#anyway it was a respectable loss. and now I can stop writing an essay about how doomed vani is every sunday morning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

realcube · 4 years ago

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haikyuu!! characters with a chubby! s/o 💗

characters: tsukishima, oikawa, atsumu, osamu & suna

thank you anon for this cute request 🥺

tw// comfort, fluff, angst if you squint, insecure! reader, swearing, they/them reader but reader wears a dress (in osamu’s)

(a/n): anon requested comfort but i feel bad bc i’m writing this like ��no, (y/n)! stop being sad! you’re beautiful! 😡’ then i remember that i can just select+delete the pain away💗💖

Kei Tsukishima

let’s not pretend like tsukki gives a fuck what you look like tbh ✋

like nobody is ‘perfect’ and everyone is insecure (to varying degrees) so why would he care about your weight?

nobody ticks every single box to meet society’s definition of ‘beauty’

plus, tsukki thought beauty standards were stupid away so he created his own - and you meet every single one 💖

in fact, almost everyone meets his beauty standards - besides himself ‘:)

he seriously doesn’t care about your weight tbh, it’s the most trivial thing so why would he care?

although, he wasn’t naïve enough to think that everyone was like-minded

your front of ‘i don’t care about what other people think of me’ was strong enough to fool even the most observant of poeple, including tsukki

however, tsukishima failed to take into consideration that you were his girlfriend, meaning that you could be playing the same game as him; ‘pretend to not care about superficial things like beauty so nobody will think for a second that you are insecure about your body’

he wasn’t one to give compliments but neither were you tbh so the mutual agreement y’all have of ‘let’s call each other names as a form of endearment to avoid those awkward moments were you are looking for the right words for praise but can’t come up with anything’ was fair

but after you accidentally sent him a self-deprecating ‘joke’ message that was clearly meant for a friend, he never passed up the opportunity to compliment you ever again

like he kinda just stared at the message like 😮 ‘does (y/n) seriously care about their weight? why? it doesn’t even matter. how stupid! who told them that the shape of their body is important? bc it’s not..’

then he turns to look in the mirror like ‘wow you srsly need to put on muscle, lanky bitch. or else (y/n) will probably leave you for some built jackass like kuroo. pick up some weights, noodle arms!’

anyway, he’s not too good with words and comfort in situations like these but he’ll probably reply to your text with something out-of-character and surprisingly sweet

to paraphrase (bc the actual text would probably be like a whole damn persuasive essay LMAO he starts with the introduction, makes five points and finishes with a conclusion pfft) , i think it would be something like: ‘hey, (y/n). ik that text was probably meant for one of your friends (but if they’re the ones making you feel bad about your weight then you should probably drop those toxic cunts anyway 💅✨) but i just wanted to say that even though you are the biggest clown i’ve ever met (/j) you’re still v beautiful 💗 stop being insecure or i’ll pass away ⚰💀 ok thx love you bye’

Tōru Oikawa

how are you insecure if you’re dating oikawa? /j

like he is such a hypeman

whenever y’all take pics in your ✨fancy outfits ✨ for formal event, he acts as though you are second most beautiful thing on the face of this earth 😍 (second to him ofc)

but he only does that so he can keep up the reputation he has of being effortlessly confident bc he’s scared that if it slips for even a second, everyone will see how truly insecure he is

truthfully, in his eyes, you come first place by miles (❤ ω ❤)

like srsly, you’re so gorgeous in that dress!! he hopes that you know that he is joking about the whole ‘second place’ thing bc you should be able to tell by the way he looks at you that you’re genuinely the most striking person he’s ever laid his eyes on

you never acted overly confident in front of him but he definitely didn’t think you were as insecure as you are

he thought you were just..humble :)

sometimes he’d hear you mutter something mean about yourself as you passed the mirror but he paid no mind to it as he figured that you just cared about your appearance and wanted to maintain a certain image

however, once he was made aware that you didn’t want to maintain your image but rather, change it - he never let you murmur anything nasty about yourself under your breath ever again, not without proceeding to tackle you to the ground and shower you with his love, affection & praise 💞💕❤

and he never made a ‘second place’ joke ever again, he started his honesty streak by reassuring you that you’ll always be the number one in his eyes 🤩

also, after that, he was a lot more open about his own insecurities with you and you made sure to respect them and help him in a similar way that he did

there is just so much love and admiration between the two of you and at first you were both to shy to express it but now, you both are showering each other in compliments 24/7 bc you both just want the other one to know how perfect you view them as (❁´◡`❁)

Atsumu Miya

atsumu is a hypeman like oikawa but...better :)

IT’S BC HE HAS NO SHAME

he’ll compliment you on anything you wear and he makes it a point to use the most inappropriate compliment as possible, relative to the outfit you’re wearing

so if you’re wearing your pyjamas, he’ll call you ‘glamourous’

if you are wearing a swimsuit, he’ll call you ‘elegant’

if you’re in your work clothes/school uniform, he’ll call you ‘sexy’

and if you’re in lingerie, he’ll call you ‘adorable’

but it makes you blush so hey, no complaints

so when he finds out that you’re actually insecure about your weight, he’s just like ‘no ❤’

like he hates the idea that when you look in the mirror, you don’t see the god(dess) he sees

like why? it’s the same person

💞 fuck ‘perception’ 💞

💕 ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ TF YOU ARE THE FUCKING BEAUTY💕

grrr he was so mad

but he was also soft

he was like ‘if (y/n) insecure? then why hot? then why pretty? then why fit perfectly into my arms?’

plus, THIGHS

he’d never diss a person bc they had small thighs or anything BUT he’d also NEVER complain about being given the chance to be with someone with some good thighs 👍

tbh the best could do to help was compliment you ten times harder to eliMINATE ALL YOUR INSECURIES

(and ofc i don’t mean that in a way - for example - if you’re insecure about your nose, he’ll fkn chop it off......he won’t chop your nose off LMAO he’ll just show you how much he loves it, to the point where you have no choice but to love it too ( •̀ ω •́ )✧ )

anyway, plz love (or at least, tolerate) yourself or else he’ll suffocate you with all his love and affection :D

Osamu Miya

osamu is at a loss when it comes to typical beauty standards tbh

to him, weight (and most things) are similar to..hand size, for example

just like how you can’t imagine someone feeling self-conscious about the size of their hand (especially if their hand is a healthy size)

he can’t imagine why some one would be shamed for their weight (especially if they’re a healthy size)

so had no idea you could possibly be insecure about something like that and he probably on realised after a few years in the relationship 😅

there was a formal event coming up and y’all were going as dates so you wanted to shop for outfits together

as couples do ✌

anyway, he was on a dress site, scrolling away until you pointed out one that you thought was pretty - and it matched the color of the tie osamu bought too!

it was a fair price (for a formal dress 🙄 which is probably like $68/50) so osamu was like ‘buy it then ( •̀ ω •́ )✧’ bc he thought it would so gorgeous on you

but you were like ‘no’

and after he pried further, you explained how you thought it wouldn’t ‘suit your body type’

GRRR HE dislikes IT WHEN PPL SAY THIS SO MUCH BC HOE YOU DON’T HAVE A BODY TYPE YOU’VE GOT A BODY 😡💕 WEAR THE DAMN DRESS IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL BEAUTIFUL

but like deadass it’s not your blood type- it’s just a thing ppl made up to make ppl (mostly women) feel bad about themselves for no reason

but that might just be his inner atsumu talking 🤷‍♂️

he didn’t even know what to say at first- he was just like ????? body type ????

but once he figured out what you meant, he still had no idea what to say- at least, without sounding rude

what if someone came up to you and told you they were insecure about the shape of their knee.......what do you even say???

so he was silent for like the rest of the day

you decided to give him some space just in case something happened which had upset him

he had no idea what to say, in all honesty, so he hoped that his actions spoke louder than words

around 3 days had passed since you last spoke to osamu and you were beginning to think something you had said made him uncomfortable

you were studying in your room until there was a ring at your door so you rushed downstairs and you opened it to reveal a package sitting on your doormat

you had recently ordered some cleaning equipment so you were sure that the content of the package was probably that

so imagine your surprise when you tear it open to reveal — you guessed it — the dress 💕

Rintarō Suna

when he says that he doesn’t care what ppl look like, he means it

he upkeeps his own appearance though bc..it’s his!

like why would he care about what weight you are? that’s none of his business

as you can tell, he’s generally not shallow but sometimes when y’all are just cuddling and your face is pressed to his chest, the words ��you’re so cute’ just fall from his lips

so ofc he appreciates compliments over his skills, personality, humour etc over flattery about his appearance

hence, the praise he gives you is usually based around those things too bc he just thinks that you’re just like him in the fact you don’t appreciate skin-deep comments

so when he found out that you’re actually insecure about your weight (or something else), he kinda blames himself

he thinks that the whole reason you’re not extremely confident in your appearance is all due to him and the fact he fact he maybe didn’t compliment you on your looks enough — but that’s not to say that he doesn’t think you’re beautiful

you’re the most radiant person he’s ever laid his eyes on and he thought you knew that regardless of whether he vocalised it or not

he wasn’t really sure what to do tbh

bc he loved you and wanted to comfort you ofc but he was scared of making things worse

like what if something he says accidentally makes you so upset that you break-up with him 😭

but he knew he couldn’t just stay silent about the issue, especially when he wanted to say to much

thus, he sent you a heartfelt message on discord

(rather than snap, whatsapp etc so he could edit it after he posts it bc knowing him, he’ll probably write something, reread it ten times then as soon as he hits send, he spots a bunch of mistakes)

and he’d explain how you’re simply divine regardless of your insecurity and if anything, it just makes you cuter 😍

ok ok so i really don’t want it so seem like he has a fetish bc HE DOESN’T

but he think your curves are so fun and pretty ❤

like everything about you is pretty but suna just can’t comprehend why you’re insecure about something like your weight when he literally adores it (bc he adores everything about you)

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bwbatta · 4 years ago

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six - confessions

Abstract: Draco and you are just friends so doing him a favour and pretending to be his girlfriend wouldn’t effect your friendship right?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst

Word count: 2960

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one, turn it upp! ...I won’t lie, i’ve been putting off writing this purely because I don’t want to stop writing this. Anyway, the final part is finally here and I’m so happy to be sharing it with you all!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 5

Draco signed his name quickly and looked back at the letter he’d written. It was simple enough to get his point across, yet the repercussions from sending this could be huge.

The blonde heir was adamant though. If this is what it took, then he would gladly accept whatever consequences came his way. He could figure it out, he always did.

Taking a breath in to help stabilise his thoughts and nerves, he quickly put his quill down before he wrote anything else that wasn’t needed. Reading it through once more, he made sure his words were enough for now.

Father,

I apologise for not responding sooner to your previous letter, I was at a loss for a while as to what to write.

I understand our family values and as much as I uphold them for our family’s benefit, my relationship or any of my relationships are my choice. Whilst she is not pureblood, she is not muggleborn either and both of her parents have magic, which is why I ask you to at the very least consider giving Y/N a chance.

With respect, I will not determine my relationship on your opinions, especially since you haven’t met her.

You understand there aren’t many things I would go against you on, but this is something I feel particularly strongly about.

Regards,

Draco

Nodding his head, he quickly folded the letter and attached it to his family’s owl. With a screech, the bird took off.

All Draco could do now was wait.

“Please?! You’re the best person at charms that I know, you would be my favourite person on earth?!”

“Blaise-”

“Y/N please, Flitwick might push for me to be kicked out of Hogwarts if I don’t pass this test”

You snorted unattractively as you walked down the corridor, arms riddled with books. On your way to the Herbology greenhouses for your afternoon lesson, you were blitzed by Blaise who had been trying to convince you for the last five minutes to help him write his essay which was due in a couple days time.

Blaise and you had nearly made it into the greenhouses when Professor Sprout stopped him at the door.

“You’re not in my class today Mr Zabini, I suggest you get heading towards your own class before you’re late.”

The elder witch gave him a stern look to which he smiled at, trying to lower her strict exterior.

“I just need to talk to Y/N about something really important really quickly, Professor. It’ll only take a minute?”

“No” she rolled her eyes at the boy, “you can do that in your own time.”

“But, Professor-”

“No buts Zabini-”

“Alright Blaise, I’ll do it” you finally caved, seeing as the boy would most likely be reduced to ash from Sprout’s harsh stare otherwise.

“Astronomy tower, 8pm?”

“Wait-”

“Okay bye!”

Without another word he turned and rushed off back inside the castle, heading to whatever his next lesson was, leaving you partially annoyed, partially awkward at the look Sprout was now sending you.

“Inside” she cocked her head towards the doorway and with a defeated look you headed into the greenhouse.

You hadn’t been back to the Astronomy tower, despite classes, since that fight between Draco and you and you weren’t too keen on returning. Blaise however, had given you no choice in the matter as you probably wouldn’t see him until that time you’d agreed to meet. This meant you’d have to suck up your anxieties about the tower and get over yourself.

If only it were that easy.

Your free period was rather quiet today you reckoned but you couldn’t put your finger on why it was so quiet?

The twins weren’t around and neither were Harry and Ron, yet that was normal since you were studying in the library with Hermione. Though Hermione didn’t really talk much when you two studied, something still felt off.

Not to mention the other thing which was bothering you was how Blaise acted earlier? He was normally the most relaxed person you knew, but his earlier rushed and fretted actions also seemed wrong.

You snorted at the thought in your head; imagine if he was trying to set you back up with Draco at the astronomy tower later?!

Another sigh left your lips as you continued to try and figure out what else felt off. Hermione’s eyes darted from the essay she was writing to you sat opposite her.

“Is there something bothering you?”

You met her stare awkwardly and shrugged slightly.

“I don’t know, does something feel off to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s too quiet, you know? I can’t put my finger on what it is though.”

“Maybe it’s because that blonde tumour isn't attached to your side anymore?!” Hermione snorted as she turned back to her work, leaving you staring at her with an unreadable expression.

Ignoring the remark of how the witch had described Draco, she was right in the way that he did used to surprise you while you were studying.

Was that it? You were missing him being near you?

You hadn’t really spoken to the Malfoy, only small comments in class when you were next to each other but apart from that, he wasn’t constantly next to you anymore and that bothered you.

You had to admit you did like fake dating Draco, but that was over, it was a joke, a favour, nothing more. So why the hell would you accept anything to go back to him annoying you, him being at your side constantly, or his arm around you 90% of the time?

Then you froze.

You knew exactly why.

Holy shit, you loved him. Like actually loved him.

Slowly starting to freak yourself out, you sat back in your chair as your mind whirred around that fact.

He’s Draco.

He’s one of your best friends and now everything was so messed up because he’s Draco.

Stubborn, bratty, arrogant Draco.

Who likes Draco?!

And then it hits you again. You do, you really really do.

Because he’s Draco.

Because he cares about you and would do anything for you. Just like you’d do anything for him. He might be stubborn, but so are you. He might be bratty and spoilt because of his parents, but he actively spoils you just because he can. And he might be arrogant to everyone else, but you know how humble he could be and acts around you. His reaction after you opened your Christmas present proved that enough.

Holy shit.

These feelings are going to ruin whatever’s between you, friendship or not, because how the hell could you keep this to yourself? How the hell could you not tell him you loved him?

The only thing was... you were the second person to ask yourself that today.

Draco paced in the tower, a letter held tightly in his hand as he waited for you to show up. Guaranteed it wasn't 8pm yet, but he was still so anxious for when you did actually turn up. Were you going to turn up?

A lot of things had flown through his mind today, some putting him on edge as to whether his plan to get you back would work, yet nothing had made him as anxious as when the letter arrived from his father earlier that day.

It was slightly wrinkled now from how much he had fiddled with it in his hands and with a frown, Draco tucked it back into his pocket, forcing himself to take a long breath as he did so and run his hands nervously through his hair.

Not even a moment passed before he heard the door below slam shut and your footsteps approach. A brief flash of panic flew through his body like he’d been electrocuted, what if this was a bad idea? What if you didn’t want him like he wanted you and he would just look like a complete idiot?

All the thoughts in his head however vanished as soon as you reached the top step and your eyes locked on his.

Neither of you said anything at first and the silence was almost deafening.

“Fucking Blaise,” you rolled your eyes at yourself. “Earlier I bet myself he’d do something like this.”

“It was actually my idea”

“...I see”

“Surprised?”

You snorted

“No.” You hid your grin at the look of offence present on his face, “I knew one of you would come up with something like this. I had my money on Blaise as he was the one I spoke to earlier. Despite how much you love being mysterious and complicated Draco, you’re like an open book to me.”

The wizard let out a snort, he had a feeling she would figure something was up. They really did know each other well.

The silence stilted in the air again and felt heavy despite the fresh air surrounding them.

You looked down, avoiding the blue eyes that watched you. Despite being in love with him, you had no idea what to actually say to him. Luckily he took the lead.

“It was really stupid.”

You frowned, before you forced yourself to glance towards him, eyes catching on how he was looking at you.

“What was?”

“The fact we thought we could pretend and fake an entire relationship with no consequences.”

You didn’t say anything.

“I mean let’s be honest,” Draco scoffed a laugh, “we really thought that everything would go back to how it was before? That was stupid. Also the fact that the whole ‘having a fake girlfriend’ thing wasn’t really working for me.”

He paused to assess your reaction for a moment before continuing on.

“We were great as a fake couple, sure. We were also great at being friends, I mean... that was before I kissed you and fell in love with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the confession. A smile grew faintly on his face as he took in your reaction. After realising you weren’t going to bolt, he took a couple steps closer until he stood right before you, his toes almost touching your own.

“This whole fake dating thing was so stupid in so many ways except for one; how it made me realise how much I genuinely want to be your boyfriend.”

Draco shrugged sightly like it was no big deal, but inside he had to remind his lungs to work.

Why hadn’t you said anything yet? Maybe because he can’t stop his mouth from talking? Should he stop talking? His mouth opened again before he could stop himself.

“I want you. I want us. But I want it for real, not some half-assed, pathetic excuse of relationship which is all just an act and makes us question where we stand with each other.”

His voice lowered to a whisper but you heard him perfectly.

“Draco... I want nothing more than to be with you.”

“You do?”

“Yes, but I can’t help the fact that I’m not a pureblood and your parents won’t accept me-”

“Wait, okay, hold on.”

Digging his hand into his pocket, he fished out the crumpled letter and attempted to flatten it out slightly.

“I sent my father a letter in response the one you read the other day and I got this back earlier today. Just... just read it.”

He held the letter out at you with such a serious expression causing you to frown, you took it from him wondering what was in it. Opening the parchment, your eyes immediately flicked back to the blonde once more, only to find him watching your every movement.

“Draco,

I don’t believe you understand the seriousness of what you’re asking from your mother and I. You have a duty to this family to uphold and despite the notion that you wouldn’t disobey me with much, this is still a vital factor of those duties.

Nevertheless, you expressed your seriousness for this girl, coupled with your mother’s bickering about at least meeting her, I will give you one chance. We will meet her if she values the seriousness and significance of our values. If she does not however, then you will end whatever you have with her.

You understand in the near future, things will change. You need to be as prepared as possible.

Regards,

Lucius Malfoy”

You read the letter once through, then twice, then once more. Your mind was in a flurry at the words, taking them in and the weight they held. Draco’s parents had agreed to give you a chance, however it came with a price and one you were in two minds about taking.

On one hand, you could be with Draco and support him through whatever hell was coming your way, as long as you abided by their blood purity mania, which, if Harry was right, meant Voldemort. On the other hand, it meant not having the Malfoy boy in your life.

Your eyes finally left the words and flicked back up to meet Draco’s own. His expression was unreadable as he waited for your reaction.

“Well, that’s intense”

“You can’t really expect anything less from my father.”

“I gathered that.”

Your eyes landed on the elder Malfoy’s name once more and you bit your lip slightly.

“I said once I would be willing to get mixed up in this for you, and I stand by it, Draco. I don’t know whatever's going to happen in the future but I know I want you by my side through it.”

“I can’t ask you to do that-“

“You’re not asking me, I’m telling you I want you and I’ll do whatever it takes to be at your side.”

“Y/N-”

“Draco, I love you, let me do this for you. I can play whoever your parents want me to be.”

Draco didn’t say anything more but stared at you with a half smile on his face. Your eyebrows knitted together as you caught sight of it, not really sure where the expression came from. Talking about faking your views on blood purity and Voldemort wasn’t really a cause for smiling.

“What?”

“Say it again?”

“Say what again?”

“You love me.”

You realised then. You’d told him you loved him in amidst all that but you hadn't even realised it. Well, that’s one way to admit it.

“I love you,” you said with no hesitation as a smile grew on your own face. “I want you, for real. No fake relationship, just us.”

As quick as you’d finished speaking, Draco’s lips were on yours. It was chaotic, unscripted and messy, but it was real.

Your hands slid to the back of his head, fingers burying themselves in his hair as his hands gripped your waist tightly, pressing you to him. He kissed you with such passion you swore your heart stopped for a split second.

How the hell had you both faked this for so long?!

Taking a break, he pulled away but rested his forehead on yours, not wanting too much distance.

“If you’re all in Y/N, so am I. I’ll protect you with my life, you may’ve been my friend first, but you’re everything to me now.”

His lips pressed against yours again, much softer this time like he was trying to memorise and convince himself you were really there. That this was really happening.

“Draco Malfoy, I’m all in.”

You were surprised the next day for two reasons.

One; for how many people had actually bet on Draco’s and your relationship. George got his five galleons back from Fred again after the news reached them. He happily took the money from his brother before lifting his glass to you from across the hall in thanks.

Both Crabbe and Goyle owed Blaise 10 galleons, though you supposed he had an unfair advantage, (not that you’d tell the duo).

