#but with appealing enough packaging to make many more people accept or ignore it

[thedupshadove]

A question for those among my followers who were alive and passably politically-aware in the 1980s; was there at all a sense that Reagan might try to stop the 1984 or 1988 elections from taking place?

[fuzzyporcupine]

lead me with your hands tied | chapter 5

chapters:

FULL - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

rating: explicit

word count: 10,592

summary:

In the midst of a crumbling kingdom at war, Levi Ackerman is commissioned by King Jaeger to paint a portrait of his overzealous son.

chapter 5:

The tea was cold before Levi could enjoy it. He found the pot sitting neatly atop a wooden desk near his bed, a white porcelain cup perched beside it. To be fair, it surprised Levi to see the set had been dropped off in his room. He figured that Petra would deprive him of the tea considering his brash behavior back in the studio. She had taken the tea with her after she exited the workshop, leaving Levi open-mouthed and speechless at her words.

They were hard to swallow. Repeated endlessly in his mind until he was absolutely positive that the sentence would be permanently ingrained into his thoughts.

“He is not his father.”

The statement was hard to believe, especially after the prince’s pompous display. Even more so knowing who produced the bastard. Petra was probably ignorant to the truth, he supposed. Of course, the woman defended Eren Jaeger. She bloody worked for him. His lips pursed tightly as he yanked the white cravat from his neck. All these exasperating thoughts were giving him a damn headache. He knew that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and the fucking maid wasn’t going to change his mind.

Levi glanced down at the cravat wrapped tightly in his clenched fist.

It just figured that the prince didn’t even need to open his boorish mouth to infuriate Levi.

The stranglehold slowly loosened around the cloth, revealing a set of unattractive wrinkles set deep into the fabric. Levi’s brow ticked angrily at the sight. Ironing was always such a chore, the tool heavy and clunky to work. He was used to light brushes, not weighted iron. It was the reason why he took such great care to not crease his clothing. However, now it seemed as if he would have to swallow his pride and pay the housekeeper a visit. That is if she would be willing to even entertain his presence. He really did have to work on his tact. Though that feat was easier said than done. Levi was a terrible conversationalist. And even worse at controlling his sharp tongue. That much had been made apparent by the way Eren stormed out of the studio. Levi faintly wondered if the prince confided the embarrassment to his father. Eren appeared way too prideful for that, however, as Petra so plainly put it, “He is not as you have constructed in your mind, sir.”

A scoff broke bitterly across his lips.

No, Eren Jaeger was exactly as he’d constructed. Arrogant and spoiled. Completely unaware of the detriment his goddamned father had brought upon the kingdom. So, an idiot, as well.

Indeed, the people of Shinganshina had a prime package in store for them after the king finally croaked.

He deposited the cravat onto the desk before his anger decided to ravage more of the cloth. Heavy-lidded eyes panned to the teapot still resting on top of the mahogany.

“Fuck it,” he breathed, turning sharply to exit the room.

A cup of cold tea just wasn’t going to cut it tonight.

--

The air of the tavern smelled like a rancid combination of stale beer and bile. Levi’s nose wrinkled in disgust as he stepped around a patron snoozing soundly face-first on the muddy floor. Hoots and hollers of drunken idiots sounded off in multiple directions. Many were dancing poorly in the center of the alehouse, men and women linking arms and twirling in stumbling circles. Others could be seen banging their fists on the cheap wooden tables or clinking together full tankards of beer.

It was a complete shithole, but a welcome change of scenery from the gaudy decor of the castle keep. Even if the majority of the customers were Shinganshina forces.

He did his best to ignore the bubbling unease stirring in his gut as he walked to the bar. In the back of his mind, he knew this was a horrid plan. Being in a room with this many soldiers did nothing but cause his pulse to race and his blood to boil. Levi tried to reason that a drink would surely help cloud his mind well enough to forget about the guilt. At least for one night.

“Mr. Ackerman!” The booming voice cut through the air like a beacon, and despite the knowledge of knowing just exactly who that call belonged to, Levi still turned his head. The general stood from his place at the bench, a large palm extended upward into a wave. Levi’s face twisted into a grimace, lip curling as he regarded the blond man. Instead of replying, Levi promptly ignored the caller, finding the thought of nursing a terrible drink much more appealing than the abysmal company.

He slid into one of the empty stools placed sporadically in front of the bar. Pointy elbows lifted to rest atop the counter before he noticed the number of miscellaneous substances splattered across the surface.

Truly a complete shithole, he thought.

“Irene, give my friend here a heavy pour.” Levi huffed irritably as he turned his head towards the man. He expected General Smith to pick up on the hint. Weren’t military officers supposed to be good at reading situations?

“I don’t need your coin,” he spoke, tone sharp and unwavering.

“Don’t be so sour, Mr. Ackerman. It’s impolite to deny such a small act of hospitality.” The man finished the sentence with a gleam of shiny straight teeth. All of which Levi wanted to ram his fists firmly through.

“Hospitality,” Levi mockingly spit the word back at the general. Thought about the people locked outside the heavy iron gates. All the good that hospitality got them, huh?

“I would assume a man like you from Mitras would understand the meaning of the word.”

Levi grit his teeth, “Listen, you fucking-”

“Ah, thank you, Irene.” Erwin passed a single gold coin to the portly woman as he reached for the full tankard. Foam sloshed over the edge and splashed loudly onto the countertop as the man slid the cup over the Levi. He caught it easily in his palm, fingers wrapping around the lukewarm mug. Thin lips fitted snugly around the brim as he took a swig, a cringe immediately making itself visible as he swallowed down the liquid. “It’s not exactly His Majesty’s wine, huh?”

Levi narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t some fancy noble who only lived off drink that tasted of sweet berries and flowers. He took another gulp.

“It tastes like damn horse piss.”

“That’s a kind description,” Erwin laughed, bringing his own mug up to his lips regardless. Levi hummed before returning to his drink. The unease in his gut had returned tenfold sitting next to the general. It felt like he was walking a very thin line of treason and camaraderie as he remained perched in the uncomfortable barstool, neither of which he felt very keen on exploring. “Why did you accept this commission, Mr. Ackerman?”

The question was a trick, it had to be. Some sort of convoluted way of getting Levi to admit secret desires that he’d been able to keep safely stored away inside his head. A manipulative query from an even more manipulative man. However, he was not some gossiping wench who spent their days fantasizing about the next public execution.

A tight sigh blew out from his nose, rippling the beer in the tankard. “The coin.”

“Hah! And you say you didn’t need mine? Why, Mr. Ackerman, I’m insulted.”

His nostrils flared hotly as he turned to the man. “I don’t need the coin of some military pig who slaughters innocents on the king’s orders,” he whispered lowly. Levi’s eyes widened slightly with the admission.

Shit.

At first, Levi almost believed that Erwin didn’t hear him. That his words were lost to the drunken merriment within the tavern. However, when the general’s expression darkened he knew the insult had been heard loud and clear.

“You have an eye for war, Mr. Ackerman?” Erwin’s voice sounded different now. Cold. Calculated. It was enough to bring the hairs on the back of Levi’s neck to a peak.

His voice remained steadfast as he spoke, “I never said that.” But he said enough. Enough to out himself as one who openly detested the king’s commands.

However, Erwin continued as if Levi hadn’t said a word. “Everyone thinks you are from Mitras, correct? It’s a fine town. Lovely people. However, I’m almost positive that Mitras has been wholly unaffected by the war.” Levi’s throat started to tighten as his grip around the mug strengthened. “No mass casualties besides the fools who throw themselves willingly onto a soldier’s blade. So, where are you really from, Levi?” The breath sucked into the bottom of his lungs was short and sharp. Felt as if he had been doused with a bucket of icy water as cool, blue eyes analyzed his expression.

Swallowing the ever-rising fear clawing at his chest, Levi schooled his face into a neutral look. “I’d think you’d worry more about your soldiers shitting their pants from all this pig swill.” He swiveled his body out of the barstool, boots landing flatly in the dirt with a satisfying smack. Abandoning his nearly full mug, Levi resented that this night would surely end with him sipping cold tea instead of welcoming a much-needed buzz. Suddenly, a hand wrapped securely around his wrist. Instinctively, Levi wretched his limb away, the grip all too familiar to that of manacles attached to an iron chain.

“Do not fear, Mr. Ackerman. I believe our paths may be more linear than I originally suspected.” Levi could only offer a narrowed glare as the man vacated the seat and returned to the rowdy group of soldiers who cheered eagerly at Erwin’s return.

Bunch of bloody neanderthals, he thought with a sneer.

--

Despite it being the middle of summer, the air had taken quite a chill once the sun receded below the horizon. As it was now, Levi shivered once stepping foot outside the tavern walls. The walk back to the keep was not long, but he was positive that his bones would be brittle by the end of it. Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Levi began his march back to his chambers.

He’d only made it a few feet before a familiar shout managed to draw his attention to a dark corner shadowed by hay bales and wagons. Levi had never been a particularly curious boy. Always knew to leave well enough alone when well enough could send a knife between your ribs. This trait followed him into adulthood, and it had served him well thus far. So, it was completely perplexing as to why his movements began to drift toward the sound.

Pressed up against the wall was a woman, her dress lifted scandalously against thick, voluptuous thighs. Legs were tangled securely behind the man’s back, jolting as he moved against her. The tailcoat thankfully protected the man’s modesty as Levi glanced down to spot breeches bundled gracelessly around tanned ankles.

Levi knew he should leave. This didn’t exactly look like an intimate moment being shared between lovers, more like two souls just trying to enjoy release behind the courtyard stables. However, he was frozen. Eyes glued to the way the moonlight reflected off the woman’s upturned neck. The fingers digging bruises into the soft skin. Levi couldn’t look away.

Maybe it was the beauty behind the act. The delicate lines that he could envision painted on a canvas. All sweeping motions that portrayed an act of love and not some meaningless roll in the hay.

“Hey! What are you doing?” A feminine voice yelled out, breaking his imaginings as his eyes refocused on the sight. The woman looked horrified, hands adjusting the ruffles in her dress as she glanced at him with disdain. “You absolute cretin. Sneaking around the courtyard like this.”

Levi was unperturbed by her comments, gaze hardening under her stare. He’d heard much worse in his lifetime, been called far crueler things. “Your squawking was hard to ignore. I thought a poor beast had been mangled behind the stables. Turns out I was only half wrong.”

The woman’s face reddened, mouth opening and closing like a fish being tossed on dry land.

“Don’t mind the artist, dear.” Still facing the wall, the prince adjusted himself, deft hands fastening the white breeches. When Eren turned around, it was with a sinful smirk that caused his jaw to tighten and palms to sweat. “He’s probably never fucked a woman before and was curious to see how it was done.”

Levi’s teeth clenched so hard that he was sure the bones would break.

Eren stepped forward, a lecherous look in the emerald stare. Despite the man’s best efforts, the clothes were still disheveled. A plum waistcoat was hanging open, the cloth shirt beneath it only buttoned halfway. His gaze betrayed him as Eren closed in, roaming across the exposed skin of the man’s upper chest. Tracing the lines from collarbone to abdominals. Levi swallowed hard lest he began to look like the wanton woman left against the mossy brick wall. Once the prince reached Levi, a hand reached out. Those nimble fingers he had watched skirt up the side of the canvas now latched themselves to his chin. “Am I wrong?” Eren’s breath reeked of booze and the man’s eyes were slow to focus.

