finally reached the top of the tunnel, where the cavern widened out into the Fields of Asphodel. The wind died. A wail of outrage echoed from deep in the tunnel. Something was not happy we'd gotten away. "What was that?" Grover panted, when we'd collapsed in the relative safety of a black poplar grove. "One of Hades's pets?"

No... We all know what's down there. Annabeth and Percy looked at each other. I could tell they knew what's down there. Percy capped his sword, put the pen back in jis pocket. "Let's keep going."

I looked at Grover. "Can you walk?" He swallowed. "Yeah, sure. I never liked those shoes, anyway." He tried to sound brave about it, but he was trembling as badly as Annabeth and I were. Whatever was in that pit was nobody's pet. It was unspeakably old and powerful. Even Echidna hadn't given me that feeling. I was almost relieved to turn my back on that tunnel and head toward the palace of Hades. Almost. The Furies circled the parapets, high in the gloom. The outer walls of the fortress glittered black, and the two-story-tall bronze gates stood wide open. Up close, I saw that the engravings on the gates were scenes of death. Some were from modern times—an atomic bomb exploding over a city, a trench filled with gas mask-wearing soldiers, a line of African famine victims waiting with empty bowls—but all of them looked as if they'd been etched into the bronze thousands of years ago. I wondered if I was looking at prophecies that had come true. Inside the courtyard was the strangest garden I'd ever seen. Multicolored mushrooms, poisonous shrubs, and weird luminous plants grew without sunlight. Precious jewels made up for the lack of flowers, piles of rubies as big as my fist, clumps of raw diamonds. Standing here and there like frozen party guests were Medusa's garden statues— petrified children, satyrs, and centaurs—all smiling grotesquely. In the center of the garden was an orchard of pomegranate trees, their orange blooms neon bright in the dark. "The garden of Persephone," Annabeth said. "Keep walking." I understood why she wanted to move on. The tart smell of those pomegranates was almost overwhelming. I had a sudden desire to eat them, but then I remembered the story of Persephone. One bite of Underworld food, and we would never be able to leave. I pulled Grover away to keep him from picking a big juicy one. We walked up the steps of the palace, between black columns, through a black marble portico, and into the house of Hades. The entry hall had a polished bronze floor, which seemed to boil in the reflected torchlight. There was no ceiling, just the cavern roof, far above. I guess they never had to worry about rain down here. Every side doorway was guarded by a skeleton in military gear. Some wore Greek armor, some British redcoat uniforms, some camouflage with tattered American flags on the shoulders. They carried spears or muskets or M-16s. None of them bothered us, but their hollow eye sockets followed us as we walked down the hall, toward the big set of doors at the opposite end.

Two U.S. Marine skeletons guarded the doors. They grinned down at us, rocket-propelled grenade launchers held across their chests. "You know," Grover mumbled, "I bet Hades doesn't have trouble with door-to-door salesmen." "Well, guys," I said. "I suppose we should ... knock?" A hot wind blew down the corridor, and the doors swung open. The guards stepped aside. "I guess that means entrez-vous," Annabeth said.

A god we shall meet. But this one's different. The room inside looked just like in my dream, except this time the throne of Hades was occupied. He was the third god I'd met, but the first who really struck me as godlike. He was at least ten feet tall, for one thing, and dressed in black silk robes and a crown of braided gold. His skin was albino white, his hair shoulder-length and jet black. He wasn't bulked up like Ares, but he radiated power. He lounged on his throne of fused human bones, looking lithe, graceful, and dangerous as a panther. I immediately felt like he should be giving the orders. He knew more than I did. He should be my master. Then I told myself to snap out of it. Hades's aura was affecting me, just as Ares's had. The Lord of the Dead resembled pictures I'd seen of Adolph Hitler, or Napoleon, or the terrorist leaders who direct suicide bombers. Hades had the same intense eyes, the same kind of mesmerizing, evil charisma. "You are brave to come here, Son of Poseidon," he said in an oily voice. "After what you have done to me, very brave indeed. Or perhaps you are simply very foolish."

I fought the feeling to step forward.

Percy knew what to say, he had to be the one to talk... "Lord and Uncle, I come with two requests."

Hades raised an eyebrow. When he sat forward in his throne, shadowy faces appeared in the folds of his black robes, faces of torment, as if the garment were stitched of trapped souls from the Fields of Punishment, trying to get out. The ADHD part of me wondered, off-task, whether the rest of his clothes were made the same way. What horrible things would you have to do in your life to get woven into Hades's underwear? "Only two requests?" Hades said. "Arrogant child. As if you have not already taken enough. Speak, then. It amuses me not to strike you dead yet." I glanced at the empty, smaller throne next to Hades's. It was shaped like a black flower, gilded with gold. I wished Queen Persephone were here. I recalled something in the myths about how she could calm her husband's moods. But it was summer. Of course, Persephone would be above in the world of light with her mother, the goddess of agriculture, Demeter. Her visits, not the tilt of the planet, create the seasons. Annabeth cleared her throat. Her finger prodded Percy in the back. "Lord Hades," Percy said. "Look, sir, there can't be a war among the gods. It would be... bad." "Really bad," Grover added helpfully. "Return Zeus's master bolt to me," Percy said. "Please, sir. Let me carry it to Olympus." Hades's eyes grew dangerously bright. "You dare keep up this pretense, after what you have done?" Percy glanced back to us. "Um... Uncle," He said. "You keep saying 'after what you've done.' What exactly have I done?" The throne room shook with a tremor so strong, they probably felt it upstairs in Los Angeles. Debris fell from the cavern ceiling. Doors burst open all along the walls, and skeletal warriors marched in, hundreds of them, from every time period and nation in Western civilization. They lined the perimeter of the room, blocking the exits. Hades bellowed, "Do you think I want war, godling?" "Well, these guys don't look like peace activists." I accidentally slipped.

The three of them looked at me in surprise. Hades glared at me.

"The unclaimed." He scoffed. "You are as foolish as every Gods had said."

I wanted to say more but Annabeth had grabbed me and forced me to bow.

"U-Uhm... Y-You are the Lord of the Dead," Percy said carefully. "A war would expand your kingdom, right?" "A typical thing for my brothers to say! Do you think I need more subjects? Did you not see the sprawl of the Asphodel Fields?" "Well..." "Have you any idea how much my kingdom has swollen in this past century alone, how many subdivisions I've had to open?" Hades was on a roll now. Go Hades. "More security ghouls," he moaned. "Traffic problems at the judgment pavilion. Double overtime for the staff. I used to be a rich god, Percy Jackson. I control all the precious metals under the earth. But my expenses!" "Charon wants a pay raise," I smirked. "Don't get me started on Charon!" Hades yelled. "He's been impossible ever since he discovered Italian suits! Problems everywhere, and I've got to handle all of them personally. The commute time alone from the palace to the gates is enough to drive me insane! And the dead just keep arriving. No, godling. I need no help getting subjects! I did not ask for this war." "But you took Zeus's master bolt." "Lies!" More rumbling. Hades rose from his throne, towering to the height of a football goalpost. "Your father may fool Zeus, boy, but I am not so stupid. I see his plan." "His plan?" "You were the thief on the winter solstice," he said. "Your father thought to keep you his little secret. He directed you into the throne room on Olympus, You took the master bolt and my helm. Had I not sent my Fury to discover you at Yancy Academy, Poseidon might have succeeded in hiding his scheme to start a war. But now you have been forced into the open. You will be exposed as Poseidon's thief, and I will have my helm back!" "But...." Annabeth spoke. I could tell her mind was going a million miles an hour. "Lord Hades, your helm of darkness is missing, too?" "Do not play innocent with me, girl. You and the satyr have been helping this hero—coming here to threaten me in Poseidon's name, no doubt—to bring me an ultimatum. Does Poseidon think I can be blackmailed into supporting him?" "No!" Percy said. "Poseidon didn't—I didn't—" "I have said nothing of the helm's disappearance," Hades snarled, "because I had no illusions that anyone on Olympus would offer me the slightest justice, the slightest help. I can ill afford for word to get out that my most powerful weapon of fear is missing. So I searched for you myself, and when it was clear you were coming to me to deliver your threat, I did not try to stop you." "You didn't try to stop us? But—" "Return my helm now, or I will stop death," Hades threatened. "That is my counterproposal. I will open the earth and have the dead pour back into the world. I will make your lands a nightmare. And you, Percy Jackson—your skeleton will lead my army out of Hades."

The skeletal soldiers all took one step forward, making their weapons ready.

At that point, I probably should have been terrified. The strange thing was, I felt offended. Nothing gets me angrier than being accused of something I didn't do. I've had a lot of experience with that. "You're as bad as Zeus and Poseidon," I said. "You think Percy stole from you? That's why you sent the Furies after us?" "Of course," Hades said. "And the other monsters?" Hades curled his lip. "I had nothing to do with them. I wanted no quick death for you—I wanted you brought before me alive so you might face every torture in the Fields of Punishment. Why do you think I let you enter my kingdom so easily?" "Easily?" I scoffed. "You are the worse! My gods! I hate all of you!" I was gripping my hair laughing like a maniac.

Annabeth was about to grab me when I shrugged her and walked forward which alerted everyone.

"Wat---"

"Wait up, I let you go on a roll dead guy. My turn." I hissed staring at him right in the eye.

We are going to talk.

I had no idea why but no one moved, Hades looked at me curiously then to my friends who are either scared of Hades's upcoming wrath or mine.

"Do carry on."

"Listen here big guy." Pointing my finger at him, "You. Are. Mean. Are all gods stupid and mean?! I can't get close to water since I was a kid because there's an idiot who hates me! And here I am trying to help him get something! And he hadn't even bothered to keep his hate for me until this stupid quest is over!!" I panted.

"Y/---"

"Not yet goat boy!" I pointed at what ever was above us. "and that stuck up, up there who thinks he's all high and mighty? Does he have to cause a war?! Can't he just get down from his high throne none of this would happen if he wasn't all high and mighty when all he could do is take a child's parents because they cheated on sims!"

"I don---"

"And you Mr. Emo! You've had Mrs. Dodds on Percy! What made you think he's have your stupid helmet?! When did he get it? During his potty time?! Did his father Amazon that thing to him or something?! We. Don't. Have. Anything! Grover doesn't even have shoes!! What made you think we'd have the luxury of carrying the bolt and helm but not extra shoes for the goat?!"

"Y/N!" Percy yelled.

"What?!"

"If you're done with your point calm down... I don't think Lord Hades would be kind enough to entertain you anymore..." Annabeth whispered.

"I am almost done." I took a deep breath. And walked closer to actually be able to touch him, the three behind me caught their breath. "... My parents... are M/N and F/N L/N. I am Y/N L/N. I don't care which all mighty it is. I am not unclaimed. I will get them back. I will save them. And I will come back here and get on with you again if I have to just to save them. Because they're my parents, I have no other." I then gave him a smile which was a total turn of my emotions, "And kill me now if you will. Just know, I'll be here in your kingdom forever which ever part and I will be taking it as a compliment of how much you enjoy my company."

He was much larger than I was so all I could do there was shove whatever I could, then walked back to Percy.

They all looked at Hades, he was going to kill us. That was one thing everyone agreed on.

Nine. I chose that prophecy. You are aware of my prophecy. You are aware of who our parents are after all.

"Y/N L/N, daughter of L/N. It's foolish of you to talk to me like that. You best be careful of how you talk to Gods. Others won't hesitate killing you."

The other three were stunned. Looking between me and Hades. "Whoa, wait a minute. You won't kill me? Are you saying it was cool I talked to you like that? "

"I will not kill you." Hades emphasized on the word 'you' and looked at Percy, Grover and Annabeth. "And I may spare your friends, if you return what is mine." "We don't have it." Pointing at Percy, "Open your pack, then." A horrible feeling struck me.

Percy slung it off his shoulder and unzipped it. Inside was a two-foot-long metal cylinder, spiked on both ends, humming with energy. "Percy," Annabeth said. "How—" "I—I don't know. I don't understand." "You heroes are always the same," Hades said. "Your pride makes you foolish, thinking you could bring such a weapon before me. I did not ask for Zeus's master bolt, but since it is here, you will yield it to me. I am sure it will make an excellent bargaining tool. And now... my helm. Where is it?" I was speechless. I knew Percy had no helm. I had no idea how the master bolt had gotten into his backpack. I wanted to think Hades was pulling some kind of trick.

I realized we've been played with. Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades had been set at each other's throats by someone else. The master bolt had been in the backpack, and I'd gotten the backpack from... "Hades bro, wait," I said. "This is all a mistake."

"Bro?" Percy looked at me. "A mistake?" Hades roared. The skeletons aimed their weapons. From high above, there was a fluttering of leathery wings, and the three Furies swooped down to perch on the back of their master's throne. Mrs. Rudolph grinned at Percy eagerly and flicked her whip. "There is no mistake," Hades said. "I know why you have come—I know the real reason you brought the bolt. You came to bargain for her." Hades loosed a ball of gold fire from his palm. It exploded on the steps in front of me, and there was Mrs. Jackson, frozen in a shower of gold, just as she was at the moment when the Minotaur began to squeeze her to death. I couldn't speak. Percy reached out to touch her, but the light was as hot as a bonfire. "Yes," Hades said with satisfaction. "I took her. I knew, Percy Jackson, that you would come to bargain with me eventually. Return my helm, and perhaps I will let her go. She is not dead, you know. Not yet. But if you displease me, that will change." "Ah, the pearls," Hades said, and my blood froze. I turned to see Percy with his hands in his pocket. "Yes, my brother and his little tricks. Bring them forth, Percy Jackson." Percy brought out the pearls. "Only four," Hades said. "What a shame. You do realize each only protects a single person. Try to take your mother, then, little godling. And which of your friends will you leave behind to spend eternity with me? Go on. Choose. Or give me the backpack and accept my terms." Percy looked at Me, Annabeth and Grover. Their faces were grim. "We were tricked," Percy told them. "Set up." "Yes, but why?" Annabeth asked. "And the voice in the pit—" "I don't know yet," Percy said. "But I intend to ask." "Decide, boy!" Hades yelled. "Percy." Grover put his hand on his shoulder. "You can't give him the bolt," "I know that." "Leave me here," he said. "Use the third pearl on your mom."

"No!" "I'm a satyr," Grover said. "We don't have souls like humans do. He can torture me until I die, but he won't get me forever. I'll just be reincarnated as a flower or something. It's the best way." "No." Annabeth drew her bronze knife. "You two go on. Grover, you have to protect Percy. You have to get your searcher's license and start your quest for Pan. Get his mom out of here. I'll cover you. I plan to go down fighting." "No way," Grover said. "I'm staying behind." "Think again, goat boy," Annabeth said.

"I'll stay. I low-key wanna be bros with Hades right now honestly. I also high-key don't want to meet the two sticks up there." "Stop it, I know what to do," Percy said. "Take these." He handed us each a pearl. Annabeth said, "But, Percy..." He turned and faced his mother. I desperately wanted to sacrifice myself and use the last pearl on her, but I knew what she wouldn’t like that. She would never allow it. We had to get the bolt back to Olympus and tell Zeus the truth. We had to stop the war. She would never forgive us if we saved her instead. I thought about the prophecy made at Half-Blood Hill, what seemed like a million years ago, the one Percy shared.

You will fail to save what matters most in the end. "I'm sorry," He told her. "I'll be back. I'll find a way." The smug look on Hades's face faded. He said, "Godling... ?" "I'll find your helm, Uncle," Percy told him. "I'll return it. Remember about Charon's pay raise." "Do not defy me—" "And it wouldn't hurt to play with Cerberus once in a while. He likes red rubber balls." "Percy Jackson, you will not—" He shouted, "Now, guys!" We smashed the pearls at our feet. For a scary moment, nothing happened. Hades yelled, "Destroy them!" The army of skeletons rushed forward, swords out, guns clicking to full automatic. The Furies lunged, their whips bursting into flame. Just as the skeletons opened fire, the pearl fragments at their feet exploded with a burst of green light and a gust of fresh sea wind. They were encased in a milky white sphere, which was starting to float off the ground.