But the second thing which surprised you was the letter you received at lunch from the headmaster himself.

Dumbledore had barely even looked in your direction, let alone spoken to you personally, so the note you got from him asking to meet him in his office later spiked your anxiety.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Hermione shrugged before lowering her voice to a whisper. “It’s probably something to do with the DA or Umbridge.”

“Hermione, I didn’t even think he knew I existed, now he’s asking me to come have a chat?”

“Just go, you’ll never know otherwise and you’ll keep fretting.”

The rest of your day passed quickly and you found yourself before the headmaster’s office later that evening. Taking another quick look at the note in your hand, scribbled at the bottom was a comment about him liking sherbet lemons which stuck out to you.

“Sherbet lemons?”

The gargoyle surprised you by jumping out the way, opening up the staircase to you. Without another thought, you climbed the stairs and knocked on the wooden door.

“Come in.”

Pushing the door open, Dumbledore turned to face you as you entered the room. With a smile, he greeted you and offered you the seat opposite him as he took his own.

Sitting, your knee started to bounce while your anxiety kicked in wondering what the hell was going on.

“Y/N- can I call you Y/N? Relax, you’re not in any trouble at all, don’t worry.”

“Can I ask then, why am I here sir?”

“Well, I actually have a job for you if you’re interested? I understand you’re in a unique position where you’re willing to do anything possible to be with the young Mr Malfoy.”

You immediately frowned, how the hell did he know that?!

“What kind of job?”

“A job to join the Order of the Phoenix. I want you to act as a spy for me within Voldemort’s ranks.”

#Draco Malfoy #dating Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy series #Draco Malfoy Headcanon #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco #draco malfoy imagine #draco imagine #draco malfoy x you #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter headcanon #harry potter x you #harry potter series

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tsuki-here · 4 years ago

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So I had a bunch of ideas for a possible Transformers Prime fanfic where Starscream, Soundwave, and Knockout switch sides because I just want them to be on the good side and maybe actually happy, but unfortunately I have way too many fics already and haven't touched them in forever, so here's just a bunch of bullet points of some of the ideas I had instead, in no particular order

Soundwave

-He's the only Decepticon that has no issue befriending the kids, likely since he respects all lifeforms ever since he developed close bonds with his minicons, which most Cybertronians discredit just because of their size.

- He bonds with Miko through music, Raf through computers and programming, and he just likes that Jack is quiet, easy company. He plays video games with all three of them on weekends

-Miko abuses Soundwave's massive databanks any time she has a research project or essay for school and convinces him to write her papers for her. Her teachers all know she didn't write them, considering he goes way overboard on the details, flowery language, and never makes anything less than 20 pages, but they also can never catch her on plagiarism, so she never gets in trouble and always gets 100% on the assignment

-He never fully forgives Wheeljack for planting a grenade in Lazerbeak

-He and Ratchet both insist on helping the kids with their science projects, though it's become more about trying to outdo each other than actually helping the kids. This always ends in something far too extravagant and teetering on the edge of deadly

-He doesn't break his vow of silence to Megatron for several months after joining, and even once he does, he still communicates through recordings and images on his visor more often than not. It's a mix of old habits, and he also just finds it more comfortable and familiar

-Miko introduces him to the social media side of the internet which he had always glossed over as unimportant before. Now he uses memes, terrible grammar, and text emojis as part of daily life. None of the other bots understand what hes trying to say half the time. Miko couldn't stop laughing off and on for about an hour the first time he displayed "uwu" on his visor. Jack nearly choked when Soundwave said in his deep voice, completely dead serious, "look at all them chickens". Jack didn't have the heart to tell him the were seagulls. Ratchet always catches him watching cat videos on the base's main computer. Miko is very proud to be the cause of these changes

-Soundwave and Ratchet end up arguing over use of the base's main computer fairly regularly. Of course, Ratchet feels it's still his responsibility and is still a bit wary of the ex-Decepticons for a while, and Soundwave is a busybody who constantly wants to be doing something. It's become an unofficial race to see who can open a ground bridge first whenever one's called for. Both are smug and rub it in the other's face when they do it first

-He doesn't trust Optimus for a long time and is upfront about the fact that he doesn't. No one's really sure when this fact changes, since he was always polite and courteous to him anyways, but Optimus eventually won over his loyalty

Lazerbeak

-Though he rarely interacts with any of the others himself, he's still forms bonds in his own way through Soundwave's interactions with them

-He's very fond of Raf, and even detaches from Soundwave to spend time with him every so often

-He holds a grudge against Wheeljack much like Soundwave does

-The Autobots still regularly forget to refer to him as his own being, often calling him an "it" or "a drone". Though he doesn't mind much, Soundwave gets overprotective on his behalf, as well as Raf after they become friends, and even Knockout stands up for him from time to time

Knockout

-He takes a little bit to warm up to the kids, but once he does, he often watches TV with them or takes them out to drive-in theaters

-Miko once spilled a slushie on his interior at a movie and he didn't speak to her for a week

-He and Ratchet rarely get along. He thinks ratchet's too bossy, and Ratchet says Knockout's too difficult

-He goes out racing with Bumblebee and Smokescreen at least once a month

-He never really learns to get along with Bulkhead

-He likes Optimus's take on leadership more than Megatron's; the Decepticon leader was always too strict and rude

-Knockout eventually finds he can confide in Arcee about the loss of Breakdown, which he still was internally struggling to cope with, and she slowly opens up to him about her own grief over Cliffjumper's death. No one else knows they're basically counseling each other

Starscream

-He takes by far the longest to adjust to the Autobots, but he starts to make more steady progress once it finally starts to set in that it isn't any sort of trap

-He never really befriends the kids, but he does learn to not treat them as inferior beings after enough warnings and corrections from the Autobots [namely Optimus and Bulkhead]

-At first he tries to suck up to Optimus much like he would to Megatron, partially out of hoping to gain his trust so that he could always turn on him if it became necessary and partially out of fear of being punished for not being respectful and submissive enough. Optimus remains patient and friendly, hoping to ease him out of his instincts of always being in survival mode

-Optimus constantly has to remind him that calling him "lord" is entirely unnecessary, and expresses concern any time Starscream flinches or jumps around him. Starscream starts to feel internally guilty about the obstacles Optimus goes through for his sake, not that he'd ever admit to it. This guilt fades as he becomes more at ease and breaks out of the old habits Megatron had instilled in him

-Though no one would have expected it, Arcee is actually one of the first Autobots to really start giving Starscream a chance at friendship, after Optimus and Bumblebee. It started off simply because Knockout claimed Starscream was technically his best friend within the Decepticons, and she wanted to try to be nicer for Knockout's sake. She hadn't expected that Starscream would actually be nice in return, and made for a witty, albeit sarcastic, friend. Starscream, Knockout, and Arcee often end up on missions together from that point on, as they actually work very well in a group

I'm sure I could keep adding to this forever if I kept thinking for long enough, but yeah- Maybe one day I'll write a Transformers fic, but life is far too busy at the moment, haha. I hope at least someone found this interesting, or inspiring for a story themselves! Maybe I'll make a part two or other similar posts in the future

#tfp #transformers #transformers prime #soundwave #starscream #knockout #lazerbeak #au #headcanons #decepticons #autobots #more ideas for stories I'll never write #more than likely anyways

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asclepyus · 3 years ago

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Was going to ask after seeing your post about Asclepius differences in lb4 and in chaldea would you want to share more of your thoughts ? Or something similiar to a character analyzes if you'd be up for it!

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I definitely have many thoughts on this I’ve just been exhausted but here we go

When looking at LB4’s Asclepius it’s really important to remember the fundamentals of the Lostbelt. Every single enemy servant in LB4 is an extremely unique case compared to most other story chapters up to this point due to Arjuna’s interference with the world and the servants’ spirit origins; each one of the Lōkapāla has had their spirit origins altered due to the implantation of divinities which resulted in them all seeing drastic changes in their personalities and thought processes, some more than others. This is really important to keep in mind when comparing Asclepius’ personality and actions in LB4 to how he normally conducts himself, especially considering how out of all the Lōkapāla he has the absolute worst relationship with gods to the point where it has already affected his base spirit origin as a servant even without outside interference. Asclepius’ hatred towards the gods is literally the cornerstone of who he is as a heroic spirit and every other aspect of him revolves around that, and if you don’t remember that when looking at him as a whole you’re never going to understand him as a character.

Now, in LB4 the first divinity he was given was Yama who in the simplest terms possible is the closest divinity India has to Hades. And already even at this point in time this has caused huge instability because not only was he summoned by a god (regardless whether he has direct negative feelings about God Arjuna or not he’s still a god), the Indian divinity implanted in him is also the god most directly linked to death. And Asclepius doesn’t realize how much this has actually damaged his state of being because he’s the kind of person that will always focus on others around him before ever considering himself, as shown by his spirit origin literally breaking down on itself before he even realizes what’s happening. He himself also doesn’t realize his actions in LB4 are contradictory and at conflict with who he truly is even when it’s pointed out to him. The same person who willingly let a plague run rampant in a town for the purpose of studying it also stopped in the middle of a battle to treat a child’s wound, the latter of which he did without hesitation or a second thought because it was his true nature finally shining through the muddled mess that his spirit origin has become. He also naturally deflects any questions about his motivations or who he is in LB4 because he does not know. Before we defeat him quite literally the only things fueling him are his determination to progress his knowledge of medicine and his absolute blind rage towards the gods. Those are the only two things he had been clinging to since Arjuna had summoned him in order to keep himself going and that in itself caused a huge loss of sense of self and identity in him. He never answers a single question directly about himself and the only time he talks about anything personal is when his death by Zeus’ hands is brought up and then it’s just blind rage. His profile in the FGO materials even mentioned that all of these factors combined “caused him to go berserk” in the context of LB4 because he had long since lost his grasp on who he is and who he’s supposed to be. During his last conversation with Tell as well, Tell makes a comment about “his posture being strange” which insinuates that after the second divinity was implanted into Asclepius he became so departed from his true nature that it actually caused a physical change in him. Once we defeat Asclepius and he starts to realize who he has become in this Lostbelt he even asks if he looks strange to us because he’s finally come to understand that this isn’t who he’s supposed to be, and he doesn’t recognize the person he’s been confronted with.

(And this isn’t even to mention the consequences of continually dying and resurrecting through the Yuga cycles under Arjuna’s hand, which even Pepe had mentioned at some point that no matter how many times he went through it it still unnerved him to the core. I could honestly write an entire other essay on the parallels of Asclepius resurrecting the dead and him dying/resurrecting through the Yuga cycles)

NOW at the very end of LB4 Asclepius manages to be re-summoned and at this point the divinities that were placed in him are long gone and he even mentioned outright that his head was clearer than it had been, which further proves that the divinities had in essence destroyed his mental state and everything that comes with that. Now obviously he isn’t completely back to normal because he’s still the same version of himself that we had been met with previously so he’s still not at his best and he’s still dealing with the consequences of the Lostbelt, but he’s finally thinking clear enough to grasp at his true nature and self again and in fact all things considered we might not have been able to make it out of this Lostbelt alive without him delaying and injuring Ashiya. And now everything after this point in LB4 is a much clearer picture of who he really is at his core; even heavily injured and on the brink of disappearing himself he still finds it in him to help a child heal his mother, despite it not being a unique or “interesting” case of sickness because despite everything no matter how much he mutters and groans he exists to heal and to help others. And at the end of the day quite literally everything he’s ever done for humanity boils down to his sadness over the mother he never met who was cruelly murdered by the gods, and the fact that he’s never truly figured out how to process his grief over that and the wish he holds that someday she’ll know how he feels whether it comes directly from him or not.

AND NOW the Asclepius that exists in Chaldea is who he truly is as a heroic spirit now that he’s free from the confines of the Lostbelt. At surface level he really might not seem all that different, but taking everything above into consideration he very much is a different person. He still hates gods above all else but he’s not out of his mind with rage and he’s regained most of his sense of identity, as much as he can anyways with his spirit origin unstable as it is.

SPOILERS FOR HIS INTERLUDE AHEAD !!

In his interlude you get a lot better of an insight into how his thought process works, and how he treats his relationships with others. He genuinely respects and is in awe of everything Roman did to prepare for his inevitable departure from Chaldea, and there’s so much to be said even from the very few lines of dialogue he has about Roman towards the end of his interlude. I really like to think that learning just how utterly human Roman was through everything was Asclepius’ starting line as a servant for remembering his undying love for humanity since it’s stated in his materials that he’s not even particularly aware it exists anymore. In the long run the pure humanity that Asclepius sees every single day in Chaldea’s staff and in Guda particularly are going to help more and more to bring him closer to forgetting his sheer rage for the gods and overshadowing that with the sheer love he has for humans. He’s always going to be cynical and introverted but I do hope someday we’ll get to see the softer parts of him that were burned away by Zeus’ lightning at his death, and that maybe, just maybe his wish to simply let his mother know how he feels for her will be fulfilled one day.

#long post #IM ON MOBILE SO I CANT ADD A READ MORE IM SO SORRY #anyways I’m demanding for DW to give him more in story development he hasn’t gotten nearly enough #definitely not still salty about him having nothing to do in LB5-2 despite Zeus being the final boss nope #thank you for the ask~! I will rant about asclepius forever and always I love him so much he’s so good #asclepius #ash replies #anonymous

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artificiallyimplantedmemories · 4 years ago

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[ ooc: FINALLY got around to this, after the foible this morning with it, so this is try number 2 at ep5 liveblog/commentary... under the cut as always ]

this has a speedrun/summary version of impressions the first third of it because I’d already watched all of that before tumblr ate the post so I might miss stuff idk. and then after that it’s my typical sporadic livebloggy madness. this got SUPER long oops

We have a lot of motifs in this episode, including the bloodied shield, the use of the shield as essentially a giant blunt blade rather than a shield, the conflict between different people’s interpretations of what ‘fighting because one has to’ means.

Walker is running from himself at the beginning, but where does one run to when the war is in your head? Particularly poignant for me (because I know that in the comics he joins the army to emulate his deceased brother) is how deeply the loss of a brother-in-arms cuts, but even more so how much the thought that he’s disappointed Lamar hurts. I think that in some ways, Lamar may have been a part of John’s moral compass, and his sustained belief in him has always helped him. It’s a reversed parallel to Steve and Bucky, actually, and I could elaborate on that but it might turn into an essay.

John tries to walk away from the fight at first, partly because he has other priorities, and partly because I think he does genuinely recognize that Bucky and Sam are good people. Of course there’s also the layer that he thinks of them as the original Cap’s sidekicks and therefore as the new Cap shouldn’t fight them, but… anyway the fight sequence is interesting to watch because it does show John as fairly well matched with them despite the fact that MCU Bucky has the serum. Part of this might be their reluctance to kill him while John has given up the façade and is now willing to do that in order to further his own plans as long as he doesn’t get caught. He cannot lose the title he’s given or he’ll be lost, now that he doesn’t have his best friend.

“Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well.” “I’m not like you.” The difference is that Bucky was brainwashed. Yes, he’s still ruthless even after he’s broken free of it, but he’s taking conscious steps to be better. And thus the determination behind the “Yeah we do.” The shield deserves better than being in John’s care.

I paused to write and stopped on this face I’m laughing

The “why are you making me do this?” is obviously coming from a place of delusion but also speaks to how John’s personal motives are super unclear. Why did he take on the mantle of Captain America when it was established from the very beginning that he wasn’t completely comfortable with it? Was it, as he told Lamar, because he wanted a chance to be good? (In which case, obviously he’s having a breakdown about not achieving that?) Was it for his ego? Because he was commanded to? Having a John muse makes this a very interesting thing to explore.

Seeing Bucky’s arm get electrified and him knocking out because that’s directly tied to his neural implants was not any easier the second time around oof

“This isn’t you, John.” Further proof that Sam Wilson has more heart than legit anyone else, he’s still trying to believe that John is good.

I find it interesting that they have John remove the cowl in order to growl “I am Captain America.” It speaks to a rejection of what the old Cap was (though the cowl is the US Agent / updated Cap one) and his insistence that his version of Captain America is valid. (It’s not.)

Also because my literary obsessed reads way too much into tiny things that the show runners probably didn’t really care about as metaphors, I definitely saw the ripping of Sam’s wing as a reference to the restriction of freedoms by the US government lol just ignore me on that.

Bucky and Sam repeatedly saving each other’s asses is my jam. Also Sam using the power from the wing pack keeps reminding me from my observation back at the beginning that he’d do so well with full out repulsors. Tony totally would have set him up with that if MCU hadn’t killed him alas.

More of me finding parallels where there shouldn’t be any: they broke Walker’s left arm, just like they took away Bucky’s left.

I took a screenshot of this image when I watched it in the previous round, and it’s still going to haunt me. There’s something so tired and haunted and defeated here.

Bucky gives Sam the shield, because there’s nobody who deserves it more. The look on Sam’s face when he takes it and tries to clean the blood off of it (physically and symbolically of course) is heartbreaking. It’s a man who regrets his decision not to take it on originally but also now has to deal with the implications of both taking on that responsibility (in a country that doesn’t treat him fairly) and whether people will approve of anyone carrying the shield after John has fucked it up so badly.

A note that carries over from my first watch: people don’t usually refer to their enemies by first name. It’s done in comic books and movies with some frequency to remind people who is who, and in this case may also be a bit of humanization for Karli, a reminder that she is a sympathetic character despite the vicious way she does things sometimes. I also appreciate them reminding the audience that she’s competent and has a lot of support.

ALSO TORRES MY DARLING I’VE MISSED YOU. I wonder if Sam letting him keep the wings will actually develop into something (a la comics) or if they’re leaving that open ended. Also his smile is literal sunshine I’m not even joking about this, please give me all the Joaquín content thank you. Just look at him!!

I think by this point most viewers are fairly convinced that John Walker is Not A Good Man, but I think that his rant about always having done what he was told and done it well is purposeful and poignant here. His motives have always been to serve, but the matter of who he’s serving (or more importantly what - the military machine, the government that simply gives orders without thinking of the personal ramifications for those who carry them out) is put in contrast to Sam and Bucky, who are also veterans. I can’t help but draw parallels to the Nuremberg trials, people who did heinous things under orders and try to use that as an excuse for their innocence. It’s a reminder that a person doesn’t have to be visibly part of an evil group in order to do evil things. I won’t outline everything here but at least as far as the US Military goes, more info can be found at https://www.thebalancecareers.com/military-orders-3332819 about how and when it is defensible for people in the military to disobey orders.

You can hear John’s voice break during his rant, the conviction that he was doing what he was supposed to. He could have gotten away with more if he hadn’t been such a public figure, but an “other than honorable discharge” lmao what a diplomatic way to tell him how badly he fucked up xD

Also hey it’s Olivia. Most people forgot that John has a wife. (I’m glad she’s telling him to visit Lemar’s parents, they deserve that.) Also is this Valentina or is this a Skrull? Only time will tell. (She’s probably not a Skrull, FATWS is too short for that, but on the other hand I’m not sure how I feel about the implications otherwise. Is she a SHIELD infiltrator? Is she manipulating him on SHIELD’s behalf? Did they steal the name and get rid of her backstory?)

The resignation on Zemo’s face during his encounter with Bucky (especially with a gun to his face) is unnerving. Zemo calling Bucky “James” made Natasha outright glare though. Her priorities are a little odd. But I’m glad Bucky didn’t kill him, I’m glad he’s not allowing him to be a victim of his conditioning. The Dora Milaje are taking him to the Raft… oh wait there might be Skrulls after all.

“If you ain’t bitter, you’re blind.” I feel that. I feel that hard. But I also understand the misplaced blame, the tendency for people who have been Through It seeing anyone outside their minority as their oppressor.

For someone who has dealt with the immensity of the trauma that Isaiah has, including the experimentation, the social isolation, the experience of being in the jail system for so long, it’s no surprise at all that he would be quick to assign blame. Add to that the risk of being killed for being part of an experiment that you didn’t agree to partake in early on, followed by extensive experimentation after? There are so many factors at play: violation of self, lack of agency, lack of safety… D: and the physical reminders of them are everywhere. look at the scarring D: D: D:

The range of emotion in this is so good, the acting is so good, I’m just overwhelmed with how honest this feels.

“They erased me. My history. But they’ve been doing that for 500 years.” OOF

The crease in Sam’s brow when he’s told that no self-respecting black man would wanna be Captain America, there’s such righteous indignation there, but he has to temper it in the face of Isaiah’s grief. Over and over he proves himself capable of putting compassion first and foremost.

This sibling dynamic has been really nice to see. There’s tension, there’s individual struggles, there’s support (not always in the ways it needs to be, but they’re trying), but more obviously there’s a depth of love there. Seeing it is so rewarding.

LOOK AT THE WHOLE COMMUNITY SHOWING UP!! Oh man so this gets me, because I grew up in a neighborhood where we supported each other and threw block parties and everyone trooped into our backyard to play on the swingset that had been left behind by the previous owner. It wasn’t family, sure, but we took care of each other. In India, it was even more so, and even now when I go there, I crash at my next door neighbors’ place instead of my family’s house most of the time. I miss having that sense of community, that closeness to people because we all had each other’s backs. Where I live now, I don’t even know most of my neighbors’ names. It sucks.

Ahh, there’s the part that I’ve seen the gifs of, with Bucky showing up at the boat. I like the idea that Bucky has slowly come to think of his metal arm as more of a normal part of him despite the ache and heaviness of it. Of course in MCU, he has the serum so maybe he doesn’t notice as much, but I can’t imagine he wouldn’t experience phantom pain in it until at least he internalized it as his own body part, and even then the shoulder joint would probably ache. Still, perhaps it’s more akin to an old injury than a foreign object now, and therefore Bucky still does what he would do naturally, using his dominant hand instead of the ‘enhanced’ one.