“You’re drunk,” Levi muttered, making a half-assed attempt to free himself from the prince’s grip. The man just squeezed tighter, and Levi imagined the unsightly bruise that would surely appear the next morning. Eren was lucky. If not for his royal blood, Levi would have already broken his wrist and sent him home wailing. Nevertheless, Levi let the boy king manhandle his face to meet a glazed expression.

“I would teach you. If you begged.” The confession was whispered into the night, darkly sweet and melting into his ears. A toothy smile spread across Eren’s face as Levi felt heat begin to extend across his cheeks.

“You think too highly of yourself, Your Highness,” Levi sneered.

The smile didn’t fade from the prince’s expression. Instead, a thumb lifted to trace Levi’s bottom lip, as that lustful gaze flitted down to his mouth.

“Perhaps you’re right, artist.” Then the hold was gone, the feeling of those long, nimble fingers leaving fire in their wake. The prince turned away, unsteady steps taking him back to the waiting woman. Eren wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they began to walk in the direction of the tavern. A hand was nonchalantly thrown up into the wind. “Get a good night’s rest, artist. I shall see you bright and early if my stomach allows it.”

Levi watched as they moved further and further away until the pair disappeared behind the tavern doors.

Left alone in the chilly summer breeze, Levi felt resolute in his thinking that, indeed, Eren Jaeger was just like his father.

[squirmymochi]

meet & greet - fukase (vocaloid) omorashi

commission for a lovely customer who asked for fukase vocaloid omorashi! this was a super fun fic to work on, so i hope you all enjoy!!

read on ao3

***

“How long till the doors open?” Fukase asks, glancing down at his phone to check the time. The meet and greet is supposed to start around noon and go all the way till three, maybe even longer considering the amount of tickets they’d sold over the past couple of weeks. Fukase isn’t exactly excited to get swarmed by the hoard of pushy, grabby fangirls and fanboys he knows he’ll have to deal with, but there are always those few kind, respectful fans that make the hours of sitting and signing and taking photos bearable.

“You’ve got five minutes,” his manager tells him, holding out a cold bottle of water. “Better drink up. You’re gonna have to do a lot of talking today. We basically sold out of tickets, and now that we’re offering video packages I’m guessing people are gonna have you saying all kinds of stuff to the camera.”

Fukase sighs, reaching out to accept the water bottle. There’s still a few drops of water clinging to the outside, and the coolness against his skin makes him shiver. He uncaps it quickly, tilting his head back and taking a few deep swigs before he comes up for air. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he’d been until now, and by the time his manager is calling for the doors to open he’s already downed almost all of the bottle.

Soon enough, a crowd of loud, excited fans is ushered into the main room, forming a long line that wraps around the room like a snake. Fukase eyes the throng warily as he enters from behind the photo area, pursing his lips when the screams grow louder as the fans see him. He hears calls of “Fukase, I love you!” and “You’re the best, Fukase-san!” and smiles politely as he sits down at the signing table.

The smile melts off his face as he feels a twinge in his abdomen, a careful reminder from his bladder of all the drinks he’d had in the morning, not to mention the water he’d just drank minutes ago. Shoot, he thinks, glancing down at himself and squeezing his legs together once before relaxing again. I should’ve asked to go before the meet and greet started. He hasn’t gone to the bathroom since he woke up that morning, and even that feels like forever ago.

You’ll be fine, he tells himself as the line begins to move forward, the first nervous fan clutching his poster as he makes his way to the signing table. It’s only three hours. Just try not to drink anything else and you’ll make it through.

His manager, standing at the side of the table next to Fukase, gives his chair a gentle kick as the first fan approaches. Fukase snaps back to reality, trying to smile and ignore the twinges in his bladder. “Hey there,” he says, watching the boy’s face light up at his voice. “How are you?”

“F-Fine!” the boy exclaims in a high-pitched voice, mouth a wavery line. “I’m a big fan, Fukase-san! It’s an honor to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Fukase says, sliding the poster across the table and using one of the pens on the table to sign his name. “Did you want to take a picture?”

The boy nods vigorously, excitement seeping out of him. Fukase grits his teeth as he stands up to walk to the photobooth--he hadn’t realized how often he’d have to stand up and sit down to take pictures. He sends a quick glare at the almost finished bottle of water on the table before looking towards the camera, sticking out his tongue and doing his signature smirk before sending the first kid off with a wave and a pat on the back.

The next person in line is another shy one, this time a girl with Fukase’s newest CD in her hands. “Nice to meet you, Fukase-san!” she says, setting the album down in front of him carefully. “I love your music!”

“Thank you for your support,” Fukase says with a quick smile, scrawling his name across the front of the CD. “I’m glad you like my music.”

The girl is practically vibrating with excitement as she poses with him for a photo, holding up a peace sign as she does. Fukase shifts his weight from one side to another as he waits for the photographer to give the OK, flashing the girl one last smile before he heads back to his seat. He presses his knees together subconsciously, hunching his back a little bit to take some of the strain off his bladder. It’s not near a dire situation yet, but he’d still prefer to get this meet and greet over before it becomes one.

Surely it won’t get that bad within three hours, though. And even if it does, he can always ask for a bathroom break in the middle of the session. He saw a bathroom on his way into the building, so he knows exactly where it is, and surely his fans wouldn’t mind waiting a few extra minutes while he relieves himself.

He stores the thought in the back of his mind as the next fan approaches, turning all of his attention to the crowd. It’ll be over in no time, he tells himself as he signs the next CD, the girl in front of him squealing with delight. For now, you just have to wait.

Waiting, as it turns out, is not easy when you really, really have to pee.

Fukase is struck with this thought at the same time that his bladder contracts, causing him to slam his legs together and shift his hips from side to side. His hand is clenched into a fist on top of the table to keep it from darting down to his crotch for a quick squeeze--there are too many fans around, and if a photo of him holding himself got out to the public, it would put too large a stain on his career.

“Next in line!” his manager shouts, and Fukase forces himself to straighten his back and relax his arms, trying his best to appear normal. He watches the next girl in line step forward confidently, a large, glossy poster outstretched in one hand. She lays it across the table with a flourish, hitting Fukase with a glittering smile.

“Nice to meet you, Fukase-kun!” she says with a laugh, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I’m a fan of yours.”

“Thank you,” Fukase grits out, grabbing a pen from the jar and uncapping it with shaky hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“My name is Aina,” the girl says, holding out a hand. Fukase drops the capped pen to the table and grabs Aina’s hand weakly, giving it a single, jerky shake before letting go.

“Nice to meet you, Aina,” he repeats, going back to signing the poster. “Did you want a pho-”

“You know, I had a chance to meet you before,” Aina interrupts. “A couple years ago, actually! But I was totally sick and couldn’t make it to the event. I’m so glad I snagged these tickets so I could come meet you for reals!”

“I’m glad too,” Fukase says, shifting his weight in his chair as he speaks. It’s nice that you got to meet me, but I’d appreciate it if you’d hurry up! he adds in his head, crossing his legs at the ankle and leaning forward on the table.

“That poster’s been hanging on my wall ever since your debut,” Aina tells him, gesturing to the signed poster. “I thought I’d never get a chance to have your signature on it, but look at me now!”

“Yeah,” Fukase agrees, nodding tensely. He’s had conversations like these with fans before, though he’s never had to pee while waiting for them to finish up their thoughts. It makes the whole experience that much more unpleasant, though he knows his manager would kill him if he ends up looking disinterested.

“Well, should we take a photo together?” Aina suggests at last, gesturing to the photobooth. “You know, to commemorate the occasion.”

“Of course,” Fukase practically sighs, though the idea of standing and posing doesn’t sound too appealing to him right now. Regardless, he forces himself to his feet, trying to hide his grimace as gravity tugs on his bladder and makes him want to squirm on the spot. He takes short, jagged steps towards the photobooth as Aina waits for him, looking into the camera with as good a smile as he can manage while she poses next to him.

“Could you move your legs a bit further apart, Fukase-san?” the photographer asks, gesturing to Fukase’s lower half. Reluctantly, Fukase moves his legs a bit further apart, tensing his whole body when a small wave of need hits him. Aina doesn’t seem to notice, posing happily next to him as the photographer takes a picture with her phone.

“Thank you for your support,” Fukase says, taking a step back towards the table, but Aina holds out a hand to stop him before he can sit again.

“Look how cute it turned out!” she exclaims, holding the phone out for him to see. “You look amazing as ever, Fukase-kun!”

Fukase glances at the photo, cringing internally as he takes in his awkward stance. Hopefully Aina won’t put the picture out on social media, he thinks, but before he can sit down again something else catches his eye.

Oh, fuck, he thinks as Aina moves her phone away, cold fear settling into his bones. It’s one in the afternoon? How has it only been an hour?!

“Next!” his manager calls from beside him, but Fukase barely notices as the next fan approaches. If his need has gotten this bad in the span of an hour, and he’s got to be here all the way until three, there’s no way he’ll make it without a bathroom break. He’s about to whisper his request to his manager, but the next boy in line is already at the table, waiting with a sign board tucked under his arm.

“H-Hello,” Fukase says, his nerves a little frayed still. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Daisuke,” the boy says, sounding almost… bored? “But don’t sign it with my name--I’m here to get a gift for my sister.”

He doesn’t even listen to my music? Fukase thinks, trying his best not to let his annoyance show. He’s not one to flaunt a big ego, but this event was supposed to be for his fans. Even if this boy is just here to get a quick signature, that’s one more body he has to deal with before he can slip away and pee, and he already feels more desperate than he’d ever dared to be in front of his fans. He shifts his weight forward, leaning heavily on the table as the boy slides the sign board in front of him.

“Well, what’s your sister’s name?” he asks, doing his best to sound calm and reasonable. If his manager catches him being rude to fans, he’ll never hear the end of it.

“Her name is Makoto,” the boy says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “She has, like, all of your CDs.”

“That’s great to hear,” Fukase says, his breath hitching at the end as he’s hit with a small surge of desperation. He pushes his arms into the table and lifts his ass barely an inch off the seat, tensing his legs and locking them at the knee as he finishes signing. “It was nice to-”

“I want to get a picture, too,” the boy cuts him off, and Fukase feels a flare of anger inside his stomach. What the hell? This kid doesn’t even like my music, and now he wants a picture?

“Of course,” Fukase’s manager says, speaking for him when he takes too long to answer. “Is it for your sister? We could have Fukase hold up the sign board and record a video message to make it special.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” the boy says dismissively. Fukase balls his hands into fists, letting out a long, slow breath to keep his temper in check. His bladder chooses that moment to contract again, and without thinking he reaches under the table to grab himself.

The relief of pressure against his dick for the first time in an hour is heavenly, his need automatically reduced to a dull nagging feeling. He sighs out loud, taking a second to enjoy the outside help, but his relief is short lived. Both his manager and the boy are staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to head for the photobooth.