"Y/N?" Percy looked at me in shock. Annabeth and Grover were right behind him.

At my feet were dry sand. My eyes widened.

"NO! Y/N!!"

Mrs. Rudolph pulled me close to her as spears and bullets sparked harmlessly off the pearl bubbles while they floated up. Hades yelled with such rage, the entire fortress shook and I knew it was not going to be a peaceful night in L.A. I could still see Percy and Annabeth trying to break the bubble. But sure enough, they were racing right toward the stalactites, which I figured would pop their bubbles like the two wanted. Then they vanished. I fell on my knees tears filling my eyes.

"D-Did Poseidon just leave me here in hopes you'll kill me...?" I managed to say. Tears were pilling up my eyes.

"Sweetie..." I heard Mrs. Rudolph say. She was back to her soft demeanor, the one she had back then.

"Does he hate me this much? After all I've done to help with this quest? Drowning me wasn't enough?" Tears were now flowing. "Taking my parents and torturing them wasn't enough?"

I curled up my knees and sobs escaped my mouth.

"Y/N..." I heard a familiar voice. I looked up to see Mrs. Jackson.

I gasped and turned to Hades who looked at me with a frown. "You are in luck, I don't wish to kill you. Converse with one another to comfort yourself, I will not provide you of such."

I weak laugh escaped from me, "So, you're a softie huh Hades?"

The ground cracked beneath me but I didn't fall. "Don't make me regret my choices child."

Mrs. Jackson smiled at Hades and gave me a hug. Then as if things couldn't get better, I heard a bark.

"D/N!!" At Hades's foot he sat, a skeleton was holding his leash. "You have him!! You are so my favorite."

Hades signaled the skeleton to free D/N who immediately ran to me.

Our parents had already decided on our parent.

"Yeah." Mrs. Jackson said.

"What?"

"Your parents will tell you who your god parent is." Mrs. Jackson said.

"Don't you guys know?"

"We do." Mrs. Jackson gave a look at Hades who rolled his eyes.

"Only Hades is the parent I want right now. But I don't like the idea of my mom and Hades together."

"I do not wish to have you as a child."

"Go away, I am the best daughter. You'd be honored to have me."

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daesungindistress · 4 years

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Ot5 ruining Daesungs YouTube channel already by making fake replies of him talking about bigbang as 5. They ruin everything. The silence is making this worse each day.

Yes and no. OT5s ruining Daesung’s YouTube channel already with their shameless fishing for hints regarding a highly controversial and potentially career-ending issue? Yes. Making fake replies of him talking about BIGBANG as 5? No... not yet anyway. Not that I’ve seen. So far there are two such comment replies, and both are authentic. When I first saw them they’d been located and posted/translated by KVIPs (who, by the way, if they were uncomfortable with the replies they would not have so readily shared them). Also Daesung wasn’t “talking about BIGBANG as 5.” He replied to fans talking about BIGBANG as 5. There’s a difference, a subtle but important distinction that needs to be made and more widely understood. The first part of this ask I received yesterday, posted below, is a more accurate summary of what’s happening here:

Baiting him with their dumb OT5 comments and seeing any interaction with them as support. This is exactly what I feared and strongly suspected would happen sooner or later because SR/OT5 fans, in their desperation to prove their years-long delusion true, lack the decency and the tact to hold back. As we all well know.

(Also, sorry to anon for posting only a snippet of your ask, but you did say “feel free to ignore”!)

Anyway, I’ve already been over this with SR/OT5 fans on Twitter and I don’t feel like hashing it out all over again here, so I’m just gonna post some screenshots. I’m putting them under a cut (“read more”) due to length.

But for the record, I don’t find what Daesung is doing problematic. I find what the fans are doing problematic, absolutely, but Daesung, not really. And from what I’m seeing, most OT4 VIPs don’t much care either. As always, this is yet another chronic case of obsessed idiots two years deep in denial going out of their way to get their grubby hands on BIGBANG and taking every little inconsequential thing they manage to wring out them the wrong way. We’ve seen it too many times to count. We’re tired. But still waiting for BIGBANG, because the senseless actions of a select group of ill-mannered fans shouldn’t have the power to ruin the band for the rest of us.

Yes, I was hoping he would be more careful, but when the fandom is overflowing with shit, 99% of which is focused on him right now, I figured it was only a matter of time before he stepped in it. Especially when you factor in the enthusiasm with which he’s jumped in. He replied rapidfire to an astonishing 450 comments in less than 4 days (the first 4 days). Daesung is brand spanking new to this kind of direct, one-one-one interaction with fans in this setting and on this scale and, in the beginning at least, seemed wholly unaware of the minefield he was sprinting through at full speed.

Give it time. Maybe he’ll figure it out and stop replying to those kinds of comments. Maybe he won’t. In the end it doesn’t really matter because it doesn’t mean anything except that after so long without, he’s excited to join in the fun and receive love and praise for his group again, no matter how many members, past or present, are mentioned.

Read more below, if you dare...

#these parasite stans are why we can't have nice things #daesung #bigbang #dlite #doppelganger dae #ask #anon #anyway if any of y'all have a problem with it and want to be upset with dae go ahead #I don't care #I've had my moments where I berated the other members for what I viewed as mistakes so it would only be fair lol #but fwiw this is where I'm at with him right now #we've already watched first TOP then Taeyang go through this #in late 2019 and early 2020 #it sucks that we now have to watch Daesung go through it too

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peachnewt · 4 years

Note

So I was thinking about starting my own vore series, but I've never been great at anything more than a short story. Have you got any tips on writing more lengthy stories?

Hoooooh boy. Lemmie try and channel my old writing professors and then half of writing tumblr/twitter, which kinda negates half of what I learned with the professors. This is gonna be a meandering mess.

Please note that this is coming from a hobbyist writer who has done a total of 6 books over 11 years. I'm not the fastest or most organized of writers, but I hope what experience I have as a writer in the vore community will help.

- If you already have experience with a short story, then you have a good start! You know how to do a beginning, a middle, and an end. Not every book in the series needs to be novel-length. A series can consist of short stories linked together. You decide how many words are needed to get the story across.

Writing a series is juggling a short term story goal or character arcs in a single story, but then the overarching theme/goal is what goes throughout the series. A bunch of small beginnings-middles-ends within a bigger beginning-middle-end. Usually the small B-M-Es contribute to furthering the big B-M-E. Or some really tiny bmes for smaller character arcs.

Look to any favorite series you already follow for examples of story arcs; tv series, movie series, manga series. See how they do it and use it as a guide until you find your own way.

-A lot of writing a series is planning. Or at least having a vague list of things that need to happen to get to the end of the series as you imagine it. You'll prolly have a long list of things you need for the end. It will grow as you write, some things get cut. Not every book is going to cover a lot of things on that list, they might end up like a fluffy filler episode. That's fine as long as you have fun with it; make it an opportunity to do some world-building or character building/backstory.

-There is such thing as over-planning; when you get so bogged down in details that writing the actual story seems impossible. Best thing I've found is to start small. A small event, or action, or discovery that propels the story in what seems the right direction, and then go with it. Write all of the chaos you discover as you go with it. Even if it's not necessary.

When you go back and reread what you've done, make another list, write what important things happened in that scene, and the next scene, and the next scene. You now have a list of events to focus on when you go back and edit and it'll help you figure out the bme. If you need to keep track of individual character arcs, color-code your list for each character.

I had to do this a lot with getting back into writing Spilling Guts; I had written myself into a corner and need a map out of the minefield. I ended up separating the POVs by coloring the font in my world document. Will - Blue. Louis - Red. Megan and Teegan - Green. Etc.

Big note, not all editing is "cutting". Just because something doesn't add to the story as a whole doesn't mean it needs to get chopped. Is it fun? Does it add flavor to the story or character? Keep it but refine it so it'll fit better. It might be useful later in the series. ^_^

-There are some series where each book can stand independent of the rest of the books in the series. That's cool. Then there are books that are so interconnected with the books previous that to understand it on its own requires a dive into a fandom wiki. That's cool too.

-Fun fact: I posted the first book of the Getting In Deep series with no beta reader an only a vague list of things I wanted to happen in the series. It was a "first draft". Ten years later I'm still trying to rewrite it so it will flow better with what the series has become. I still have no beta reader, but I welcome commenters to point out any misspellings, corrections, or possible plot holes.

Your first draft will prolly suck. You will have to accept that.

People will read your first draft and not like it. You will have to accept that.

People will read your first draft and absolutely love it despite you seeing all the flaws. You will also have to accept that. Don't negate their positivity! You done a good! Accept that fuzzy feeling you get when someone praises what you did.

We grow and evolve as writers. What we think of as clever or impactful when we first write it will seem awkward and clunky later when we get more experience. That's fine. Also, there is never "enough experience".

-The best way to overcome any haters (people flaming for no reason other than they want attention/validation) is to delete their comment and keep writing and enjoying what you do. Give them nothing. Fight with spite and glitter in your stories. Do not apologize for enjoying what you write.

Imma leave you with links to professionals in writing:

Caity Schmidt - she has a youtube series called "Keysmash Edu" about plots and story arcs. Lotta informative graphs. Also she's in the middle of writing her own series; The Wanderer's War. ^_^

Kate Cavanaugh - a writer having fun with different styles of writing, motivation, and occasional live writing sprints. ^_^

Malorie Cooper - Author of a long space opera series, and does live writing sprints on the daily! Sometimes in cosplay! ^o^

ShaywiththeHobbies - Writing, mindfulness, and crafting. Always important to do things other than writing to enrich your mental space. ^_^

tldr - Have fun. Start small. Don't stop. ^_^

#writing advice

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wangxian-trash-cultivator · 4 years

Text

hold me tighter (even closer)

Summary: Wei Wuxian suffers from really bad nightmares sometimes. Lan Wangji wakes very early one morning to find him painting, it's been days since Wei Wuxian last slept. So Lan Wangji does what any good roommate would do... help him bathe and put him to bed.

Rating: T || Word count: 3800 || Tropes/Genres: omg they were roommates; hurt/comfort; childhood friends; light angst; pre-relationship wangxian; mutual pining

Notes: Originally created this as a twitter thread fic and adapted it for AO3. Come say hello on twitter! I’m in the process of converting other threadfics over. This is part of my omg they were roommates AU series. Enjoy!

AO3 Link || Original Twitter Thread

It’s nearly 4am when Lan Wangji wakes with a start. The culprit?

Oh, just another vivid sexual fantasy involving his close childhood friend.

You know. The one that’s now his roommate. In the next room over.

It’s not the first time it’s happened. Lan Wangji has grown accustomed to the places his mind takes him when he isn’t conscious enough to control it. To the scenes that always… linger when he wakes. Even now, he can’t shake the image of Wei Wuxian’s swollen lips around his—

Nope, nope, nope, he thinks and kicks the bedsheets off.

Oh. What a mess he’s managed to make this time.

With a quiet groan, Lan Wangji drags himself out of bed to get cleaned up. On the way to the bathroom he notices light creeping into the hall from under Wei Wuxian’s door.

He knows Wei Wuxian stays up late. He’s not sure how late most nights, but he’s usually asleep by the time Lan Wangji wakes up around 5 or 6.

Lan Wangji thinks nothing more of it and goes into the bathroom to shower. When he comes out again, Wei Wuxian’s light is still on.

Now it’s strange. Unless, maybe he fell asleep and forgot to shut the light off?

So Lan Wangji decides to investigate. He raps his knuckles against the door lightly. Testing. He doesn’t want to be too loud and actually wake him if he is asleep.

"Yeah?" Wei Wuxian’s voice calls out and he sounds tired. Beyond tired. Why is he still awake then?

"May I come in?" Lan Wangji asks.

"Sure, just be careful."

It’s an odd request, until Lan Wangji gently pushes open the door and sees why he said it.

It looks like a hurricane passed through. There are completed portraits strewn all over the room, some bone dry, some with fresh paint still glistening under the lights.

Most of them are pure chaos. Horrifying images of beasts and distorted faces painted in heavy blacks, greys, and reds. The longer Lan Wangji looks, the more he feels like he is being sucked into a chasm of despair.

Wei Wuxian is sitting, hunched over, in the middle of the floor. The eye of the storm. He’s built himself a little nest of blank canvases, brushes, paints, and inks for easier access.

When Wei Wuxian looks up from the canvas he is currently working with on his lap and offers a tired smile Lan Wangji’s chest feels uncomfortably tight. Tired isn’t the right word at all. He looks like he’s barely tethered to reality.

"Good morning, Lan Zhan."

His voice sounds all wrong. It wasn’t as noticeable with the barrier of the door to mask it before. Lan Wangji has never heard him sound so drained before.

"Wei Ying, what is wrong?"

"Couldn’t sleep," Wei Wuxian says and drops his gaze back down to the canvas. Lan Wangji waits for him to say more, because he always says more.

He doesn’t.

Lan Wangji’s chest constricts again.

"Wei Ying."

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says without looking up.

Ever since they were kids Lan Wangji has not known any stretch of silence to last this long between them. It’s like he’s been possessed and placed in a trance where all he can do is zone out and paint. He crosses the room, treading carefully around the minefield of canvases, and clears a space to sit beside Wei Wuxian.

Now that he’s this close, Lan Wangji sees that the floor isn’t the only thing suffering right now. Wei Wuxian’s arms are stained with ink and covered in splotches of acrylic paint.

"Wei Ying, will you tell me why you cannot sleep?"

Because it does not make sense that he can’t sleep when he looks and sounds the way that he does right now. Lan Wangji cannot wrap his head around it at all.

Wei Wuxian dips the brush into an inkpot and hovers it over the canvas, it’s so saturated that the ink drips and splatters within seconds, adding to the accidental portrait he has created on his own skin. Lan Wangji tries to ignore that the existing red splotches look like dried blood.

He turns his attention to the canvas instead. It looks like some sort of dog, only worse. Ferocious with matted fur, giant bloody fangs and piercing red eyes.

It resurrects something dormant in Lan Wangji’s memory. A conversation they had as teenagers.

"Wei Ying," he starts off softly. ‘Is it happening again?’

Wei Wuxian pauses for a moment, curls his fingers tighter around the brush and nods once.

"Yes."

The single word is hoarse and heavy. It sends an arrow straight through Lan Wangji’s heart.

To call them bad dreams would be putting it lightly.

Wei Wuxian would wake in the middle of the night, unable to move or discern whether or not he was awake or still dreaming.

Sometimes he could remember the nightmares with vivid detail.

Sometimes only the indescribable fear would follow and cling to him like a second skin. He wouldn’t always know why he felt so scared.

Sometimes the feeling would just persist without any rhyme or reason.

He had approached Lan Wangji when they were about 13 or 14 to ask if he ever experienced anything like that before.

Lan Wangji had not.

After hearing that Wei Wuxian tried to brush it off and pretend like it was nothing.

Not wanting to pressure him to discuss it further Lan Wangji had let it go at the time.

Until Wei Wuxian stayed over one night and he witnessed firsthand just how much it affected him.

They were sharing Lan Wangji’s bed at the time.

Even though Wei Wuxian had not woken up screaming, he had sat up so abruptly, panting in the dark, that Lan Wangji could not help but be roused as well. Still, he brushed it off when Lan Wangji tried to ask about it. Like he was embarrassed to even bring attention to it.

All Wei Wuxian asked was to be held until he fell asleep again.

So Lan Wangji had held him. And let it go once more. Who was he to make Wei Wuxian discuss something when it clearly made him uncomfortable?

But he did his own research and learned about sleep paralysis, night terrors and how stress can cause recurring vivid nightmares. When he went to share all of this with him, Wei Wuxian had announced that everything stopped altogether.