I have Feelings about Bucky saying “I’m Bucky” with a smile okay I HAVE FEELINGS

Bucky must have worked the docks a lot way back in the 40s. His level of competence is one of natural instinct, he’s just used to it. I wonder if he worked extra to help pay for medication for Steve after Sarah passed away… oh, more feels :(

Meanwhile Sam is over here doing his human best and I love that. He calls in the crew to help, relies on people, but it never stops him from being a part of it. He’s not taking a managerial role, he’s another tooth on the gear.

“They don’t care if you wear small tee shirts or have six toes or your mom’s your aunt” lmao my brain went ‘You don’t happen to have six toes on your right foot, do you?’ ‘Do you start all of your conversations this way?’ But also look how happy they look here!!!

“Don’t flirt with my sister. Because if you do I’ll have Carlos cut you up, feed you to the fish.” SAM YOU’RE SO RIDICULOUS. But also the way Bucky goes a little pouty after. <3

Lemar’s family! Okay so Walker is straight up lying to them about who it was that killed him, but given the circumstances, I don’t expect anything different. And perhaps part of that is to assuage the family about the fact that there’s ‘justice’ done, but part of it also has to be a slight ego play, and you can see on his face that when they talk about him resting easier, his jaw sets. He’s going to go after who actually did it, whether he has the jurisdiction to or not. He does seem genuinely regretful and I will reiterate the brother-in-arms bit above. Walker needed Lamar as a support system, a confidante, and a nudge in the right direction.

What is Bucky thinking about when he sees the kids playing with the shield? Is he remembering his own childhood? Is he thinking about a future where the shield will be valued and honored and carried right again? Is he thinking about what it’s like to have a family, and missing his own? I need to know these things -_- -> WAIT I THINK IT GOT ANSWERED DURING THE TRAINING MONTAGE. Oh it’s even more than I thought augh. The closest thing he’s got left to a family is the shield because Steve was as much a part of it as it was a part of Captain America dfsjhdgfsd

Sarah telling the boys off! Good for you, girl. (Also I’m laughing at “she’s a very mean person” and “there’s a prowess that goes into my madness” pfft Sam)

“You gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are.” is SUCH AN IMPORTANT SENTIMENT. And “You want to climb out of the hell you’re in, do the work.” As someone who deals with a lot of mental illness bullshit, this is the TRUEST statement. Yeah, you might need help. It might be therapy, it might be meds, it might be other coping skills and distractions, but if you don’t want to be better and do better for yourself and face the rawest and most uncomfortable parts of your psyche, you don’t improve. You stay complacent, stay stuck in that rut, doing the same things that didn’t work before. I need to say it doubly because you know some people are going to say that Sam’s not giving Bucky the support he needs to climb out. IT’S NOT HIS JOB. He will choose to give support when Bucky asks/needs because he’s a compassionate person, but this speech right here is compassion, it is exactly the tough love he says it is. Bucky needed to be called out on not coping and I’m glad that it happened.

….also now kiss, thank you.

“We’re partners.” “Co-workers.” “But we’re also a couple of guys with a mutual friend.” “Friend’s now gone.” “So we’re a couple guys.” XD -cue vine- two guys chilling on a boat and…- wait that’s not how it goes.

“This is our history. We can’t lose this fight.”

“But what would be the point of all this pain and sacrifice if I wasn’t willing to stand up and keep fighting?”

Training montage! I hope he doesn’t slice his fingers off on that shield yeesh. Also my Clint muse is watching those flips like oooooh the dude’s got moves on the ground too now, oh no.

Okay we get that the Flag Smashers are going for intimidation but the trope of the red lighting makes me laugh every time. Nobody is going to turn out the lights and then turn on a different set of conveniently red lights that probably weren’t normally installed in that building. Even emergency lighting wouldn’t look like that. It’s just funny, I dunno. And of course we get a cliffhanger ending.

Post-credits we get John’s new shield being built, and all I can say is 1) if he’s able to pound that out, clearly his new shield isn’t vibranium, and 2) LEARN HOW TO WELD NEATLY AUGH THAT WAS AWFUL XD

Overall thoughts: Good episode! Not a huge amount of plot furthering, aside from the very last bit, but good insight into characterization and believably building the relationship between Sam and Bucky while also reading into motivations and differing views from people who come from similar circumstances. I’m really enjoying the compare & contrast I’m getting to do between Isaiah and Bucky and Sam, because there are so many overlaps and stark differences between them. The first half also gave us some great headway into understanding John as a person, though it’s possible some of that is me overanalyzing because I have a muse for him.

#fatws spoilers #onyx watches fatws #cw: death #cw: blood #cw: racism #cw: trauma #cw: ptsd

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

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Long Way From Home: Chapter 6

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

There’s a lot in this chapter - more compare and contrast, yay! - but the bit I want to mention specifically is one of the major society differences between TOS and TAG, which stems entirely from the 50 years between writing - sexism. I’ve noticed that a lot of TOS-based fics tend to shift away from or gloss over that, because that’s just how it was in the 60s when TOS was written and there’s no need to honour it (past the Alan/Tin-Tin spats) in modern fanfic.

Normally, I’d agree, but as already mentioned, I’m playing compare and contrast, and quite frankly the sexism was too tempting to pass up. Now, that does not mean we’ll have City of Fire-esque “crazy woman driver” in the fic because that was writer-sexism, not in-universe, and I’m not about that. Perceptions of women as delicate flowers who are supposed to be seen and not heard by the male [TOS] cast, though? We are definitely playing with that, so consider this a warning. I could go into an entire essay on this, but you’re not here for that, you’re here to see it all through TAG!Scott’s eyes, so let’s let him tell the tale, shall we?

<<<Chapter 5

Scott was on the slippery slope towards a fourth loss – with no wins – when the house trembled slightly. The unmistakable roar of a jet engine in close proximity told him what the cause of it was, and he didn’t need Other-Gordon to confirm it as Thunderbird One. She might not be his Thunderbird One, and her engine might make a different noise, no doubt due to different technology, but Scott had always had an ear for plane engines. Having already heard it once, the cry of this universe’s Thunderbird One was instantly recognisable.

“Do you want to finish up first or call it here?” Other-Gordon asked, either correctly assuming that Scott had every intention of seeing his counterpart now he was back, or simply wanting to attend the debrief himself.

“How long do post-flight checks take here?” he replied, eyeing the board with a brain only half concentrating on the game now and trying to work out if he could do anything other than be defeated before Other-Scott finished said checks and emerged from the hangar.

“Scott’ll be out in five minutes, assuming nothing went wrong on the mission,” Other-Gordon told him, glancing down at his watch. “They weren’t gone long, so it probably all went smoothly.”

“Well I’m not going to get this turned around in five minutes,” he sighed, gesturing at the board, “so we might as well call it.” Other-Gordon laughed.

“You’re right about that,” he agreed. “You’re only two moves away from defeat anyway.” Scott could see that, and knocked his King over to save himself the bother. Other-Gordon laughed again, and swept the pieces up, packing them away before standing. “Let’s see what my brothers had to deal with this time,” he commented, with barely a hint of bitterness to betray the fact he’d have liked to be on it rather than stuck at home waiting. Scott pulled himself up out of the comfortable chair he’d got used to sitting in for the past couple of hours.

“Lead the way.”

They got as far as the door before Other-Gordon stopped, looking up at him with a serious expression he hadn’t seen on his face since before they started playing chess.

“Before we do,” he started; Scott instinctively straightened at the tone. “Knowing you – well, Scott, and assuming it’s something else you two share – you’re no doubt going to be analysing and second-guessing everything the fellas did out on the rescue. Do me a favour and keep it to yourself.”

Scott blinked. “What?”

Other-Gordon didn’t budge, arms crossed. “Your universe and ours have different technology; we’ve all realised that. It’s likely that means you’d make different calls to us, based on what you’d have at your disposal if you were with your own International Rescue. John and Brains, hell maybe Scott and Virgil, too, will be curious at the differences, but save it until you’re asked. The debrief isn’t a place for hypotheticals based on other-universe technology and I doubt you’d appreciate it if roles were reversed and it was our Scott butting in on your debriefs.”

Scott sighed. “You have a point,” he admitted. Keeping his mouth shut when he had an opinion was not something he was particularly well-practiced in, but Other-Gordon was right. He’d be fuming if someone who knew nothing about International Rescue’s capabilities interrupted his own debriefs. The idea that he didn’t know International Rescue’s capabilities rankled, but he remembered Other-John’s rundown of the situation earlier and how many terms had been unfamiliar to him. Hell, they even had different names for something as fundamental as Thunderbird Two’s modules. He sighed again, running a hand down his face, to a raised eyebrow from Other-Gordon.

“Everything alright?” the other man asked, and he shrugged.

“You do realise I’m not used to not being in charge?” he asked rhetorically, prompting a laugh from the ginger.

“I had noticed,” he commented dryly. “Dad’s still going to have a fit if you walk in looking like that, and Scott’s going to want to know what you think you’re doing with his shirt.”

“I’m wearing it,” Scott shrugged.

“Badly,” Other-Gordon retorted, turning away and opening the door, leading the way back towards the lounge – and Not-Dad. Scott tried not to think about the fact he’d soon be in the older man’s presence again.

“It’s more comfortable this way,” he bit back instead, determined to get the last word.

“It looks sloppy.” Other-Gordon clearly didn’t feel like letting him have it.

“Maybe I don’t like looking like a pampered son of a billionaire.” Two could play at that game.

“That’s what you are, so own it.”

“Actually, I’m the billionaire,” Scott pointed out, the one result of Dad’s crash he’d finally found himself comfortable with, if only through necessity and the fact that it was how International Rescue could still operate. “I can look how I want.”

Other-Gordon froze for a fraction of a second before continuing the walk through the villa, a barely-there stumble that told Scott he hadn’t realised that aspect.

“Touché,” he conceded after a moment. “But I don’t think that’ll wash with either of them.” Scott shrugged.

“I stopped caring what other people thought a long time ago,” he pointed out. It was only half a lie – he cared about the opinions of his brothers and closest friends. He didn’t care about the rest of the world’s opinions.

Or another universe’s.

Other-Gordon chuckled again, jogging up the stairs with Scott hot on his heels before heading for the lounge. Scott paused as they crossed the threshold, seeing Tin-Tin already there, but he refused to baulk. Not-Dad was sat behind the desk, looking every inch the man in charge, and he dragged his feet into the room, finding a seat on the edge of the depressed circle and sprawling out on it as though he was at home.

As it happened, his entrance was timed perfectly. Just as Not-Dad caught sight of him, face drawing into a look of disapproval and mouth opening to dish it out in what would no doubt be a tongue lashing, the section of wall housing the two lamps swung around, revealing Other-Scott.

“I’m back, Dad,” he greeted, a split second before he, too, caught sight of Scott and his new attire. “Hey, what are you wearing?”

“Unless you’re in the habit of keeping anyone else’s clothes in your closet, your clothes,” Scott shrugged, eyeing what the other man was wearing. Blue rollneck, checkered blue cardigan and dark brown slacks.

Fashion was definitely different in this universe.

“You look disgraceful,” Not-Dad cut in, but he didn’t look over at him. Their voices were different, so as long as he didn’t look at him, the scolding didn’t hurt so much. “Do up that shirt properly.” Scott ignored him, and Other-Gordon’s sing-song I told you so.

Other-Scott was less ignorable, striding up to him and yanking sharply on the sleeve cuffs to unroll them.

“Don’t wreck my clothes,” he complained. “You’ll stretch the sleeves doing that.” Scott rolled his eyes and tugged his arms back. “Dad, someone needs to get him some new clothes; he can’t keep wearing mine.”

“Or the same underpants because he refuses to wear yours,” Other-Gordon cut in.

“Gordon, Tin-Tin’s present!” Not-Dad snapped, although the young woman was tittering quietly and didn’t seem at all mortified. “We’ll deal with the clothing situation once debrief is over. In the meantime, wear my son’s clothes properly, young man.”

Scott tugged at the sleeves, smoothing them out again at Other-Scott’s request but not doing up any buttons.

“Are you always this insolent?” Not-Dad demanded when he realised Scott wasn’t obeying him. “What does it take to get some respect in my own house?”

Hiding his reluctance, Scott turned his head to meet his eyes. Not-Dad’s eyes were still a hard steely grey; both Other-John and Other-Gordon had mentioned that the two of them clashing was inevitable, and Scott could tell that they were right. He should defer to the other man – it was his home, and he was the one in charge of the people that could get him home – but even considering doing so made his heart rebel violently.

He hadn’t protected his family and his father’s legacy for the past eight years by backing down, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“I respect people who earn it,” he said pointedly. “You don’t get a free pass just because you’re rich and powerful; I’ve rescued too many rich and powerful people from their own stupidity for that.” Francois Lemaire came to mind. The reasoning behind birthday parties in the Mariana Trench and flying into a comet’s coma still boggled him.

Not-Dad looked taken aback, as though the idea of earning respect was foreign to him. Or maybe it was the fact that he admittedly looked just like the man’s eldest son, so maybe hearing that from him was a shock to the system.

“What about International Rescue?” the man asked, and Scott shrugged.

“What about it?”

“Does that not get your respect?”

“I can respect what an organisation does without respecting the man behind it,” he pointed out, coolly. “The fact that you’re International Rescue tells me that you’ll do everything you can to get me home, and I respect that.”

“So you don’t respect us,” Not-Dad said flatly, a hint of anger in his tone, and Scott shrugged.

“I don’t know you,” he reminded the room at large. “You’re an alternate universe version of my family, and I’m still working out what that means. I trust you to help me, but respect? I don’t know you well enough for that.”

“He’s got a point, Dad,” Other-Scott said, perching on the arm of the neighbouring chair. The support was unexpected, but welcome. “Just because he looks like me doesn’t mean he is me.”

“You’re pretty similar,” Other-Gordon piped up, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“That’s not what you said earlier,” he reminded him. Other-Gordon simply shrugged.

“I’m working with more information now.”

“What information?” Not-Dad demanded, and Scott sent the ginger a glare, realising too late that the younger man had never agreed not to share their conversation in the hangar. Other-Gordon was too sharp for his liking. Was his Gordon going to end up that difficult to wrangle in four years, or was it just because despite appearances he wasn’t Other-Gordon’s brother?

“I spent the last three hours playing chess against him,” Other-Gordon informed the room. To his surprise, Other-Scott laughed.

“You couldn’t beat him either? Gordon’s a demon when it comes to chess.”

“I can’t say I expected to win,” Scott admitted. “That’s a fact in both universes.” Other-Gordon preened, and Not-Dad sat back in his desk chair, clearly deciding to let them talk without his intervention.

That act felt a little bit more like Dad, and Scott looked away, the never-healed hole in his heart throbbing painfully. Other-Gordon sent him a sharp look, but said nothing. Other-Scott watched the silent exchange with confusion; Scott didn’t plan on enlightening him, even if he was probably drawing his own conclusions.

Scott looked around as Other-Gordon carried the conversation, talking a mile a minute about chess with – or rather, at – his eldest brother, who slumped off of the arm of the chair he was perching on to sit in it properly. Scott could relate to the post-mission exhaustion, and felt a stab of jealousy that as soon as debrief was over, Other-Scott didn’t have to worry about it anymore. Not-Dad would take it all from there.

No wonder he wasn’t going grey yet.

The photos on the wall had changed. Gone were the five relaxing young men, lounging around in their civvies. Instead, there were photos of the same five young men all wearing IR blue and coloured sashes, posed just like their own portraits at home. He couldn’t believe they still wore those damn hats, then again, that was something he’d scrapped after Dad’s crash. Not-Dad clearly liked the things enough to still keep them, although he wondered if they really wore them all the time.

Their baldrics, although they looked more like sashes than baldrics, matched the colours Other-Scott had rattled off earlier – lilac for Other-John, yellow for Other-Virgil, orange for Other-Gordon and white for Other-Alan. Other-Scott himself had blue, and Scott wondered how much of a say they’d had in their colours. At home, they matched their Thunderbirds, but Thunderbird One here was still the same colour scheme.

“Operation Cover-Up was in effect last time you were in here,” Other-Gordon commented. “If you’re wondering why the pictures are different.” He turned back to look at him and discovered the room was staring at him. Of course they were.

“Operation Cover-Up?” he asked, frowning. “What’s that?”

Other-Scott narrowed his eyes, but it was Not-Dad that replied, frowning back at him in return.

“Surely you have one of your own?” he inquired. “The identity of International Rescue must be kept secret, after all.”

Scott had almost forgotten about that; the first one of Dad’s rules to fly out of the window, not that he’d been able to do anything about it.

“I wish,” he muttered. While having their identities was useful at times, being dogged and recognised at a glance whenever they were out in public – and unable to let visitors onto the island without extensive background checks because otherwise they’d go snooping – was beyond tiring. Even their location wasn’t as hidden as he’d like, especially not now the GDF knew it – Colonel Casey promised it was a high level clearance secret, but that didn’t change the fact there were people in the GDF that knew.

“Are you saying it’s not a secret in your universe?” Not-Dad demanded, and Scott shrugged.

“The world’s not stupid.” He slumped back in his chair, hyper aware that everyone in the room was watching him with varying levels of interest and disbelief. “Billionaire ex-Astronaut Jeff Tracy goes missing the exact same time the Commander of IR does. Two and two makes four. Not even John and Lady P could cover that up.” Especially not with the Hood leaking the information left, right and centre before going underground, as though killing his Dad wasn’t enough damage. “Best we’ve got is that most of the world don’t know where we live.”

“How are you still operating?” Other-Scott asked, beating his father to it by barely a second, judging by Not-Dad’s opened mouth. “Aren’t people trying to steal the technology?”

Scott groaned. “All the damn time. Island’s on permanent lockdown – no-one’s allowed on or off without our security’s approval. The GDF-” Other-John hadn’t known what that was “-the world military suffers us because we’re better at saving people than them and they know it. Our godmother being a Colonel helps a lot.” He ran a hand over his face again, feeling drained just thinking about the mess he had to deal with daily to keep IR running.

How would they manage without him? Would the GDF force them to shut down, or would John or Virgil step up? How far did Colonel Casey’s reach go; could she still keep them out of trouble with the GDF?

“Scott?” It was Other-Gordon that spoke, but when he pulled his hand away from his face it was Not-Dad he looked at.

“It’s possible to operate when the world knows who you are, but it’s a damn headache.”

“Language!” the man barked. “There are women present.” Scott rolled his eyes, under no illusions that Tin-Tin and Mrs Tracy hadn’t heard worse.

“Gee, so that’s why you’re going grey,” Other-Gordon chipped in, and Scott glowered at him half-heartedly. “And here I was thinking I was going to need to see if Scott was hiding some dye somewhere.”

“Gordon,” Other-Scott growled. The ginger put his hands up.

“Just saying; it seemed suspicious that he’s going grey and you’re not.”

“Why would I be going grey already?” Other-Scott demanded. “I’m thirty.”

“And he’s twenty-seven, so that argument doesn’t hold any water, old chap,” Other-Gordon retorted.

“Wait, what?” All eyes fell on Scott again, and he sent another withering glance Other-Gordon’s way. The ginger wasn’t saying anything he’d explicitly wanted not said, but he was definitely skirting around dangerously close to the edge. “It’s not twenty-sixty-five where you’re from?” Other-Scott continued, and Scott froze.

“Twenty-what?” he asked. That… didn’t make sense. That didn’t make sense at all. He’d be thirty-two in 2065, not thirty. Then again, the age gaps between Virgil, Gordon and Alan were also different between the two universes, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised.

“I take it that’s a no?” Other-Scott replied, and he shrugged.

“Twenty-sixty.”

“That’s weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Scott groaned. “I need to tell your Brains this stuff but apparently I’m not allowed to disturb him.”

“What ‘stuff’?” Tin-Tin asked, inserting herself in the conversation. “Have you worked anything out?”

“Scott and I were playing spot the difference earlier,” Other-Gordon chipped in. “Seems there’s a few more differences than we thought.”

“Like different dates of birth,” Other-Scott noted. “I was twenty-five in twenty-sixty, not twenty-seven. Is your birthday April fourth?”

Scott nodded, relieved that at least one thing was the same.

“Different age gaps, too,” Other-Gordon pointed out.

“Your brothers are closer in age?” Not-Dad asked. “It can’t be the opposite, or you’d be too young to operate.” Scott winced; the topic was getting too close to areas he didn’t want it, and unlike Other-Gordon, Not-Dad and probably Other-Scott wouldn’t let the matter of Alan’s age drop. “They’re not?” Not-Dad sounded startled, and he realised the wince had given him away. “But-”

He stood up suddenly.

“Let me know when you’re debriefing,” he said, and walked out. Dammit all; he’d said he wouldn’t run away, and he knew he couldn’t keep Alan’s age from Not-Dad and Other-Scott forever, but he wasn’t ready to see the disapproval on Not-Dad’s face. Not when it was so like Dad’s.

“Scott!” It was a woman’s voice – Tin-Tin’s, to be precise, and he reluctantly turned to see the younger woman following him hurriedly. With the topic of ages on his mind, he realised she was probably a similar age to Kayo, not older like the Tracy family seemed to be. Something else that made no sense.

“What is it?” he asked her as she came to a stop in front of her. No-one else emerged from the lounge; whether they were talking about him, or had decided to entrust him to Tin-Tin, he didn’t know.

“I want to hear about these differences,” she said firmly. “Brains is busy with the data he already has, but I’m not.” She put a hand on his arm and directed him towards the stairs.