“Sorry,” Fukase says, not feeling very sorry at all, and reluctantly lets go of his crotch to grab onto the sign board and push himself into a standing position. The boy follows him in front of the backdrop (though each step Fukase takes feels like a mini earthquake inside his abdomen) and stands blankly next to him while the photographer sets up.

“What should I say to her?” he asks the boy, gripping the sides of the signboard with white knuckles. God, he feels so full, his whole body tensed and locked, and now he has to appear normal on video to make this jerk’s sister happy. He hopes he doesn’t look as desperate as he feels, though he can tell from the looks he’s getting that it’s clear something’s wrong.

“Not sure,” the boy says, uncaring. Fukase resists the urge to snap at him, tapping his foot against the ground impatiently. Standing still is hard.

“Recording in three, two, one,” the photographer says, holding out the phone. Fukase forces his usual smile back onto his face, holding up the sign board for his fans to see. “H-Hi, Makoto,” he says, his voice wavering a bit. “Thank you for, ah, being one of my best fans!”

He’s hit by a sudden urge in the middle of his sentence, his bladder reminding him that it’s not happy with being ignored. He bends forward at the waist, crossing one leg over the other and holding the board a bit lower, trying to hide his awkward pose. “This is F-Fukase, thanking you for your love and sssupport!”

He hisses the last word, his nose scrunching up as he shifts his hips back and forth, fighting his need as subtly as he can. His face grows red as a couple of his fans shoot him wary looks, trying to cover up his mistake with a wider-than-usual smile, and thanks whatever deity is out there when the photographer gives the all clear.

“Thanks,” the boy says, taking his phone back and heading for the exit. Fukase shoots a displeased glance at the back of his head before hurrying back to his seat. He leans over to his manager, who holds a finger up to the next girl in line.

“What is it, Fukase?” she asks in a whisper, meeting his gaze. “Something wrong?”

“Can we take a break for a minute?” Fukase asks, matching her quiet tone. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Is it an emergency?”

“Well… No,” he answers, opening and closing his legs ever so slightly. “I just-”

“Then no, we can’t,” his manager tells him, much to his dismay. “You’re going through the crowd much slower than usual today. Maybe those custom videos weren’t such a good idea.”

“But I need to-”

“Fukase,” she says sharply, “I’m serious. We have to get through this crowd as quickly as possible. Do you want to make the fans at the end of the line wait?”

“No, but-”

“No buts. Let me know when it’s an emergency. Until then, keep signing and posing, and smile, okay?”

“Ah… Okay,” Fukase sighs, running his lip between his teeth. Sure, it’s not an emergency just yet, but he really doesn’t think he can make it another two hours without some serious damage to his stage costume. But as tiring as these events can be, he doesn’t want to disappoint his fans, and he knows that making them wait while he goes to the bathroom would probably put them in a bad mood. So he resigns himself to his fate, crossing his legs once again as the next person in line is waved forward.

It feels like hours have gone by by the time the clock hits two, and yet Fukase can’t recall a single name he’d heard or a single thing he’d signed. At this point his focus is directed entirely to not leaking into his costume, and not dancing around wildly while he records his messages and takes photos with fans. He’s already gotten enough weird looks for taking too long to get to the photobooth and letting a few embarrassing sounds slip during conversation, and now that that last bottle of water has hit him, he can barely even tell what he’s saying to his fans anymore.

“Fukase-san?” the boy in front of him says, possibly for the second or third time. “Are you alright? You’re sweating.”

“S-Sorry,” Fukase replies shakily, wiping at his brow with an unsteady hand. “Hot in here. Uh, did you want to take a p-picture, too?”

“If you’re not feeling up to it, it’s alright,” the boy says sympathetically. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“He’s feeling fine,” Fukase’s manager speaks up with a wave of her hand. “I’ll have the staff bring the temperature down.”

“Wait-” Fukase starts, but his manager is already heading for the door in search of a building manager. Shit! he thinks to himself, his whole body tensed and trembling. How am I supposed to take a break now?

“It’s really alright, Fukase-san,” the boy says understandingly. “You don’t need to strain yourself.”

“It’s, ah, fine,” Fukase assures him. Sure, he feels like he’s going to explode any minute now, and the only thing he can think about is the hot, pulsing need to piss, but he wants to do this. The boy had an old copy of his first ever album--he’s a true fan, and he deserves to be treated well.

He manages to stand and hobble over to the photobooth, though he’s bent at an odd angle the whole time. The boy stands next to him, glancing over with worry a couple of times, but he seems happy enough to get his picture taken. “Thank you so much!” he says with a smile as the photographer hands his phone back.

“Of c-course,” Fukase says with a strained smile, returning to his seat as quickly as he can. The minutes in between photos where he gets to sit down are doing wonders to keep his pants dry, but every time he has to stand back up it feels like his desperation doubles. He’s never had to go this bad in his life, he’s sure of it. As soon as his manager gets back, he’s making a break for it, because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to make it another five minutes in the state he’s in.

He’s about to call the next girl up, but she bounds up to his table without prompting. As soon as Fukase sees her his heart sinks into his stomach, dread overtaking him. He knows exactly what kind of fan this girl is, and he’s not ready to deal with it.

“Fukase-chan, I love you so much!” the girl exclaims, clapping her hands together excitedly. “OMG, I’m literally gonna die!”

“Please don’t,” Fukase says, his eyebrows drawing together in pain. He presses his thighs together and reaches under the table as subtly as he can, giving his dick a quick squeeze. (It barely helps at this point, but he has to do something to keep himself sane.)

“Can you write a special message on this?” the girl asks, setting down a large, glossy poster. “Write ‘Dear Hana, thank you for being the best fan in the world. Love, Fukase-chan’!”

Like hell I’m writing that! Fukase thinks, groaning in pain for more reasons than one. “Actually, we aaahh- aren’t doing special m-messages, ah, today,” he stammers. “Sorry.”

“Can’t you make an exception for me?” the girl asks, batting her eyelashes at him sweetly. “I paid a lot of money to be here, after all!”

“Fine,” Fukase snaps, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his forehead. He grabs a pen and uncaps it in a rush, scrawling the horrible, disgusting message across the bottom of the poster. It’ll be faster if you just go along, he thinks, still angry as he finishes writing. He stops short of calling himself “Fukase-chan”, though he’s almost distracted enough to write it.

“Eee!!” the girl squeals, jumping up and down. Fukase clenches his teeth, his hands fisted on top of the table as he shifts and shimmies his hips around the seat. God, he’s so close to giving up and bolting out of the room, though he’s not sure he’d even make it to the bathroom he’d seen earlier. No, he thinks, I have to make it! Just hold on a little bit longer, and then you’ll get your relief.

He feels a jet of pee shoot to the tip of his dick and gasps audibly as he slams his hands down on the table, crossing his legs and squeezing every muscle in his body to keep the piss from getting out. His face feels hot and damp, and his eyes are watering, and yet the girl in front of him is still painfully oblivious.

“Let’s take a picture, Fukase-chan!” she insists, grabbing one of his hands and pulling with all her might. Fukase gasps once again as he’s forced to his feet, his legs snapping together and bending at the knees as gravity pulls on his poor, overfilled bladder. No no no! he begs, hunching over and pressing his hand into his thigh, barely keeping himself from burying it in his crotch.

“Don’t be shy!” the girl insists, giving him another small tug. Fukase has no choice but to stumble after her as she drags him to the photobooth, physically shaking from the effort it’s taking to keep the ocean of piss from flooding his pants right then and there. He yanks his hand out of hers with a glare, though it’s weakened by his intense desperation.

“Ah, ah…” he pants as the girl hands her phone to the photographer. “Please, make it quick.”

“Oh, don’t worry, silly!” the girl exclaims, and to Fukase’s horror, she reaches out to wrap her arms around his middle and squeeze him tight.

The pressure against his bladder is absolute torture, an unbearable wave of desperation overtaking him as Hana squishes his abdomen. He lets out a strangled cry and breaks away from her hold, whipping around for some semblance of privacy and pawing desperately at his crotch until he gets a good hold of his dick. He squeezes his palm around the tip, but despite his iron grip, a long, hot spurt of piss dribbles out.

Fukase lets out a long, pained moan, stomping his feet on the ground and shaking his hips around as he tries to cut off the stream. It feels absolutely horrible to deny himself relief for a second longer, but he manages to stem the flow before it hits the floor.

“Fukase-chan, what’s wrong?” the girl asks, a hand reaching out to rub his back. Fukase jerks away from her touch, causing another spurt of piss to jet into his pants. His hands are covered in sticky, warm liquid, and he knows there’s a huge stain on his clothes, but he doesn’t even care anymore. All he cares about is getting to a bathroom asap, no matter what he has to do.

He breaks away from the girl, darting through the crowd with his hands buried between his legs, dribbles of piss escaping him every couple of steps. He hears gasps of shock and disgust all around him, but the crowd is too thick to tell where they’re coming from, and he doesn’t care either way.

He moves this way and that, trying his hardest to get to the main exit that leads to the hall with the bathrooms, but he’s not looking where he’s going, and before he knows it he’s running headfirst into a figure entering the room. Fukase stumbles backwards, the impact running through his whole body, just shocking enough to break his hold.

“Ah, ah! Ohhhh…” Fukase moans as warm, sticky urine floods his hands, running straight through his saturated pants and pattering onto the ground. His legs shake under him as he releases hours worth of piss, his head tipping back in pure and utter relief. It feels heavenly to let go after the stress of holding for so long, and yet he still feels the shame of wetting himself in front of his fans through it all…

Oh. Oh no.

Fukase’s eyes snap open, the sound of urine hitting urine deafening over the shocked silence of the crowd. His stomach sinks as he takes in the hundreds of pairs of eyes boring into him, but despite it all he can’t cut off his stream. No, he thinks, no no no! They can’t- I can’t- This can’t be happening!

At last, his stream tapers off, a few stray spurts fighting their way out before he’s finally empty. Every single person in the room is staring, and more than a few people have their phones out, recording the whole ordeal. He feels his face heat up in shame, and yet he’s completely frozen.

“Alright, clear the room,” his manager says, picking herself up from where he’d bumped into her on her way back. “Security, you’re on damage control. I need those videos deleted before they hit the internet. Fukase-san, let’s get you to the back room for some clean-up.”

Fukase snaps out of it, scurrying towards the back as fast as he can to avoid the eyes following him. His legs are cold and wet with aging piss, and he smells like a public restroom, and he’s sure that no matter what damage control security can do, the rumors will still spread like wildfire.

He covers his face with his piss-soaked hands and closes his eyes, hoping against hope that he’s just dreaming. But deep down, he knows that this is real, and that he’s never going to be able to live it down. This, he decides, angry tears springing to his eyes, was the worst meet and greet out of them all by far.

And that really is saying something.

[gastricpierrot]

Title: Heartbeat

Series: Promare

Pairing: GaloLio

Rating: T

Summary:

Lio turns himself in after the final battle, the start of a new life he must get used to.