So the conversation was shelved yet again.

As far as Lan Wangji knows, it’s been years since something like this occurred.

Now that he thinks about it though, it would have been easy for Wei Wuxian to conceal the truth and just not bring it up.

But he can’t do that now that they’re living together.

Lan Wangji tentatively places a hand on Wei Wuxian's forearm. He stops painting.

"Wei Ying, how long have you been awake?"

"I don’t know," Wei Wuxian says. "Two days? I stopped counting."

Lan Wangji brushes his thumb over a flaky patch of paint on Wei Wuxian’s arm. How could he not have noticed him passing like a ghost through the apartment for two days?

"I know you do not like to talk about it, so I will not ask if that is what you wish."

Wei Wuxian lifts his head to look at him and… fuck.

The skin beneath his eyes is shiny and bruised. And speaking of his eyes. They’re so bloodshot, holding none of the chaotic energy that Lan Wangji has come to siphon off of him over the years like elixir for the soul.

"Lan Zhan, I’m so fucking tired. I just want to sleep and I can’t even do that."

The way he says it really should not be making Lan Wangji’s sweatpants feels so uncomfortably tight all of a sudden.

It’s not like he just had a sex dream about Wei Wuxian begging and whining in that exact tone of voice.

Nope, not at all.

But then Wei Wuxian’s eyes start welling up and it immediately pulls Lan Wangji back to reality.

If he starts crying there is no way Lan Wangji is going to be able to keep himself together either. And from the looks of it Wei Wuxian really is dangerously close to falling apart.

Lan Wangji wants to shake him for bottling it all up and keeping this to himself for two whole days. Hell, he wants to shake himself for not paying attention better. He won’t make that mistake again.

"Come," Lan Wangji says, gentle yet firm.

"Where?" Wei Wuxian asks.

"You are covered in paint," Lan Wangji states and plucks the brush from his hands. Wei Wuxian releases it without a fight. "I will start the shower for you."

Lan Wangji gets to his feet and offers a hand out to Wei Wuxian. He allows himself to be tugged off of the floor and only once he’s standing does Lan Wangji realise the flaw in his plan.

Wei Wuxian can barely stand without swaying on the spot. Shoving him into the shower, alone, would just be asking for an accident to occur.

"I will draw a bath instead. Come, Wei Ying." Lan Wangji carefully snakes an arm around his waist to lead him.

"Lan Zhan, taking such good care of me," Wei Wuxian says, notably a little delirious now that he’s actively stringing more than two words together.

Lan Wangji can feel his ears getting warm. If Wei Wuxian notices how red they’ve gone, he doesn’t say anything more about it.

After guiding him to the bathroom, Lan Wangji carefully maneuvers him to sit on the toilet while he gets the bath ready.

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan! I like a lot of bubbles."

Lan Wangji rolls his eyes. He knew that already, had already poured the bubble bath soap with a heavy hand. But he tips the bottle over again and pours just a little more in for him.

As the water rises, Lan Wangji rummages through the cabinet and extracts a small essential oil diffuser. He sets it up on the counter and pours a few drops of sandalwood scented oil.

"Lan Zhan, that smells like you," Wei Wuxian says with a dreamy smile plastered to his face. ‘It’s nice.’

In the mirror Lan Wangji can see his ears have turned a deeper shade of red.

Wei Wuxian is now humming to himself as Lan Wangji shuts the water off and realizes… well fuck. Now he has to get Wei Wuxian in to the tub. And to do that he’ll need to….

Okay, so it’s not like they haven’t seen each other naked before. They grew up together. Shared locker rooms at school. Have had plenty of sleepovers in the past where the accidental glimpse while the other was changing was inevitable.

Wei Wuxian likes to be naked most of the time anyways. Especially during the summer. And especially when he’s drunk.

It should not feel awkward. It’s just friends helping friends.

Lan Wangji is helping his sleep-deprived friend— who he just so happens to be very much attracted to and over the moon in love with— to strip down and…

Oh .

Wei Wuxian has already pulled off his shirt by the time Lan Wangji turns away from the bath to look at him. He tosses it into the corner and settles his hands onto the waistband, clearly already prepared to shimmy out of the pants while still sitting.

Lan Wangji feels as though he’s been plunged underwater. Every movement feels sluggish, and there’s a strange sort of muffled buzzing.

He realizes it’s Wei Wuxian speaking to him.

"Sorry, what did you say?" Lan Wangji asks, dazed.

"I asked if you could help me with these. I get dizzy if I move around too much."

There’s absolutely no way that Wei Wuxian can’t hear the way Lan Wangji’s heart is pounding right now. It might actually come flying right through his chest if it keeps up like this.

Collect yourself, he thinks.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak yet, manages a nod instead.

Lan Wangji is already on his knees when he shuffles closer to Wei Wuxian.

"Lean back," he says, throat dry, and places his hands alongside Wei Wuxian’s on the waistband. Not touching.

As fingers dip beneath the fabric though, Lan Wangji feels his heart climb up into his throat upon realizing Wei Wuxian isn’t wearing anything else beneath the pants.

Of course he isn’t. Why would he?

It’s like he’s trying to separate Lan Wangji’s soul from his body without even realizing it.

He swallows thickly.

"Lift your hips." It takes everything in him not to stutter.

Wei Wuxian’s hands brush against his as he relocates them to hold himself up. The brief contact feels like an electric shock. Like Lan Wangji has never known touch before now.

Which is ridiculous.

Ridiculous because Wei Wuxian grabs hold of his hands on a regular basis. Physical touch is just his natural form of communication with anyone and everyone.

Lan Wangji closes his fingers tighter around the fabric to prevent himself from trembling.

Either Wei Wuxian is actually electing not to tease him for once or he really is just too tired to notice anything.

Effortlessly, Lan Wangji works the pants down Wei Wuxian’s slender hips and is now faced with another dilemma.

He’s been avoiding Wei Wuxian’s face the entire time, keeping himself focused on the task directly in front of him. Which means he is now staring directly at Wei Wuxian’s fully exposed dick.

Like full on staring at it. Can’t-look-away-if-he-tried (please don’t ask him to look away) staring at it.

They’ve caught glimpses of each other in the past. But never has he allowed his gaze to linger.

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asks, amused. His words are muffled static again, but the next part comes out crystal clear. "Like what you see?"

Lan Wangji is having a heart attack. There’s no other explanation for it. This must be what a heart attack feels like.

And his ears may forever be stained red at this rate.

Reflexively, he turns his attention up to Wei Wuxian’s face and nearly melts because that smile, oh god that smile he has on really will be the death of him.

Wei Wuxian has to know what it does to people when he smiles like that. With eyes slightly squinting shut, the subtle wrinkling of his nose. He uses all of the muscles in his face to portray his happiness.

Lan Wangji feels the earth shudder to a halt when he looks at him like that.

"I’m only teasing," Wei Wuxian says. He shivers, quickly and quietly.

And with a jolt, the world begins to spin again.

Lan Wangji stands up and wraps an arm around him to help him into the tub. After he’s managed to carefully sit him down into the water he gets to his feet again, poised to offer him some privacy and return when—

Cold fingers intertwine with his.

Lan Zhan? Wei Wuxian asks, uncharacteristically soft. "Can you stay with me?"

Back still to him, Lan Wangji’s breath hitches. He prays Wei Wuxian hasn’t noticed. He turns to find another smile waiting for him. It looks as though he is using whatever remaining energy he has to offer it.

Words fail. Lan Wangji nods and sinks down to his knees once again.

Wei Wuxian leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. He doesn’t release Lan Wangji’s hand.

Lan Wangji remembers drinking too much once. Remembers the pressure wrapped around his forehead like a rope tied too tight with weights attached. He feels like that now. Drowsy and drunk as he wades sluggishly through the river of thoughts running rampant in his brain.

He blames it on the heavy scent of sandalwood mixing with the rising steam of the bath water.

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian’s voice slices through the mist.

"Yes, Wei Ying?"

Lan Wangji feels Wei Wuxian’s hand clench his tightly once, pumping a secret message through his fingertips. "You’re a really good friend."

The wild thumping of his jackrabbit heart in his ears muffles his own words when he replies. "It’s nothing."

Wei Wuxian languidly opens his eyes and fixes him with a look. He opens his mouth, closes it again. A speechless Wei Wuxian is such a strange sight. It’s honestly a little unsettling.

Lan Wangji appreciates the stillness of solitude at times. But not when Wei Wuxian is around. He silently revels in the chaos that Wei Wuxian carries with him wherever he goes.

"I should have come to you days ago, you always know how to calm me down. I don’t know why I didn’t."

I wish that you did, Lan Wangji thinks.

"You are here with me now," Lan wangji says instead.

"How are you always so patient with me?"

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to say. He imitates Wei Wuxian’s gesture from before, squeezes his hand like it will convey all that he wants to say, but can’t.

Wei Wuxian smiles back dreamily in response. Lan Wangji thinks that maybe he does get the message after all.

They sit in the silence for a few moments before Wei Wuxian starts to nod off, jerking his head up with a start and looking around with wide eyes whenever it falls towards his chest.

Lan Wangji decides to be brave. Squeezes his hand again and forces the words to come.

"Wei Ying, please talk to me about it."

Wei Wuxian raises his free hand from beneath the water, mostly clean except for the ink stains that will take days to fade away, and rubs his forehead. He sighs quietly.

Lan Wangji waits patiently. He doesn’t want to press, but he’s prepared to if he must.

"I watched you die," Wei Wuxian says despondently. "Well, more like ripped apart by—”

He stops, closes his eyes and breathes deeply before opening them again.

"It’s always feels so real when it happens. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t and go back to sleep, but it kept coming back. I get myself worked up and it always comes back. Ever since we were young."

Lan Wangji swallows, squeezes his hand again. His recurring death being the main theme of Wei Wuxian’s nightmares was honestly never on his list of probabilities.

But then again, he never explicitly said what it was that ripped him away from peace in the middle of the night. It was one of the few secrets that he clung to.

"Why do you think I asked you to hold me until I fell asleep again all those years ago? And the few times I’ve come into your bed now after drinking too much?"

Lan Wangji’s throat is a desert. The question is probably rhetorical. Something he should know the answer to without having to ask. But he can’t stop himself.

"Why?"

"I needed to know you were there with me. That you were safe and it wasn’t real because I felt you there with me— Lan Zhan!"

The water in the tub is not quite as hot, but still warm when Lan Wangji leans over and falls in as he throws his arms around Wei Wuxian’s neck, clinging tightly. It’s an awkward scene, with his legs still hanging over the edge of the tub as his ass settles onto Wei Wuxian’s lap. He should be the one comforting Wei Wuxian right now, but the hand moving against his spine makes it feel like the tables have turned.

"Wei Ying, why did you not come to me now?"

"Ah, Lan Zhan, will you really make me say it?"

Something in his tone of voice hints at it. He’s embarrassed. The great shameless Wei Wuxian is embarrassed.

"Tell me," Lan Wangji says, leaning back enough to look at him.

"It’s not fair of you to hold me down and force the truth out of me like this, you know!" Wei Wuxian tries to deflect.

"Tell me," Lan Wangji repeats firmly.

Wei Wuxian sighs. "It’s awkward to say. It feels childish to be afraid of such imaginary things. Children have nightmares, not adults."

Lan Wangji could kick him if he didn’t want to kiss him so badly right now. Of all the things he could claim to be childish.

"Children are afraid of the dark," Lan Wangji says.

"Yes—"

"And so is Wei Ying."

"That’s beside the point."

"Children are afraid of monsters."

"Don’t even—"

“And so is Wei Ying."

"Lan Zhannnn, I’m too tired to be made fun of like this," Wei Wuxian whines, pouting as he looks away.

Lan Wangji wants to lean forward and take that quivering lip between his teeth.

"Wei Ying?" Lan Wangji asks softly and earns his attention again. "I do not think it is childish to fear losing those close to you."

"No," Wei Wuxian replies. "I suppose it isn’t childish at all."

They stay like that for a while, embracing as the bubbles dissipate. When Wei Wuxian begins shivering again, teeth chattering loudly in Lan Wangji’s ear, they decide it’s finally time to move.

Lan Wangji stands first, midsection drenched and dripping water along the floor as he retrieves a towel from the cabinet. He helps Wei Wuxian up and wraps it around him, supporting his weight as he dries him off.

"L-L-Lan Zh-an-an?" he chatters out. How is he always so cold?

"Mn?" Lan Wangji grabs another dry towel and wraps it around him.

Wei Wuxian sighs contentedly, nestling in closer.

"Can I sleep in your room?"

That is exactly where Lan Wangji was planning on leading him anyways.

"Yes."

"Will you hold me until I fall asleep?"

And that is exactly what Lan Wangji was planning to do anyways.

"Of course, Wei Ying."

After helping Wei Wuxian get dressed and settled onto the bed, Lan Wangji changes out of his own soaking wet clothes before laying down to join him.

Normally, Lan Wangji would be sipping his morning tea in the kitchen or out on the balcony by now. His day would have begun hours ago.

Instead Wei Wuxian drapes an arm over his waist and nuzzles in closer, his breath warm and steady against his neck when he whispers, "Goodnight, Lan Zhan, and thank you," and then falls asleep almost instantly.

Lan Wangji runs his fingers through Wei Wuxian’s hair, presses his lips ever so gently to the top of his head, and breathes his confession onto deaf ears, "Goodnight, Wei Ying. I love you."

#wangxian #wangxian fic #lan zhan #wei ying #lan wangji #wei wuxian #the untamed #mdzs #the untamed fanfiction #mdzs fanfiction #omg they were roommates #hold me tighter (even closer)#wangxian trash #hurt/comfort #light angst #mutual pining

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ghostmartyr · 4 years

Text

how a life can move from the darkness [8/?]

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

Summary: Two drug addicts (Eren and Historia) meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery. Heavy on friendship feels, especially EMA. Eventual yumikuri.

“Deep water first.”

Armin was comparing his map with the one on the directory, frowning studiously at their options. “You don’t think we should save that for last?” he asked. “We always spend the most time there.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to go to the Forgotten Marvels of the Deep screening,” Eren said, searching out the times for all of the film events on his map. “They have those every hour, you’re not going to miss it.”

“But we know how much time that will take,” Armin said.

“So it can go anywhere,” Eren said. “You’re always saying how we could use a break from walking. If we go first thing, that’s out.”

“That’s what I say to remind you two to eat something,” Armin said, talking too fast for Eren to point out that Armin was even worse than him and Mikasa about skipping meals. “Lunch is a break. Film features aren’t, and they put all of the other exhibits into context.”

Eren gestured at Armin’s entire everything. “We already have you for that. And the earlier we go see it, the longer you’ll have to brood about them getting the CGI for the megalodon wrong.”

Armin, with the infinite faith that had never once gone his way when they marched into the aquarium, renewed membership cards at the ready, said, “Maybe they’ll get it right this time.”

They never got it right. Eren didn’t know what elusive magic Armin was waiting for from the special effects wing of the world, but no matter how many movies with megalodons they saw, something had always gone wrong with the design. Eren was on Armin’s side for seeing some quality sharks, but he was always so disappointed. No one in the world saw things like Armin did. That should have meant nothing but good things for him, but instead it was a domino city of letdowns designed for Armin’s indomitable heart getting stripped bare.

Hanging back behind them, where the stakes of where to go first could be played off, Mikasa offered her opinion. “I would like to see the penguins.”

Eren and Armin looked down as one to check times.

“Do we want to be there for feeding?” Armin asked. “We should get there early if we do.”

“We should do early anyway. We don’t have to stay for the feeding, but they’ll be more active when they’re waiting for food, and there will be less of a crowd before it starts,” Eren said.

“It’s all the way on the other side of the building, and the feeding’s in forty minutes. We should move now.”

“Done.”