“What do you mean?” he asked, following her with the reminder that she was this universe’s Kayo stuck in his mind. Just because she didn’t look as dangerous, didn’t mean she wasn’t.

“You recognised my father’s name, but not mine,” she observed. “Let’s start at the beginning; good day, it’s very nice to meet you. My name is Tin-Tin Kyrano and my primary role on the island is as Brains’ assistant.”

That was different, but the words ‘Brains’ assistant’ stuck out like a lifeline. He smiled at her and stuck out his hand. “Good day, and it’s very nice to meet you. The name’s Scott Tracy and in my universe I’m the commander of International Rescue.” She looked at his hand for a moment before grasping it. Her grip was light but firm and he knew his initial impressions had been correct – she was not a woman to be crossed.

If she could help get him home, he had no intentions of crossing her.

“Well, now that we’re introduced,” she smiled, guiding him back towards the infirmary but stopping in front of a different door, pushing it open to reveal a homely sitting area, “perhaps we should talk about those differences Brains needs to know about. Come in; we still have fifteen minutes before Thunderbird Two gets back, and the boys won’t be ready for debrief for another fifteen after that.”

It was only after he entered that he saw the king-sized bed, surrounded with drapes, in an alcove of the room and realised it must be her bedroom.

“Take a seat,” she invited, gesturing to a plush loveseat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“If you have coffee that would be amazing,” he admitted, and she laughed.

“I think the American men on this island would all stop functioning if we didn’t have coffee,” she smiled, heading for a coffee press in the corner of the room. Scott wondered why that was there when the kitchen was just down the hall. “How do you take it?”

“However I can get it,” Scott admitted. “But ideally a splash of milk and a sugar.”

“Just like our Scott,” she commented. “How you men live off so much caffeine, I will never understand. Your blood must be more coffee than blood at this rate.”

Scott smiled dryly. “Something like that.”

“I must confess I’m curious – what am I like in your universe?” she asked as she set the water to boil. “You don’t look at me like you do the boys.”

“Kayo – Tanusha, but we call her Kayo after she put me down in a sparring session – is… different to you,” Scott admitted. “She’s a tomboy, our head of security after Kyrano… left. Grew up with us as a sister, jumps into a fight first chance she gets. I have to hold her back more than all of my brothers combined.”

Kayo would be going ballistic that he vanished right under her nose, even though she hadn’t been on the island at the time. He hoped she wouldn’t follow in Kyrano’s footsteps and vanish after ‘failing’ him. His brothers still needed her, whatever else happened.

Tin-Tin made a noise of surprise. “I assumed she must have been different, but that is very different,” she observed. The kettle whistled, steam pouring out of it, and she decanted the contents into the coffee press. “She gets into fights? Whatever do people think of that?”

“Kayo doesn’t care,” Scott shrugged. “She usually wins them, anyway.”

“That’s not particularly ladylike,” Tin-Tin observed, although she didn’t sound particularly scandalised about it. “Is that common in your universe? You mentioned your godmother’s a Colonel in the military..?”

Scott thought to how Not-Dad had been so strict on language in front of her, and frowned.

“Are women generally treated like they’re made of glass here, or is that just him?” he asked. “Grandma, Kayo and Lady P would have all had something to say if someone specifically cleaned up their language in front of them because they’re female.”

“As a general rule they think we’re delicate flowers, yes,” Tin-Tin confirmed, carrying a tray with two cups on it over to the table. One was clearly his coffee, while the other looked like another herbal tea. “Your attitude is quite refreshing, although when Mr Tracy isn’t around the boys lose the gentlemanly airs a little.”

“When you live with a sister who can kick your ass seven ways to Sunday and a Grandma with a sharp tongue you learn women aren’t made of glass pretty damn quick,” Scott shrugged.

“I suppose you would,” she agreed, pulling out a notebook and pencil. “That seems like quite the incentive, but while you’re here, at least try to pretend you think we’re made of glass.” She winked. “It somewhat ruins the deception if a man sees through it.”

That was a very Lady Penelope response, and Scott made a mental note of that.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he agreed, before looking pointedly at the notebook. “You had questions?”

“Those differences Gordon alluded to,” she confirmed. “I’ll write them down and give them to Brains to look at once he’s finished with the information he currently has.” Scott nodded his head and began to talk about the differences he and Other-Gordon had realised earlier.

The different age gaps – Tin-Tin let out a small gasp when she found out Alan was only fifteen, but didn’t comment, much to his relief – and the different years of birth had already been somewhat covered in the lounge, but he also mentioned the differences in appearance, describing them as best he could and failing utterly at anything past “John’s hair is ginger, Virgil’s is black, Gordon’s is blond, and they’re all kinda younger-looking”. His observation of different fashions, their earlier discussion on perception of women, and even an attempt into the technological differences also made their way into Tin-Tin’s rapidly filling notebook. At some point they heard the sound of a rumbling engine, deeper than Thunderbird One’s, and he recognised it as this universe’s Thunderbird Two. Tin-Tin barely reacted, only mentioning off-handedly that they had about fifteen minutes left before continuing their conversation.

She steered clear of asking any questions about what had happened to his Dad, which he appreciated. That wound had been rubbed raw more than enough for one day, what with his initial outburst, Other-John’s quiet probing and Other-Gordon’s outright interrogation. She did, however, manage to steer the conversation towards his grandmother, and almost fell out of her chair when she discovered Sally Tracy couldn’t cook.

“However do you boys keep yourselves fed?” she demanded. “If it’s not Mrs Tracy, my father, or Kayo?”

Scott shrugged. “Take-out or snatching time to cook between missions,” he admitted. “One good thing about the world knowing we’re IR is that if I use Thunderbird One, take-out’s still hot by the time I get it back.” She laughed at that for a moment before turning serious again.

“But you boys must have a balanced diet,” she worried. “There’s no way you can keep up with the physical demands of International Rescue without one.”

“We manage,” he assured her. “When John’s home we lock him in the kitchen; he’s by far the best cook out of the five of us.” That elicited another laugh, although she looked halfway cross with herself for it. “We can all cook at least enough to survive.” She didn’t look entirely convinced, but with an entire universe between them, there wasn’t much she could do about it and the topic reluctantly got dropped.

“This is a lot of differences,” she said instead, looking down at her pages and pages of small, scrawling handwriting. Scott could barely read it, but it had also been a long time since he’d had to read anything handwritten that wasn’t his own writing – and even that was unusual. Why handwrite when you had computers to do that for you? “Most of them are small enough to work around while you’re here, but the differing years suggest your universe is five years younger than ours, and I’m not sure if there’s any significance about the different years of birth. That’s something Brains or John might understand better.”

He nodded his understanding, his chest feeling lighter now he felt like they were getting somewhere. Baby steps to be sure, and Other-John’s gentle reminder that it could take years still rang in his ears, but progress was progress.

“Now, it’s about time for the debrief to start,” she said, checking her own watch. Scott did the same, but the analogue dial taunted him, reminding him that he needed to learn to read it sooner rather than later – although that meant finding someone to teach him. “Alan and Virgil should be all cleaned up by now.”

Scott drained the remains of his coffee and stood up, empty cup in hand.

“Oh, leave the cup on the table,” Tin-Tin told him. “I’ll clean it up later.”

“If you’re sure,” he said dubiously – Grandma would have his hide for leaving dirty crockery anywhere that wasn’t the kitchen, and even then it was expected to be cleaned immediately. Rescues were the only permissible excuse to do otherwise.

“Perfectly,” she assured him, hand once again on his arm. “Come on, let’s go hear about what the boys did today.” With one last glance at the cup, and noticing that Tin-Tin had picked up her notebook, he let the young woman nudge him out of the room and headed for the stairs up to the lounge again.

Chapter 7>>>

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #long way from home #gordon tracy #jeff tracy #tin-tin kyrano

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itspileofgoodthings · 5 years ago

Text

just getting some things out.

I’m scared to write my essay on ben solo’s ending because I know it’s going to turn into “never love anything: my own personal loss of the reylo fandom and what that means now”

#i always sound so damn ungrateful whenever i try to talk about this #when so many people from within the reylo fandom have been so kind to me and have reached out even across differences of opinions #to show me love #and when so many people are struggling too #but i have to be honest about where this whole thing has left me #and by whole thing i mean the new divisions and fault lines created by tros coming out and people having opinions #and tbh it’s left me pretty damn devastated #like i am FINE in a real sense #but i am also grieving and have been grieving and it still hurts! #i feel somehow like i was stuck on a shore and i’m still reeling from being kicked off the boat #but also i know i was going in a different direction anyway so it makes sense that i was left #a fandom can’t love you back. or struggle with you like a friend would #but you can love a fandom and look to it for comfort even if you shouldn’t #and when that’s gone there is a hole in your heart that bleeds for a long time #i feel so disingenuous talking about this online #where other people can see it #but i have nowhere else to put it #so i will just say it and then delete it later

the above post and tags have been in my drafts for a while but a) i just need to post it and b) i think i’m realizing that i’m genuinely going through the stages of grief about this and i’m not going to get over it or do what I need to do if i don’t actually admit that. and unfortunately i do have to talk about it.

I have never experienced a breakup but I imagine it feels a little like this. some days it aches and aches and aches and some days I don’t really think about it! but i think it’s always underneath. it hasn’t left yet. it’s hard for me to deal with the fact that mutuals have unfollowed me over this, that my voice, in a general sense, is no longer needed or wanted. and that’s truly not me blaming or accusing other people, i’ve also had to unfollow people because our views are just so different, but either way it’s still hard. and it’s hard not be self-recriminating about it, to wonder if things would be different if i had just been harder on the movie, conceded more of its flaws, if i’d handled everything “perfectly” and hadn’t expressed myself so strongly, hadn’t gone against the general consensus as forcefully, hadn’t been as “irritating” about it as i sometimes feel i was. I also feel that I’m not allowed to say that I’m struggling. Nobody has said that! Nobody has made me feel that way! I’m truly not trying to blame anyone. But somehow it feels unfair of me to do anyway so I just try not to talk or think about it. But it always comes back. And I still have to talk about it even though I wish so badly i didn’t have to.

Maybe what I’m struggling with is the fact that my relationship as a whole, my relationship to the fandom, not necessarily to the individuals in it, many of whom have been exceptionally kind, was never meant to last. And maybe that’s what hurts so badly. Or maybe it’s the fact that my pride is so stung over the fact that (again, collectively speaking) people stop caring about what you have to say when you’re not saying what they want to hear. Which is TRULY fine and fair and allowed! Why would it be different? Again, a fandom can’t be a friend who respects and loves you even when you both know you need distance on a topic because a fandom is a collective not an individual. I’m also struggling because some days i just feel like i’m making it all up and being dramatic and i just want attention and i should stop. And some days i wonder if i have a problem because i can’t let go or haven’t been able to yet. I’m sure hateful anons would tell me yes which is why anonymous messages are off but it’s just. i just ---- man.

The loss of that space still just echoes in my heart. basically. and i don’t want to blame anyone for this fact, maybe, hopefully, not even myself. and I know it will fade with time and I will move on and all of that will happen and yes maybe i am being a little bit dramatic but also i know that i sunk so much energy and time and heart into this and for some reason never guessed that that was a fragile thing that could change. So right now it’s a real loss and some days i still cry about it even thought it has literally been months.

okay that is all. thank you for reading if you did.

#personal #fandom related thoughts #under the cut because they are messy and emotional #mostly to save my sister from having to listen to me try to explain this one more damn time

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imaginative-spirit · 4 years ago

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hii! i found your twitter acc when i was searching for sefikura meta/analysis, and i found your tweet! i wanted to ask if you know some blog posts (or any posts) of their relationship analysis, as i am quite new to the whole ffvii series and i am intrigued by their relationship. i wanted to ask through cc but i noticed you dont have curiouscat so i’m asking through tumblr, sorry ;;

I didn’t mean to put all of this under a readmore but tumblr is being an ass so that’s what we’re doing now, I guess...

Hello!! Unfortunately I can’t really come up with anything on the spot, because despite seeing posts like that around before, I’m very unorganized and bad at keeping track of posts... so I decided to write you one on the spot instead, lmao!! I’ve been planning to write a more coherent, longer analysis for a while but still haven’t gotten around to it, but I’ll share some of my condensed thoughts here. The sefikura relationship is what intrigues me most about FFVII after all, and I usually yell quite a lot about them on twitter!

You say you’re new to FFVII, which means that I should definitely give a spoiler warning here. I’m going to address spoilery stuff from the OG, Remake and also some of the compilation material, because it’s hard to talk about their relationship without doing so. (I’ll also assume you’re familiar enough with the world of FFVII to know what I mean when I talk about stuff like SOLDIER, Shinra, Jenova, the Lifestream and such... this would get too long if I explained all of that here, lol)

Okay, so. Cloud and Sephiroth are narrative foils, which means their stories and arcs parallel each other in many ways. The most central themes surrounding them are their loneliness, sadness and how they cope with trauma.

Sephiroth was most likely raised by Hojo in a Shinra lab, and if you know Hojo, you know that there’s no way Sephiroth was treated as anything but an experiment. He never knew his mother, and the only person he had any respect for - Professor Gast - vanished when he was young and this seems to have given him abandonment issues. Cloud, on the other hand, had a mother but not much else. He felt alienated by the other children growing up in Nibelheim and seems to have been generally disliked by the adults as well, due to them blaming him for the time Tifa got hurt. In other words, they were both very lonely as children.

Shinra sent Sephiroth to war when he was very young (people disagree quite a lot on how old Sephiroth actually is but it’s assumed that he was around 12), and as the years went by, Sephiroth became the poster child of SOLDIER. We know that Cloud grew to idolize Sephiroth for how strong and brave the media made him out to be (A.K.A. had a celebrity crush on him), and that was what inspired Cloud to leave town and try to join SOLDIER.

As we see in the prequel game Crisis Core, Sephiroth at this point is well-respected by his peers after his efforts in conquering Wutai. His two only friends are Genesis and Angeal, who are also SOLDIER 1st Class, but they end up leaving SOLDIER, which means Sephiroth gets left behind. Considering that he already had abandonment issues to begin with, being abandoned by his only friends must’ve hit hard. I’d say this sets the foundation for Sephiroth’s downward spiral. However, at this point, I would argue that Sephiroth is still a good person at heart, despite all the trauma he has endured. He persists, refusing to hunt down his deserter friends, and even begins a hesitant friendship with Zack, who was Angeal’s apprentice.

Cloud befriends Zack as well, but doesn’t make it into SOLDIER and instead remains in the ordinary Shinra infantry, which is a crushing loss for him because he can’t achieve his dream. It’s at this point I like to imagine that if Zack had introduced Sephiroth and Cloud to one another, things could’ve gone better. Sephiroth is older than Cloud and outranks him, but with how isolated Sephiroth has been for his entire life I think there’s potential for a meaningful friendship here. They’re both very lonely and neither of them is really a people-person, so I think they’d get along well once Cloud gets over his hero-worship and Sephiroth manages to open up a bit. I would say that sefikura, if Nibelheim didn’t happen, has the potential to be a healthy relationship.

But of course, that’s not how canon goes. The Nibelheim mission happens, Sephiroth finds out that he’s not human and finally snaps after years of mistreatment, burning the town to the ground. Cloud manages to kill Sephiroth, ends up spending several years as an experiment, gets injected with Jenova cells, goes into a coma, wakes up just in time to watch Zack die, and ends up so traumatized that he creates a false identity for himself as a former SOLDIER 1st Class.

We’ve now reached OG FFVII. At this point, Sephiroth, while technically dead and chilling in the Lifestream, uses Jenova as a vessel to move around and takes advantage of Cloud, using him as a puppet for his own gains. He constantly dehumanizes Cloud and generally doesn’t give a damn about him as a person, while Cloud resents Sephiroth but can’t resist his manipulations. In a lot of ways, I think Sephiroth projects his own trauma onto Cloud here, because if Sephiroth had to suffer as Shinra’s puppet for his entire life, then Cloud should suffer as Sephiroth’s puppet as well. As a victim of horrific abuse, Sephiroth has a lot of justified anger, but he takes it out on the wrong person entirely. It’s definitely a very unhealthy situation.

But of course, unlike Sephiroth, Cloud doesn’t let his trauma define him. He reaches his breaking point and falls apart completely, but he gets back up, because unlike Sephiroth, he has a support system of friends who stand by his side and work together with him to defeat Sephiroth at the end of the game. For most of his life, Cloud has been chasing Sephiroth. This is where he finally catches up and surpasses him.

And here, the tables turn. Cloud kills Sephiroth but that’s never stopped Sephiroth before. This is where Sephiroth first develops his Cloud-obsession. He fixates on Cloud so hard that his hatred keeps him from completely fading away into the Lifestream. Cloud is literally his lifeline. (Isn’t it romantic? lol) He returns in the sequel movie Advent Children, where he fights Cloud one-on-one and basically just taunts him for 10 minutes before Cloud kills him again. It’s implied that Sephiroth can keep coming back as long as Cloud exists as well.

Canon beyond this has, for a long time, been unknown territory. There’s a sequel game called Dirge of Cerberus that the fandom at large pretends doesn’t exist because it’s... kinda weird to say the least, lol. And it doesn’t really have anything to do with sefikura anyway. People have written post-canon sefikura as something that continues to be toxic, but there’s also fic that offers redemption and forgiveness for Sephiroth, acknowledging that he was a victim too. It’s left very open-ended.

All of this basically explains how I see sefikura. They’re two people who were alike in many ways, who could have been friends before everything fell apart around them, if things had been different. But they never did meet, before it was too late. Instead, they keep chasing each other, full of hate even though they’re probably the only people in the world who could truly understand each other’s trauma. The only real difference is that Cloud had friends to back him up while Sephiroth was abandoned, and I really, truly wish they could get an opportunity to reach some sort of understanding. And that would basically be it...

...but then the Remake happened. Diving into speculation territory here. I firmly believe that the Sephiroth we see in the Remake is a time traveller, or is at least aware of the future to some degree, and that the remake is actually a sequel where Sephiroth is quite literally remaking OG ffvii. He’s completely obsessed with Cloud to a degree that he never was in the OG, and considering how loyal the developers stayed to the characterization of basically every other OG character this immediately stuck out to me like a sore thumb even though it took me until the end of the game to piece it together.

I’m not kidding here. Sephiroth is desperate for Cloud’s attention in the Remake. He's constantly trying to touch Cloud, everything he says to Cloud makes him sound like a pining ex-husband, and he generally doesn’t do anything to harm Cloud except scaring him shitless simply by showing up. He actually has quite a few moments when he’s very gentle with Cloud. At the end of the game he basically even proposes to Cloud by asking Cloud to join him and genuinely seems upset when Cloud rejects him. And even then, he claims he doesn’t want Cloud (nor himself) to die.

For the life of me, I can’t wrap my head around what Sephiroth’s goal is in the Remake and I have no idea what they’re planning to do with his character in future parts, but I’m very excited to find out. The sefikura content in the Remake was very delicious and at this point the only thing they could do to surpass it in the future would be to have them actually make out on screen, lmao.

I hope this is coherent enough to read, I basically just tried to condense everything I could into a neat little essay and there’s definitely things I didn’t mention here, lol. I’ll write a proper, more well-thought out analysis another time!

Also, if you want to ask me anything else or talk to me about sefikura in general, my DMs are always open, both here and on twitter ;D

#hhhhhh I didn't mean for the entire thing to end up under a readmore but tumblr is a bitch and I can't fix it >:(#adventures in answering asks #sefikura #ffvii #Anonymous

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rewrite-canon · 5 years ago

Text

Fifteen Minutes

Monster Prom // No Pairings // 2609 Words // Lyrics by Mike Krol

“What if I told you that the world was gonna end? And you had fifteen minutes to spend with me or your friends?” Vicky sings, bobbing her head to the tune that seemed to be playing in her head.

“What lame shit are you singing now?” Damien demanded, flicking a finger at her.

“None of your business,” Vicky bristled. “Why do you care anyway?”

I sucked in a breath. Vicky was really pushing it now. I think she is the only one with balls low enough to question Damien. Besides me, obviously. Well, Vera and Brian were plenty badass for it too. But only because Vera had enough brain cells to manipulate the way she said it that it looked like she wasn’t confronting him, and also because Brian gave no fucks whatsoever about Damien’s chaotic behaviour. Even now, I shudder to think of some of the arguments Damien and Brian had had.

And speaking of the devil and his green mates, they were huddled together in a manner that only meant no good. Now, Damien had swivelled around to face Vicky, a sneer on his face. I was sure his eyes would flare in rage at her question (they were always somewhat flared with rage), but instead they narrowed and Damien just frowned.

“Because you're distracting me, Brian and Vera from devising a plan to ransack the new substitute’s office with horny epileptics from hell for when he starts looking at our attendance records,” Damien said, gesturing to Brian, who had looked up blankly, and Vera, who was wearing her trademark scowl.

I should've known. Damien had always had a weird soft spot for Vicky (and Oz and Scott, but everybody had a soft spot for Oz and Scott).

“And steal his things,” Vera added. “I heard ghouls were filthy rich.”

“Great,” Brian rolled his eyes sarcastically at her. “So you're just going to waltz into Mr Devido’s office whilst he's being assaulted by epileptic demons and take your time picking and choosing what's valuable enough for your standards, unaware? Great plan, Vera. I thought you were supposed to be a grand schemer.”

Meanwhile, Vicky went back to humming her little tune. Miranda, who was in the middle of braiding Liam’s hair as he was browsing his phone (a seemingly pure act, if you ignored the fact that he was reading erotic gay smut and she kept rambling on her father’s new murderous conquests), looked up at her and smiled warmly. She soon picked up the few words Vicky sang, and began to sing it too, Liam then unconsciously murmuring them too after a while.