This is a story of how Lio Fotia navigates through the days that follow, learns that support comes in more forms than he’s ever familiar with, and deals with his alarmingly developing feelings for Galo Thymos.

Also on AO3

[Prologue][Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3]

[Chapter 4]

Lio’s night begins well enough.

He gets to take a shower with soap that smells like citrus, change into a fresh set of cotton clothes he’d picked out from the collection of donations. He feels clean, refreshed, and content from a day well spent with friends he’d missed. The mattress and blankets are unexpectedly comfortable. He’s all wrapped up in sheets, watching the clouds drift across the sky from the window as he waits for his hair to dry.

He’s almost nodding off when he hears the ruckus. It seems to have come from the reception hall, and it grows louder as whoever the noise belongs to approaches the sleeping quarters. Lio glares at the entrance, annoyed that his moment of peace is rudely interrupted by some obscene drunk. He's sure he’s read something about a noise curfew as he was going over the shelter rules out of curiosity earlier, but clearly this bastard doesn’t care about it at all since there really isn’t anyone around to enforce it.

Lio doesn’t recognize the person who stumbles in red-faced and absolutely reeking of alcohol. It’s not something he can be blamed for—their group of fugitives had consisted of hundreds of people, after all. Lio had tried to personally greet every one of them whenever he had the chance, but even his memory has its limits. Besides, there were Burnish who the Foresight Foundation had captured without ever joining Lio’s group, and the shelter’s open to others who are in need for a place to stay as well. Lio has a higher chance of meeting strangers here more than anything.

The drunk continues to make a fuss, alternating between ranting about nonsense and singing out of tune with his whole chest. Lio considers doing both of them a favor by knocking him out cold, though before he can decide to go through with it, the guy stumbles one last time and falls flat on the floor without getting up again.

Which would’ve been peachy if it isn't for the fact that he still stinks even from all the way where he is. You’d think Lio would’ve had grown used to bearing with unpleasant odors after his time at detention, but at least the inmates didn’t have access to alcohol and tobacco. And they probably changed clothes and took showers more often too.

Lio pulls his blanket over his nose and decides there’s nothing else to do but to ignore it.

Fortunately for him, he really is exhausted and manages to pass out as soon as his annoyance dissipates. He wakes to sun in his eyes the next day, unsure what time it is and where he even is for a second. He slowly sits up, rubbing grogginess out of his eyes as he yawns. He can faintly hear bird songs and the sounds of passing cars coming from the outside. It’s a new day.

Lio looks around; the wasted guy from the night before is still where he’d collapsed face-first on the floor. Some beds are still occupied, the people using them hidden under their blankets after the chilly night. The rest of the used beds are empty; Lio can’t tell if their owners even returned at all. It really isn’t his business.

Lio tidies up his little space and heads out to the bathrooms to freshen up. He doesn’t properly bump into other occupants of the shelter until he enters the canteen to see if there’s any food available. A middle-aged woman sitting at the far end of the room stares at him for a bit as he picks out a piece of packaged bread.

“Lio?” She seemingly comes to a realization before calling out to him. “Boss?”

Lio turns toward her, finding her vibrant red hair somewhat familiar. He does remember seeing someone within their group who had features like hers.

“Good morning,” he greets. Then after a quick thought, “Mind if I sat with you?”

“No, no, not at all!” The lady seems a little taken aback by Lio’s casualness. Lio walks over and takes the seat across from her.

“Sorry, I don’t think I ever got your name,” he admits. “You were with us the last time, weren’t you?”

“I-It’s Cindy. And yes, I was once rescued and taken in by Mad Burnish,” Cindy answers, still looking a little flustered. “I can’t believe you’re here, Lio. What happened back then?”

“Just thought it’d be best for all of us if I turned myself in as damage control.” Lio tears open the packaging of his bread and takes a bite. “’Also, no need to be so tense, Cindy. I’m not the Mad Burnish leader anymore. I’m no different than you—never really have been.”

“That’s not true!” Cindy immediately refutes. “You have been and always will be an amazing person in our eyes. You’re our hero!”

“I’m not sure I deserve to be called that,” Lio muses, biting off another piece of bread. “But I’m glad that despite all the mistakes I made along the way, you guys could still see me as a source of hope.”

“As hard as you tried, I'm sure not everyone expected you to be perfect,” Cindy assures, offering him a little smile. “If it hadn’t been for you and Mad Burnish’s efforts, most of us would never have lived to see this day. Thank you.”

Ah, perhaps this is how Galo felt yesterday when they started throwing gratitude at him out of the blue. A fuzzy feeling in his chest, a pleasant burn in his cheeks. Lio thinks it’s high time for a change of topic.

“So how has it been, living here?” he asks, hoping the swerve doesn’t come across as drastic as he feels it does. Cindy doesn’t seem bothered by this, thankfully, and is happy to share.

It was, of course, a bit chaotic at first. Hundreds of ex-Burnish were cramped into two dififerent shelters; the facilities and provisions were barely enough to support all of them. Due to the urgency of the situation, there had been families who had been separated as well. There were also cases of violence among the former Burnish, as well as from people who still blamed the Burnish as a whole for the mass destruction of the city. Times were tumultuous then. No one really knew what the next day or even hour would bring. Most of the former Burnish stayed exclusively within the shelter, not daring to set foot into a society that still primarily saw them as threats.

It had taken many months for things to improve. Gueira and Meis managed to appeal for at least the expansion of the shelters, which literally gave everyone more space to breathe. The truth about the Foresight Foundation’s true intentions and actions, as well as what was known about the Promare and how it affected the Burnish were also eventually publicized. More and more people came to learn and accept that not all Burnish were inherently bad, and the Bill fought for by Heris’ team was passed.

It’s only after many months that it’s safe for the former Burnish to walk out of the shelter again.

“I’ve actually left once myself, but things didn’t exactly work out.” Cindy seems slightly sheepish at the admittance, glancing away as she rubs her arm absently. “I’m alone and the job I had really took a toll on my health. I realized that maybe I’m not all ready to get my own place just yet.”

“I don’t think there’s an issue with not being ready,” Lio says, perhaps understanding a little too well. “Take your time to work things out, there’s no rush.”

He receives a look of gratitude for that. “What about you, Lio? What are you going to do from now on? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I’m... not so sure, either.” Lio chews up the rest of his breakfast. “I’m still trying to find my way around myself.”

“I hope you’ll find what’s best for you, then,” Cindy wishes, eyes then widening when she glances at the clock. “Oh! I should really go now before I’m late! Sorry for taking up your time!”

“Don’t be, it was a meaningful chat.” Lio assures with a small wave. “May your day go well.”

“And yours, too!” Cindy moves to leave, but stops abruptly when something occurs to her. “Also, if you’re staying around, please be careful of one of the men—the tall one with black hair. He just came in a few weeks ago and he could be...”

“Volatile?” Lio guesses, unsurprised. Cindy nods affirmative.

“He usually sleeps the whole day and disappears throughout the night, so as long as you can stay out of his way it shouldn’t be too bad,” she says, “I’m just worried he’ll be extra hostile towards you since you’re our Boss.”

Ah, so he’s that sort of person. Lio promises he’ll do his best to avoid crossing paths with him. It’s just not worth the time and energy. People like those are still bound to exist despite what has happened and been done. If everyone could change their mindsets and perspectives so easily, the world would be a much better place.

Lio ponders over what he should do for the rest of the day after Cindy leaves. He’s given a bit of allowance before he left detention; he figures he should use some of that money to stock up on some essentials. That makes the supermarket a destination, but that’s about it. He’ll just wander around for the rest of the day and see where his legs take him.

Lio changes back into the clothes he’d left detention in before going out. A cool breeze greets him as soon as he steps through the exit; it’s colder than yesterday even though the sky is just as clear. Lio doesn’t hesitate to head right back inside to search for a jacket he could use for the time being. He's familiar with this weather pattern; if it’s cool at this time of the day, it’ll only get colder later on. The weather in Promepolis can be unforgiving as they enter the winter months.

He returns outside with a slightly faded jacket that he doesn’t mind being just a little too big on him. He looks all around, wondering which way he should go. He hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of how the neighborhood looks like when Galo drove him here yesterday; maybe he should’ve tried harder to stay awake. Not that he can change that now. Lio decides to just head towards the area with a higher concentration of multistoried buildings, thinking it looks like a place where he's bound to stumble upon somewhere promising.

The air is crisp, slightly stinging his nose and throat with every breath. It's quiet in that strange, liminal sort of way. The calm right after the early morning rush and right before the lunch-hour hustle. Most of the people strolling along the streets are either the elderly or parents on their off days helping out with chores and grocery shopping. The atmosphere, even the sceneries are reminiscent of the life Lio had a long time ago. It’s peaceful, normal. Unreal.

Lio can imagine it too vividly. Smoke suddenly rising from a distant building, sirens wailing as censors detect Burnish flares. The roar of bike engines, the unapologetic laughter of Mad Burnish members as they caused havoc once more. The sheer thrill of being able to storm right into the city and set fire to buildings housing companies linked to the Foundation, unhindered by the puny extinguishers trying in vain to freeze their flames.

This is the sort of life they disrupt when they decide to finally satisfy that pent up, primal urge to burn and burn.

Lio takes a deep breath. The air does not smell like smoke nor fire. No one is panicking and frantically evacuating. He is where he is. The past was where it was. What has happened then isn’t happening now.

The Promare he’s lived solely for back then is no longer here.

Lio’s hunch of going towards the cluster of taller buildings is right; he soon ends up in a busier district filled with bakeries and fast food chains and thrift stores and various other businesses. It’s still not crowded for now, otherwise Lio’s sure he’d feel intimidated just by being there. It hits him anew, the extent of how disconnected he feels from the current world. How long has it been since he could be in public as casually as this? What has changed since the past system forced him and thousands of others out of society? What hasn’t changed?

Lio walks slowly, keeping to one side of the path. He finds himself peeking through every display window and open entrance he comes across, trying to catch a glimpse of what goes on inside each individual establishment. He listens to snippets of the different songs that are played between each shop: something poppy for the place selling clothes, a catchy jingle for the electronics store, something jazzy for the café with a unique logo. It’s as though they are different worlds within; different scents, different vibes.

It’s truly a strange feeling, being there.

Lio wanders down the first street and then the opposite. Observing, immersing. He finds a supermarket eventually, just as he begins to feel hungry. He spends a moment trying to decide if he should return to the shelter for lunch before coming out again. There's still so much he wants to see and there are still some hours before he’s expecting Galo to arrive, after all. He's got the time and energy to spare.

He settles on going back for lunch; he wants to have a look at what’s there on the other side of the neighborhood, anyway. But first, he spends a good chunk of time browsing through the aisles in the supermarket. It fascinates Lio, to be honest. There are so many things he recognizes from the places Mad Burnish had raided for supplies back in the day, yet more that he’s never seen or heard of before. So this is the brand of chips the kids often talked about craving, so that’s the drink that was really popular among even the older Burnish. There are so many things he catches himself wanting to try, and he really is close to giving in to the temptation at some point.

If only he isn’t on such a tight budget. Capitalism really can be a pain. Lio ends up only getting the things he needs before leaving.