Armin nodded and folded up his map, then jolted forward a little before starting the familiar speed walk down the steps and into the aquarium parts of the aquarium. He turned around guiltily at Mikasa, and that sparked a jolt of Eren’s when he realized that Historia was standing even further back, and she wasn’t used to drawing battle plans up.

“How about you, Historia?” Eren asked before Armin’s guilty face got any worse. “Is there anything you want to see?”

Historia shook her head, drawing one more frowning face her way. Mikasa had decided to replace her cat as Historia’s buffer. Eren would have felt weird about both of them feeling like Historia needed a buffer, but this trip hadn’t been planned, and he didn’t think Historia was used to having friends. Ones who did stuff like finding tanks outside their apartment to stare at.

Eren hadn’t been ready for the excursion either, but Armin’s address was where his new membership card still went, and they always went the weekend those showed up. He was used to it.

He had missed it.

Each second no one was talking or moving had more weight and awkwardness than he’d ever thought could happen around Mikasa and Armin, but they all knew what it was, and he wasn’t allowed to yell at anyone over it anymore. They could let it bite into them and smile through the pain as long as they were all doing something together.

They were a better fix for the heartache than the pills had ever managed. Being with them again made Eren feel like a person.

Remembering to pull in the other person who needed that feeling because she refused to include herself made him feel like a slipshod, incomplete person. They’d almost been late because she hadn’t interpreted Eren telling her the aquarium trip plans as him inviting her along. She’d stared at him so long when he told her she was coming that he’d worried that something new had gone wrong.

“You get a vote,” Eren told her. She hadn’t opened her map yet. “We could check out stuff for Benjamin’s tank. Most of the eels are in the smaller areas, so they aren’t as crowded.”

Historia glanced at Mikasa. “Penguins sound fine.”

Eren looked at Armin, who was looking at Mikasa, who was looking at Historia.

Armin cautiously opened his mouth. “…Historia?” he asked, a tone of dawning horror in his voice. “Have you… have you never been to an aquarium before?”

Historia shrugged, a little helplessly, with the start of a defiant scowl growing. “I’ve seen fish before. We went to the store twice to find Benjamin.”

Armin’s horror rose to high noon and stayed there, staring at her in shock.

No friends, rightfully dead father, and a sister who treated her like the glue was still wet on all her broken pieces. No aquarium trips. That made sense.

The wrongness of it was still profound, and Eren didn’t have the words to fix it because the only ones his head was interested in coming up with said too much about how much several people before Historia should have taken a shot at killing her father.

Armin was on that same level, only with less active bloodlust. He looked like he’d just been told their library was closing. Eren turned to Mikasa. She had her overprotective concerned face on, but her eyes snapped to Eren quickly, a plan written in them.

“Otters,” she said.

“Otters,” Eren agreed firmly.

Armin caught on, and with revived vigor, he and Eren each took up one of Historia’s arms, melting her expression of flushed defiance into alarm, while Mikasa stepped behind her and took the place of pushing her forward and keeping her stumbling feet from tripping down the stairs.

“You’ll like it,” Eren said.

“And then we’ll go look at tankmates for Benjamin,” Armin confirmed.

“Or the penguins,” Mikasa said quietly.

“We could do all of that first,” Historia said, being tugged along, her hand crumpling her unopened map. “Or the movie Armin wants to see?”

“No,” they all said together.

----

Eren’s mom didn’t take things for granted. She never had, and losing most of her world had only brought that closer to her heart.

Her son being willing to spend time with her when it wasn’t a special occasion was a door she’d wanted open for months, and Eren had had a promise to come over at least once a month, with at least one of his friends or his brother, exhorted out of him before she let him take his spackle home.

“Or maybe your brother,” had been said with the sort of casual deliberation Frieda had used when she talked about a pet for the apartment.

Leaving Eren upside down on the back of the couch, staring mindlessly at his phone with his hair dangling to the floor.

hi zeke

good morning

we don’t have a tv but armin said

there’s a movie out at

good afternoon

my mom wants you over for dinner

The cursor on the last one blinked more than he could make himself. It was all bad. The only reason he wasn’t smashing the delete key on the last one was because Zeke’s complicated minefield relationship with his parents meant studiously and politely flipping off all of their dad’s awkward suggestions that he come over, and very politely accepting his mom’s invitations. He’d even bring flowers.

Historia’s bedroom door swung open, and she finally emerged from her room for the day, wearing one of the otter shirts Mikasa and Armin had encouraged her to get. The short-sleeved one. She stopped in the hallway when she saw Eren, thumb still hovering over her own phone.

“I’m texting Zeke,” Eren said.

Historia nodded slowly, and continued her walk to the kitchen. “Does that help?” she asked, reaching into a cupboard for a glass.

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

Eren spun the phone up into the air a bit, catching it before it could hit the floor. He tossed it again, moodily, when one of the random memories of Zeke doing the same thing with a baseball every time he took a step near one started to play in his head.

“What do you text Frieda?”

Prolonged silence followed the question. Eren pulled himself away from his phone’s cursor to watch his roommate’s back. He lifted his head up so that his hair wasn’t touching the floor.

“…You text her, right?”

“I respond when she asks how I am,” Historia said.

Eren removed himself from the couch with a clumsy flip that Mikasa’s cousin would have found horrifying. “You don’t message your sister?” Eren asked. Barely, barely remembering that Frieda and Historia were too complicated to make the point that if Historia had no problem getting into drawn out fights on Twitter with strangers, she should have some words for her sister.

Historia shrugged. The baby otter hiding under the seaweed that draped over her shoulder didn’t offer any deeper hints about her mood.

“She’d be happy to hear from you,” Eren said, because it was true. Besides Frieda being that sort of person, he kept seeing it in Armin and Mikasa, and the screaming guilt was learning to shut up and let that feel good. “You wouldn’t have to come up with anything fancy. Talking about the weather would work. Or Benjamin. Or school.”

Historia didn’t quite turn around, but he could see more of her head than her hair when she spoke. “Why can’t you send Zeke something like that?”

“It’s not the same.” It was nowhere close to the same. Frieda was hot chocolate and comfort. Zeke was. Zeke. He’d never been anything different. Eren had just taken forever to work out how much that annoyed him. “Our relationship’s not… like normal siblings,” he said.

Historia pulled her glass out of the stream of water the fridge had been dutifully filling it with, and fixed Eren with a look. “My sister comes into my room at night and watches me sleep to make sure I’m still breathing.”

Eren’s phone and its blinking cursor shrunk a few sizes. “You know about that?”

Historia put her glass down on the counter. “Yes.”

Frieda would love that. Eren wasn’t sure when he’d switched sides on the habit, but it got him a hot drink and a listening ear in the middle of the night, and Historia refusing to participate instead of not knowing she could sounded too familiar. “If you texted her more often, she’d probably back off on that. Or if you talked to her at all,” he added.

Historia, devoid of amusement, looked over the otter on her shoulder at him. “Have you told your brother you want him to pay attention to you?”

Eren’s jaw set. He put his phone on the counter, where Historia could clearly see the screen. He erased all of the last attempt, and for a paralyzing instant couldn’t come up with anything to fill up the space with—before he remembered that quality wasn’t the point, and he could recite the alphabet and it would still put a win in his column. His fingers marched across the keyboard.

hi. how are you?

He hit the send button.

Pride and success flourished for about as long as it took to have the notification text go from ‘sending’ to ‘delivered.’

Then the knot in his chest that belonged to Zeke—more noticeable than ever with all the untying he’d gotten done on the others—throbbed, and his phone went from only a few sizes too small to microscopic with one little shift of the screen.

‘Read.’

A trio of dots followed, and the jolt of adrenaline they caused felt like every doorbell the nights Eren was waiting for Zeke to come over for babysitting.

Are you feeling all right, Eren?

The adrenaline didn’t evaporate.

The excitement that had tried to rush past a decade of poor communication didn’t last an extra heartbeat.

Eren didn’t have the income to throw his phone into the garbage disposal. Acknowledging that and tightening his fingers until they went white was growth. Not needing to buy more spackle, or putty knives, was a good thing, and his progress should be a delight to anyone who knew how hard he’d worked for it.

To quote Petra.

He wondered if there was any school of thought where wrapping his hands around Zeke’s throat counted as progress, but that went into violence and other problems too fast to imagine properly, so he was left with Zeke.

“He thinks there’s something wrong with me,” he informed Historia.

Historia finished pouring her lemonade. “Is there?”

“No!” he snapped.

Her head swerved in his direction, eyebrows lifted in surprise. It took him a second. A full second, enough for her look to turn uncertain, for what he’d said to process as language instead of righteous indignation. Something that hadn’t belonged to him in over a year.

He used to burn through it at so fast Mikasa and Armin almost couldn’t keep up. Fights and protests and causes and that one idiotic proposal about cutting the library’s funding. People were being stupid, and he wasn’t going to sit around like everyone else and let them be stupid.

Until the only sort of good thing he could do for himself was walk into a gym and take a chair, where all the unclean hate boiled and festered and didn’t help anyone.

Zeke was being stupid.

Historia put her phone down next to his, swiping away from the open Twitter tab with an unfinished tweet in process. Her texting app opened, with only one other name besides Eren listed under the contacts. With deliberate precision, she typed out a new message.

Hi Frieda. Would you like to come over for dinner?

She sent it. After making sure Eren read it.

When she pulled away from the counter, the hand that took her phone moved like it was anchored to the marble. The screen flicked back to Twitter, and her thumb grazed the case. “Some people…” she said. “They don’t know how to be a family.”

It sounded like an apology, but Eren couldn’t guess for what. It also sounded like something his mom had said. About his dad. When Eren asked why his brother was living with their grandparents and not them.

Eren looked back at his phone, with Zeke’s text. His stupid brother with his stupid hands-off love that felt like he’d picked it up from a manners book, because why would giving someone a reason to keep trying ever be something that cropped up naturally? “I don’t think Zeke wants one.”

Seconds of quiet passed.

Historia, with thought and care ponderous as a boulder, said, “He doesn’t seem like the type of person who would bother talking to someone he didn’t want.”

Eren wanted to argue with that, because he wanted to argue against everything that said maybe someone a little less like Eren could make sense out of his brother being the exact same person he’d been since the day Eren was born. He wanted to argue, period, because Zeke was Zeke and Eren…

Eren might have been Eren.

And before he’d needed his brother, and Zeke was just some cool adult to break rules with, the thickest knot that tied them together was knowing that Zeke took his calls every single time he made one. Even when he only took their dad’s once a year. When Eren’s mom asked him to.

Zeke loved his little brother as well as he could. The way he thought he was supposed to.

Eren huffed and went over to say hi to Benjamin. Leaving Historia some time to finish yelling at Ymir before her sister, who knew how to love people, showed up and reminded them that they weren’t any good at it, either.

----

He had the wrong wallet.

That was already bad. Not terrible bad, but Ymir had been the one to point it out.

Walking into the rock climbing gym, unannounced, with Reiner and her usual self, she’d taken one look at Eren getting ready for work and said, “I thought I got ripped off when mine started sprouting holes like that. Guess that brand just sucks as a rule.”

Eren’s wallet didn’t have holes. Historia’s did. He had no idea why, and talking money with Historia always ended so badly that he wasn’t interested in asking. Her wallet also had more cash in it than Eren had ever seen in one place. What an Armin from years ago would have called drug money with a laugh, and something the Eren of the moment wanted to hurl out of his hands as fast as possible.

Working with Reiner and Ymir was an unexpected hitch in his day, but Reiner had immediately gone over to the free climbing wall with a bounce in his step. The worst they could get falling from that was a bruise or two, so Eren could stall by one of the other walls with his phone.

grabbed your wallet by mistake you want to come by and nab it?

Historia was between classes, so her reply came fast.

Yes, thank you. Should I pick yours up?

yeah that would help

They didn’t have any real routine to their middays, but Historia had dropped by to share lunch a few times, so Eren was spared sending off the address. His eyes wandered over to the only customers they had so far. Reiner was trying to figure out how to climb the underside of the wall. Ymir was crawling it like a spider, way too capably to be new to it.

Eren typed out another thread.

Reiner’s here with your friend

She is not my friend

He put his phone away and went over to help Reiner. There weren’t any tennis balls in the building, but they’d all be better off if he could get Historia her wallet without her coming into contact with Ymir. From what he could tell, weeks of Twitter arguments, which Reiner insisted were the best thing he’d ever seen, hadn’t burned off their edge. Smiling Ymir or not, they probably didn’t need a real introduction.

----

Reiner wasn’t bad for someone who’d never gone climbing before. He stretched for handholds instead of taking the ones nearby and wasn’t built for it yet, breathed too hard, paid too much attention to how fast Ymir was making her way up next to him—but it wasn’t like riding a bike. Eren didn’t think he’d have to throw himself against the ropes to keep him from crashing.

He wondered if it would be the sort of thing Reiner would have any interest in keeping up after the coupons wore out. Mikasa liked climbing. They could make a day of it or something. Show Reiner he had friends.

Ymir swung over to Reiner’s side of the wall and flicked him on the ear. Eren’s grip on the safety lines turned glacial when Reiner let go to bat back at her.

But he was smiling under the red face and sweat. They’d all figured out how to do that again somewhere, and Eren went back to holding the lines like he got paid to do it.

Until Thomas hailed him from the cashier’s desk, and a pocket of leather tapped his shoulder.

“Here,” Historia said, tone and eyes carefully directed away from Eren’s customers.

Eren fished her wallet out of his pocket and swapped it for his, with its zero holes and coupons stuffed in next to enough bills for lunch and nothing else. “Thanks,” he said. He held back on asking if she wanted to stick around and share lunch. “Sorry.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” Historia said mechanically.

She didn’t walk away. She wasn’t making eye contact with him, either. Her gaze was set somewhere between where Ymir and Reiner were climbing and Eren’s head.

Eren hadn’t thought much about it, because thinking about Ymir and Historia’s Twitter war wasn’t good for much outside of amusing Armin to get through an awkward texting pause.

“…Do you want to say hi?”

Historia’s hackles rose the way Rivaille’s did when Eren tried to pet him, and she finally broke her staring contest with the orange handhold to scowl darkly at him. The hand that had taken her wallet balled into a fist small enough to probably rip another hole in it.

“We’re having lunch together if you want to—”

“Hey Eren!” Ymir shouted down, freezing Historia’s expression to nothingness. “I thought it was only in your job description to pick up chicks if they were falling from—”

She stopped talking, which sounded like a dream come true, except it came with Ymir’s rope spinning taut and Eren’s heart seizing as suddenly in his chest as her whiplash brake in the air. She was so still that the first panicked emotion to make its way into thought was that he’d killed her just like the bus and the blood and she wasn’t someone he wanted gone just quieter.

But those eyes were too alive with something for him to worry about that instead of gearing up to scream the speech he knew by rote, from a hundred different teenagers not listening when he said to be careful with the equipment, directly into Ymir’s thick skull. Knowing that speech was why Hannes let him keep his job, and every syllable of it thundered in his electrified blood.

Reiner beat him to words. “Ymir,” he asked, dangling in a way that said it didn’t matter he didn’t know what he was doing yet, he would jump into thin air if it would help, “you okay?”

And maybe that wasn’t a bad question.

She wasn’t going for the handholds, putting all the work on Eren. If she cared at all about Reiner’s mounting concern, none of it or anything else showed. She looked shell-shocked.

Eren put the speech on hold. “I’m getting you down,” he said bluntly. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Whatever was going on, past experience with not breaking her neck kept her from actively hampering her descent, even if Eren was mad enough that he wouldn’t have minded an extra excuse to read her the riot act.

Historia didn’t help, standing stock-still next to him instead of thinking to move out of the landing area. Eren moved around her instead, pulse at a high that didn’t promise anything good. By the time Ymir’s feet hit the mat, he could feel his fingers itching to let go of the ropes and find a bottle.