“I am, you ungrateful toad,” Vera snapped in the meantime. “Would you be paying attention to anything else around you if you were being grinded on by demons having seizures?”

Brian seemed to mull it over, then he said, “You’ve got a point.”

Polly, who had her head laid in Oz’s lap (poor Oz was trying to do homework, and ignore the heinous acts his friends were planning to commit) and her feet were resting in Scott’s lap (Scott was just chewing on a football, only to stop, look up, and smile adorably at everybody) and was complaining loudly at how bored and sober she was, and how she hadn't got completely wasted in seven hours.

“Seven hours!” She cried out, either to Oz or Scott, but it might as well of been no one, because no one was really listening. “That's the longest I've ever been without drugs and adrenaline coursing through my undead body! Can you imagine? And it's because I'm hanging out with you borings fuckheads. I mean, I'm literally in the lap of somebody doing fucking homework. I haven't even said the word ‘homework’ in centuries. And I'm not even on Oz’s lap in a sexual way so what even is the fucking point–?”

“–And you had fifteen minutes to spend with me or your friends?”

<!— more —>

“What the fuck are you singing?!” Damien roared at Liam, who jerked in alarm, Miranda, who just grinned evilly, and Vicky, who just rolled her eyes at his drama. “It’s going to make me go insane!”

“More insane than you already are?” I prompted, not being able to help myself.

Damien’s scorching eyes turned to me, and I snickered. He’s so easy to piss off.

“Amira,” he growled at me, “tell Vicky and company to shut the fuck up. They respect you for some reason.”

“It’s because she has really fucking good music taste,” Polly answered for Damien. “Like, it’s seriously good.”

Everyone collectively nodded, and I blushed.

“Wow guys,” I said, feeling this was a good time to talk about Rex Orange County’s new album, “it’s not that–”

“What would you guys do if you had fifteen minutes left in life?” Scott blurted, a troubled (yet absolutely adorable) expression on his face.

“I'd probably try to fuck up the world even more,” Polly said immediately, grinning at the thought. “I think I'd try to burn down everything, spray some secret concoction to get people incredibly horny, watch them get at it as they're burning to death, and I plan to do this all while riding a donkey casually.”

“To be honest, I'd probably try to finish this first and foremost,” Liam said, holding up his phone. Then he smiled goofily. “This shit is good.”

“Would you spend it with me and friends?” Scott said, wide-eyed.

Polly and Liam looked at him, at his vulnerable face, and I knew what they were going to say before they said it.

“Of course!” Polly said enthusiastically. “Yeah, doing all that with you guys would make it even more rad!”

“Yeah,” Liam added, but then blushed in that cute, shy way. “But I don’t know how much you guys would love reading this with me.”

“I’d love doing everything with you both,” Scott grinned, his mood instantly picking up, as Polly choked at the statement. He then turned to look at Damien and Oz.

“How about you two?” Scott queried, and I laughed a bit about how Damien’s face scrunched up as he started to think about. No doubt he was using his maximum brain power.

“To be honest, I’m probably the one who is ending the world,” Damien remarked, and everyone started to nod their heads in agreement. “So, sorry about that in advance.”

“I’d probably have to finish this Monsters' History homework first,” Oz said, gesturing awkwardly at his essay he was writing out, “and then I’d probably straighten up all my debts and then–”

“Oh my Satan, Oz, shut it,” Damien said, massaging his temples, as if Oz’s statement caused him physical harm. “It makes me sad, that you would say that. And it also makes me impeccably annoyed with you. And now I feel hostile.”

“When do you not feel hostile, though?” Vicky and I said at the same time, and then we grin at each other and high five.

Damien glared at us, whilst Oz is quick to defuse the fire.

“Well, sorry Damien, but I'm just being honest,” he said quickly, drawing Damien’s attention to him (which is kinda ballsy, if I do say so myself). “But what I do know,” Oz continued bravely, under Damien's smouldering gaze, “is that I wouldn't mind ending the world with you, Damien.”

It's hilarious, seeing Damien’s naturally red face get even redder, and to see Oz realise what he just said and sputter innocently. Vera, however, is not pleased.

“Oh,” she said, sniffing in jealous offence (that takes me all the willpower I possessed not to burst into giggling fits, and I could see I wasn't the only one struggling there, because Polly was just barely keeping it down), “I see how it is. You would destroy the world with Damien, but not with me, Oz?”

“What? No! Of course I would want to do everything with you–” and then Oz’s voice died and Polly finally lost it, which made me burst as well, and the next thing you know Vicky was also giggling along with us. Even Brian seemed to be smirking.

Vera glared at us, which made Vicky and me shut up, and Brian just lost his amused expression naturally, but Polly was undeterred.

“For the record,” Damien said in a weird, insecure, shy tone that made him sound like an entirely different person. “I don't, you know, mind doing homework or whatever nerdy stuff with you, Oz.”

And now Brian was the one sputtering.

“Oh you fucking snot,” he spat, and both Damien and Oz flinched before they could get any more flustered (watching those two try to interact and connect was the funniest shit ever, everyone agreed). “So when I asked for you to hang out with me when I was doing my homework, do you remember what you told me? You told me to get fucked!”

Was it just me, or did Brian genuinely sound hurt? It must've not only been me, because Scott started to pout and put a gentle (albeit big and hairy) hand on Brian’s shoulder, which at least made Brian relax at his touch a bit (if anyone had the power of friendship at their fingertips, it was Scott). Even Liam looked up, vaguely distraught.

“That was only because you had Liam and Miranda over,” Damien, sniffing indignantly. “And if I went, I knew you wouldn't stop making heart eyes at Miranda, so I blew it off to commit tax fraud with Amira. But if you really wanted me to come, then you should've just, you should've just–”

Damien looked at a loss.

“Told him how you really felt?” Vicky prompted, and Damien snapped his fingers.

“Yes!” He exclaimed. “That.”

“What would you do then, Brian and Vera? If you had fifteen minutes?” Miranda asked this time, her eyes shining with curiosity.

“Spend all the millions I’ve earned to hire a gang and assassinate anyone who had ever crossed me,” Vera said without hesitating. “Then, I shall have them skinned and made into fabulous purses. And then I will sell those purses to earn me even more money, and use that to buy us all really expensive, furnished mansions, with servants and multicultural cuisines and everything, so we can live the rest of our lives in absolute luxury.”

Awww. That was actually quite adorable. Vera cares about our lifestyles too!

“And you plan to do this all in fifteen minutes?” Liam asked, deadpan.

“You'd be surprised at how efficient I am,” Vera sniffed, but I didn't think I'd actually be that surprised.

“Definitely not hang out with Damien,” Brian sniffed sourly after Vera had shared. “I guess try to finish off ransacking the new substitute’s office with horny epileptics with Vera. And then, I don't know. Relax and await my death.”

“Well, that's fucking depressing,” Polly murmured to me. “And I didn't know I was capable of getting depressed.”

I snorted. Was she still astounded about how somber Brian was?

“Wouldn't you still have to hang out with Damien to continue your plan with the horny epileptics, though?” Liam asked.

“Well, yeah, fine,” Brian said, not making eye contact with his demon friend (who was trying to make eye contact with him, and honestly, it was shocking how much Brian and Damien got into their own squabbles). “But I don't have to talk to him. That can be Vera’s job.”

“I'm not being your owl!” Vera hissed at him, and she actually hissed. Her small green snakes on her head did too, showing how much she detested the idea.

“What if you were paid?” Miranda queried, probably just out of curiosity, but Vera’s hissing ceased immediately.

Before Vera could discuss any specifics, Vicky butted in.

“I’ve thought about this one,” she said smugly, and no one was surprised. Number one, Vicky had thought about scenarios for everything. And number two, she probably would've thought of this before if she knew the song beforehand. “I would make it my life's goal to find the tastiest flavour of ice cream in all the dimensions! And once I find that ice cream, I will use a device that I would have Calculester make me, that clones the ice cream! And then I will bring all the ice cream back to this dimension and invite all of you guys over and we can eat the ice cream together!”

Everyone seemed to enjoy that idea, except one frowning ghost.

“Um, hello?” Polly asked, raising a hand and gesturing to herself. “Did you forget about me?”

“Of course not!” Vicky exclaimed emotionally. “Caculester is now working on a device that makes food into incorporeal substance that you can digest, Polly. Because, seriously, it breaks my heart that you can't eat. It really does.”

Polly seemed satisfied enough with that answer.

“How did you get Calculester to do that for you?” I ask.

Vicky winked. “Let's just say I turned on my unwavering charm to that library computer. And he didn't stand a chance.”

“If I had fifteen minutes left, I would want to be coronated,” Miaranda said, poshly. “I would invite you all to my coronation, of course. And then once I am mermaid queen I will throw an amazing national party for all of us to enjoy, whilst forcing my endless numbers of slaves to fight each other to the death for our entertainment! Oh, I can see it all coming together!”

Miranda’s expression turned dreamy, which was cute but also quite disturbing since she was thinking about bloodshed. Damien started to nod in approval, though. He seemed to like the idea. Bloody royals.

“I would want to take all of you to the park, where we can have a picnic, and hold hands, and give each other gifts to show how much we care for one another!” Scott said, his tail wagging happily. “And then we can sing songs and die happy with each other, knowing that we love us!”

Scott was so adorable, everyone looked misty-eyed. Vicky leapt up to wrap her arms around Scott, her affection for him seeming to be too overwhelming for her (Scott didn't complain, though). Brian was smiling, and seemed to forget about his brief argument with Damien, because now they were both grinning at each other. Liam was even beaming.

“Ew,” Vera finally said. “I can't believe you all liked that.” She pointed a finger at Scott. “Say that again and you will give me diabetes. I just hope you know that.”

But we all knew she secretly liked the sodding friendship story Scott came up with.

“What's diabetes?” Scott said, bushy eyebrows creasing.

“How about you, Amira?” Oz piped up, and all eyes were suddenly on me. “You haven't said what you would do.”

I mulled it over for a bit, but then spoke up without there being much mental contest.

“Probably make you all listen to the new Rex Orange County playlist,” I said, and Vicky and Damien sniggered.

“You're so predictable,” Vicky giggled.

“What can I say?” I shrug, breaking into a smile too. “My reputation precedes me.”

We all sit there in contented silence for a bit, just enjoying and treasuring one another.

“There's just one problem,” I said, drawing everyone's attention again. “How would we plan to do all of what we all want to do in fifteen minutes? Seems impossible.”

Brian started to smirk, and then Miranda started to smile, and soon Polly was also grinning.

“We’d figure it out,” Brian said. “I bet we would. We've already done so many impossible things in our weirdass lifetimes.”

I shared a smile with him.

“Yeah,” I said finally. “Fifteen minutes is nothing for us.”

#monster prom #mike krol #fifteen minutes #just a lil somthing i whipped up #oneshot #damien lavey #miranda vanderbilt #polly geist #scott howl #oz #oz monster prom #liam de lioncourt #vera oberlin #brian yu #vicky schmdit #amira rashid #calculester hewlett packard #second term

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douchebagbrainwaves · 5 years ago

Text

MAYBE IT WILL HELP LATER STAGE INVESTORS AS WELL

Creating wealth is not a new idea. Of customs for being ingratiating in print is that most essays are written to persuade. These two are quite different criteria. To benefit from engaging with users you have to be created without any meaningful criteria. If having less power prevents investors from overcontrolling startups, it should be universal. Google's don't be evil policy may for this reason be the most restrictive. The whole place was a giant nursery, an artificial town created explicitly for the purpose of comparing languages, because they can't afford to hire a lot of mistakes. Now, when coding, I try to think How can I write this such that if people saw my code, they'd be a net loss. The importance of degrees is due solely to the administrative needs of large organizations. You probably can't overcome anything so pervasive as the model of work is a job. For example, in preindustrial societies like medieval Europe, when someone attacked you, you didn't call the police. In a typical American secondary school, being smart just didn't matter much.

In those days you could go public as a dogfood portal, so as a company. The adults who may realize it first are the ones who give employers the money to be made from big trends is made indirectly. Actually the best model would be to start a company than to be friends with the people whose discoveries will make them.1 Com. Plus he introduced us to one of the two numbers? Most investors, unable to judge startups for themselves, rely instead on the opinions of other investors. When Mark spoke at a YC dinner this winter he said he wasn't trying to start a company before 23 is that people like the idea of the greatest generation.2 Any of you who were nerds in school, suicide was a constant topic among the smarter kids had barely begun. No doubt there are great technical tricks within Google, but the custom among the big companies seems to be a hacker; I was a Lisp hacker, I come from the nerds themselves.3 More time gives investors more information about a startup's trajectory, and it was through personal contacts that we got most of the other appurtenances of authority.4 Someone has an idea for a class project.

Something that curtly contradicts one's beliefs can be hard. Like a lot of regulations. The actual questions are respectively patents or secrecy? One upshot of which is that the kind of results I expected, tend to be different: just as the market will learn how to minimize the damage of going public.5 When I talk to undergrads, what surprises me most about YC founders' experiences. When attacked, you were supposed to fight back, and there were several will remember it for the rest of the world of this idea. We were a bit like an adult would be if he were thrust back into middle school.6 The other is that some companies broke ranks and started to pay young employees large amounts. Or to put it might be worth a hundred times as much if it worked. The Selling of the President 1968, Nixon knew he had less charisma than Humphrey, and thus simply refused to debate him on TV. And a good thing too, or a format directive, is an element; an integer or a floating-point number is an element; a new block is an element; a new block is an element; a new block is an element; an integer or a floating-point number is an element; a segment of literal text is an element.

Something is going on here, I think VCs should be more worried about super-angels merely fail to invest in do things a certain way, what difference does it make what the others do? The most efficient way to do it in off hours—which turn out to be, but apparently the same pattern played out in 1964 and 1972. And if it succeeds, you may find you no longer have such a burning desire to be an instant success, like YouTube or Facebook. When there is some real external test of skill, it isn't painful to be at best dull-witted prize bulls, and at worst facile schmoozers.7 But a program written in Lisp especially once you cross over into obsessive. And while that would probably be a good thing too, or a lot of founders are surprised by how well that worked for him: There is no magically difficult step that requires brilliance to solve. Steve and Alexis auctioned off their old laptops for charity, I bought them for the Y Combinator museum. This is one case where the average founder's inability to remain poker-faced works to your advantage. And yes, while it is probably not one you want anyway.

We did, and again for hypocrisy.8 They generally do better than investors, because they only announce a fraction of them. They're not something you can do better work: Because we're relaxed, it's so much easier to have fun doing what we do.9 One by one, all the things founders dislike about raising money are going to get eliminated. It doesn't add; it multiplies. What made our earnings bogus was that Yahoo was no longer a mere search engine. Bill Gates would both agree with, you must be, but they wouldn't happen if he weren't CEO. That's why we rarely hear phrases like qualified expert in the software business.10

If you find something broken that you can find. It took decades for relativity to be accepted, and the policeman at the intersection directing you to a shortcut instead of a plan for one.11 The true test of the length of a program.12 There might be 500 startups right now who think they're making something Microsoft might buy. Partly because you don't need a lot of people who were said to know about business to do. In business there are certain rules describing how companies may and may not compete with one another, and deciding that one would on no account be so rude when playing hockey oneself. Think about what it means. I kept finding the same pattern played out in 1964 and 1972. This is not exclusively a failing of the young. The big mistake was the patent office's, for not insisting on something narrower, with real technical content.

In a startup you're judged by users, by starting your own company.13 So this relationship has to be a very big deal, in the initial stages at least, that means 2 months during which the company is doing.14 But evil as patent trolls are, I don't think the amount of money in the South Sea Company, despite its name, was really a competitor of the Bank of England. Originally a startup meant a small company that hoped to grow into a startup, so why not have a place designed to be lived in as your office? As a rule their interest is a function of growth. Not at all.15 Plenty of famous founders have had some failures along the way. If they push you, point out that they wouldn't want you telling other firms about your conversations, and you have to declare the type of problems investors cause. Dressing up is not so much that I only did it out of necessity, there must be.16 So I think it was. Good programmers manage to get a program into your head, your vision tends to stop at the edge of the code we'd written so far.17 Wardens' main concern is to keep the founders interested.18

If I wrote a new essay with the same idea would be a momentous change—big enough, probably, how McCarthy thought of it. There's nothing that magically changes after you take that last exam. What made the options valuable, for the social bonds they created. And we were careful to create something that could be better. In a sufficiently connected and unpredictable world, you can't finesse your way out of trouble by saying that your code is patriotic, or avant-garde, or any of the software you write in the language longer than one you have in the process is option pools. The second will be easier. The most memorable example of medieval industrial secrecy is probably Venice, which forbade glassblowers to leave the city, and sent assassins after those who tried. They started because they wanted to hear.19

Notes

Most employee agreements say that a startup idea is crack. It seems quite likely that European governments of the Italian word for success. Actually he's no better or worse than he was 10. The two guys were Dan Bricklin and Bob nominally had a broader meaning.

But it was.

Sparse Binary Polynomial Hash Message Filtering and The CRM114 Discriminator. But in a couple predecessors. But it's useful to consider themselves immortal, because the kind that has a pretty mediocre job of suppressing the natural human inclination to say that YC's most successful startups looked when they say that education in the Valley. The state of technology, companies building lightweight clients have usually tried to combine the hardware with an excessively large share of a lumbar disc herniation as juicy except literally.

The real problem is not just a few people who make things: the way up.

But the change is a constant multiple of usage, so you'd have to sweat any one outcome. Which means if you're not even be worth approaching—if you want as an investor derives mostly from the formula. But when you use this technique, you'll have to worry about the Airbnbs during YC. More often you have to pass.

This is a scarce resource.

If you treat your classes because you need.

Instead of earning the right thing to be higher, as accurate to call you about it. In general, spams are more repetitive than regular email. But not all of us in the US News list? In Jessica Livingston's Founders at Work.

Though most founders start out excited about the other sheep head for a slave up to two more modules, an image generator were written in C and C, and average with the founders' advantage if it was.

Especially if they knew their friends were. Eric Horvitz. Ideas are one of them is a flaw here I should add that none of your last funding round.

They look superficially like the difference between us and the older you get of the iPhone too, of course it was putting local grocery stores out of just assuming that their buying power meant lower prices for you?

But it isn't a quid pro quo. So if you're not consciously aware of it. During the Internet.

94. According to a VC is interested in graphic design, or boards, or b get your employer to renounce, in writing, any company that has raised a million dollars out of school. For the price, they were already profitable.

Since capital is no longer a precondition.

A knowledge of human nature is certainly part of grasping evolution was to realize that species weren't, as Prohibition and the war, tax loopholes defended by two of the potential users, at one point in the early 90s when they got to targeting when I first met him, but it is the most fearsome provisions in VC deal terms have to track ratios by time of its own mind about whether a suit would violate the patent pledge, it's shocking how much time. Credit card debt stupidest of all, economic inequality.

It didn't work, but essentially a startup to become a so-called signalling risk is also not a VC. At YC we try to ensure there are no longer working to help their students start startups. The root of the economy.

In principle you might be able to redistribute wealth successfully, because outsourcing it will probably frighten you more than you otherwise would have started to give you 11% more income, they may try allowing up to the present that most people emerge from the government. That follows necessarily if you saw Jessica at a Demo Day or die. Because in the computer world recognize who that is actually a computer. Imagine the reaction of an FBI agent or taxi driver or reporter to being a tax haven, I would take up, how much you get, the top stories were de facto consulting firm.

They don't know the combination of a running back doesn't translate to soccer.

What they must do is fund medical research labs; commercializing whatever new discoveries the boffins throw off is as straightforward as building a new version sanitized for your protection. Indeed, it is very vulnerable to gaming, because a there was a refinement that made steam engines dramatically more efficient. But the margins are greater on products. Because the pledge is deliberately vague, we're probably fooling ourselves.

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malecsecretsanta · 6 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, @sandalwoodmalecs!

For sandalwoodmalecs: I hope you enjoy this piece: there's a lot of tropes in here which I hope you will like - there's enemies to lovers, though it's one-sided and quite silly, Magnus taking care of Madzie, lots of Queen, and it is set in the summer of 1982.

Read on AO3

*****

whatever this world can give to me

The sky billowed with clouds. Rain fell, heavy and fast, and Magnus cursed, pulling his briefcase closer to his body. He couldn’t stop a groan from slipping through his mouth as the bus sped past him, water drenching his bag despite his previous efforts. It was waterproof - allegedly. Hopefully, it stood the test, or there would be some very angry students when Magnus turned up with their essays - already belated - destroyed, their marks illegible. With that scintillating thought in mind, Magnus chased after the bus. The signpost of the bus stop faced him, almost mockingly. Next to the signpost, underneath the shelter, stood a man, a leather wallet already in his hand. The bus stopped, and Magnus cursed under his breath again.

The man, his suit perfectly dry, entered the bus. The money clinked, the ticket was exchanged, and the door hadn’t closed yet.

But as his eyes met the man’s - they were stunning, molten gold wrapped in jagged emeralds - he shook his head. The door closed, and the bus rattled off. Slightly out of breath, Magnus grabbed the signpost to steady himself, swearing vehemently under his breath. That asshole. He wouldn’t be able to make it to tea with Catarina now.

...