He heads back to the shelter at a much faster pace than he’d left it, motivated by the increasingly loud growls from his belly and the want to avoid the lunch crowd that’s gradually filling the streets. He arrives without much incident, chest light from the past hours of being able to take his mind off the thoughts he isn’t exactly ready to face. It’s liberating, being able to spend this bit of time just being where he was.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last.

Lio has just finished a quick serving of fried rice, left his purchases in an unoccupied locker and on his way back out again when he’s dragged by the arm and slammed against a wall by a person who fits the description Cindy had given him earlier. Tall, with black hair. Unshaven beard, bloodshot eyes.

“You. You have a lot of guts showing your face here after everything.”

Lio isn’t surprised that he’s so quickly recognized. Of all the Burnish, he’s the only one who’s appearance had been widely publicized by the media. This is before the protection laws were in place, before it was made very difficult for the former Burnish to be discriminated based on appearance alone. It’s another burden for him to bear, in a way. It might be impossible to differentiate every other former flame wielder from those who weren’t one, but Lio Fotia will always be synonymous to Burnish.

Lio takes a deep breath to swallow the pain before calmly regarding the man. This doesn’t scare him. He's experienced enough of these during his time in detention to be affected by people like him.

“I don’t suppose I know you,” he says, unbothered enough to seemingly infuriate the guy further.

“Of course you don’t,” he spits. “Terrorists don’t expect to remember the names of every person whose life they ruined, now do they? Why would they care that their fires would take everything away from someone else?”

Lio stares at him, weighing his response in his mind. He can’t deny what this man said. They as Burnish had not been able to afford that capacity to care about what happened to citizens caught in their infernos beyond sparing their lives. When the entire world is against you, there’s no choice but to fight back with just as little mercy.

There had never been choice for them, back then.

“I’m sorry it happened to you,” is all Lio can offer. He can’t change the past, he can’t bring back what this man had lost. He can’t undo the damages the Promare flames have been used to do. This bit of sympathy is the only thing he can offer.

And it earns him all but a punch in the face.

xXx

Lio ends up not exploring the other side of town, the lightness in his chest from earlier having dissipated into what feels like a lump of condensed tar.

He instead finds a quiet spot at a nearby park and spends the rest of his afternoon there, the myriad of thoughts he’d ignored earlier now swirling violently in his head. It's stuffy under the mask he’s given by the shelter receptionist to cover the bruise on his cheek before heading outside. The spot where he’d bitten into upon impact aches whenever he prods at it with his tongue.

Lio sits on the grass under a tree with a decent shade, and thinks until the sun begin to set.

Galo meets him at the shelter entrance later, ready with a bag of homecooked meals he’d prepared the night before packed neatly in boxes. He suggests just settling down at the canteen at first, but he quickly complies when Lio mentions he’d prefer going somewhere they could have a bit more privacy instead. They end up going back to the park, finding a picnic table right under a streetlamp so they can see what they eat.

It’s no surprise that Galo’s quick to freak out when he sees what Lio has been hiding with his mask. He fusses about getting him a cold compress for the bruise, some ointment for the abrasion in his inner cheek. Lio promises it’s no big deal, these aren’t the worst injuries he’s gotten. He's taken beatings much worse than this.

It still doesn’t stop Galo from once again trying to convince him to leave the shelter.

“Galo, I’m told the guy's usually gone at night. I’ll just have to avoid him the rest of the time,” Lio assures, sighing from the exhaustion of trying so hard to get through Galo’s indomitable stubbornness.

“But there’s no guarantee he won’t change that now that he knows you’re there!” Galo remains adamant despite Lio’s efforts. “What if he tries to mess with you when you’re sleeping or something?”

“I can defend myself.” Lio grits his teeth, feeling his own annoyance rising at how helpless Galo seems to be making him out to be. Stop, just stop treating him like he’s some kind of damsel who can’t even fight back for himself when he’s been doing just that for as long as he could remember.

“I know, Lio. I know! It just—” Galo runs his fingers through his hair, exasperated— “doesn’t make it any easier to accept, knowing you’re exposing yourself to these situations when there’s something we can do about it.”

He gives Lio a pleading look. “Come stay with me or your brothers, Lio. Please. Even if it’s just temporarily.”

“I do not want to burden any of you!” Lio slams his fists against the table in agitation, rattling the untouched boxed meals Galo had brought. “Why can’t you understand that?”

“Because we care about you!” Galo matches his outburst. “Why can’t you understand that?”  

“You know it wouldn’t make a difference as a whole.” The flare of anger disappears as suddenly as it’d risen. Lio averts his gaze and crosses his arms, digging his fingers into the sleeves of his borrowed jacket. “Even if I leave the place there’s still bound to be people elsewhere who have something to settle with me.”

“But you can run away then,” Galo points out. “You can just leave the situation and return somewhere they can’t find and hurt you.”

“I can’t run away from the past, Galo.” Lio curls a little more into himself, weighed down. “Nothing changes the fact that the flames I hosted were the same ones that took from so many.”

“It doesn’t mean you have to feel partly at blame for everything each individual Burnish has done! It’s not right,” Galo reasons. “Lio, you’re still arrogant. No matter what you say, you tend to act and think like you’re still the Boss.”

And Lio finds that he’s unable to refute that. Galo’s...spot on. He’s been desperately clinging on to the past, desperately trying to feel like he still has a clear reason to be here. Being a Burnish had been something he’d taken immense pride in and he doesn’t want to forget that. He doesn’t want the Burnish’s existence to simply vanish as another fragment lost to time, not when their struggles had been so very real.

But in his effort to do that, he’d also subconsciously prevented himself from moving on.

He’s...afraid to move on, to tell the truth. He's afraid that he feels so lost and insignificant and he doesn’t know what he can do about it. What is he even supposed to do? How does one find their way again when they’ve lost the only purpose that has been driving them almost their whole life?

“You don’t have to live for the Burnish or the Promare anymore,” Galo reminds him, reaching to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You can live for yourself now.”  

Gosh, he makes it sound like it’s so easy to suddenly do just that. Lio lets out a mirthless laugh. “Even if you say that, I—”

“You can start by stopping that habit of trying to justify the bad things you go through,” Galo chimes in the moment he begins trailing off, reading what he’s about to say. “There are other ways to take responsibility than to be hurt the way you are, Lio.”

It sounds almost too good to be true. How else can Lio make up for his past mistakes than to learn and experience the pain and loss he’s caused? Lio doesn’t dare believe him, doesn’t want to cling on to false hopes that he knows would ultimately come back to bite him.

And yet.

“Do you really think that’s possible? After all I’ve done?” Lio musters up the courage to meet Galo’s eyes again.

Galo smiles, soft and assuring. “I do. I think you of all people, deserve a better second chance.”

A second chance. Forgiveness. They’re not something Lio realizes he’s been subconsciously seeking until it’s pointed out to him. He doesn’t regret the fires he’s caused, doesn’t regret fighting on behalf of a marginalized population to make their voices heard. It just... never did sit perfectly with part of him even all those years back. They’re disrupting the lives of people whose biggest sins are their ignorance, they’re potentially dragging bystanders who may already have too much on their own plates into a conflict they’re hardly educated on. Had their actions, at the very core, truly been any much different from those of the Freeze Force and the Foresight Foundation?

A walking mess of contradictions, that’s what he is. A constant clash between a cold, calculating logic and a conscience that cared too much.

It’s so exhausting to be him.

“You deserve to be safe too, Lio. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done in the past.” Galo finally moves to lay out their dinner. “If it really bothers you, think of staying with us as humoring us and putting us at ease knowing you’re away from people who could easily harm you. Do it for our sake if not your own.”

Lio looks, really looks at Galo to find his unwavering sincerity staring right back at him. Bright, blinding. He’s always been the blinding flame guiding him ever since they met.

“Will you,” Lio hesitates, swallows, “really not mind if I stayed over?”

He’s so helplessly drawn towards that flame, yearning to bask in the light and warmth it so readily offers. His resolve crumbles. He wants to go. He wants to spend the rest of his nights not tensed for potential assaults. He wants to be somewhere he can finally let his guard down completely.

Galo’s face lights up when the meaning behind Lio’s words dawns him. “Of course!! I’d love to have some extra companionship in the apartment!”

“I-I’ll pay a portion of the rent!!” Lio’s stumbling over his words, desperate to assure that he’ll repay him somehow, somehow. “I’ll help with the chores too!”

“Sure!” Galo beams as he pushes the container of food he’d prepared for Lio towards him. “But there’s plenty of time to talk about that later. Now let’s eat! Then we’ll go get your stuff and go back to my place! Together!!”

Galo’s bolognaise pasta has gone cold, yet it strangely seems to have only added to the amazing balance of flavors. Lio eats with enough enthusiasm to make Galo laugh, unhindered even by how his heart pounds in his chest. This isn’t a turn of events he’d expected to happen so soon. Lio had been prepared to endure much more before allowing himself to even consider this an option. Surely, there’s still a long way to go before he’s worthy of unconditional peace. Surely, he isn’t allowed to be this excited and relieved from abandoning his resolve so easily.

But Lio wants to be selfish. Even if it’s just this once.

[reformedkingsmanagent]

{Batter Up} Part 5/? (nsfw)

[Part 1]     [Part 2]     [Part 3]     [Part 4]

A/N: I tried to avoid keeping you guys waiting too long for the follow up to Part 4. I know how I left it (please don’t hate me!) so hopefully this makes up for it.

Obligatory nsfw warning for this part.

This is your final warning...

************************************************

It was like something was unlocked in Steve. He was so, so eager. Whatever hangups he’d had while sitting on that couch were gone.

And boy, were you grateful. It had been a long time, way too long, since you had this sort of connection with another person.

Still, you didn’t feel like you were close enough, despite there not being even a millimeter of space between the two of you. Your clothes had never felt so restrictive.

Is it hot? It’s very hot.

As his hand slid up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, you were finally forced to stop to breathe.

He kept his cheek pressed tightly against yours, your whole body arched against him, his other hand spread wide over your lower back as you clung to his jacket.

As he lifted his head, you searched his eyes.

More?

***

More.

Every touch left him wondering what on earth he was trying to avoid in the first place, it all felt so good.

He felt you pushing against him. He complied, moving back until his hip hit the counter. A quick glance down at it with your hands on his neck, trying to steer his lips back to yours, got him to act.

He pulled you along down the narrow hallway, taking his time, marking each slow step with a renewed kiss.

Isn’t this just another distraction from your failure to protect—

Steve pushed all his concerns and self-deprecation away, focusing on what was currently in his hands, the here and now, choosing to allow himself this one thing. When did he ever take something for himself? He could deal with the guilt and all the ‘what were you thinking?’ later.

Just mark this down as another good deed, you’d be doing her a favor...

A small hand covered his as he reached for a doorknob. Lips separated briefly to utter an explanation. “Other door.”

I can allow myself this, can’t I?

He pushed open the opposite door this time, releasing you as you pushed against his chest, taking a moment to breathe deeply, to assess, to try to look less unhinged, less hungry.

You were already pulling at your clothes. He felt it too, the trapped heat against his skin, the discomfort.