His clenched jaw kept it all back, and he unhooked her in stressed silence, ordering Reiner to stay put with his glare. Even though he’d probably be helping him down the wall the second he was done with Ymir.

Ymir didn’t need ordering. She stayed next to the wall, quiet enough to ping Eren’s first-aid lessons instead of his temper. He breathed in. Out. Didn’t murder her like

He took another breath and a step forward, raising up a hand in front of her face. “Follow my finger,” he instructed, peering into her eyes and hoping the ghosts in her expression weren’t anything dangerous.

Ymir batted his hand away. Her hand was shaking. Eren’s temper dropped another notch. “Ymir…”

“Krista,” she whispered.

She wasn’t looking at nothing, Eren realized.

Because she was looking at Historia, who had turned into a sculpture of ice.

Reiner spasmed up on his perch, and Eren abruptly decided that whatever was going on, it was time for everyone to be on the ground. Descent went much simpler with someone who was bothering to be present for it, even if Reiner had the same shaken look on his face that had drained all the blood out of Eren’s.

The childish whining in his head wanted to cry. They couldn’t all just be normal together. Something had to go sideways and broken and fuck him he needed another tennis ball in his face, but he didn’t have one so he was just going to have to grow the fuck up and handle the broken pieces with some fucking gloves for once.

Ymir was odd and quiet, and her hands were trembling like Eren’s used to.

Historia didn’t look like a person.

Eren could guess how out of his depth he was, but he couldn’t see it hitting anywhere close. He stepped over to his friend and clapped her on the shoulder, trying not to turn into Frieda when that didn’t spark anything. He stuck to what he did have a dim comprehension of. “Historia?” he prompted. “You have a class to get to, don’t you?”

Nothing. Not even a damn flicker. Whatever was left in there was locked on Ymir.

Who—Eren did a double take.

That… was different, and his depth and comfort zone went somewhere else to leave him with nothing but pure confusion.

Those were tears in Ymir’s eyes. Actual, human tears.

And Historia moved.

“No,” she said, the one word so raw and crackled it didn’t sound like a language. A spark came back to her, and Eren’s hand fell off or her shoulder ripped away, leaving him to rejoin Reiner on the sidelines as the lopsided, unsure mass of puzzle pieces started snapping together.

“No,” she said, approaching Ymir on wobbly legs. Shine and fire broke the ice, even if they both looked three days into withdrawal. “You…” she breathed in like it was strangling her, and maybe Eren was caught up in the same haze they both were, because her exhale sounded something like laugher.

Historia, bright with tears, the shortest person Eren knew, looked down at Ymir.

“You don’t get to be the one crying!” she shouted.

Her fingers were digging new holes in her wallet, and Ymir was the first one to break the stunned staring, to look at the shredded collection of money and leather.

Crying.

Silently, to go with Historia’s repressed sobs. The tears were unrelenting and steady, winding down Ymir’s cheeks like a river that had been just waiting for spring.

“Historia,” she said, tender and so, so lost.

Click went the puzzle. The fiancée.

Historia had called her that, the very first time she brought her up. The only time she brought her up at all until she read the book that confessed all of the ways they’d missed each other. Padded out with how it was probably a joke, and never something real that broke her heart.

Eren didn’t think anyone could say someone’s name like that and call it a joke.

Or hear their name said like that and think it was anything other than what it was.

Historia’s whole expression collapsed, emotion spilling out faster than the tears. Her mouth wordlessly traced Ymir’s name, and her hands dropped the wallet to hold her head as she stared down at the girl she’d somehow undersold her love for, complete ruin and hope coalescing into the only words she appeared able to come up with before her legs tripped her down.

“You unromantic jackass,” Historia murmured, burying herself in Ymir.

Eren could have counted the seconds it took for Ymir to trust that she was allowed, that ruining absolutely everything and salting the ground didn’t mean what she thought it did when someone was willing to grab you and welcome you back to your home. He saw the second the connection sparked in her head, and her broken heart was punched through with a sewing needle.

Ymir crumbled, a hiccupping sob finally leaving her as she hid it all away in Historia’s hair.

----

I haven’t said it recently so I thought I would […] I love you thanks for taking me back

Eren??? Are you okay?

We were always going to.

----

They didn’t have lunch together.

Not the way any of them had planned.

They were seated at a table for four at the deli near Eren’s work, two of the chairs empty while Eren and Reiner’s life focus became not running off to eavesdrop on whatever outpour of emotion Ymir and Historia needed to have. If their food tasted like anything, Eren was missing it.

Historia had held back Mikasa to let him talk to Armin alone. She’d helped Armin let him talk to Mikasa alone. He owed her.

“Krista, huh?”

Eren jolted back to his spot at the table. “Huh?”

Across from him, Reiner didn’t look any more together. But he’d finished his sandwich, so maybe holding on to the edge of the table with a grip meant for tearing things in half wasn’t the warning sign Eren wanted to call it.

“Krista,” Reiner said again. “Ymir’s girl. That—that was what Ymir called her.”

All Eren knew about that was a vague memory of Historia telling him the girl from juvie had never known her real name. He swished his water around in his cup.

“I guess… I guess Kr—Historia told you all about what happened,” Reiner said.

Eren tried. Since it was Reiner. “Not really. We talked about…” Things he felt weird about repeating, because now that the girlfriend was Ymir, and Ymir took one look at her and started crying, he was less sure about how much he wanted to punch her. He was more sure that Historia would be mostly okay throwing a tennis ball at her.

“We talked about how much it hurt when she wasn’t there anymore,” Eren settled on.

“Right,” Reiner said.

His knuckles were pure white around the table. Eren took an experimental bite of his sandwich, staring out the window and quashing the urge to go out and find his friend and his sometimes other friend to make sure nothing else broke. He hadn’t been able to help when he was standing right next to them. His contributions weren’t anything good.

His contributions were things like wondering if his roommate would ever come home again. He was a child, and channeling that into more unwanted worrying was all he had for the day.

“It was my fault,” Reiner blurted.

Eren pulled himself back again. “What was?”

Reiner’s look was straight out of rehab. His hands dug through his hair for a moment instead of the table, too short to hide the nervous twitch of his fingers completely. Eren straightened in his chair. Reiner took that as a sign to try to smile, which worked badly.

“I overdosed,” he said. “A lot.”

“I know,” Eren said.

“Right.” His fingers started tapping on the table. “But one of them—Ymir was going to be out any day. We knew that. Or—I guess Bertolt knew, I didn’t know much of anything by then, but…” Reiner clenched his eyes shut. “I overdosed, and Bertolt called her, and then she… she was there.”

Eren tried another bite of his sandwich and had to stop himself from spitting it out. He could picture it, and the unsaid half about the person Ymir had left behind, who hadn’t been in such immediate danger but never stopped needing her. He knew that story. He’d lived some of it, and now that the girlfriend had a face it was too easy to remember that Ymir was the idiot who left and Historia was the idiot who still wanted her.

Only this time the idiot who left had a good reason.

He wanted to call Armin and apologize again, not just texting because his fingers worked when his voice wouldn’t. He wanted to call Mikasa and remember that she’d survived him and they had Zeke’s damn baseball practice together.

He didn’t know how to call Zeke, but someone had, after the accident, and after Eren being stupid. And Zeke had shown up. No questions asked. He’d dropped everything, because Eren needed his brother, so his brother had shown up. Because that was something he knew how to do, even if conversations and feelings weren’t.

Ymir was so bad at knowing what to do with feelings she wrote an entire book about failing to share them and then got defensive when the person she had them for complained.

Eren wanted to check in on them. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do to help, but it felt like someone should be around to keep them from ending up in a place where Ymir went with releasing another book for her and Historia to fight over as a conversation starter. Counting on Historia to be that someone when she hadn’t been able to let go of Ymir when Eren was getting her harness off felt like a gamble.

He didn’t think either of them would like that argument. Their first act as a couple would be to find a ball pit to dump him in.

“It’s my fault,” Reiner said again. “If Kr—if Historia got hurt. I—Ymir has trouble being upfront about some things, but she wouldn’t have left it that way for anything else. She’s a good person, and Krista—she’s crazy about her. Still. She won’t hurt her.”

Eren stopped swishing his drink, and stared as much threat into Reiner’s eyes as he could without actually thinking about what hurting another person like that looked like.

“She’d better not,” he said.

----

We love you too. […] We can say it more often. If you want.

[next]

#drug au #fic #mine #long post

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captcas · 4 years

Text

Worth Fighting For (8/?)

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2 / ch 3 / ch 4 / ch 5 / ch 6 / ch 7

[CHAPTER 8/?]

Nervous is an understatement– no, it’s the understatement... of the century. The ride up was easy, she purposely cancelled their check in meeting yesterday to be sure they at least had work to talk about for the two hour car ride. Her plan worked, and their conversation rarely shifted into anything remotely personal. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be friends with him, but this entire “weekend away” will be easier if they keep things strictly business. She was reluctant to text him last night– typing and retyping her messages a dozen times. All it took was five minutes of back and forth and all her nerves settled and she found them talking in an easy rhythm.

She doesn’t want to analyze what that means.

Emma isn’t sure what to expect for the rest of this weekend, but as Killian pulls the car up to the lobby of the hotel Regina booked for them, she feels like she wants to vomit. She hasn’t stepped within 5 miles of a UFC event since she found out she was pregnant with Henry and while she knows most of the focus will be on the fighters, she can’t help the pang of anxiety at the thought someone might recognize her.

Killian parks and tells her that he’ll unload the car if she doesn’t mind checking them in. She nods and he smiles brightly, seemingly oblivious to her nerves. The hotel is nothing fancy, your standard Holiday Inn, but it does have a lobby bar which she’ll definitely need after tonight.

People are definitely going to recognize her. Breathe.

She walks up to the front desk and a sleepy-looking man clicking behind the computer. She has to clear her throat to snap him out of his tired trance. “Oh, good morning, ma’am. How can I help you?” He punctuates his sentence with a yawn and Emma chuckles to herself.

“I’d like to check-in me and my, uh, co-worker, please. The rooms should be under Mills?”

The man nods and types a few things into the computer. “Ah yes, a double room for Mills Management already paid in full. I presume you are Miss Swan?”

“Yup, that’s me. There should be a second room for a Mr. Jones… under the same reservation?” The man furrows his eyebrows and Emma’s stomach drops– this cannot be happening.

“I’m sorry Miss Swan, I only see one reservation under that name.”

Emma sighs and searches for her company card, “That’s no problem, could we just book a second room please?” As she finishes her sentence, she feels Killian at her side.

“Everything alright, Swan?” She nods. She catches herself subconsciously fidgeting with the sleeve of her jacket while the tired gentleman continues to click away on his computer and knows she doesn’t have the resolve to explain what’s going on right now to Killian.

When the worker finally speaks, Emma’s fear materializes in front of her, “I’m sorry, Miss. It seems we are full tonight, there’s some sporting event here this weekend that’s had us booked up for a while. That’s probably why your company could only get one room…”

Emma feels Killian stiffen at her side once he realizes what’s going on. She’s surprised when he speaks, “Surely you must have something available, mate. A last minute cancellation?”

The man shakes his head, “I’m sorry, sir. Yours is the last room.”

Emma walks away from the counter, the world suddenly seeming rather small. She hears Killian ask the front desk worker for a moment before she sees him sit next to her. When did she sit down?

Killian grabs the tip of her chin, forcing her to look at him. She swears there’s a spark at his touch, not to mention how comforting his presence is overall— get it together, Emma. He’s speaking but she hasn’t been paying attention, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I simply said we can find another hotel, love. I’m sorry this was all messed up, Swan. I can call Regina and get this figured out.”

The genuine care in his eyes, and probably the overuse of those damn pet names, is the only possible explanation for what she says next. “It’s fine.”

Killian practically falls off the uncomfortable lobby couch they’re sharing. “I’m sorry, love?”

“It’s fine. I mean, as long as it’s fine with you, I’m fine. We’re both adults, right? And we drove all the way here and no other hotel is going to have space, plus weigh-ins are in an hour so we don’t really have time… I’m just saying it’s all we’ve got and we’ll be fine. I can take the couch or we can switch off or we can just be fucking adults and– if you want to cut me off that’d be great?” She’s used to him stopping her babbling but he’s just staring at her like her face is melting.

He shakes his head and it seems to bring him back to reality, “Sorry, love. Aye, you’re right. It’ll be fine.” She can’t help but let out a rather obnoxious laugh when his hand immediately finds the back of his ear. The tips of his ears turn bright red as his hand snaps back to his lap. “Uh, right then. I’ll go talk to the front desk then, aye?”

All she can do is nod. Emma’s not sure what came over her, but for a split second sharing a room with Killian didn’t seem like that bad of an idea– she’d be lying if she said her opinion changed in the following seconds. She sort of zones out, probably in some sort of rash decision shock, until Killian is back by her side, this time with a pair of keys and their suitcases.

The rush of disappointment that runs through her when she thinks he actually managed to get two seperate rooms is honestly ridiculous. “Oh, uh, did they end up having an extra room?”

Killian looks confused until he follows her eyes to the two keys in his hand, “No, lass, just thought it best we both have a key.”

She sighs with what she refuses to recognize as relief and seriously hopes Killian can’t read the actual minefield happening in her head right now. “Oh, ha, duh! Should we drop our stuff off and head out then?”

He eyes her warily– most likely shocked she agreed to this at all, let alone is handling it so well, “Aye, lass. Room #404. Let’s go.” He smiles at her and her stomach does another flop. She tells herself what she told Killian, they’re adults they can handle bunking together for two nights, but she ignores the overwhelming feeling of anticipation in her chest that won’t seem to settle down.

. . .

As they walk back to the car after dropping luggage in their room– their room – Killian is still replaying the last ten minutes in his head. He subtly pinches himself to make sure this isn’t some crazy dream he’s about to wake up from.

He knows it’s not— the slight brush of her knuckles against his as the walk is the realest thing he’s felt in ages.

Fuck.

The car ride to the weigh-ins is more awkward than Killian thought it’d be, about halfway through, he can’t help but break the silence, “Look, Swan, I know this isn’t ideal. I can call Regina and we can surely figure–”

“I’m terrified to step foot in the arena again.”

He’s a bit shocked at her confession; he’s grateful, but unsure why Emma keeps letting him in. She’s playing with her sleeve again and he can’t help but reach over and stop her— her fingers automatically wrap around his and he feels every ounce of oxygen leave his body. Somehow he manages to speak, “Swan, it’s going to be ok.”

“How can you be so sure? What if people start asking questions? What if I accidentally slip up about Henry? What if this is a total disaster?” She’s looking at him like he holds all the answers and while he’s positive he doesn’t, for her he’d try to figure out anything.

“None of those things are going to happen, love. You’re going to be a brilliant manager and -should you want to be- a happy sight for UFC die-hards, and when this is all over, you’ll go back to being a secret super mom. I have no doubt.” Killian’s not sure he’s capable of doubting Emma.

She’s smiling now— it’s soft and humble but it’s a smile all the same. She looks down, studying the end of her sleeve intently before speaking quietly, “You really think so?” Killian can feel her looking at him again— his senses continually on high alert when she’s around.

He checks the road before briefly finding her eyes— he needs her to know he’s sincere, “I have yet to see you fail.” She looks stunned at first— perhaps still not used to being believed in and he can’t help but wonder what made her this way— but then she nods resolutely and he feels as though he’s succeeded at least minuscully. It isn’t until she squeezes his hand, in a silent sign of appreciation, that he realizes it’s still entwined in hers. He squeezes back before giving her a soft smile that he hopes conveys everything he knows she's still too skittish to hear aloud— and he’s too afraid to admit. She smiles back and turns to look out the window.

He’s fascinated at the way they can communicate without saying a word.