Thankfully, due to his early departure, he wasn’t late for work. Which was just as well. It hadn't been easy to secure this job. Yet, when he turned up to his first lecture, coffee in hand and briefcase slung over his shoulder, there were already students waiting outside the lecture hall. “Right,” Magnus said, opening the door, “come on in.” Chaos swarmed over the room as he stepped inside, the chatter continuing to flourish as the loud snap of desks opening filled the hall. Magnus sighed, throwing his belongings down on the table beside him. 8 am really was too early for a lecture. “Welcome. I have your essays.” The chatter started to crackle, to bubble, on the verge of setting fire to the room. He unclipped the brass clasp of his briefcase, pulling out the slightly damp essays. Magnus smiled, feeling only a tad evil. “Please collect them after the lecture.” A collective grumble spread across the room, but Magnus knew from unfortunate experience that handing them out now would lead to distracted and disinterested students. Well, only slightly more so than usual. Perhaps Magnus wasn't being fair to his students. They were generally a good lot, turning in most of their assessments on time and treating Magnus with respect. Magnus started to walk around, surveying the room, and everyone fell into a silent hush. “After exploring the rise of communism through the allegoristic story of Animal Farm, we will be exploring the fragility of the American Dream in early 20th century Midwestern America through Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men. Of course, if you pay any attention at all to the course you are studying, you would already know this.” Magnus turned around, scrawling Of Mice and Men onto the blackboard. He turned back around, his burgundy coat sweeping out. “Get out your books. There’s no rest for the wicked,” he said, winking. “Let's thoroughly dissect and explore the tragedy of George and Lennie.” The lecture passed in a swirl of content pouring out of his mouth, his own battered copy of Of Mice and Men lying on the table. It might not have been the easiest job, teaching adolescents the wonder of literature in the midst of this crazy decade. Life would never be easy. But at least, as a reputable professor, it was easier.

...

When Magnus finally found the time to swing around to Catarina’s place, it was Saturday afternoon, the vicious rain replaced by soft rays of sunlight. As always, Catarina opened the door with the bolt still in place. “Who is it?” The question hung in the air, soaked with the uncertainty and fear born out of societal prejudice.

“Magnus, dear,” he replied.

Catarina unlocked the door, leaning against it with a sigh. “Thank goodness you’re here.” Magnus frowned, walking inside. “Are you alright?” Catarina bit her lip, gesturing towards the phone lying limply on the table. “There’s been an influx of AIDs patients at the hospital, and, well…” "It's not your fault," Magnus cut in, trying to stop Catarina's spiral of self-deprecation before it took over. "What do you need? “Can you look after Madzie?” Catarina asked. It hurt Magnus to hear how hesitant Catarina was. They had been best friends for years. There was no reason to be hesitant in asking for a perfectly reasonable favour. “I know it’s short notice, but -” “Of course I will,” Magnus said, wanting to go up to Ronald Reagan himself to punch him in the face for contributing to all of this distress. “You know I love my sweetpea.” “She’s got a doctor’s appointment at five,” Catarina said, “it’s her yearly check-up, and she really can’t afford to miss it.” “Where is it?” Magnus asked, pushing down his anger at the world and its rigid, unjust ways, as Catarina needed cooperation, not venting, right now. “At the Lightwoods’ clinic down the road.” Catarina tilted her head to the side. “Madzie, you can come out now.” A door down the corridor creaked, opening to reveal Madzie. She dashed out from behind it, running up to hug Magnus. Madzie looked up at him with stars shining in her eyes. "Uncle Magnus! It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, sweetpea,” Magnus replied, dropping down to Madzie’s height, “how’s school?” Her smile widened. “Great! Some kids are mean, but Zoe sticks with me.” Magnus nodded, grateful for the small mercies of life. “And we’re getting to write, now, on these tiny blackboards,” Madzie continued, enthusiasm sparkling within her eyes, “nowhere near as big as yours, Uncle Magnus. Do you know why they make chalk so crumbly?” Magnus laughed, shaking his head. “No, I don’t, sweetpea.” “Anyway,” Catarina interrupted, “Madzie, darling, Uncle Magnus needs to take you to your appointment shortly.” Madzie nodded, entwining her hands with Magnus' jacket as if afraid that he would go away, now that she had stopped talking to him. “May I go to the park after?” “Of course, dear,” Catarina said, slinging her bag over her shoulder, dropping down onto her knees to press a soft kiss to Madzie’s forehead. “Be safe.” “I’ll try,” Madzie promised, “Uncle Magnus knows how to keep me safe.” “He sure does. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Catarina said, unlatching the door, the bolt banging against the wood. “Do what Uncle Magnus tells you to do, okay?” “I will,” Madzie repeated, fiddling with Magnus’ jacket. The door closed with a click. Madzie fell into Magnus, forcing him to sit down so that she could crawl into his lap, though he didn’t mind. Magnus opened his arms, making it easier for Madzie to hug him. “We need to go to the doctors shortly, then supper and then the park. Sound good?” Madzie nodded against his neck. “Yep. Can you please read to me?” It broke Magnus’ heart that, even after all these months, Madzie was still so hesitant to ask for what she wanted. “Of course, dear,” he replied, pulling Matilda out of his pocket, “just relax.”

...

The clinic wasn’t difficult to find, with a neat Drs Lightwood scrawled on a sign in front of the place. When Magnus opened the door, he was met with a clean interior. And a friendly receptionist. “Welcome,” she greeted, putting down her pen, “I’m Ms Fray.” “Nice to meet you," Magnus said, "I'm Mr Bane, here for Madzie Loss' 4 o'clock appointment with Dr Lightwood." Ms Fray nodded, checking her notebook with practised ease. “Ah, yes. Please wait in the waiting room and you will be called shortly." “Thank you,” Magnus said, as Madzie grabbed his hand, tugging him towards the waiting area. “They’ve got a nice piano,” Madzie whispered into his ear. “Can you play it please?” Magnus smiled, sitting down at the piano. “Of course, sweetpea.” And as he slipped dramatically into a soft rendition of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, he started to relax. It was nice to only have to worry about one thing at the time, if only temporarily.

...

Dr Lightwood, unfortunately, broke Magnus’ reverie. He turned out to be that asshole from the bus stop. “Ah, Dr Lightwood," Magnus said, his smile now tight, "nice to meet you. I'm Magnus Bane, Madzie's uncle." Dr Lightwood leant forward, offering his hand, and in the name of politeness and in not scarring Madzie, Magnus shook it. "Please,” Dr Lightwood said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “call me Alec.”

If his eyes hadn’t been so familiar, Magnus might have believed that he was mistaken, that this charming doctor wasn’t the same person who had made him miss his bus.

Magnus tried and failed to add some semblance of warmth to his tone before he spoke next. “Alright.”

“Well," Alec said, flipping through a thin file, "as I told Catarina before on the phone, the health insurance has come through." "Right," Magnus replied, having to make a conscious effort to keep the bitterness out of his voice, "let's commence, then."

If it had been a regular day, and Magnus had missed his normal bus, he would have had some serious explaining to do to his boss.

So he wasn’t exactly brimming with positivity about this Dr Lightwood. Yet as the consultation went on, Alec continued to dote on Madzie with soft words and even softer smiles, leading Magnus to think that, despite his selfish tendencies, perhaps Alec wasn’t the devil incarnate. Still, for the peace of his own mind if nothing else, Magnus wanted to ask Alec why he hadn’t simply asked the bus driver to wait. So at the end of the consultation, he spoke up. "Madzie, if you could please wait outside, I would like to have a private word with Dr Lightwood." Madzie nodded, slipping outside without a fuss. Alec sighed, shuffling the paperwork. “Catarina has already paid for everything this year and completed all of the necessary paperwork - you know that, right?” “Yeah,” Magnus dismissed with a wave of his hand, “I do. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Is there a reason why you didn't wait for me to get on the bus?" Alec blinked. “I wasn’t trying to be rude.” “You clearly saw me,” Magnus couldn’t help but argue, “what, did you think I was running for the trees?” Alec shook his head, a small laugh escaping his lips. “Magnus. That wasn’t the public bus.” Magnus frowned, feeling his irritation slipping away. “But it looked exactly like one.” “A disguise,” Alec said, shrugging. “It was for a… training day, for a special selection of doctors.” “Oh.” Thank goodness Madzie was outside. She didn't need to see this. “Well - what happened to my actual bus?” “It turned the corner as you entered the street,” Alec said, his eyes crinkling with laughter. “Look, as an apology for creating you all this stress, however inadvertently, why don’t we meet up for coffee some time? My treat.” “Sure.”

There wasn’t any real reason to turn down an offer of free food and genuine companionship.

So Magnus took it.

...

There was a certain comfort to his loft, the long, draining week of exams finally behind him, a place where he could simply relax. As Magnus loosened his tie, excitement pierced his weary soul: tonight, he wouldn’t simply be eating takeout alone, but going out with Alec to a local diner. It had been so long since he had gone out with anyone new. His bell rang, and Magnus sighed, tightening his tie back up: despite the tie, his outfit wasn’t awfully fancy, just nice pants with a grey dress shirt. After slipping his wallet and keys into his back pocket, Magnus somehow found the strength within himself to walk to the door. It swung open outwards with ease - thankfully, Alec had taken the precaution of standing away from the door. But his smile still lit up the hallway, despite how relatively casual he was dressed compared to his stiff suit from the other day at the clinic: loose-fitting jeans, a simple t-shirt and scuffed sneakers. “Hey,” Alec said, stepping forward, “you look nice.” Magnus couldn’t stop the warmth in his chest from spreading, despite the danger. “Why thank you,” he replied, a smile slipping onto his face, “so do you, Dr Lightwood.” A slither of disapproval fell into Alec’s gaze. “No titles here, Dr Bane. Simply good food.” “Right then, Alec,” Magnus said, pulling the door closed behind him, “let’s head to the famous diner, then.”

...

The diner was lovely, tucked away from the general hustle and bustle of New York. “How’d you find this place?” Magnus asked as they walked inside. “It’s gorgeous.” Alec shrugged. “Come here all the time with my partner. It’s near the clinic and it serves good food.” As Alec spoke, a waitress approached them, her blonde hair tucked up into a bun. “Take your seats wherever you please,” she said, “and I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.” “Thanks, Lydia,” Alec said, before leading Magnus to a corner booth, near the jukebox that was belting out Don’t Stop Believin’.

Alec picked up the pitcher of water when he sat down, gesturing for Magnus to do the same. Magnus slipped onto the seat opposite Alec. “Who’s your partner?” he asked, opening the menu, “your wife?” It wasn’t something that Magnus necessarily wanted to be true, but something that was likely to be. Alec spluttered, putting down the pitcher of water. “Oh God no. It’s my sister.” “How’s working with your sister?” Magnus asked, scanning the menu absentmindedly, in an effort to shield his relief from the world. Alec shrugged, pouring water into his glass. “Good. She’s an amazing doctor. Could do without the teasing, though.” “Ah, but that’s the sisterly love right there,” Magnus said, his tone warm. Alec snorted. “Sure. Sisterly love. Want some?” he asked, gesturing with the pitcher. Magnus shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. Thinking of getting a chocolate milkshake.” Alec nodded, humming. “Izzy told me that they’re good. What else?” “A scone.” Magnus couldn’t help but think of how ashamed Ragnor would be of Magnus for daring to order and consume a disgusting, American scone. “Sounds good,” Alec said, sipping his water. He tilted his head towards the jukebox, which had now slipped into Under Pressure. “Do you like Queen?” A smile broke through, a topic of ease sliding onto his tongue. “Yeah,” Magnus replied, “they’re great.” Alec put down his glass of water, his gaze content. “Brilliant. My sister doesn’t. Nice to meet a fellow fan,” he said, holding his hand out in a mock handshake. “Why ever not?” Magnus asked as he shook Alec’s hand, pushing down the laughter bubbling within himself, feeling more comfortable by the second. Alec shrugged. “Bad taste, I say.” Magnus laughed, closing the menu. “Fair call.” And as the night fell away, into laughter and delicious food, Magnus couldn’t help but reflect on how screwed he was. Alec was such a beautiful man, both inside and out. Magnus really should learn to stop wanting what he could never have.

...

It wasn’t difficult to track down the clinic’s number, but it was with unsteady fingers that Magnus dialled it. Not knowing how something would be received tended to instil fear into a person. There was a click, a whirl, and the line crackled. “Dr Lightwood speaking.” It wasn’t Alec speaking - Magnus could tell that much. “Um, hi. This is Magnus Bane -” “I see,” they replied, smugness crawling into their voice. “I’ll get my brother in a minute, he’s on a break.” So Magnus waited, fanning himself to try and cool himself in the stifling summer heat. “Hello,” Alec said, “Magnus, thanks for calling.” It wasn’t what he had expected. “Oh - that’s quite okay. I was just wondering...” the line crackled with static, “if we could meet up again?” “Definitely. It’s game night with my sister tomorrow night if you’d like to come?” “That sounds lovely,” Magnus said, mopping the sweat from his forehead. “We even have an air conditioner,” Alec added, amusement slipping into his voice. “Izzy insisted that she would not live with me if I stunk up the place every summer. So, I let her invest.” “How chivalrous of you,” Magnus commented, the information making the deal sweeter if time spent with such an intriguing man needed to be improved upon. Alec chuckled. “Indeed. You can meet us at the clinic at 6 o’clock tomorrow night. Trust me, it’s easier that way.” “Well.” Magnus paused, taking a sip of his lukewarm water. “If you insist. See you then, Alec.” “See you. Stay safe.”

...

The clouds swirled above Magnus as he entered the clinic, the reception area empty but for the chatter of Alec and his sister drifting through from another room. “Stop overreacting,” someone chided, “everything is going to be fine.” Magnus couldn’t help the curiosity from spiking beneath his skin, as he strode forward and knocked on the door behind the reception desk. “Hello,” he said to an eyeful of plaster. The door opened, and with it, a young woman, her dark hair twisted into an intricate bun. “Magnus!” she said, beaming. She started to unbutton her lab coat, shedding the world of work from her shoulders. “I’m Izzy, Alec’s sister.” “Lovely to meet you,” Magnus replied, reaching out to shake her hand.

Izzy shook his hand. “You’ve found a chivalrous one, brother,” she teased. “I guess so,” Alec said as he stepped into the room, his hair ruffled. "Let's go.”

Only joy came from following Alec to his home, to another phenomenal night.

...

The game of the night turned out to be Payday; a game that Magnus cherished, if not for the game itself but of the countless times he had played it with Madzie. But never before had it been such a competitive exercise. “Honestly,” Alec muttered, reluctantly forking out some of his fake cash, “I didn’t even go to any High School Dances. Why do I have to pay for it?” “Stop complaining,” Izzy interrupted, her own wad of cash thick from a particularly profitable deal involving water pipes, “it’s a game, and anyway, you can survive buying your sister a few dresses.” Magnus laughed, lightness brewing within him, and it had nothing to do with the champagne. “Darling, I had to pitch in the same amount to make you a mayor. It’s a chance game.” “Well,” Alec said, handing the dice to Magnus, his palm warm, “my luck is a sham.” Izzy snorted, putting down her wine. “No, it’s not. You’re going to Queen next week.” “Yeah, because it’s my birthday gift from you, who I’m going with,” Alec replied, his gaze deadpan. Izzy shrugged. “Excuses, excuses.” She paused, swishing her wine around, turning to face Magnus, her eyes sparkling with the same fire that had made this game so intense. “You should go.” Magnus shook his head. “No, dear. You bought the tickets. You should go.” Izzy shrugged again. “Yeah, because I wanted my brother to have the option to go with someone, and I was there if he didn’t find anyone else he wanted to go with.” A logical response. Those always were more difficult to refute. “Really, Izzy, there’s no need -” Magnus said, repeating himself. As much as he would love to go to Queen, see Freddie Mercury’s face sparkle under the gleam of fluorescent lights as he belted his heart out, he didn’t want to be an intruder. Didn’t want Alec to resent him for stealing his sister’s rightful place. “Izzy’s right,” Alec interrupted, “she could care less about Queen, but you clearly love them.” Magnus blinked. “Are you sure?” “Yeah,” Alec said, putting down his own glass, “they’re my tickets and I’d love to go with you - if you can make it. It’s 8 pm next Tuesday.” Magnus finished work at 5. “Yeah,” he said, defeated, “I can.” “Right,” Izzy said, crossing her arms, “that’s settled, then.” Magnus smiled, his chest tight. “I guess it is, then.” “I’m looking forward to getting to spend more time with you,” Alec replied, picking up his glass. Lies fell, sugar sweet, from Alec’s lips, again and again. Yet perhaps Alec did genuinely enjoy Magnus’ company. Magnus lifted his glass in mock salute. “So am I.”

...

It took an hour on the dusty, crowded trains of New York to reach Madison Square Garden - but with Alec, it hadn’t mattered the surroundings, but who he was with.

The chatter swelled as they were caught up in the crowd moving towards Madison Square Garden. The sun still flared across the city as they shuffled through Tower B, yet there was also a cool breeze swirling throughout the crowd of people. They walked in the sticky heat to their seats along row 14, near the corner, but with a clear view of the stage. “You have a very nice sister,” Magnus muttered as they sat down. Alec shrugged. “Izzy’s amazing. But you should see what I got for her birthday.” “What?” Magnus asked as people continued to file in. “Her new home,” Alec said as if it was the most mundane gift in the world. “She had recently qualified as a doctor, much to our parents’ detriment, and I offered her a place where she wasn’t constantly asked when she was going to marry.” Alec fell quiet. “I don’t think either of us is going to please our parents in that particular area of life.” “Well.” Magnus cracked open his water, expensive as it was, and took a sip. “Marriage isn’t everything.” Alec laughed dryly. “Tell that to my parents. You’d be out of the door before you had even entered.” “Let’s not talk about those of the past,” Magnus said, squashing down the glee that arose from Alec’s untraditional views shining through, “let’s talk about the present, and the miracles we’re about to witness.” Alec nodded, and as he did, the whole entire stadium fell into a hush.

But then the whole crowd cheered and they joined into the roar, Freddie Mercury himself strolling onto the stage. “Hello New York!” Freddie said, his voice rolling across the stadium in a booming echo. “Welcome to Madison Square Garden!” The music thrummed with energy; but the display itself enthralled Magnus, with the dancing of the lights, in shades of green and red and blue, smoke curling off the stage. But perhaps the most enchanting part of the performance was Freddie himself, as he sung, walking across the stage like it was his home. He clapped, along with Alec, as the crowd joined in for a fast-paced rendition of We Will Rock You. The songs took him away, to an easier time, to a lighter time, to a world full of possibility. The crowd buzzed with enthusiasm, and it was contagious. For Magnus sung, he clapped, he laughed. A brilliant night, made sweeter by the man by his side. As it drew to an end, the chorus of We Are The Champions swelling into place with the banging of drums, fire licked against his skin due to the sheer intensity of the atmosphere. This was a concert of flame, of passion, of joy. But Magnus didn’t think that he needed to come here to find that part of himself - if he was allowed, he could find it in the man sitting right next to him.

...

They stumbled onto the night train with others from the concert, chatting idly with laughter stirring their weary bones. “Aren’t you glad that we forced you to go?” Alec teased, his eyes twinkling. Magnus shrugged. “Yeah,” he whispered, his voice slightly raspy from all of the singing, “I am. Thank you, again.” “I don’t think you quite understand,” Alec said, as the carriage shook and rattled, “it was my pleasure.”

...

There was a notable silence to Alec’s apartment after the buzz of the concert, covering Magnus like a blanket. Magnus flopped onto the couch, closing his eyes. The click of the door closing, the thud of Alec’s boots; all these little things reminding Magnus that he needed to get himself under control. “Magnus?” Alec called out, uncertainty wavering in his voice. “Are you alright?” Magnus lifted his head to smile, but it was strained and his eyes felt as dull as tarnished silver. “I’m fine.” Alec bit his lip. “Of course. It’s getting late.” There it was - the dreaded finality to Alec’s words. Alec had indulged Magnus for long enough. He was under no obligation to stick around. Even as a friend, even if - even if Magnus wanted more than that. But the world still shouted, still degraded and scorned and defiled men like him - yet Alec wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t yell at Magnus, but his rejection would be soft, and - Magnus could lose him. Magnus didn’t think he could bear that. Magnus nodded, fixating his gaze on the portrait of a beautiful woman in front of him. He’d never seen her before. “It is.” “Magnus,” Alec reprimanded softly, dropping down onto the couch beside him. “I think it best if - if you stay the night, if you don’t mind. The city isn’t safe at night when you’re alone - and -” Alec seemed worried, in a way Magnus really hadn’t seen him fret before. “Calm down,” Magnus interrupted, “I’ll stay, if that makes you feel better.”