He needed to catch up to you or you would leave him behind, just like with everything else.

He winced as he lifted his shirt off his head.

“Steve?”

***

“It’s—” He dropped the shirt on the floor before you could reach him, and your eyes immediately dropped to the spread of dark purple and blue all along the right side of his ribcage. How was he walking around with an injury like that?

You knew how.

Your hands hovered over the discoloration. He kept his arm out away from his side to give you space, probably assuming correctly that you weren’t going to ignore it at his request.

“It’s okay,” he promised. “I’m fine.”

“This is not fine, look at it.”

“While I appreciate your concern,” he started, fingers finding your jaw and pulling your face up to be closer to his, “they’ll heal.”

“Do you want some ice, or…”

A distraction from what’s about to happen? Because I can easily get rid of twenty minutes or so, making a bandage.

“I’m fine.” It was whispered, but incredibly reassuring. He stayed still for a moment longer, his eyes pouring over your face, taking in every little detail.

“Do you still want to…?”

His hands left your chin, moving over your shoulders and down your arms slowly enough to raise goosebumps before they found your waist, pulling at the edge of the jeans you still had on.

I guess he does.

You reached down for the button, undoing it and pushing them down as quickly as possible. As you stood back up, his arms wrapped around your waist, large hands moving up to cover as much of your back as possible, fingers finding the clasp to your bra. Steve struggled with it, but only for a moment before you felt it was loose. You were crushed against his chest before you could get it off.

His skin was warm, exceedingly so, or maybe that was you projecting a bit. For how large he was in general, he was unexpectedly gentle. Slow and cautious, too.

How many other dalliances has he had? Either enough to know how to control himself, or hardly any at all…

The idea of Steve being nervous amused the hell out of you. Of all the people, Captain America, nervous? No… But the way he clung to you, almost as if physical contact was enough of a distraction to get him to stop overanalyzing, much like you were already doing… He had to be.

As he leaned over you, his weight balanced on his knees on either side of your legs, he reached down and hooked his finger under the center of the bra, pulling it up and away from you. You helped him indirectly, lifting your arms so the straps wouldn’t catch, all the while painfully aware of your heart attempting to beat right out of your chest.

“You look sick to your stomach,” Steve commented, almost teasingly.

“I’m nervous,” you countered, moving to cover yourself. He gently pulled at your wrist, getting you to open up to him. His blue eyes were fixed on yours, right up until they weren’t. You felt your face heat up at the thought of him getting any amount of enjoyment out of your naked chest, but there was also a quick flash of pride, a split second where you accepted that you could appeal to someone like him.

“Don’t be,” he whispered, eyes moving back up to yours.

He leaned in and you foolishly expected another kiss, but instead his lips sought the skin at your neck, moving lower as the fluttering sensation in your stomach grew.

“—are you sure you’re okay with this?” It was a blurted-out last attempt to distract, but it didn’t work. Any other words died in your throat as his soft lips smoothed over your chest, stopping finally to wrap around your nipple. Your hands moved to his hair immediately.

What an answer.

All you could do was hold onto him for dear life with your eyes squeezed shut, biting your lip in the hope you could somehow contain the small noises that were desperately trying to make their way out. You weren’t very successful.

You felt like you were loud, excessively loud in the quiet of your small apartment. It wasn’t as if you had anything to worry about. Maybe because he was so focused, so quiet, you felt like you were somehow overreacting. Either way it didn’t matter because he soon sat up, leaving you there in the middle of the bed so he could get rid of the rest of his clothes.

You tried not to look, but how could you not? He was so muscular and well-proportioned that he even intimidated you. But it only lasted until he broke out in a nervous grin.

***

She still looks nervous, you’re doing something wrong.

As he returned to you, he watched your face, your reactions to him being so close. He took a moment to pull at the side of your underwear and gave you space so you could kick them off. He could see your eyes moving all around, gaze brushing over everything but him.

He moved in closer still, approaching you slowly as if he were trying to calm a frightened deer. Submissive, attentive, calm. He was no threat. Finally your eyes settled on his, and a small smile formed that he could only guess was a product of the shared nervous excitement. He echoed it, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of your face, taking a moment to linger at your cheek until you reached up for his hand, wrapping your much smaller fingers around his palm.

“We missed a step,” you whispered, seconds before you turned over beneath him and moved up higher on the mattress to reach your bedside table. As you were rummaging around, he couldn’t help but look at what was right in front of him.

Save that for later, hmm?

Steve swallowed.

“I, uh, do realize this is probably the most un-sexy thing I could possibly do right now, but…” You turned over, presenting him with the foil square.

“Ah, right.”

Steve took it, looking at it for a few moments before it was pulled from his fingers.

“I’ll just, uh, help.”

Steve’s eyes went wide as you moved lower beneath him. He heard the packaging being torn open but couldn’t see much in the relative darkness. A few seconds later, he felt your hand wrap around him. It was like an electric shock to his system. Shortly after that, he felt your fingers smoothing the condom down over him.

“Um,” he breathed.

“Is that okay?” you asked, slowly returning to somewhere close to eye-level with him. He hoped he didn’t resemble a tomato.

‘Is that okay?’ she asks, as if she knows you can’t breathe.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

No you’re not.

Your eyes were kind, cheeks high as you fought off a smile. Steve felt his breath leave him for a reason other than the intimate closeness the two of you were sharing.

“You’re very beautiful.”

You glanced away bashfully. Steve was reminded of that perfect spark he felt outside in the cold. Like all of it was important. That it was right.

“You don’t need to say things like that.”

“I didn’t want you to have any doubts.”

A few seconds of very direct, very tangible eye contact stretched between the two of you before you frantically reached for him, pulling his face down to yours, pressing your lips urgently to his.

The same fever from before returned and Steve let all his weight rest on you, trapping you against the mattress. He was big enough to wrap himself completely around you, and he did, forming a human shield, something that wasn’t lost on him.

It felt so natural for him to lean down into you as you opened up for him.

You both sighed together.

***

It was a sensory overload. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on any one thing. Just when you thought you’d have a second to relax, he’d move or make an adjustment, curling up around you even further, hitting deeper, moving faster.

There was no way to disguise how you were feeling. Him continuing to moan into your ear gave you all the comfort and confidence you needed to stop worrying so much about what Steve Rogers might think or expect of you. It was clear something was going right.

You were tense, you could feel your body tightening in his grip as you all but stopped breathing, the pleasurable sensations forming a knot low in your belly as he continued to thrust into you. You kept your legs wrapped around his hips, your hands on his shoulders tightening until he raised his head and let out a groan.

Sweat dotted across his forehead and some of his normally-perfectly styled light hair had fallen into his face. Still, he didn’t stop, which meant right as he started to ask you if something was wrong, you let out a series of gasps as you quivered beneath him. He saw it all.

You were acutely aware of him inside you as you continued to spasm, falling back against the mattress once you were finished. You could feel your own sweat on the sheets, a slightly uncomfortable thing to lay in, but you were quickly distracted as he started to pull away.

“Where are you going?”

He paused as you reached for his arm. His chest was still heaving, and you thought you’d never seen such a handsome man in all your life so undone.

You pulled his lower half in with your legs, trying to get him to keep going. He resisted at first, and you weren’t sure why, but with enough prodding he was back in, moving a little faster, chasing after his own pleasure instead of yours.

You thought Steve deserved to be a bit selfish.

With a few more sloppy, angled thrusts, Steve bit back his moan as he buried his face in your shoulder. The two of you stayed like that for at least a few minutes before he felt like moving again.

A quick trip to the bathroom for the both of you and you were back in bed, still completely naked, something that felt strange at first until Steve pulled you into his chest.

“How was that, for you?” you asked, looking up at him.

While with others, you might’ve gotten a joke at your own expense, Steve just leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“It was perfect.”

You agreed wholeheartedly, snuggling further into his chest. He kept the arm pinned under your cheek wrapped around you, hand spreading out across your side, while the other smoothed your hair back out of your face.

You felt whole, like whatever had disappeared that day had left a Steve-shaped hole behind, you just didn’t know it. You doubted it would be the same for him, but you couldn’t deny it to yourself any longer. The courtship had been extremely quick, something your old roommate might’ve harassed you about before, but you couldn’t deny how right it felt.

***

Steve waited patiently in the early hours of the morning, staring up at the ceiling. When would the guilt come? While he was sharing a cup of coffee with you? Sometime in the early afternoon, when he’d inevitably left you? During his daily debrief with Natasha? After, when the conversation usually drifted to more personal matters? Would it hit him while he was lying in his own bed, alone? Or would he have already become so greedy that he’s back again?

Would it ever come at all?

You stirred beside him and he felt your grip on his arm tighten. He was more than content being whatever anchor you needed in your dreams. He knew firsthand how bad they could get.

As he ran his fingers along the side of your face, attempting to soothe you back to sleep, an eye opened.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“...Promise you won’t disappear without saying something?”

His first reaction was to laugh off your concern, Steve Rogers would never, but as it sunk in he realized you didn’t mean it that way at all. He glanced over at the closed door opposite yours, remembering what you said the night before. Quite a few people had literally disappeared without warning. He recognized your honest fear and turned back down to face you.

“I promise.” It was sincere, sealed with a kiss.

“Thank you.”

***************************************************************************************

Requested to be tagged:

@patzammit

[it-will-not-last-the-night]

Blegh

In terms of Persona 5 I’d been riding high mostly since P5D. I’d been positive mostly over it because P5D and fan-generated content had been lovely overall and really engaging and enjoyable. It had helped me forget that the main game itself seriously does upset me at times and I have a less than ideal opinion of it.

*Sigh*

Now I’m starting to feel like that again. Both announcements of today have left brought back to mind some of my biggest problems with Persona 5 and the way Atlus writes in general. What are they? A bit of a lesson then in me;

For myself there are three events in Persona 5 that I really REALLY just consider outright despicable. In no order they are; 1) Two homosexual adult males being negatively stereotyped as child molesters targeting Ryuji 2) Ryuji’s friends responding to one of the greatest acts of selflessness in the entire story by physically abusing Ryuji and 3) The Valentine’s Day event making Canon that Akira/Ren is horrible, Sojiro is horrible and that Atlus thinks all the girls are vapid idiots. 

‘Magical Valentine’ raises an issue I’ve always had but makes it even more forceful. You see in the game the Valentine’s Event is only ‘optionally’ canon. You can play a canonical run-through and not have it occur. So you can, legitimately, without needing headcanon or fanon, just have your own canon playthrough in which the girls are not vapid idiots. The anime however, now, makes it that, for the Animation, it is canon that Akira/Ren is an awful person and that the girls are vapid idiots. Oh and that Sojiro is just literally the worst like...like he is scum in this event. As bas as Akira/Ren is (and he’s bad in this version!) the bigger problem I think a LOT of people forget about the Valentine’s Harem Route is that it literally casts Sojiro as a Guardian of Futaba who would lie to conceal her boyfriend’s infidelities...even when said infidelities LITERALLY CAUSE FUTABA TO CRY! 