The rest of the relatively quick drive is quiet, but comfortable unlike before. He practically felt the tension leave the car and when he turns into the parking lot, for Emma’s sake, he silently hopes it doesn’t return. It’s not that he is annoyed or unwilling to help her, but rather that it pains him to see Emma so unsure of herself— especially when he’s never been so sure of someone in his life.

This enigma of a woman turned his world upside down in a matter of two weeks, and while that should scare the hell out of him, he finds himself excited by all the what ifs.

Killian pays the parking attendant and finds a relatively close spot. He turns the car off but decides to let Emma lead— noticing she’s giving herself one hell of a mental pep talk in that passenger seat. In a feeble attempt not to rush her, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the UFC tag on Twitter. It’s mostly predictions for match ups and betting on whether or not Nottingham will actually make weight but it keeps him busy until she finally speaks up.

“Ok, let’s go.”

He looks up and can read the nerves all over her face, “You’re ready, Swan?”

“As I’ll ever be.” She gives him the same determined nod from before and gets out of the car. He follows suit and takes a deep breath before walking with her towards the arena. He uses the short trek to fall into character, almost forgetting to be “Hook” in Emma’s presence.

She makes it so easy to be just Killian— to want to be just Killian.

They take one more deep breath in unison before walking through the large glass doors into the brightly lit arena.

. . .

The first thing she notices is the familiar smell of concession food, followed closely by the absolute blinding light of the arena’s fluorescents. She resists the urge to grab Killian’s hand like she did in the car, but she could really use a sturdy reminder she’s not alone. She hazards a glance to her side, the reminder of his presence enough for now. They make it maybe 300 feet without anything happening.

Then, with the flash of a camera, it feels like everything is happening at once.

“Miss Swan!” “Over here!” “Savior!” “Emma Swan!” “Why did you leave?” “Why come back now?” “Why Hook?” “Hook!” “Jones!” “Mr. Jones, quick question!” “Swan! Jones! Right here!”

It’s worse than she imagined and she can’t help but wish she had somewhere to hide. Sometimes it’s a good thing Killian can practically read her mind.

She feels him tower over her and her nose bumps into his back. “Stay behind me, Swan. It’ll be alright.” She nods against him as he pushes through the crowd. She hears him mutter a few “excuse me”s and “no comment”s, not giving the press much of anything. He’s also doing a good job of remaining mostly calm. As his manager, she should probably be encouraging him to talk to the press, but it’s hard to want to give them anything when they act like this. She hates the press.

He can make a statement later– right now she just wants to get to their seats.

And they do, the usher stopping the press at the entrance to their floor seats. As soon as they walk through the tunnel, Killian finds his place back at her side and she smiles at him gratefully, not sure she’s calm enough to form words right now. He makes sure she’s settled before sitting next to her. “You alright, Swan? I despise those bloody pricks.”

She chuckles, his words mimicking her thoughts almost exactly, “Ha, me too. No harm, no foul though.” Emma watches the tension leave his body and can’t help but notice the muscles in his neck relax. She realizes she’s staring and speaks up to fill the void between them, “Thank you, by the way.” She looks away, not used to being taken care of by someone other than the Nolan’s or Ruby.

“Don’t mention it, love. Now I should probably make some sort of statement–” He scratches behind his ear, seemingly hesitant to leave her.

“Yeah, for sure… I suppose I should be telling you that.” He smiles and she nods, an unspoken reassurance that she’ll be alright.

It takes almost a half hour before Killian returns, Emma is nose deep in predictions for tomorrow night’s card and jumps when he clears his throat. “Jesus, Killian. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Apologies, lass. Your purse seems to be saving my seat.” She laughs as she moves her purse– studying him as he sits. Killian seems to be in a much better mood than before and she hopes that means his statement went well.

“How’d it go?” She’s not sure why she says it so nervously, but she can’t help but feel this intense energy between them whenever there isn’t something concrete to talk about. It’s weirdly comforting and not at all unwelcome.

Another thing that scares the shit out of her.

“Quite alright, Swan. Don’t worry, Regina won’t fire you yet.” He winks and she realizes she wasn’t asking as his manager but rather as a genuinely curious friend. She supposes she should be more focused on her actual job than the man she’s supposed to be doing it for, but she can’t seem to shake him. She doesn’t want to. She rolls her eyes and he smiles brighter. “In all seriousness, love. It went well. I talked up my brilliant new manager and how excited I am to get back into the octagon.”

She stiffens at the mention of her, nervous the questioning went further than she’d like it to. She trusts Killian, but the paparazzi are brutal. “Relax, Swan. I didn’t take any questions.” He has this uncanny knack for always knowing what to say– and what not to say. He ends the conversation and steers it into more comfortable waters, “Popcorn?”

She snorts, not realizing he’s had a red and white striped bag in his hand this entire time, “Thanks, but isn’t concession popcorn a huge step outside your strict training diet?”

He throws his head back in a genuine laugh Emma’s only been able to witness a handful of times, “Yes, Swan. Butter and salt are most definitely not allowed.” His gaze turns sincere and Emma can’t help but gulp a bit. “I didn’t do it for me.”

She knows on the surface they’re talking about the popcorn, but deep down, she also knows he’s implying so much more. Everytime Killian talks, it’s laced with innuendos and double meanings, and while Emma should be scared that those double meanings are becoming more heartfelt than flirty, she can’t find it in her to be anything but excited. For someone who has run her entire life, her heart seems pretty intent on staying right here. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and as weigh-ins begin, she finds comfort in his presence, completely forgetting about the fact they’re headed back to the same hotel room and into uncharted waters.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan ff #Emma swan #killian jones #worth fighting for #capthamm

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bountyofbeads · 5 years

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https://johnpavlovitz.com/2017/01/28/dear-world-from-america/

#DearLeadersOfTheWorld for 24 hours, lay down your guns, stop your tanks and missiles, end the cyber attacks...and talk. Please. Just talk.

#DearLeadersOfTheWorld

The ice caps are melting.

The rain won't stop falling.

The forrests are on fire.

Eco systems are being wiped out.

The deepest dive ever recorded found a plastic bag on the sea bed.

The rivers +coastlines are polluted +so is the air.

Wake up before it Is to late.

#ClimateChangeIsReal

#DearLeadersOfTheWorld

We're sorry to the leaders of the world, who instead of being met by level-headed, measured, intelligent dialogue, are now greeted with the social media rantings of a furious man-child.

https://t.co/Z6Hbnl3uYc

Dear World, From America

Published JANUARY 28, 2017 | JOHN PAVLOVITZ | Posted January 08, 2020 |

Dear World,

We felt we needed to say something while saying something is still allowed.

We know many of you have lived under malevolent, unhinged dictators before, but this is new for us. For its history our nation has been led by men and women who, despite their varying flaws and deficiencies, some of which were quite disturbing—were by and large, normal human beings.Whatever darkness in them, they had at the very least, a baseline of humanity and decency that more often than not insured rational behavior.

This man is not normal.

He is unstable, malignant, devoid of integrity—and he does not speak for us.

Please understand that nearly three million more people voted for his opponent Hillary Clinton than for him. (Yes, we realize this is completely screwed-up). Millions more voted for other candidates, and sadly nearly 90 million of our people did not vote at all. The point is, the vast majority of Americans are not with him. He does not speak for us. His America is not our America.

Over the past few months, we’ve watched long erected pillars of our Republic bulldozed in the stroke of a madman’s pen.We’ve seen the very hallmarks of who we are as a nation tossed in the garbage; the celebration of diverse coexistence, the open welcome to the oppressed, the guarantee of unalienable rights for every person, the same access to health and opportunity and safety afforded to everyone, the freedom to speak without censor or restraint. At this moment these are all in great jeopardy.

Things we took for granted in our leadership: things like goodness, wisdom, and basic truthfulness are no longer in play, and as things are eroding quickly we wanted to let you know that we’re sorry.

We’re sorry that our apathy and laziness have yielded such a reckless, impulsive, small man to steward this nation.

We’re sorry for the jagged, bitter ugliness that is characterizing us in these moments.

We’re sorry to those suffering greatly, who have braved such peril to seek refuge here and who’ve now been turned away based on the faith they profess.

We’re sorry to our Mexican neighbors who’ve been fashioned into convenient villains to justify erecting a grandiose, wasteful display of false protection that we do not want.

We’re sorry to Muslims everywhere who’ve been used as pawns to generate irrational fear among those already susceptible to bigotry and discrimination.

We’re sorry to the leaders of the world, who instead of being met by level-headed, measured, intelligent dialogue, are now greeted with the social media rantings of a furious man-child.

We’re sorry to those who now experience the Christian faith as a racist, Nationalistic bully pulpit wielded with malice toward the very diverse Humanity Jesus lived and died for.

We’re sorry to people everywhere whose lives are now more tenuous, more violent, less safe, less secure than they had been before.

We want you to know that this is not who we are. It may be who this man is. It may be who those sharing power with him are. It may even be the tens of millions who originally voted for him (though that support is vanishing quickly among those who are not among the religious zealots and extremists).

But this is not America. It is not the steady, strong beacon of freedom that it was intended to be. It is not the America our people have fought and died for. It is not the one first formed in the crucible of oppression and cast into the words of our ever-disregarded Constitution.

This is not our America. Our America affirms the inherent, priceless beauty of every human being. Our America declares that no person is ascribed less value because of their skin color, religion, gender, financial means, sexual orientation, nation of origin, or any other variable. Our America is home for those seeking hope and joy and rest.

And we are going to fight for this America.Through political channels and through grassroots activism, through the use of our Press and of our personal voices, we’re going to expose this man’s incompetence, call out his heart sickness, and condemn every violent, reckless, vicious act when it does not reflect our hearts and our will.Please do your best to disregard anything that comes from his mouth or those loudly and continually parroting his propaganda.They have proven themselves mortally allergic to the truth.

And we hope that in whatever way you can, that you will stand with us. We know that we have made this mess ourselves. We understand that you have your own problems to contend with, some far more urgent and pressing than this, but we believe that we are a single community; that we are tethered together in our Humanity, that we are in real-time crafting the life our children and their children will inherit.

Dear World, we’re sorry and we hope you’ll endure these days with us.

With despair and hope in equal measure, in peace and unity with you,

The American Majority

🌏🌍🌎🌏🌍🌎

#DearLeadersOfTheWorld

War is not something we enter into flippantly; not a showy public exchange for the sole purpose of making small, insecure men feel big and strong.

It is not something we threaten to feel the cheap aphrodisiac of stranger's retweets.

https://t.co/BHOMf8E2AI

Because World War is Not A Twitter War, Donald

By AUGUST 9, 2017 | JOHN PAVLOVITZ

Posted January 08, 2020 |

Texting is easy.

My children can do it (in fact, far faster than I can.)

It’s an effortless thing to toss out 280-character salvos at people we disagree with, to drop mic drop bombs on strangers, to unload rapid fire violence from behind the safety of touch screens.

Every one of us understands the ease at which our words, carelessly dispensed in a moment of anger or frustration or fear—can be terribly destructive. We’ve all lost our heads for a moment and found ourselves stepping into the minefields of our own hubris and impulsivity while all hell broke loose around us. We’ve all reached that place of knowing that we had to either retreat and fallback, or press ahead into the mess we’ve made—reputation and collateral damage be damned. We’ll all have to look back and realize we’d been irresponsible with the technology in our hands and grieved our stupidity.

Fortunately, most of us will never lead nations.

Our reckless words sent out in haste may emotionally wound people and it may lay waste to relationships—but people likely won’t actually die. They won’t find themselves crammed into stifling military vehicles on foreign soil, or launching nuclear warheads at strangers thousands of miles away or laying in hospital beds with burns, simply because we weren’t mature or wise enough to step away from our phones when conflict invited us in.

And even if we were blessed with the awesome responsibility to lead a nation, most of us would find a humility and restraint that we hadn’t possessed before.We’d become a more honorable version of ourselves. We would grow into the lofty position. We’d respond differently than we had before to taunt and threat, because we’d understand the gravity of our words.

That’s because War is not a Twitter War—and decent, rational human beings know that.

War is not something we enter into flippantly. It isn’t something we run wildly into led by ego and bravado. It is not a showy public exchange for the sole purpose of making small, insecure men feel big and strong. It is not something we threaten only to feel the cheap aphrodisiac of stranger’s retweets.

War is brutal, bloody, vicious, family destroying, joy-depleting, History-altering, sickening stuff—and lots and lots of people die. It is rampant fear and gaping wounds and orphaned children and terrified parents. It should be an outcome honorable leaders do everything they can to avoid.

And world war should not be as easy to stumble into as a Twitter War. It should never be in the tiny hands of minuscule men, who have such little regard for the Office or the people they represent, that they would prize the momentary high of putting someone on blast, above the lives of millions of human beings.

Tweeting is not leading, and it’s time we stopped allowing the most powerful man in the Free World to behave in ways we’d find unacceptable for our teenagers. It’s time someone took the power from this easily baited man-child who is not capable or worthy of it.

America cannot be led into annihilation, death, and disaster, simply because our President wants to overcompensate for his emotional insecurities, his physical inadequacies, and to have his historically fragile ego virtually stroked.

And he’s not a human being worth risking the lives of our children over. Not my child.Not yours. Not a North Korean’s. Not a Russian’s. Not a Syrian’s. Not an Iranian’s.

Yeah, texting is easy.

Killing millions of people, shouldn’t be.

🌏🌏🌎🌍🌏🌎🌍

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underspacegame · 6 years

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The Understate of Underspace, 2019

With 2019 getting underway, I’d like to give a recap of all the things that happened in 2018, and a sort of indirect roadmap of Underspace’s development.

Underspace began development about a year and a half ago, and originally, I had planned to have released it at this point in time. But plans are a fluid thing. No big, life changing revelation happened to cause this delay. There was no seed money stolen or New York game studio we opened up that ran out of money or sun god telling me to burn the game away. It’s merely a large endeavor and, while that original deadline could have been met, it’d mean cutting a lot of corners and features (including big ones like multiplayer). Underspace has a clear vision in mind, and I want to stick to that vision.

To that extent, I’d like to give an overview of the game so far, since by no means is it in some unplayable state.

So, what’s currently done?

On the gameplay side, things are what I’d like to call “action-complete”. Every base thing the player is expected to be able to do (fly around, dock, talk to other ships, use weapons, cloak, repair their ship, etc) functions. Players can level up, take missions, equip their ship, and so on.

Every station and system can be docked on and visited. These areas are connected, and have gas clouds, asteroids, minefields, spawnpoints for ships, etc. All these stations sell ships and equipment that are appropriate to their owning faction. Stations also buy and sell tradeable commodities.

On that matter, every piece of equipment and every fighter exists. Every fighter can be bought, and most every piece of equipment can be acquired in some way.

Every faction exists, spawns ships, and reacts appropriately to one another. Factions also react to player actions, and their reputations change accordingly. Factions also offer missions and various activities for the player to complete.

The framework of more advanced features, such as quests, dialogue, and bosses, is fully implemented. A few examples of these are already implemented, but, as you’ll see, there’s a lot more to go there.

Finally, multiplayer is close to parity with singleplayer. This feature by far has the most to be done on it, but in that sense it’s the difference between something being 85% done and 99% done. Most of these to-be-done features are small changes or features: not being able to see other players when they cloak, dealing with sudden disconnects, or smoothing out synchronized movement between clients. For the most part though, if you can do it in singleplayer, you can do it in multiplayer.

What’s still to be done?

The stage that development is in now is sort of a multi-part endeavor. I wouldn’t call it the last leg, rather, it’s the leg where the game really shapes up and content starts really coming out, and existing content and features are further polished.

Starting off, there’s the remaining content. A few ships (namely bombers and freighters, plus some NPC ships) are missing, and still need to be modeled and implemented. On the side of modeling, we have quite a few solars (celestial bodies including stations, wrecks, and other special things we can’t talk about) that need to be modeled.