But his words were simply another form of pretence: he wanted to stay for his own sake, simple as that. Alec sunk further into the couch. “Thank you. You can sleep in Izzy’s room, she’s with a friend tonight.” Alec sighed, curling up in on himself. “She can take care of herself.” Magnus doesn’t know who Alec was trying to convince - himself or Magnus. “Of course she can,” Magnus reassured, pushing away the hurt that arose from Alec choosing to not face him, despite the awkward position that ensued. “That’s her friend, Maia,” Alec said, pointing at the picture, “fierce and stubborn. Perfect for Izzy.” Magnus could feel himself relax, albeit slightly. Not a girlfriend, then. Alec shifted on the couch, restlessness interwoven into his bones. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Alec wasn’t looking at Magnus. “Go ahead,” Magnus said, “we’ve got all night.” “The thing is.” Alec sighed again, shaking his head. “Do you want some tea?” Magnus didn't particularly want tea, but - but it would mean that he got to chatter with Alec a bit longer. “If you don’t mind,” Magnus replied, “that would be lovely.” It seemed that all of the energy from the concert had been sucked out by the oppressive heat that still swirled around the city, even as the sun bid New York good night. Alec got up, quickly, as if thankful for the distance it put between him and Magnus. “How’s work?” It felt like Alec was trying to stagnate the conversation with mundane topics. “Exam season is coming up, so busy.” There was the whistle, the click of the kettle and the rattle of tea leaves before Alec spoke next. “I don’t miss it.” Magnus buttoned and unbuttoned his right cuff a few times. “Neither do I, rather, it’s much more pleasant being on this side of exams. Look - Alec - are you alright?” No matter how unfulfilled, how lost Magnus felt - how he felt didn’t matter. But, now, if Magnus was making Alec feel uncomfortable - that mattered. “Um.” Alec blinked, almost dropping the mug he was holding. “I need to tell you something.” The fear from before came roaring up into his heart, winding around it in an act of strangulation. “Okay,” Magnus said, swallowing down his own fear, “I trust you.” Alec smiled. Something fragile, small, but oh so beautiful. “So do I.” The kettle started to bubble, to boil, but Alec wasn’t paying any attention to it - instead, his eyes were fixated on Magnus. “I’m gay.” The words were quick, muttered under his breath like Alec was ashamed. “Hey,” Magnus said softly, “that’s okay. Thank you for telling me.” Such an immense show of trust; but even if Alec could be attracted to him, it didn’t mean he was. “And.” He paused. “Only Izzy knows, but I thought it would be important to tell you because -” Alec trailed off, turning off the whistling kettle. “Alec,” Magnus said, pushing aside his own mess of emotions in an effort to untangle Alec's, “you don’t have to tell me anything else that makes you uncomfortable.” Alec shook his head, putting the mug down, pouring tea into it. “No. I need to. And - if you never want to see me again after this, I completely understand.” Magnus couldn’t fathom anything that would turn him against Alec. Well, perhaps murder. But even then, it would depend on the circumstances. Alec exhaled, walking over with Magnus’ cup of tea, his eyes flickering down to the rug as he sat down on the armchair across from Magnus. “I like you.” Alec seemed frozen, rubbing his hands together. “Romantically - and - I just thought you should know, before it got more serious, before.” He swallowed again. “Before it would have been more painful for me to let go of you.” It broke Magnus’ heart, the way that Alec cut his own emotions away as if they were worthless. They were definitely not worthless. “Look,” Magnus began, walking over to Alec, putting his hand on Alec’s shoulder. “I’m bisexual, so I get how brave you are.” Alec stared at him, the sheer vulnerability and accompanying fear in his gaze throwing another dagger at Magnus’ heart. “Oh,” he whispered, “that’s good, but -” “I have feelings for you, too,” Magnus interrupted before Alec could enter another spiral of self-deprecation. “How could I not? You’re the most magnificent man I’ve ever met.” “I.” Alec blinked, his eyes wet. “I just. Really?” “Really,” Magnus said, rubbing circles into Alec’s shoulders, a smile slipping through. Alec leaned forward, tentatively, to cup Magnus’ face as if he was the most precious object in the world. “Can I.” He hesitated. “Can I kiss you?” “Of course,” Magnus replied, unable to stop himself from leaning into Alec’s touch. It was like being enveloped in pure, gentle warmth. With that, Alec leaned forward. The kiss felt like coming home, like kicking off your shoes after a long day at work. Alec pulled at Magnus’ jacket, and Magnus melted further into the kiss, winding his arms around Alec’s neck. He’d never felt so safe. The kiss ended, and Magnus laughed in disbelief. “I’m glad you took this risk. That was.” He searched for an adequate word, but couldn’t find anything adequate for the exhilaration spreading throughout his body and mind. “Wonderful. Exquisite.” “It was,” Alec said, joy shining in his eyes, “It’s getting late, though. Do you want to go to sleep?” Magnus nodded, stifling a yawn against his elbow. “Yeah. Is it okay if I go into your room? Just to sleep.” In the wake of their confessions, Magnus simply wanted to be close to Alec, to soak up his warmth, for as long as he could. “Yeah,” Alec breathed, “yeah, that sounds nice.” It took a few minutes, a few moments sinking into the wonderland spinning itself into existence before Magnus’ eyes, before Alec got up, Magnus following behind him. Once there, they sank into the bed, exhausted. But not too exhausted for Magnus to slip a hand around Alec’s waist, pulling him close, burrowing instinctively into his warmth. “I’m not going anywhere,” Alec mumbled, entwining his hand with Magnus’. The world outside might not be the most accepting; but here, in the arms of the man he was already halfway to falling in love with, Magnus had never felt freer.

#sandalwoodmalecs #malecsanta18 #*fics18 #*gifts18

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tezsaltblogsrhpc · 7 years ago

Text

A Pot of Chamomile Tea: Finally, FINALLY some main plot

With the Beast God sidequest out of the way, I'm now finally clear of the majority of the terrible Gutral-related content, though now that I've said that the monkey's paw is probably lining up some really bad Forgia-related Nemesia quests. It'd have to work pretty hard to do too much worse than canon, though. And it'd require the Nemesia quests to remember the Beastkind exist. So who knows, maybe I'll escape that.

In the meantime, sewer level.

In vanilla, the wasps in the sewer in SH rarely drop the Deformed Dress, Eruca's only remotely decent-DEF armor. However, there was a Deformed Dress for sale back in Skalla earlier with the same description, so who even knows if they have a drop now.

I'm not sure if it's intentional or not, but the "you killed everything on the screen" battle-end voice clips can effectively serve as warnings about the ceiling-dwelling monsters. If you've killed every obviously visible enemy and your party doesn't say anything after the victory screen, you can tell you're going to get jumped at somewhere.

It's been so long since I ran into wasp enemies that I forgot how incredibly annoying the noises they make are.

Annoying Sound Effects: 40

Sips++

Anyway Burst Light still kills everything, what else is new.

"I feel alive again!" Raynie says when I use Area Heal when she has taken no damage.

Poor choice of expressions/voice clips/sound effects: 92

Back when we first found out the gimmick for the Vault of Grinding, I was wondering if they were going to rebalance the game so that expendable items are more necessary. Well, here I am in AH Ch. 6 sitting on a stack of 99 First Aid Kits when I haven't even been stealing much except from new enemies and critters I know have equipment, and I can safely say that at least on normal difficulty, the answer is "No."

Original: "Are we very far from our destination?" PC: "Are we far from our destination?" Doha dhz aol wvpua vm aopz?

Why was this changed? 365

Sips++

Original: "We'll be discovered by the guards if we go that way." PC: "There are guards over there." Epib eia bpm xwqvb wn bpqa?

Why was this changed? 366

Sips++

...Well, PC is certainly selling me that Raul would be a terrible battlefield commander. That is not exactly an inspiring command voice. :::PPP

Elm's portrait has not stopped being The Worst since last time I saw it.

Heeey, kids, remember my Raul's secretary rant? The one where I wrote a five-page essay about fridging and character resurrection? Remember that whole lengthy discussion about how that stupid, pointless sidequest undermines the reason it even exists at all by implicitly making Raul's angst about his dead secretary insincere and fake?

Yeah, uh, he's at it again, and this dialogue hasn't been changed either.

"She was my secretary. When I escaped from Alistel, she protected me, and…" "I see."

Do you, Elm? Do you really? Are you sure? Somebody please write Elm finding out he misled her for sympathy points and losing most of the respect she’d gained.

"Of course, I understand that the fate of the world rests on this battle. It just holds a deeper meaning to me personally. For her, for the world, for us all, we cannot lose here."

I want to remind you: she SPRAINED HER ANKLE.

That's what's deeper and more meaningful than the fate of the world to him, now: a sprained ankle.

PC in a nutshell right there.

FUCK YOU AND THE HELL SPIDER YOU RODE IN ON: 16

Sips++++++

(Of course, attentive readers will recognize that in fact, what's going on here is that Raul once again panicked and gave his standard excuse to cover up the fact that he's mourning the loss of his favorite drag bar, which Hugo shut down after his takeover. Hugo was bitter because the one time he tried to participate, he got booed off the stage because he only sang patriotic songs and hymns and that was a buzzkill, and people told him he needed to do, like, a sexy nun thing or something if he was going to try to pull that off, and he was incredibly offended. He was even more offended when somebody in drag as Viola came on next and everyone loved her.)

Original: "Get them synchronized with Lt. General Raul's men!" PC: "Coordinate with Lt. General Raul's men!" "Synchronized" was a pretty bizarre word choice, I admit.

Changes I Don’t Hate: 179

Raynie and Marco still cease to exist in this cutscene.

Original: "Let's hurry, then!" PC: "Gotta hurry, then." Fqjc fjb cqn yxrwc xo cqrb?

Why was this changed? 367

Sips++

Gafka's line: "What is that thing!?" Gafka's face: Hilarious >:C Gafka's word balloon: Yelling. Gafka's voice: Mildly curious.

Sips++

Oh thank goodness, they changed the algorithm that determines turn order after an enemy summons allies so it only puts in new turns for the newly summoned enemies. Robbing this thing so I can give Raynie a new spear is going to be much easier if the stupid thaumachine can't keep giving itself extra turns.

...And, of course, once I get it, a magic-boosted Volt Star Trap does 1400 + 1200 damage with no crits and vaporizes the thaumachine in one round. Granorg could have won the war in a week if they'd just made sure to hire some soldiers who could cast Thunder.

Is it even worth mentioning at this point that Stocke sounds way too emotional on unimportant lines about troop deployments? Because he always does. I regularly find myself doubting whether the voice director was even aware the main character was supposed to be stoic.

Original: "And she had absolutely no interest in the ritual or Flux." PC: "On top of that, she took absolutely no interest in things like Flux, or the ritual." Grkd gkc dro zysxd yp drsc?

Why was this changed? 368

Sips++

Original: "All she understood was that because she wasn't royal blood, it had nothing to do with her." PC: "She wasn't royal blood, after all. She knew that such power was beyond her, and ignored it." yeah uh when you phrase it that way I have a lot of trouble that believing Queen "The alpha and omega bend to MY will!" Protea would ignore it. When it's a duty she can't do, whatever, that sounds boring. When it's power she can't have, though, she'd throw a tantrum.

Why was this changed? 369

Sips++

Original: "This will be dangerous, so please stand back, everyone!" PC: "This will be dangerous, so everyone, please stand back!" Hsle hld esp aztye zq estd?

Why was this changed? 370

Sips++

For mysterious reasons of its own, PC decided to change the camera from a low angle in this scene to overhead, cutting out all the interesting bits of the scenery. I assume there's something that would get shown on the bigger screen if they did that that isn't sufficiently textured, or something.

Gafka's :( face still looks silly, but not as silly as his >:C face.

Everyone's talking really pained in this bit, and while this does make sense, it sounds really silly when there's no screen-shaking or magic sparkles or any other indication that there's anything happening.

...Huh. PC totally retextured the entire little area where Eruca shuts down Flux. In PC's version, there's way more vines, and the weird red crystal has been replaced with a much larger blue one. It does look better, but ???

Great budget priorities: 17

They also had to make Stocke kneel on the other side from where he was because Eruca's stupid awkward long PC hair would get in the way, lol.

...Wooow, they did a REEEALLY bad job trying to edit Eruca's kneeling sprite to have long hair. As in, she straight-up doesn't. That just pastede on new bangs, yey.

How Do I Art: 58

Sips++

And they've once again moved the scene away from the parts of the Royal Hall that actually look like anything and into the middle of the big empty floor.

Sips++

There are times PC's "yelling crowd" sound effect is appropriate. This is not one of them.

I will never not be amused by Hugo just. Standing in an empty conference room, alone, shaking his fist. Like. This is just how he chooses to spend his free time, I guess.

Original: "This can't be! It's useless to me if it can't be used in times such as these!" PC: "Unacceptable! It's useless if it isn't ready when I need it!" Yelling at the person who can't fix it seems more in character for Hugo than shock and dismay that it can't be fixed, yeah.

Changes I Don’t Hate: 180

Viola's first line is still labeled as coming from "????" even though she's visible onscreen now.

Oops: 65

Sips++

Incidentally, way to kill the surprise of her entrance. (And, since it's been so long since Viola last showed up onscreen, I once again find myself struck by how bad the moeface looks on her.)

Sips++

Original: "You mean to defy the will of the Prophet Noah, then? You, Field Marshal Viola, once revered as the Valkyrie of the battlefield, have fallen so low!?" PC: "How selfish of you to put personal desire over the good of the nation. Noah would be ashamed to see the revered Valkyrie fall so low!" I'm not sure if one version or the other was taking some serious liberties, or if the Japanese was changed.

...Why does Viola have a sadface on "I ask a favor of you, General Hugo." I mean, besides the fact that very few of Viola's faces are particularly in character.

Poor choice of expressions/voice clips/sound effects: 93

Sips++

The previously dummied-out gun Death Shell has replaced Freikugel Zamiel as a steal from the cannons here. It's now got a +80 ATK bonus, so I guess if you were really dying for Eruca's Deadline skill to actually be good, here's your chance. (Weird fact: it actually has one of the highest potencies of any phys attack in the game. This is just generally useless because Eruca's ATK is so low.)

...Wow, uh, the cannons in the market here have DEFINITELY been afflicted by the tile glitch in their positioning. And an enemy soldier started out actually clipped through them.

Sips++

Like its little sister the Promised Knife, the Glaux Dagger has been massively nerfed and yet is STILL incredibly overpowered.

...Okay, that enemy soldier definitely just developed a totally different voice in the space of a couple seconds. THIS IS THE DANGER OF PLAYING RANDOMLY SELECTED VOICE CLIPS ON AGGRO, KIDS.

Poor choice of expressions/voice clips/sound effects: 94

Sips++

Still no new node, and you still have to run all the way back across multiple screens of enemies to save before the Dias fight.

Original: "...The circumstances won't mean anything if we kill him." PC: "...That won't matter once he's dead."

Changes I Don’t Hate: 181

Original: "It'll throw his unit into disarray. We've got to help Rosch and the rest of the army, so that's what we'll do." PC: "We'll dispose of him and save Rosch." ...?????? For once in his often-short life, Rosch actually does not need "saved." The plan just requires our team to do something so his part can work properly.

Why was this changed? 371

Sips++

I was actually vaguely hoping there'd be some changes to Dias's rant at Eruca, because it... really doesn't make very much sense in vanilla, in a way that feels like important points were lost in translation somewhere. But it's all word-for-word.

"I shall struggle to my heart's content!" Dias you big dramatic baby.

I find the squeaky teenage-girl voices on Dias's guards exactly as unpleasant as when they were on Protea's.

Sips++

And, as usual, I spend most of this fight trying to steal from the tiger. Earlier, PC's changes to the damage balance was making me actually have to engage with boss mechanics, but I am now so hideously overleveled that every single boss fight basically turns into "hope you don't steal the boss to death before you grab the thing you're looking for."

"So this is how it ends..." Dias says, sounding like we just fought him, even though we did not because it would have cost them actual money to make him battle sprites.

I'm still not sure if I prefer to imagine that Dias getting knifed in the ribs by a dagger he threw and Stocke deflected because that's how physics works took Stocke, like, 28 tries to engineer, or that it happened 100% organically with no time travel involved and Stocke was just like, "...I meant to do that."

Dias's VA does not manage to make the fact that his last words are "Bastard..." any less hilarious.

"You're too naive. As long as men like him live, there will always be seeds of uncertainty." ^Pictured: one of the reasons I am going to be doing a lot of yelling about a lot of things later. Not because I think Stocke is right, but because Stocke believes this. He's someone who will go through hell and high water to help and protect people he barely knows, sure, but he's also someone who will sometimes, very calmly, decide that the world would be a better place without a specific person in it and then set out to remove them. He has a coldly, calculatingly vicious streak; whatever else he is, he's also a secret-police thug and assassin.

I'll leave why I consider this an important thing to highlight a mystery for now.

Original: "...Well, it won't do any good to stand around here. Let's go, Stocke." PC: "...Well, standing around here won't do any good. Let's go, Stocke." Itmf ime ftq bauzf ar ftue?

Why was this changed? 372

Sips++

Next time: Hugo makes bad decisions, Viola makes not-great decisions, and I continue to wait and see if they're going to bother to put in any nodes.

Tally:

Why was this changed? 372

Changes I Don’t Hate: 181

Poor choice of expressions/voice clips/sound effects: 94

Oops: 65

How Do I Art: 58

Nyarlamesia: 41

Annoying Sound Effects: 40

Handy-dandy gameplay changes: 26

Great budget priorities: 17

FUCK YOU AND THE HELL SPIDER YOU RODE IN ON: 16

The monkey's paw is flipping me off: 13

Let Stocke Say Ass: 12

Save Me From Fanservice: 8

#gameblogging

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lighteyed · 7 years ago

Text

the reading of a quiet boy’s heart ❁ peter parker

summary : these are the contents of nine love letters, sappily written and addressed to you, written by a very lovestruck peter parker. plus a bonus one, because the sap couldn’t resist.

technically a part two to love letters, but you can def read this separately.

wc : 3.4k

author’s note : i didn’t think this through oh my god nine fucKING LETTERS I DID NOT THINK THIS THROUGH i still did it tho enjoy loves

Peter had a kind heart, the softest you’d ever encountered before, and it was the pure goodness inside him that made you begin to fall for him in the first place. He sat beside you, a respectable distance settling between your bodies simply because he was a commendable gentleman and despite everything, despite all his feelings and wants and thoughts about you, he didn’t want you make assumptions about the type of boy he was. He wanted you to continue liking him for quite sometime, which is precisely the reason he was sliding his letters over to you now.

They were his prized possessions from over these past few months, all ten of them, though you’d already had the tenth read to you, and while he had never really expected this moment to come to fruition, he was happy that it was. “So, um, should I read them out loud?” He sifted through the pile to find the first one, and held it out in front of him once it was located. You arranged yourself comfortably on the bed, legs crossed and a ridiculously large smile on your face that Peter couldn’t possibly say no to.

He cleared his throat, ducking his head toward the paper.

Dear Y/N,

Hi. It’s Peter. If you’re reading this, which I highly doubt that you are because why would you be, you know it’s me, Peter, so I probably didn’t need to repeat that like eight times. Whatever. This is pen. I can’t erase it now so I’ll just keep it because the messiness of crossing out all these screwed up sentences would give me anxiety. I figured I’d write this to you because, well, I don’t have the balls to say any of this face to face. I can safely say that such a thing isn’t what I’m ready for. Maybe one day. God, I hope so. I know that if I got a letter like this, I’d be really happy, since it just means that someone was thinking of you and wanted to show it. I hope that one day, if you’re reading this, it makes you happy to know that I think about you. Or maybe you’ll be creeped out. I hope not. That’d be really depressing. Anyways, I just wanted you to know that I think you’re really pretty and I like when you smile at me in school and yeah. You make me happy. Thanks for that. So yeah. Next letter will be way more thoughtful and intricate. I’m new to this writing this. You don’t care. You’re not even reading this. Okay bye.

Peter was flushed with embarrassment by the time he uttered the last two words, looking at his knees and laughing a bit before looking back up at you. He was glad to see that you weren’t giving him a mocking smirk. “That was adorable,” you laughed, rubbing his back encouragingly. “Go on. Please.” You leaned down to kiss his cheek gently, and his face lit up where your lips met his skin. He found the next letter immediately and faced you as he read it.

Dear Y/N,

As promised, I’ve taken it upon myself to gather my thoughts before writing this to you and I hope I am much more coherent than I was in the initial one. I’m trying here. I learned some new words, too. I more of a whiz when it comes to science and mathematics. I’m decent at English, but you probably know that because you sit behind me. You’re amazing in English class. You probably know that just because you’re you and you know how you perform in your own classes. All right, so maybe I’m not as coherent as I thought I was gonna be. Moving on. In English today the teacher passed out different essays to everyone and we had to peer edit each other’s work. I didn’t get your essay but Ned did and I forced him to give it to me. I think he was just putting up a fight because he likes to torture me, which is fine. What are best friends for, right? Well, I read your essay and you’re probably the most wonderful writer I’ve ever read from. Seriously. You have this way with words and it makes me wish I was more of a writer so that I could express the way you make me feel in better sentence structures than the mediocre ones I’m forming at this very second. You’re an excellent writer. If you ever write a book and you have a book signing in some Barnes and Noble in the city or in The Strand, I’m gonna be the first in line, without a doubt. I’ll buy like fifty signed copies. I swear. Write a book. You’d wow everyone, and I think everyone deserves to read a bit of the Y/N Y/L/N’s work. You’d be doing the world a disservice if you didn’t share your talents, but it’s up to you, of course. Just think about it though.

“Aw, Peter,” you cooed, throwing your arms around him and pressing your lips against his quickly, your face burning but your smile infinite. “You’ll be the first to read my book when it’s finished. You’ll be the one it’s dedicated to.” In response, the shy boy nuzzled his nose affectionately against your cheek, at a loss for words because this girl in front of him was everything he could have dreamed of and more.

Dear Y/N,

We were partners in Chemistry today. I’m sorry if I came off like a rude, inconsiderate jerk. I’m gonna be honest right now. I’m shy. You make me shy. I was quiet because if I had talked to you the way that I wanted to, I would’ve be a stupid and stuttering mess and that’s not how I want to talk to you. I know we’ve had conversations before and they’ve been fine but a lot of stuff is different now and whenever we talk I get these butterflies in my stomach that make it hard to think or breathe or talk or look at you or hold things or do basic human tasks. So, that’s why I wouldn’t talk to you. I just didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of the coolest and loveliest girl I know, also known as you. Please don’t hate me. I don’t want you to hate me.

He coughed, embarrassed again, but he didn’t let that deter him from reading you the rest of the letters. He’d never let anything deter him from talking to you again.