So the animation is now making it canon that; 1) Akira/Ren sees no reason he has to be honest or forthright with any females in his life 2) Sojiro holds such low regard for his daughter he will aide Akira/Ren in an ongoing deception and emotional manipulation of her RIGHT AFTER SHE OVERCAME A SUICIDAL PHASE OF HER LIFE and 3) That Ann, Makoto, Futaba, Haru, Takemi, Kawakami, Ohya, Hifumi and Chihaya all fall in love with the exact same person and are literally when confronted with incontervertible evidence of his infedilities not only tricked into instantly accepting that them all bringing him chocolate on Valentine’s Day was a ‘misunderstanding’ but, in the case of the Phantom Thieves members, this has so little impact on them that mere days later they have no reaction.

AKA the ending Valentine’s Harem Route basically says: “Akira/Ren successfully cheated on all the girls in his life, and is free to continue to do so since they are so stupid that they could be convinced to assume it was a ‘misunderstanding’ even under the most blatantly false of pretext,” the ending basically gives carte blanche to say that Akira/Ren will probably keep cheating on the women in his life because, well, they’re so stupid that even if they all end up right in front of him, confessing their love for him to each other’s faces...they somehow think this was a ‘misunderstanding’?

That’s gonna be canon now for the animation. Not ‘optional’ canon, just...just outright canon. Literally everything in the Canon is soured now. Did you like Ren’s bond with Ann in the foregoing episodes? Well bad news; Ren literally is willing to commit to an intimate relationship with her and then emotionally cheat on her with several different women at once. Did you like how Ren played a pivotal role in building Futaba’s character and helping her grow out of her emotional turmoil? Well sucks for you cause Ren is literally willing to lie to this girl’s face and tell her he loves her whilst carrying on behind her back with numerous other women.

It sort of goes without saying that this kinda wrecks P5A completely since, canonically, Akira/Ren is now just an irredeemable asshole and the female characters are reduced to stock harem-style idiot love interests with basically 0 individuality because everyone has to love the Protagonist (self-insert!).

But when you think about it even in the original game...this was a problem. Sure you could choose not to do it...but you could also choose to do it. This means, technically, as far as Atlus’ writing is concerned, canonically Akira/Ren has it in him to be a complete asshole with no respect for women or his friends...and the females in the game are all vapid idiots. That’s technically canon since that’s required for the Valentine’s Route to work.

Oh, also, that Sojiro is the worst. The worst.

The Valentine’s Harem Event, like the Ryuji abusing event post Shido’s Palace. does irrevocable damage to the characters and the content itself, kinda ruining it since for it to be canon...well it means the characters are terrible people or stupid. Why I sort of have to choose to ignore them to actually like the story.

Of course what does all this writing have in common? It’s a JOKE! Haha! Ryuji’s being abused, isn’t this funny? Haha! The girls are all vapid idiots and Joker’s such a chick magnet they have no varying tastes in partner at all! Haha! Gay men want to force Ryuji to undress for them! 

Isn’t this funny? I mean, no, of course not. In almost all these cases the ‘humour’ is...someone suffering. A common retort I then see is; it’s not canon, its just for a joke.

But the problem is it is, all, strictly canon. I could definitely understand if these things were packaged as clear ‘not canon’ events. 

Here’s an example; the Blazblue game series has ‘joke’ endings which are explicitly not canon but usually feature bizarre or ‘funny’ scenes. One of said scenes is a reoccuring bit in which the protagonist Ragna is made to wear glasses that causes the female cast to all fall in love with him. Putting aside the fact for the moment that, to me, this still isn’t funny since its treating the Mind Rape of the entire female cast as a ‘joke’ the fact remains that it is, however, not canon. The creators make sure that nothing that happens here technically infringes on or diminished the canon character content by making it explicitly non-canon.

Persona 5, both the game and now the Animation, take no such efforts. There are no efforts to make clear that Ryuji being beaten up is a ‘comedic non-canon overreaction’ or that Akira/Ren being a womanizing prick and Sojiro being the WORST are just ‘comedic non-canon skits’ all these are played as explicitly, irrefutably, canon. That is how the characters are, as far as Atlus is concerned. That is their opinions, their beliefs etc.

Is it weird that P5 Dancing has the best, most wholesome, most healthy characterization of the entire Persona 5 Franchise? I suppose maybe the mangas are good to, I must admit I’ve never read any of them since from what I can tell Ryuji is basically ignored in all of them in favour of focus on the girls.

Atlus has a writing problem and that problem is centered I fear on a simple fact; the protagonist is a self-insert who is assumed to be a self-insert for a very specific formula; a young male who sees female characters as things he wishes to collect for himself and wants to feel adored by. Almost all of the major writing problems stem from this; Girls seem exploited or turned into vapid haremettes? Well, obviously, gotta appeal to that ‘chick magnet’ fantasy. Homosexuality is cast as negative or frightning? Well, obviously, the fantasy being appealed to is explicitly heterosexual in nature, everything else is ‘icky’. Other males seem to constantly be the butt of a joke or consistently shown up compared to the protagonist? Naturally since the fantasy is about making the player feel like ‘the man’ and all other men are simply lame by comparison so that the girls will only love the protagonist (the self-insert).

What really bums me out about all of this is that Atlus can write such amazing scenes as Ryuji’s ‘the place I belong is next to you,’ but then in that same game or anime have the Valentine’s Event and the Ship scene. I imagine in part this is due to it being a game first, story second, so they feel there are ‘beats’ that need to be there (the loser must be made fun of, the protagonist must get all the girls) even if, from a storyboarding point of view...it just makes the characters look A) Very inconsistent in personality and attitude (Ren’s infamous standing up for a stranger being assaulted but then instantly refusing to step in to help Ryuji in Shinjuku) or B) Like massive asshats (The entire Valentine’s Event from Ren and Sojiro’s perspectives.

It is just...its sad. I want to like this story because there is legitimately good characters and writing but...in the name of appealing to the lowest common denominator it gets weighted down by stuff which is explicitly canon and makes the characters awful. 

It really makes it tough to like it at times.

*Sigh*

At the end of the day I don’t know how to handle this. Accepting its canon makes a lot of people awful or stupid. Headcanoning it away is fine but...then I gotta accept I don’t like Persona 5 per say, I like what I, or other fans, create from Persona 5.

Also can we please just be able to date Ryuji. Please Atlus. We don’t need another female character to be another fangirl for Joker, to be another vapid idiot who can be duped by the WORST Sojiro, please Atlus, please. Please. There are ENOUGH love interests Atlus, please try perhaps instead stop treating women like little toys for a protagonist to effortlessly collect and dupe. 

Watching all the Persona 5 Girls (sans Sae) in the Valentine’s Event is painful. They are characters I like, many of them have good writing...and then they are reduced to props to make a player feel “Oh yeah! Such a chick magnet! They all want me! Women are simply a commodity by which I inflate my own sense of self-worth since having multiple of them attracted to me and betrayed by me makes me feel as if this is a positive development and not a negative one!”

And I do mean that seriously. Look at most content or statements around the Valentine’s Event. They frame it positively. The ‘harem’ ending, Joker is such a ‘chick magnet’ and so ‘alpha’ etc. etc. 

Terrible emotional betrayal? Deep seated trust issues? Sojiro treating his own daughter like garbage? Ignored because ‘Joker is a PLAYER! WOOO!” And this is overall seen as a positive development. 

By now I’ve rambled on ridiculously long but if I must have a conclusion it is thus; Please give us a Female Protagonist who can date the other boys and stop selling this sexist approach where non-protagonist males and all females serve the same purpose; inflating the ego of the player character. 

[ladyherenya]

Books read in September

I fell down a couple of rabbit holes -- that’s my metaphor of choice for when I ignore my TBR list and get distracted reading other things, usually in a search for comfort reading.

Also, I clicked the wrong thing in the Kindle app at 1am and now I have a free trial of Kindle Unlimited so I decided I might as well make use of it.

Favourite cover: A Conspiracy in Belgravia.

Reread: Obsidio by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff, Penric’s Mission and Mira’s Last Dance by Lois McMaster Bujold and Exit Strategy by Martha Wells.

Still reading: The Princess Who Flew with Dragons by Stephanie Burgis.

Next up: Pumpkinheads by Rainbow Rowell and Faith Erin Hicks.

(Longer reviews and ratings are on LibraryThing. And also Dreamwidth.)

The Bride Test by Helen Hoang: Khai hasn’t found a girlfriend, so his mother arranges for a young woman from Vietnam to come to California for the summer, to see if she and Khai will suit each other. This is romance, a genre which doesn’t always share my narrative priorities -- some things are resolved too neatly, and I’d have liked more of Esme’s relationship with her daughter and of her adult education classes -- but I enjoyed reading this, so I’m not complaining. I liked how Hoang portrays Khai’s autism. He has a greater capacity for love than he realises, he just needs support to understand his feelings.

Secrets of a Sun King by Emma Carroll (narrated by Victoria Fox): I read this because I love the narrator and really liked Carroll’s Letters From the Lighthouse. This book is set post-WWI, and involves friendship, family secrets and the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb. Lil’s grandfather is in hospital and she becomes convinced that his recovery depends upon her solving the mystery surrounding the package sent to him by a famous and now-deceased Egyptologist. I predicted the twists, but I can see how this would strongly appeal to children who want a blend of history, adventure and mystery with a hint of fantasy. (Where was this when I was twelve?)

The Spirit Ring by Lois McMaster Bujold: Fantasy set in Renaissance Italy. Fiametta, daughter of a master mage and goldsmith, witnesses a violent coup. She flees -- and meets Thur, a guardsmen’s younger brother coming to Montefolgia for an apprenticeship. This was published in 1992, after Bujold had published several Vorkosigan books and won a few Hugos, so I wasn’t expecting it to feel so, well, rough by comparison. That said, bits of it still shine! The plot makes every detail count, the final confrontation is memorable and I liked the characters. And it’s interesting to consider this as a precursor to Bujold’s World of the Five Gods.

A Royal Pain by Meg Mulry: This turned up when I was searching Overdrive for something else (Goodness knows why, none of my search words are its title or description). It sounded like it might be entertaining, maybe a bit like The Princess Diaries. It isn’t, at least not enough for me. Two-thirds through I decided to abandon it -- and then a bit later I decided I might as well skim read to the end and see how everything turned out. I don’t feel qualified to say anything insightful, I just wandered in here by mistake...

The Enchanted April (1922) by Elizabeth von Armin (narrated by Nadia May): Four women respond to a newspaper advertisement and rent a house in Italy for the month of April. This is delightfully funny and observant, with idyllic descriptions of spring in Italy. I liked the friendships which develop between four very different women, and the way they are challenged -- or inspired -- to reconsider their opinions about others. The ending is, unsurprisingly, very tidy and conventional. (Not many options for happy endings a 1920s novelist could easily give to unhappily married women.) Reading nothing but sunshine and fairytale endings would become unsatisfying, no matter how wonderful the prose, but sometimes it’s just want one wants.