On that matter, stations need a rework: both inside and out. This involves taking those station models (if you haven’t noticed, our stations are basically white cubes at this point) and placing them down, while interiors obviously need both structure, decoration and population. This means each station needs to be able to be walked around in, but also have unique NPCs one can interact with in a variety of ways.

Similar to stations, star systems also have more to go. While plenty is in, systems are in a constant state of rework: tweaking colors, population density, hidden jumpgates and jumpholes but more than that, systems need detail beyond just what’s on the beaten path: points of interest, side stories, wrecks, etc.

I call these vignettes, and most always every system has a few of these to tell. They can be simple as a decrepit train in a scrapyard with some leaking coolant, to a fighter squadron caught inside light sensitive coral.

On the questing side of things: most bosses, quests, and both campaigns (singleplayer and multiplayer) need to be implemented. There’s a lot of neat scenes and moments here that I’m not going to spoil, you’ll have to play the damn game yourself. In some ways this is the bulk of the work.

And of course, we have a few remaining features. These are never large things anymore, they’re mostly internally technology: saving features, support for extra keybinds, alternate control schemes, etc. You won’t see too many updates on these,

The last of these steps is polishing what’s already there. Graphical improvements, optimization, rebalancing and such. This is, of course, always an ongoing process, and even after release there’s obviously tweaks and bugfixes and patches to be expected. Ultimately the goal with this stage right now is to look at the game and say “Is it fun?” (The answer is yes) and “Does it play without filling your computer with wasps” (The answer is sort of). This is probably the most important step, and though it’s not the biggest part, it might end up being the longest.

Where do we go from here?

So, ultimately as you can see there’s still a lot to be done. As always, I’ll try to give regular development updates, both here and on my Twitter. There are however, more major milestones and updates coming up. In addition to more graphical overhauls as the game advances, I’m going to start doing larger posts and media bits about the game. Expect more trailers and development videos as the year starts up. At the same time: expect long dark periods of postlessness, there’s a lot of deep deep work I’ll be doing here and there.

And, most importantly, we do have a Kickstarter coming up! This will be early this year, expect it late February to early March.

#Underspace #video games #game development #unity3d #gamedev #big ole text post

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stonylovessteve · 6 years

Text

Creator Reveals

We’ve reached the end of the exchange and that means it’s time to reveal the creators of all our works.

Thank you for putting so much love and effort into Stony Loves Steve 2018, you really made it a great experience. We hope everyone loved it as much as we did!

Giftees, be sure to leave a comment and kudos on your gift if you haven’t already. All our creators worked hard to make this event a success, so show them some love.

You can now post your work publicly outside of the exchange. Tag it as #stonylovessteve2018 on tumblr and we’ll reblog you. @ us @stonylovessteve on twitter and we’ll retweet you.

Below the cut is the final list of all the works produced for the exchange and the creators.

Working out the Kinks by OftheLilies for Robin_tCJ (MCU, 10.7k words)

Steve is the first Avenger to move into the Avengers Tower. It will just be him and Tony Stark, alone together for weeks. It works itself out.

Sexily.

a strategist and a genius by laireshi for quantumdragon (616, 1.1k words)

He loves Tony.

Because, because, because; every time Steve sees him, he adds one more reason to the list.

Love Collection by Shamen610 for ashes0909 (MCU, 3.3k words)

It was only when Steve had walked towards the room and started opening the door that Tony had realized.

“Steve, wait! Don’t go—” But by then it was too late, and Steve had already opened the door. “...there.”

Steve just stood there in front of the room, completely at a loss.

“Okay, wait. I can explain!” Tony started to clamour out. “There is totally a justifiable reason why I have a room filled with your things... I just need to find it.”

All Along by thegraytigress for olympvs (MCU, 29.9k words)

Somewhere, somehow, through all the stuff they've been through… All the times they had to fake being more than they were. Somehow Tony falls in love with Steve for real.

Or five times Tony and Steve fake being in a relationship and the one time they realize they're really in one already.

flash your heart by jelliebean for starkboi (MCU, 3.9k words)

It wasn’t that Steve was pure exactly. After all, someone who was pure wouldn’t withhold coffee from Tony—literally holding it over his head—until he ate something nutritious. Someone who was pure wouldn’t stand possessively nearby when pretty reporters hovered, with a deceptively mild look on his face—a look that somehow told them to back off when they got too close. Someone who was pure wouldn’t kiss Tony, hard, purposefully, while they were both in uniform, wink at him, and then jump out of a plane straight into a battle. Or tell him, in that low, Captain tone, to wait until they got home. Or stand in the back of a summer press conference, slowly and calmly eating a pop rocket while Tony tried to concentrate.

But Steve was also the best of them.

Make It Right by starkboi for nanasekei (MCU, 2.2k words)

"Steve’s stomach soured at the number of the fallen. He will make it right. He’ll bring them back no matter what." (Steve finds himself in space, searching for answers to undo Thanos' destruction. He winds up in Vormir, face to face with the keeper of the stone. Tony is more help than he knows.)

The Stars Shine For You by YohKoBennington for gryvon (AU, 5.8k words)

Steve's high-school buddies tease him about his college boyfriend, not realizing that their perceptions are totally off, and there's so much more than they thought.

The color of your dreams paints my body blue. by SilverInStars for Fluffypanda (AU, 11.2k words)

“Does he know?” Tony asked again. It was the words he could speak, so he spoke them.

Sam’s eyes dipped to Tony’s chest, “Of course he knows. Anyone would.” He cocked his head to the side,

“Just Tony, you bleed blue.”

The bandages were stained. Tony pressed his hand as firm as he could. The color of the skies in the Golden Centaur’s eyes, the color of the skies on his palms.

“Dragon blue.”

After the Battle by Hayluhalo for capsicleonyourleft (Ambiguous, Art)

No one said dating Steve was going to be easy.

Holding Out For A Soulmate by ChibiSquirt for deathsweetqueen (MCU, 1.8k words)

Most folks who had a soulmate got their bond in their teens, at the cusp of adulthood. Steve sure hadn’t, though.

have no regret about (forget about) the chances you missed by Mozzarella for faite (616, 2.7k words)

In which Steve takes an opportunity, and asks Tony Stark out. Not on a date though.

Okay, yes, maybe a date.

The Wager by JacarandaBanyan for sunnyzhp22 (AU, 3.3k words)

“Who are you, Traveler?”

The young man stood and planted his feet like he was facing a dangerous adversary. Steve let a little tongue of flame glow to life in the depths of his throat in preparation for a fight.

“Guardsdragon Steve. I am Tony Stark, and I am here to challenge you for access to your hoard.”

When You All Need a Therapist by morcabre for dirigibleplumbing (MCU, 5.4k words)

A piece of paper was ridiculously difficult to find in Wakanda. Bucky stared at it for a while before finally writing down:

‘Dear Tony Stark,

Sorry I fucked it up between you two.

Sincerely,

Bucky Barnes.’

Baptism By Poisonous Fire by navaan for Furiael (Marvel Noir, 1.9k words)

Steve Rogers is the new Marvels writer – or he was supposed to be. He isn’t sure yet that he’ll survive the day. Chances seem slim for himself and his hero, Tony Stark.

I Am With You by dirigibleplumbing for XtaticPearl (MCU, 25.7k words)

After moving into Avengers Tower, Steve has different ways of connecting with his past and figuring out his present. He writes letters to Bucky, he visits Peggy, and he writes to a Peggy who no longer exists. One day his box of mementos from the 30’s and 40’s appears by his door, all the better to help him remember good times in his life. Meanwhile, his team keeps seeking him out to spend time with him outside of missions—especially Tony Stark.

Steve works to reconcile his memories of the past with his life in the present, to figure out what he wants, what makes him happy, and how he can help make the people he’s coming to care for happy, too.

Just a Saturday Morning by msermesth for janonny (MCU, 7.7k words)

For the first time in a while, Steve and Tony have the morning all to themselves. And it wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for the events of two years ago.

Serve and Protect by gryvon for Hayluhalo (AU, 23.4k words)

Steve is sent to investigate a traitor at Stark Industries, Tony Stark is way too young for Steve to be having improper thoughts about, and everything is not fine.

Nomad and the identity crisis by Cheermione for QueenoftheRandomWord42 (MCU, Art)

Made for the Stony Loves Steve Exchange 2018

Prompt: There are two rival superhero teams who oppose each other over whatever the author chooses. Steve Rogers is the leader of one such group, by day he is the tiny spunky reporter who always holds the world’s powerful accountable, by night he grows into Nomad the powerful vigilante who protects the innocent. Little does Steve know his loving boyfriend Tony Stark is the Superhero Ironman, leader of the rival group and when Steve decides to spill the beans and tell his boyfriend about his secret identity (and hopefully ask for his hand in marriage), a battlefield accident reveals Ironman’s secret identity to Nomad and Nomad alone.

Restrain Me Captain by Impala_Chick for OftheLilies (MCU, 1.7k words)

Tony thinks Steve is innocent only to learn he’s into restraints.

Your Definition of Love (Is Different From Mine) by quantumdragon for Ironlawyer (616, 3.9k words)

After waking up from his coma, Tony has a lot of questions for Hydra Cap. And Steve has answers - but not the ones Tony was expecting.

Wrapped Up In Clover by FestiveFerret for ishipallthings (MCU-AU, 54.3k words)

It’s been seven years since Steve and Tony split up, and Steve’s sure he’ll never see Tony again. He’s finally managed to put their failed relationship behind him and move on, focusing on his friends and building his business. But then his best friends, Bucky and Clint, decide to get married, and their wedding week at a cabin resort in Vermont turns into a minefield of heartbreak for Steve.

Concerto by a_salty_alto for Missy_dee811 (MCU, 1k words)

This isn’t the first time Steve’s been bombarded with a thousand new sensations at once, but the cacophony of sights and sounds in TImes Square from when Steve first awoke in the future is nothing compared to the sheer amount of information that floods Steve’s mind once he’s wielding the full power of the Infinity Gauntlet.

Hold me, kiss me, never leave me by SilverInStars for Fluffypanda (616, 1.1k words)

Prompt: An accident during a mission causes Steve to go feral. He growls, doesn’t seem to understand anyone, and has little concept of personal space. He’s also bossy, possessive, and oddly protective of Tony.

In a Color Unseen by Fluffypanda for Erik_Addictedtometal_Lehnsherr (AU, 1.7k)

Steve knows a king’s attention is fleeting, but there are some things he can’t see.

No Lie by kenshincha for SilverInStars (MCU, 1.3k words)

Steve was born with an empathic x-gene, making him a walking lie detector. Tony lies all the time, and Steve’s going to get to the bottom of it.

The avengers go to Disney! by Sunnyzhp22 for Cheermione (AA, Art)

short comic

Tony’s Hoard by Neverever for picturecat (MCU, 2.5k words)

Tony is turning into a dragon, with interesting consequences for Steve.

The beast in me sleeps with you by SilverInStars for fluffypanda (AU/MCU, 2.2k words)

He grows with inaccuracy in Stephanos’ dreams, sometimes a scared child that makes Stephanos ache with familiarity and sometimes an adult who seems to be fighting a war against the whole world.

A Birthday Get Together by navaan for avengersincamphalfbloodstardis (616, 1.6K words)

Steve thinks after everything that has happened, he really wants a quiet birthday

Mergers and Acquisitions by Robin_tCJ for Firelightmystic (AU, 33k words)

Steve Rogers is the CEO of the Rogers Corporation, which he built from the ground up. When he learns that Hydra International is making a bid for a hostile takeover of Stark Industries, he decides he has to do what he can to stop Hydra from overtaking the market and becoming an unstoppable, unethical conglomerate. Tony Stark asks for something Steve isn’t sure he should give, but he does it anyway – and it completely changes everything. But when Hydra keeps coming, Steve and Tony realize there’s more to this than they’d realized

Black Space for Many Dreams by Missy_dee811 for erde (616, 2.5K words)

The search for Tony is on. Finding him in an abandoned warehouse, Steve wonders if he should say the things that are on his mind.

Sweet Escape by FestiveFerret for Neverever (MCU, 5k words)

The weight of being an Avenger seems to be especially heavy on Steve’s shoulders recently, so Tony tries to cheer him up. And what’s a better cure for the blues than a trip to sunny Spain?

all warm blooded creatures by nanasekei for JacarandaBanyan (MCU, 13k words)

From a very early age, Steve Rogers was aware that he was going to die of cold.

Any Road by sheron for jellybean (MCU, 13.5k words)

Three months after defeating Thanos, Steve Rogers wakes up in the middle of a cornfield, with no memory of how he got there. No memories of anything, not even his own name. The only valuable on him is a flip-phone with a single contact number.

Tony Stark will do anything to help him remember, but he won’t even admit they are friends.

Gift Exchange by redvelvetcake32 for morcabre (AU, Art)

The Scent of Love by avengersincamphalfbloodstardis for Agent_C (Any, 2.8k words)

Prompted from the Stony Loves Steve event! Steve’s addicted to Tony’s scent.

Steve has a heightened sense of smell from the serum. Now if only he could figure out exactly what it is that makes Tony smell so good.

A Prince and a Robber by dreamkist for makeyamad (Any, 1.9k words)

Prince Steve meets a mysterious man in the forest.

Clouds Over a Century Sky by XtaticPearl for FestiveFerret (AU, 15.7k words)

Steve Rogers decides to go to Dublin when he is invited by his estranged partner to a conference, despite arguments by his friends. He is convinced that a gesture of commitment might solve their relationship, and sets off on the trip with a ring in hand. Steve’s troubles begin when his flight is diverted due to stormy weather and gets him being stranded at a small town.

At a pub, when Steve discovers that the cabs might be more than he can afford at the moment, the barkeep informs him of a fellow American who was staying there and had a rental car. Steve meets Tony, an unpredictable, witty, and oddly smooth self-claimed mechanic, who makes the journey more complicated by making Steve challenge almost everything he believed was simple about himself.

you could at least have told me you were a gemini by picturecat for cptxrogers (MA:A, 6.3k words)

A Marvel Adventures: Avengers story. The Avengers face a giant labyrinth. More personally, Captain America faces his crush.

Fight me Bite me by makeyamad for sadieb798 (MCU, 6k words)

Steve Rogers unfroze before Iron man was created, (thank you global warming! ), he found Bucky while on a regular SHIELD mission. The two of them, along with Bucky’s mate Sam decided to become reporters with the Daily Bugle.

What happens when Steve goes to cover the Stark expo, hosted by the genius, billionaire, omega, mechanic of Iron man, Tony Stark?

i guess maybe it’s possible i might be playing it wrong by TheJGatsby for red_crate (MCU, 11.2k)

Steve would’ve considered himself lucky just to get someone he could tolerate as an assigned roommate his freshman year of college, so he figures it’s a miracle that he and Tony became best friends almost from the first. When he and Tony get stuck together for seven minutes in heaven at a party, Steve realizes that he wants more from Tony than just friendship, and it only goes downhill from there.

You’re the GOAT, Steve by Firelightmystic for ChibiSquirt (616, 17.4k words)

No one wants to address the elephant in the room. On the sidewalk, more accurately. And not an elephant, really, so much as a…

A goat.

Steve glances up at Tony to offer up a bit of comfort because, well, Tony looks like he really needs it, but when he opens his mouth to speak all that comes out is a startlingly loud bleat.

Tony’s howl of frustration carries in the stricken aftermath.

A Little AI-ssistance by olympvs for redvelvetcake32 (Any, 7.2k words)

When Steve realizes he’s in love with his best friend, he’s at a loss for what to do. In a fit of panic Steve asks Jarvis for help, and thus ensues a series of not-quite-dates as Steve struggles to tell Tony how he feels.