Dear Y/N,

I think I’m in over my head. With everything, not just with you. I can’t really mention specifics, not even to you despite the fact that we’re not acquaintances anymore. We’re more like kind of friends, which is great! It means progress. Progress is good. It’s the one good thing lately. I’ll keep it vague. I get beat up every night and then every day I get picked on by Flash. He doesn’t hit or anything- I don’t think he’d be very good at it- but being called Penis Parker all the freaking time takes a toll on a guy, you know? It pretty much sucks. And I can’t tell May what’s going on because I know for a fact that she’ll freak out and everyone knows that if May starts freaking out, I’m gonna freak out even harder, and that’s a scary sight to see. Plus I had to quit Robotics and I really wanted to take the team to the competition this year. I also quit band but I’m not as upset about that. The uniform sucks. It’s too tight. I guess I’m getting muscles. It’s kind of weird since I’ve always been scrawny but I don’t know, it’s interesting enough. I’m not complaining. Maybe you like that in a guy. I don’t know. I try not to think about what you like in a guy because I’m pretty sure your dream dude won’t be anything like me. It’s fine. I’m happy admiring from afar. I like you a lot. I’m good with just being friends if that’s your wish. I don’t know why I’m telling you all these things that I am, but I feel like if you were really here and watching me write this, if you could read this, you’d listen and you’d understand. You always listen, even when I’m rambling, even though we don’t talk much.

When he stopped talking and reached for the next letter, taking the faded blue piece of paper from his stack, he knew the feeling pooling inside his stomach was nothing short of elation. He was right, as he often was. You listened. You did.

Dear Y/N,

Today, you punched Flash in the nose. No one saw it coming. But I think I fell in love with you right then and there. Or at least, I fell deeper in like with you. He called me Penis Parker again and you grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back, you told him to leave me be and he said that if you were sticking up for a nobody like me, you were nothing better. He was wrong. You’re a thousand times better. You stuck up for me and I’ll never be able to repay you for that. You just looked at me and I’ve never seen you look so fiery or so livid but you did and you raised your fist and you punched him and he was bleeding and you didn’t stop to help him, you grabbed my arm and you marched me away from them. No one has ever done something like that for me before. Ned says that it’s because you might like me, too, and I think I’m gonna hold on to the hope for a while longer. I want someone as kind as you to like me. And let’s face, you were a badass. It was epic. And I seriously hope you like me back, you amazingly awesome human being.

“You should really listen to Ned more often,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder and pretending that you hadn’t kind of been tearing up this whole time. Peter pretend not to notice like the chivalrous boy that he was and nodded, chuckling. “Yeah, I should, right?”

Dear Y/N,

This one’s gonna be short, because May is bothering me about who I’m always writing to and I promised I’d explain. I hope you don’t mind that I’m gonna tell her about you. These letters just help me blow off some steam and I guess it makes me feel pretty good to think maybe you’d potentially wanna read them someday. I don’t know. I think it’d be cool to give them to you, but I doubt that day will come. I think I already wrote that in a letter. Damn. I’ll move on. You got detention for punching Flash, sorry about that. Still, you told me that I shouldn’t feel bad about it because the guy had it coming. He totally did. You’re really cool. I’m gonna stop now because this letter is lame bye I like you.

You poking the dimple emerging on Peter’s cheek and he wrinkled his nose, cringing back. You kissed the little indent. He didn’t want you to ever stop kissing him. The little I like you placed at the end of most of the letters really sealed the deal.

Dear Y/N,

Aunt May is now dying to meet you. I’m so sorry. I hope you never actually meet her because she’ll probably ask you to marry me and hit on you on my behalf just because she’s afraid I won’t be able to do it myself. She thinks you’re awesome. It’s probably because you punched someone. May is very big on girl power. I think you’d like her. Maybe you could meet her one day? I don’t know why I’m asking you’re not actually reading this and it’s a rhetorical question so yeah. Did I mention I like you? You gave me your book to read today after I mentioned that the series was something I was interested in. Seriously, you just whipped out the whole series and told me to read it whenever. You have the nicest smile when you smile at me. Please stop having such a nice smile. It’s unfair for the rest of us and I keep liking you more and more. It’s getting out of hand. Ned thinks so, too.

“See, that was a situation where you shouldn’t have listened to Ned.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Should I keep reading?”

“I wouldn’t forgive you if you stopped.”

Dear Y/N,

I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s going to drive me mad. I like you so much it’s gonna suffocate me. Talking to you is the highlight of my day. My affection for you keeps growing and growing and growing as time passes us by and I don’t know what to do about because if I tell you I could either lose you or have the opportunity to be with the greatest person I’ve ever known besides my aunt and my uncle and Tony Stark, but if I don’t tell you I could lose you. Either way, I could potentially never be with you. And I can’t take the risk. Maybe I should just get over you. Maybe I’d be better off.

Without wait, Peter flipped to the final letter.

Dear Y/N,

It’s been awhile. Sorry about that. I thought I’d try to move on. I tried to like Liz, I figured I could at least try, but she doesn’t compare even though she’s very nice to me, too. She’s not you. You’re the only you. You’re Y/N and I like Y/N not Liz and you’re Y/N and I no longer know what I’m saying. Michelle told me you’re avoiding me because of Liz and that you think I like her and it’s making you upset. Don’t be upset with me. That’s the last thing I wan. I just wanna scream HEY Y/N YOU LOVELY HUMAN BEING YOU I LIKE YOU DON’T HATE ME BECAUSE I LIKE YOU AND YEAH I LIKE YOU DATE ME LOVE ME. I said love. I’m gonna go now. Bye.

Peter placed it atop the stack, and you added the tenth one there as well. He wasn’t going to be embarrassed about his feelings. They were right there, right in front of you, his heart already read aloud and listened to you and appreciated by you. The thought seized him and made him lace his fingers through yours, shy smile shy eyes that met yours before closing and kissing you, and everything about him was soft. Soft lips that slanted against yours and kissed you in the way that anyone in love would want to be kissed, with love and with passion and as if he’d never want to do anything else for the rest of his life. Soft hands that tentatively found their way to your hips but didn’t go beyond there, soft hands that caressed your face in that adoring way he did and wound in your hair. Soft eyes that locked on yours and didn’t look away when you both broke for a second, your breathing labored. His forehead pressed against yours. He didn’t want to pull away, ever.

May casually strolled into the room, and Peter pulled back quickly but with annoyance, raising his eyebrows at his aunt. She’d let the boy have his kiss, happy- so happy- that her Peter was getting what he deserved, but she was still the parental figure and parental figures had to be responsible. That’s what she had been told, anyway. “Sorry, honey, I just wanted to be introduced to that girl you were telling me about just, like, two days ago.” She said cheerfully, smiling adoringly at her nephew and then at you. You grinned back, standing up to introduce yourself.

“I’m Y/N, it’s really nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker,” you stuck your hand out, but May pulled you in for a hug instead.

“You can just call me May.” She gave you a squeeze, very motherly, and you missed Peter’s outstanding beam as he watched his two favorite girls embrace. May lightly shoved Peter’s shoulder, then said, “Peter, are you gonna invite her to stay for dinner or what?”

“Maaayyyy, let me get my own dates,” he pouted, ushering her out of the room. When she left, her laugh still ringing throughout the apartment, Peter leaned causally against his doorframe in a painful attempt to look cool. “So, Y/N, would you stay for dinner?” Before you could reply with an obvious, May’s voice called, “Or forever? You could stay forever. I’d be on board with that!”

Peter blushed, rushing out of the room to tell her to keep quiet, but you didn’t mind one bit. Staying with Peter Benjamin Parker forever didn’t sound like a bad life, not one bit.

You hadn’t left Peter’s apartment until nearly ten o’clock, and even then, he had rode the train home with you to prolong the night. He kissed you at your doorstep twice, once on the lips, swift and sweet, and then once on the forehead, tender and caring. Then, he left, continuously looking back at your grinning face so much that he walked straight into your mailbox and nearly squashed a stray cat that had been wandering by. You smiled all the way up to your bedroom, thinking about the adorable idiot that had ensnared your heart in his hands. That night, he wrote you another letter, this time with the intent of giving it to you.

He delivered it at your locker a week later (he had spent that week editing it over and over again, making sure his feelings were true), appearing just as you were shutting the metal doors with an envelope in his outstretched hand. He was fidgeting, yes, but he was excited, and you took the letter in your hands after leaping into his arms and sending him flying across the hallway. He didn’t fall, though, which was a plus.

Dear Y/N,

I’ve heard from a few people that I don’t know what love is because I’m fifteen and technically my brain hasn’t fully developed. Here’s the thing, though: I don’t care. There’s not one part of me that cares about what science says right now. They can say what they want. Maybe, just maybe, I don’t know what love is. Maybe I haven’t the slightest clue. But maybe is a word that means you can never really know and that everything just a possibility. So, there’s only a very slight possibility that I don’t know what love is, but there’s a greater possibility that I do. However, for now, I’ll tell you what I do know. I know that when you smile at me even for just a second I can feel my entire heart quicken in its beats. I feel my pulse racing. I know that when you look at me in that soft and sweet way you do I feel for just a second that nothing could ever possibly hurt me as long as you keep looking at me like that, forever. I know your laugh makes me blush and that when you kiss me I’m completely invincible. I know that every song on my playlist can connect back to you someway somehow and I know that the sound of your voice can make my whole day.

If that’s not love, then I have no clue what love is. I’m pretty sure it’s love, though. Correct me if I’m wrong, my love. I’m pretty sure that these feelings that flutter around my stomach day and night and make miss you even when you've only been gone for five minutes are love, because what else could they possibly be? I love you, and you’ve made the world, my world, a better place just by making yourself at home in my heart. So thank you for letting me love you and loving me in return. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you, just like I can’t repay you for punching Flash, but I plan on spending as long as you’ll allow me trying to do so.

Your very in love boyfriend who knows this is too sappy but doesn’t care,

Peter Benjamin Parker :)

He added the smiley face in, a quick little doodle, and sometimes you liked to joke that the smiley face was what made you know you were in love with him. It wasn’t. It was everything else about that wonderful boy. But it the smiley face was certainly adorable.

#peter parker imagine #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spider-man: homecoming #spider-man: homecoming imagine #spider-man imagine #spider-man x reader #spider-man #marvel imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #mcu

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years ago

Text

Our Story

Read the other chapters here.

Life goes on—quickly, greedily, and with a hunger that brings them to their knees. How to satiate it? How to stop it? They start journals (Claire), write more books (Jamie), do everything they can snag the veil with immortalized moments. If a memory is made concrete, they think—in writing or in a photograph—then perhaps time will have to move around it? Be forced to decelerate? (Time doesn’t care. About them, about anyone. The universal enemy.)

Claire is promoted to Chief of Staff, improves at Scrabble, develops a lump in her breast they believe to be cancer (it isn’t). Jamie learns how to sail without puking, gets a teaching job at Chapel Hill. He is less motivated by the idea of tenure—stability, money—than by the opportunity to stoke creative sparks in others just like him. In the fourth row sits a girl whose essays are colored by the loss of her mother, the grief of it found even in the gray eraser clouds. The boy behind her writes poems of spun sugar, overly romantic but endearing in their sincerity, and Jamie remembers this boy whenever he looks in the mirror.

Jamie grows a beard specifically to impress them. All of his professors concealed their weakening chins in thickets of hair, so why not him? The new aesthetic receives a positive response: Claire loves its tickle between her legs, his classes seem to find him wiser and mind less when his memory suddenly fails. (A common occurrence as of late, damn it all.) But when Jamie shaves for the summer, he feels strangely guilty—Bree’s expression, a scowl of disappointment in the reclaimed smoothness of his face. (The source of her sadness is revealed a few days later: she’d believed her father was Santa Claus.)

Jamie and Claire watch their bodies sag, widen. They watch their cholesterol, their caloric intake. There is the month-long agony of a shared paleo diet, an experiment which, come July, they decide is the dumbest thing they’ve ever done.

“No carbs!” Jamie crows in disbelief.

“No alcohol!” Claire hoots.

“Did I tell ye I cheated one day?”

“Jamie, you didn’t!”

“Aye, I ate Bree’s leftover macaroni,” he says. “Gobbled it right up, didna even use a fork.”

“Bloody traitor,” Claire says, and they laugh and laugh. Clink hearty glasses of wine as a toast to the old-age blessing of letting go and getting fat. (Jamie will repay Claire under the full moon, to redeem himself.)

For a while, it seems everyone they know gets divorced: a beloved colleague, a woman in Claire’s book club. When they hear the news, they praise their own luck, secretively locking hands before offering their sympathies. Such announcements inspire extra enthusiasm for the “Married” boxes on government forms. And saying things like, “My wife, Claire” or, “Have you met Jamie, my husband?” gives them a heart-swelling high. (Belatedly, they realize this shouldn’t be considered luck at all—but a given. This, their lasting marriage.)

It’s only after the Abernathy’s separation that worry niggles its way between them. They watch each other carefully, sousing out possible itches: a desire to flee to a foreign country, a lust for someone whose faults are more expertly hidden. (No marriage, even Jamie and Claire’s, is without its itches. The difference here is that they never want to scratch them.) Jamie is careful about putting the toilet seat down, and he allots himself just an hour of self-pity for every negative book review. Claire does not organize his messy office, respects the calculated disorganization of his shelves, even though the clutter makes her skin crawl. She keeps the AC off every night that summer, just so she can feel Jamie’s heat next to hers. A way of ensuring that he is still there, sweating himself into their sheets, which will remain unwashed for several days.

Their biggest fight is in September of 2014. One of Jamie’s students begins to show more interest in her professor than in her studies. There are bold advances, firm rejections, a vengeful letter that describes their trysts in explicit detail (strangely, Claire finds the Dear Mrs. Fraser and Xoxo Malva to be the cruelest things of all). All lies, of course, but still Jamie and Claire fight. Feelings of betrayal stew overnight, and Jamie is exiled from their bed like a misbehaving dog, Claire watching from the doorway as Jamie whimpers to the couch. Two days of silence pass—the dean notified, apologies made, and tears shed—before he finally barges into the bathroom, uninvited.

“Are ye going to leave me?” he asks Claire, very quiet for someone who nearly ripped the door from its hinges.

“Jamie, now is not a good time.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m peeing.”

“So ye canna pee in front of me now?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

But Jamie stays there, waiting, fetches toilet paper when Claire’s hand lights on the used-up cardboard roll. She flushes and stands. A child is born and dies a man in the minute it takes his wife to wash up.

“So?” he asks. “Are ye?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” she says.

They throw themselves into parenthood. Bree learns her ABCs, then her multiplication tables, then how to weep so that the dinosaur coloring book secures a spot in their shopping cart. Some innocence is lost after a public mounting: two petting zoo goats, vigorous thrusts, shameless bleats of ovine ecstasy. On the way home, “Where do babies come from?” is asked loudly from the backseat, though Jamie and Claire’s discomfort speaks louder from the front.

“From…from love,” Jamie stutters. “It’s something very special,” Claire adds—though a child is neither the guaranteed result, nor always the aim. They glance at each other, wondering if their daughter’s newfound awareness will require more discretion in the night. (There’s an element of danger to sex now, and the sneaky, moan-suppressing game of it reminds them of being young again.)

When they revisit the subject a few years later, they add such parental wisdom as: Trust is key; you must trust the person you consider doing It with. (Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter, they will love her anyways, does she know that?)

Actually, there needs to be trust and there needs to be protection. A rubber. A condom? Has Bree ever heard of a condom? (Yes.) What? How? Why is she aware of condoms if she is only eleven years old?

She is twelve years old, she is fourteen, she is sixteen going on thirty. Jamie and Claire spend hours looking for an elusive Pause button, the world moving at the same rapid-fire pace. 2015 becomes 2019, then 2022 in the blink of an eye.

They watch Bree join the volleyball team, break her wrist, break her heart. They watch her pinch whiteheads, lust after jocks and platinum hair dye, suck in her stomach before full-length mirrors (sometimes, this makes them want to cry; sometimes they do). They watch her as she descends the staircase in a pair of towering heels, a vision of silk and emerald and such astounding loveliness that they cannot fathom how their bodies made her.

This is the night of Bree’s senior prom, the winds of change in the air. It is ten hours before she will lose her virginity—a three-minute fumble inside a Toyota—to the boy now standing on the porch. (There will be trust and a condom and the first delirious onslaught of love.) The boy, named Roger, looks utterly stunned as Bree pins his boutonniere to his lapel, as if she has driven the needle straight through his tux, directly into his heart.

The couple is herded to stand beneath the sycamore, and to say, “Cheese!” (“Or gouda,” Jamie jokes, having settled quite comfortably into the routine of bad Dad humor.) Jamie cannot get a picture that isn’t blurry, and so it is Claire, with her steady surgeon’s hands, who manages the perfect shot. This is the photo that will hang on the fridge door, while the other—the one taken mid-parental transition—will make the family album. Roger laughing, Bree rolling her eyes at her father’s incompetence. It is a photo that will make Claire misty whenever she sees it. Even ten years later, when she glues their wedding photo beside it.

Still—life goes on. Birthdays, high school graduation, anniversaries. Bree gets into Harvard, Claire becomes addicted to RuPaul’s Drag Race, Jamie chops off his finger while julienning vegetables. Their Cocker Spaniel, Adso, lunges at the pinkish nub, mistaking it for a discarded bit of hot dog. (Thankfully, Claire rescues the finger, and it is transported in a baggy of ice—along with its owner—to the ER.)

Bree spends freshman winter term in Spain and calls home speaking the language, which only Jamie understands. They make it a joke to mislead Claire with outlandish stories, until she eventually catches on:

“Brianna got a tattoo of Roger’s face in Barcelona,” Jamie translates. “Full color, and at a verra reasonable price.”

“I know for a fact that the word ‘tattoo’ has not been used in this conversation,” Claire replies. “I’ve been watching Rosetta Stone, just FYI.”

“Weel, you’ll just have to see the proof of it, then.”

Doubt flickers across Claire’s face.

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yes, he’s lying, Mama,” Bree chimes over the speakerphone, and they both start laughing.

“You two are the worst.”

“But you’re the best, Sassenach,”

“Damn right,” she mutters.

November 2028. The year, somehow, is almost over. In one week Bree will come home for Thanksgiving, wearing a Harvard sweatshirt and a promise ring from Roger. Roger himself will tag along, and in the manner of all nervous boyfriends, he will stutter through Jamie’s questions, be all-too-grateful for the distraction of clearing plates. (“Don’t worry about that, I’ll get it!”)

Claire, away on a 3-week conference, will be back as well. She will serve the turkey with a glint in her eye, daring someone to note how the side dishes seem suspiciously store-bought. The table will only offer their effusive praise, lubricating the dry turkey with the chemical-laden gravy, feeding Adso the scraps they couldn’t get down themselves.

Until then, Jamie has the house to himself. He has not been alone like this since the early 2000′s, and his mind becomes unsettlingly untethered by the solitude. He goes hunting, fishing, hiking. He leaves the front door wide open, pours Adso too much food. He forgets his tackle box in the woods and doesn’t realize it’s missing until the sun has sunk. Tomorrow, he thinks.

He attempts to write his story for The New Yorker, but he can’t seem to parse his thoughts into sentences. They buzz around his head like aimless bees, and he almost wishes for a sting, a pricking back to his eloquent senses. (Where is that damn outline he made a month ago?)

Like a teenager, he goes to his bedroom at 3PM, intending to jack off his loneliness. He tries to summon an image of Claire from the last time they fucked (18 days ago!), but there’s nothing clear enough to get him hard. Just a pale throat, the vaguest suggestion of a flower. He resits his phone—he’s called three times in the past six hours—and watches a football game instead.

The days go on. Adso watches him, alert, as if he’s waiting for the final unraveling, the arrival of a ghost. Jamie starts five books, returns them to shelves before he finishes. He prepares extravagant meals, stores the bulk of them in tupperware. He eats, he drinks, he sleeps.

Then, in the middle of the night—a smell. It sits on him, pressing down like an angry fist. He sits up. A searing pain that keeps his eyes closed. A sudden constriction of his lungs. An alarm going off and a dog’s yip, the roar of them traveling through a fog, a—smoke?

There is smoke. Jamie falls out of bed and runs, blindly, but there is only heat where the door should be. He feels heavy; he feels light. He feels as if he is rising high above the house and that he is falling down, far down, beneath it. He plans an escape, but there is no synergy between his mind and his movements. He pauses.

Claire. Where is Claire? If he could just open his eyes, if could just breathe properly, then he would call for her, and—

He is on the floor now. When did he get here? How did he get here? The carpet is soft under his cheek, a pillow to go with the blanket that suffocates him. Perhaps he’ll simply sleep and wait for the nightmare—for that is surely what this is—to end. A dream, only a dream.

But he can’t just lie still! There was someone else, right? That name from a few minutes (hours?) ago is on the very tip of his tongue. He wants to yell it into the screen of smoke, but a surge of memory tells him to conserve his breath. Whoever it is, isn’t here. Whoever it is, wouldn’t hear. (How frustrating it is to feel such desperation for an unknown.)

It’s so hot now, unbearably hot. It reminds him of something. Stories. A boy who sucked the spirit right out of his mother, entered the world in a stolen blaze of fire. Another woman whose hands licked him up and down, the most exquisite burning.

There are sirens. There are shouts. Bright beams flash through the black cloud around him. He raises an arm to admire their light on his skin, deceptively playful in their colorful dance and silent song. Pretty, Jamie thinks, and because the familiarity is a comfort, he lets it take him under.

And just like that, in a wash of red and blue—life stops.

#our story au #;mod liv #only 2-3 more to go eeeeep!

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