I’m home by jayjayverse for Shamen610 (Any, Art)

Synchronized Frequencies by ashes0909 for YohKoBennington (MCU AU, 14.2k words)

Steve knew Bucky meant well, but he always thought they needed to do things together; so for Bucky to be getting married, and for him to still be single? Well, that didn’t sit right with Bucky.

He’ll See I’m Not So Tough by QueenoftheRandomWord42 for TheseGrimmAdventures (MCU, 13.2k words)

In an Alternative Universe where people are born with a pair of wings on their backs, Steve Rogers has had a conundrum since birth, his ability to attract his mate or soulmate depends on his ability to attract them with their flutterings, but since becoming Captain America they have been comedically tiny. When he wakes up in 2012 he meets Tony Stark, Genius, Playboy, Philanthropist, and the only person since Peggy Carter to make his wings flutter, but which Tony is oblivious to. Will Steve get over his growing crush on Tony Stark, or would Tony Stark remain oblivious to Steve’s pining?

More Than the Average Good by royal_chandler for thegraytigress (MCU, 16.5k words)

Tony hadn’t taken flight in nearly five months before Steve Rogers—plunged into the Potomac—finally gave him a reason to.

We Could Get Together Like Normal People, But Then We Wouldn’t Be Avengers by a_salty_alto for vktorkatsuki (Avengers Assemble, 1.2k words)

It’s reasonable that Tony wouldn’t remember it isn’t movie night, because he doesn’t remember the last couple of days. He doesn’t remember the last couple of months, not really.

Visions are seldom all they seem by sadieb798 for pikapip (MCU AU, 6.5k words)

“You know,” Tony says finally, and Steve looks at him, eyebrow raised in expectation. “There’s this new thing called talking, so if you ever need to…”

Brave New World by cptxrogers for enkiduu (616, 9.6k words)

Captain Hydra, the Avengers’ long-time foe, and Iron Man, the mysterious masked Avenger, find themselves transported to a strange alien planet. The place is beautiful, but it’s also apparently sentient and has taken a perverse interest in them. Steve agrees to a truce with Iron Man for now, at least until he finds his time to strike. That is, if the trees don’t get them first.

Just a Jump to the Left by vktorkatsuki for Neverever (Avengers Assemble, 6.4k words)

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t the man out of time. Are you prepared to be eliminated from the current timeline?” Ugh, Kang. It was too early for this.“ Kang gives Steve the chance to hop back into the past right where he left off, no strings attached. Tony doesn’t like that at all. Steve figures out when he’s meant to be, in the end. a.k.a. That One Time Steve nearly thought he was meant to be in the past, and the one time he realized from the start that he was right where he belonged.

Someone to Hold by erde for navaan (616, 6.5k words)

Anything you want, Tony would have said during the rehearsal, and Steve, in turn, would have wrapped an arm around his waist and whispered in his ear, Let’s elope.

dream of the future by enkiduu for sheron (AU, 25k words)

Reality is crumbling. Steve, a Knight out of time, is summoned to fix a world that isn't really his. The future belongs to the sorcerer he has to learn to work with. Together, they have to journey forth and find a solution, and Steve finds a lot more than he expected (and more than he knew he could even want).

Heart Still Aching to Seek by Ironlawyer for laireshi (616, 1.5k words)

There is no going back from this. Their relationship is finally broken and it's time for Steve to take action. What Steve was thinking when he put the EMP on Tony's hand.

I'll Be (Good To You) by ishipallthings for royal_chandler (MCU, 15.8k words)

Steve Rogers wakes up seventy years out of time to a new world and a soulmate. It’s an adjustment. What he doesn’t expect is Tony Stark, a brilliant futurist who is equal parts fascinating and frustrating, and has just as many demons as Steve. He also doesn’t expect to find a family with a ragtag team of superheroes, or to fall in love. Luckily, Steve is nothing if not adaptable.

Blue Days, Black Nights by janonny for kenshincha (MCU, 17.9k words)

Over the span of two years as a fugitive, Steve gets a little too attached to the flip phone, his only link to Tony. (Or the story where Steve is an overachiever, even when it comes to his brooding.)

A Star Goes Out by navaan for dreamkist (MCU, 2.8k words)

Steve is ready to move on from being Captain America. He's not able to completely walk away from Tony though – and neither can he walk away from who he is.

the most amazing things by nasa for jayjayverse (616/3490, 1.2k words)

Natasha's been acting weird ever since the Incident.

Vibranium Dysfunction by CaptainOfRippedShirts for msermesth (MCU, 2.5k words)

Tony's a scientist. A genius. Literally the whole world knows that. But times like this, when someone he loves - not that he's using the L-word with Steve just yet, nope, nosiree - is looking at him like he's seconds away from crying and admitting that he just can't feel touch the way he used to? Times like that make Tony feel like the biggest idiot on the planet.

we could be something beautiful by S_Hylor for Mozzarella (MCU, 7.6k words)

When genius, billionaire, playboy Tony Stark very publicly asks him out, Steve says yes because he doesn't want to be the man to turn down Tony Stark on national television. For the life of him he can't understand why someone like Tony Stark would want to go out with someone like him. He's wholly unprepared for what dating Tony entails, especially the media attention. The media, it seems, can't figure out what Tony sees in him either.

#stonylovessteve2018

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dodikawouk · 2 years

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The Download: Inside the fierce, messy fight over “healthy” sugar tech

This is today’s edition of The Download, our weekday newsletter that provides a daily dose of what’s going on in the world of technology.

Inside the fierce, messy fight over “healthy” sugar tech

In a former insurance office building on the outskirts of Charlottesville, Virginia, a new kind of sugar factory is taking shape. The facility is being developed by a startup called Bonumose, funded in part by Hershey. It uses a processed corn product called maltodextrin that is found in many junk foods. Like its notorious counterpart high-fructose corn syrup, maltodextrin is calorically similar to table sugar (sucrose), is just as bad for your teeth, and actually causes worse blood sugar spikes.

But for Bonumose, maltodextrin isn’t an ingredient—it’s a raw material. When it’s poured into the company’s gleaming bioreactors later this year, what emerges will be a “rare sugar” called tagatose. Found naturally in small concentrations in fruit, some grains, and milk, it is nearly as sweet as sucrose but apparently with only around half the calories, and wider health benefits like stabilizing insulin levels. Hershey says that Bonumose’s technology, designed to affordably convert maltodextrin into tagatose at commercial scales, is critical to its effort to formulate “better-for-you” candies.

Bonumose’s process originated in a company spun out of the Virginia Tech lab of Yi-Heng “Percival” Zhang. But Zhang today isn’t sitting proudly at the helm of Bonumose’s research division, or formulating healthy chocolate. When MIT Technology Review spoke to him in January, he was sitting alone in an empty lab in Tianjin, China, after serving a two-year sentence of supervised release in Virginia for conspiracy to defraud the US government, making false statements, and obstruction of justice. If sugar is the new oil, the global battle to control it has already begun. Read the full story.

—Mark Harris

The must-reads

I’ve combed the internet to find you today’s most fun/important/scary/fascinating stories about technology. 1 The US might be in the middle of a covid wave right now Without even realizing, due to a lack of testing. (Bloomberg $) + Infections keep rising and rising in Shanghai, despite a local lockdown. (SCMP) + Residents trapped indoors are begging for food on WeChat groups. (Rest of World) + More than 50 people have tested positive following an A-list political dinner last week. (NYT $) + But Dr Anthony Fauci is confident President Biden is protected against the virus. (The Guardian)

2 Elon Musk isn’t joining Twitter’s board after all Which, to echo CEO Parag Agrawal, is probably for the best. (WP $) + His tweets in the last few days have been erratic. (CNN) 3 Putin superfans are praising him as a peace-loving hero in Facebook groups These pages rack up millions of interactions a month. (BBC) + Smartphones and gym mats helped Ukrainians to defend Kiev. (FT $) + What an American has learnt from fighting in Ukraine’s foreign legion. (The Economist $) 4 The crypto industry is pushing for more lenient legislation And it’s working. (NYT $) + Crypto is a taxation minefield. (Protocol) + The world’s first city-cryptostate for investors and enthusiasts sounds exhausting. (FT $)

5 The remarkable brain of a carpet cleaner who speaks 24 languages

His brain uses oxygen much more efficiently than our non-polyglot gray matter. (WP $) + The first reference charts for brain development have been completed. (The Economist $)

6 Why Amazon’s drone ambitions never really got off the ground Former employees claim its rapid testing cuts corners when it comes to safety. (Bloomberg $) + Amazon has a huge sustainability problem: its returns. (CNBC)

7 What happens when humans get blamed for decisions made by faulty software? Our blind faith in computers is leading to miscarriages of justice. (FT $)

8 We’re inventing new terms to get around social media moderation Like most things these days, it’s spearheaded by trying to appease TikTok’s all-powerful algorithm. (WSJ $)

9 Producing tiny microchips is bigger business than ever We desperately need more chips, and Intel wants to deliver them. (NYT $) + BMW believes the chip shortage shows no sign of slowing before 2023. (Reuters)

10 South Asia’s brides-to-be are shopping for wedding outfits through WhatsApp But it’s a risky endeavor—assessing fabric color and quality is harder over video. (The Guardian)

Quote of the day

“This virus is not scary, the scary thing is being in a complete lockdown.”

—A woman from Shanghai who has tested positive for covid fears being taken away from her infant son amid the city’s indefinite lockdown, according to Quartz.

We can still have nice things

A place for comfort, fun and distraction in these weird times. (Got any ideas? Drop me a line or tweet ’em at me.) + This inquisitive California newt wants to know why you’re in his creek. + In more swamp-like news: does Al Pacino have a Shrek phone case? It appears so! + The fabulous Little Mix are playing a load of songs for the first time as their new farewell tour kicks off. + Don’t shoot the messenger, but the party’s over for owners of “pumpkin spice dogs.” + The Depths of Wikipedia Twitter account is always reliably deranged. + I could watch this video of how to make peanut butter all day. + Give this soulful kitty a record contract—stat!

from MIT Technology Review https://ift.tt/MGjyBTw via IFTTT

#MIT Technology Review

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tkmedia · 3 years

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The Broncos drafted a Surtified star

Cameron Hogwood Interviews, Comment & Analysis @ch_skysports

Rookie cornerback Patrick Surtain II flashed a glimpse of his potential as he starred in the Denver Broncos' preseason opener against the Minnesota Vikings.

Last Updated: 18/08/21 11:46am

Surtain looks primed to make an immediate impact in the NFL (AP) The Denver Broncos may have been sucked into overthinking the decline of Justin Fields' draft stock, nevertheless in doing so acquired a certified stud for their troubles in Patrick Surtain II. Drafting good football players is wise and savvy and smart and rather self-explanatory. But as history tells us the draft can so often lure teams into contagious group-think and the mistake of over-scrutinising; and while the Broncos might later rue their decision to pass on Ohio State's unjustly-doubted quarterback, pulling the trigger on Alabama's prized cornerback with the ninth overall pick offered little room for protest.Those that endorse Surtain allude to a 'gets it' guy. The kind anybody watching football for the first time would believe had been patrolling an NFL secondary for years. 'Gets' football, 'gets' leadership, 'gets' hard work, 'gets' the attention to detail required at the top. Surtain grew up with a former All-Pro and three-time Pro Bowler for a father before picking the mind of Nick Saban in Tuscaloosa; there is a transparency to the elite guidance and expertise that have moulded the 21-year-old into a destined star at his position. Preseason is preseason, a minefield for snap judgements that fade into nothingness and ‘checks depth chart’ names that appear once only to never be seen again. And then there are the ‘yep’ moments.Surtain logged his own ‘yep’ moment in Denver’s preseason opener against the Minnesota Vikings, raising the curtain on his pro-ready faculties by sniffing out a debut pick six.Hunting a third-and-four at the Vikings 23, Surtain read the eyes of quarterback Jake Browning before out-working Ihmir Smith-Marsette to pick-pocket the wide receiver’s comeback route and return a 30-yard interception for a touchdown. The back-peddle was expertly controlled and scarily premeditated, the square shoulders stayed true in form for the entirety of the play, the timing and acceleration to his back-foot push-off was faultless and the shut-down speed exquisite."Don’t throw it over there," rejoiced Courtland Sutton on the sideline.Alabama’s rivals targeted Surtain just 48 times during the team’s National Championship-winning 2020 season. NFL quarterbacks will soon learn to follow suit when it comes to swerving Surtain’s side of the field."PS2, he don't play no games," said Broncos quarterback Teddy Bridgewater.

Surtain was one of the top defensive prospects available in the draft Surtain's time at college entailed lining up against some of the most talented playmakers the nation had to offer, from Florida's Kyle Pitts to Ohio State's Chris Olave/Garrett Wilson tandem, while LSU's star-studded National Championship-winning side including Joe Burrow, Ja'Marr Chase, Justin Jefferson and Terrace Marshall purposely avoided him for the majority of their 2019 matchup.His maiden interception for the Broncos shared similarities to the pick six he recorded against Mississippi State in his final year at college, Surtain affording himself just the right amount of leverage and keeping his eyes on the quarterback while gliding sideways in keeping with receiver Cameron Gardner before pouncing on the curl route and muscling in for the takeaway. Again: precision, instincts, speed, technique, aplomb.Every inch of his 6ft 2 frame was on display against Michigan back in 2019 when he somehow managed to bat a potential touchdown pass out the grasp of Mike Sainristil inside the five-yard line while simultaneously twisting his hips, keeping his eyes fixated on the flight of the ball and remaining stride for stride with the receiver.Similarities in pre-draft testing to Los Angeles Rams corner Jalen Ramsey are supported by the tape heading into the NFL. From both a physical and mental standpoint, he has it all."He's just a do-it-all type of guy," Broncos safety Justin Simmons said of Surtain earlier this offseason. "He gets football and he understands it. He gets conceptually what we're doing on defense. It's awesome watching him play." The man Denver drafted instead of a quarterback didn’t waste time introducing himself to the man Denver kept their faith in at quarterback, Surtain having been responsible for Drew Lock’s first turnover at training camp.Head coach Vic Fangio has meanwhile found himself blessed with the luxury of being able to shift his shiny new toy into multiple defensive back roles, Surtain's presence in an already well-equipped secondary giving the Broncos not only the freedom to increase their use of six-DB sets but also the security over the top that will allow for more four and five-man rushes."It's rare. It's rare that you would ask a rookie to do that, No. 1, and it's rare that he's been able to handle it and do it," said Fangio. "Now, he's not perfected any of them yet, by any means, but we think he can, and it's not too big for him."The Broncos’ win over the Miami Dolphins last season, during which they came away with six sacks, was about as good an insight into what a Fangio defense offers as you would wish for, with simulated Cover 2 and five-man rush looks combining with nickel packages in costing Tua Tagovailoa valuable milliseconds spent trying to decipher the carnage in front of him. And that was without Von Miller.Surtain’s versatility and football IQ looks a perfect match for that alongside the likes of Simmons, Kareem Jackson and Kyle Fuller.

Surtain II (2) celebrates his interception against the Vikings with teammate Saivion Smith (38) (AP Photo/Bruce Kluckhohn) It might be premature to suggest Surtain’s introduction could see this unit rival Denver’s ‘No Fly Zone’ defense of 2015, but the potential is there to be among the most gifted and productive secondaries in the NFL.The mid-route aggression and physicality of a Jaycee Horn may not be as evident to Surtain's game, but he is such a smooth operator that it doesn't really need to be. Rarely does he overcommit or overextend himself, while the blend of length, vertical spring, decisive calculation, get-off speed and conviction at the point of attack makes him a match for any receiver in the league."You've seen the guys say he's picking up things like he's a vet," said Broncos linebacker Bradley Chubb. "I see nothing different. He's carrying himself with a confidence and a swag." George Paton, coach Fangio and the Broncos got themselves a good one. Draft good football players.For updates on preseason, be sure to follow along at skysports.com/nfl and on Twitter @SkySportsNFL. Read the full article

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