The “Lady Sherlock” series by Sherry Thomas:

A Conspiracy in Belgravia: Disgraced Charlotte Holmes has found a home with the widowed Mrs Watson and an income under the persona of “Sherlock Holmes”. Her latest case sounds simple but is complicated by connections to the wife of Charlotte’s closest friend and Charlotte’s half-brother. Meanwhile, Charlotte has a marriage proposal to consider, ciphers to crack, and a murder victim to identify. I like the way certain qualities of Doyle’s characters are assigned to different characters -- so Charlotte’s sister Livia is writing stories about Sherlock, and Mrs Watson’s niece has medical training. I enjoyed reading this and immediately embarked on the next book.

The Hollow of Fear: I could not put this book down -- the stakes are so high and personal! But in the end I didn’t find this a wholly satisfying mystery because much of the tension is the result of Charlotte concealing a lot about her suspicions and plans. It’s fun watching Charlotte in disguise, and I don’t mind some misdirection, nor Charlotte keeping thoughts to herself. That fits with her character. But the extent of it felt contrived. Disappointment aside, I liked the journey, thought one of the twists was handled with particular deftness, and I am eager to read the sequel.

The Huntress by Kate Quinn (narrated by Saskia Maarlveld): A long, complex, powerful three-stranded story about war and its aftermath. In Boston in 1946, Jordan, a teenager passionate about photography, is suspicious of her new stepmother. In Germany in 1950, war correspondent Ian now hunts war criminals. And in Siberia before the war, Nina becomes a pilot. From the beginning, this was interesting, with tense scenes. But I wasn’t strongly invested, and I was unsure of the narrative’s structure. As the story continued, I discovered that it is richer and more nuanced because of its structure --  and that I was becoming very attached to these characters. Surprisingly so.

The “Dear Professor” series by Penny Reid

Kissing Galileo: The description made me curious, so I looked at the sample chapters... and, unexpectedly, was convinced I should read this book. Because it’s smart and funny! And I liked how the characters deal with an awkward and potentially very problematic situation. (Emily works as a lingerie model, and when her professor visits the store, he doesn’t recognise her.) I really enjoyed the progression of their relationship -- how obviously they like each other’s company and care about each other, how they have an intellectual connection that goes hand-in-hand physical attraction, how they learn to understand each other better.

Kissing Tolstoy: The first book is about Emily’s friend Anna, who signs up for a Russian literature class, unaware that the professor is someone she accidentally had an almost-date with. This is a shorter than Kissing Galileo, nearly novella-length, and because I read them back-to-back, suffered somewhat in comparison -- it’s less complex, and features a professor who doesn’t deal quite so well with being attracted to one of his students. I wasn’t so convinced their relationship was a good idea. But there’s some entertaining awkwardness and people being opinionated about Russian literature. I liked Anna’s nerdy interests and her friendship with Emily.

Marriage of Inconvenience by Penny Reid: I was curious what else Reid has written and sometimes I like fake relationships stories.  This book makes a convoluted set-up feel plausible. I liked how Kat and Dan’s relationship developed, I liked the ratio of romance to plot, and I liked how involved and supportive all their friends were. But my enjoyment ebbed as I read, which is probably a reflection on what I want from this sort of story rather than on this book’s merits. I don’t find the corporate city setting very interesting or appealing.

Dr. Strange Beard by Penny Reid: I enjoy stories where characters are passionate about their interests.  In this, one of the characters is a vet but his job had no real presence in the story. What a waste.

A Desperate Fortune by Susanna Kearsley: Sara accepts a job decoding a ciphered diary from 1732. The diary is written by Mary, a half-Scottish woman raised in France, who agrees to disguise an Englishman by pretending to be his sister. I like how these two stories sit together. There’s a gentleness to Sara’s, as she discovers things she likes, including the sensory delights of winter in France and people who accept her. In contrast, Mary’s is full of danger, deception and the discomfort of travel. But there’s also subtle, common threads running throughout: life-changing choices and trusting people. I liked so many things in this book.

Echo in Onyx by Sharon Shinn: Brianna becomes the maid for the governor’s daughter, who has three “echoes”. When one of Marguerite's echoes is killed defending Marguerite, Brianna disguises herself as the echo so that they can conceal the incident. The concept of echoes is unusual and Shinn has clearly given careful thought to how they would affect society and daily life for those who have them, as well as reasons for their existence.  I wasn’t surprised by the final twists, because I know how Shinn usually deals with injustice, but parts were still quite tense. And I liked Brianna’s attitude -- so sunny and resourceful and loyal.

A House of Rage and Sorrow by Sangu Mandanna: I really liked A Spark of White Fire so I was surprised by my reaction to this sequel. Halfway through, I was pushing myself to stay focused and just wanted to cross it off the list. So I left it there. I don’t know if there was something in the pacing or the first book’s ending which stopped me from caring -- or if I just wasn’t in the mood to read about rage and sorrow and things going to hell in a handbasket. I might try again one day. I did like the first one.

[esmeiolanthe]

Spy Challenge rules

I’ve made up a challenge, because making up challenges is fun. It has to do with spies, because spies are cool. The rules are pretty hefty, because I like making lists and challenge rules are all about lists. You can read the rules below the cut or at my Dreamwidth.

The challenge is to play a successful spy. There are a few Dos, a few Don’ts, and lots of flavor.

 DO

Max Body skill (Spies need to be able to climb things, swim away from things, ski down mountains after jumping out of airplanes, and fight big thugs with metal teeth – or at least James Bond does in the movies…)

Max Logic skill (Spies need to know how to figure things out from little hints and scraps of information, and know what information is important and what isn’t)

Max Charisma skill (Spies often have to recruit others to find things out for them, so they need to be charming)

If your sim was a playable with a family, you have two options.

1.       Easy Mode: You can have contact with your family as normal – unless your cover is blown

2.       Hard Mode: You can have contact with one relative of your choice, once per week +200 points for voluntarily completing the challenge on Hard Mode

 DON’T

Do NOT take a job in the Intelligence career, if it’s available in your game set up (Successful spies don’t go around saying “Hi, I’m a spy!”)

Do NOT use strawberry juice (If someone gets mad at a spy and somehow blows their cover, their life is on the line, after all)

 FLAVOR SKILLS

Spies have lots of skills they need to know. I freely admit that I picked up a lot of these from a BBC reality show called Spy that came out in the early 2000s. I’ll list the skill and then how to incorporate it into your game.

 Go gray/Go undercover: Spies need to be able to blend in with everyone else and not stand out in any way at all. Get a job in any career (except Intelligence), but make sure you do NOT pass Level 5. If you pass Level 5, your cover is blown. You may not ignore chance cards.

Withstand torture: Spies need to be able to keep their heads at all times, even under adverse conditions. Keep your sim with all meters in orange/red for at least 24 hours without any critical failures or death. “Critical failures” are the Shrink, the Social Bunny, or any of the Aspiration desperation actions. If your sim wets their pants, that’s okay – just have them drink three glasses of water right away afterwards. +15 for every time you complete this. You can only choose to do this once. It may trigger additional times based on other circumstances.

Talk their way into someone’s home: Spies need to be personable and able to talk their way into places. Build a relationship with another sim such that they invite you to a community lot/on a date. When you get the invitation, accept it, and have the outing/date be at least a Good Time if not better. Bonus points if this sim is a townie or a safe NPC. +5 for every time you complete this.

Follow someone: Spies need to be able to follow people without being caught. Go to from one community lot to another and see the same sim 5 times in a row. (This is somewhat random due to game mechanisms, but theoretically possible.) +20 for every time you accomplish this.

Get someone to do iffy things for them: The first step for a spy to recruit an informant is to get them to do something a little bit iffy but not actually illegal. If that works, they ask for a bit more and a bit more and all of a sudden, the spy has another unwitting spy working for them. Use Influence 5 times in a row without being rejected. Refusal to perform the task resets the counter to 0 and means that you can never try Influence on that particular sim again. Bonus points if you manage this on 5 different people. +5 for every time you complete this. +25 bonus points for completing this with 5 different people.

Be good at languages: Spies need to be able to talk to people from other countries. In some cases, they even need to pass as people from other countries. Travel to all three vacation destinations and learn the vacation greetings. Do not stay at expensive hotels, and do not stay a long time, as both of these will make your sim stand out. +10 for every vacation destination greeting mastered.

Evade pursuers: Spies need to be able to get away when an enemy is following or actively chasing them. Learn to teleport, either from the ninja or from meditation once your Logic skill gets high enough. +10 for learning via meditation, +20 for learning from the ninja. You can only learn to teleport via one method, not both.

Have covert contacts with allies, informers, double agents, and so forth: Sometimes spies need to meet with contacts that they can’t really be seen with, so these meetings need to be brief, casual, and apparently accidental. In Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman stated that this was usually done by feeding the ducks, but there aren’t any ducks to feed in TS2. Fish in public and chat with other sims fishing. +5 per event.

Romance/seduce people: Spies sometimes have to use their sex appeal to get information from the enemy. Get Mr. Big/The Diva to fall in love with you. Bonus points if the love is one-sided (them to you only). Double bonus points if the one you seduce is the one that’s opposite your autonomous gender preference. +50 for successful completion. +25 for a one-sided love. +50 for a successful romance with the opposite of your autonomous gender preference.

Take covert pictures/plant cameras: Spies often need to get footage of an enemy doing something, or need to photograph important documents. Take pictures on four separate, busy community lots without having any other sims looking in your direction when you take the picture. If you do not have Bon Voyage, see if you can figure out a way to use the University career reward. +15 for every time you manage this.

Send hidden messages in innocuous things: Spies sometimes send messages in otherwise ordinary items rather than on secret thumb drives or microdots or similar. (For instance, sending a contact a perfectly ordinary book where the message is conveyed by the book chosen.) Paint a picture or write a novel.  The painting cannot be a masterpiece, and the novel cannot be a best-seller, since this will make your sim stand out. +10 for every time you complete this.

Drive well: As anyone who has ever watched a spy movie knows, car chases are inevitable. Buy a car, install an alarm, and “Go for a spin” 3 times a week to practice driving – and to learn the lay of the land. +10 at the end of the challenge if you have completed this faithfully. If you have not completed it faithfully, -10 points.

Hack into systems: Spies often need to get into protected databases. Have a LAN party 2 times a week and chat online 3 times a week. +10 at the end of the challenge if you have completed this faithfully. If you have not completed it faithfully, -10 points.

Courier items from one place to another: Spies often need to transport secret documents, packages, or messages. (Fun Fact: Josephine Baker once smuggled important documents past an enemy checkpoint in her underwear.) Take something from one lot to another lot and leave it at the second lot. The second lot must be a community lot. You can hand the item off to a secret contact identified with the appropriate code phrase (see below). Bonus points if you somehow manage to leave the item on a community lot without handing it off to a contact. Extra bonus points if the item in question didn’t belong to your sim in the first place – for example, a gnome stolen from a different sim’s house. +10 for each successful courier mission. +20 if you manage to leave the couriered item on a community lot without handing it off to a contact. +10 if the item in question didn’t belong to you in the first place.

Use code phrases: Spies often have to identify allies they have never met to get help in difficult or emergency situations. To be sure that you are working with an ally, first pick an area of Interest. There are 18 of these in TS2. Each area of Interest has 5 icons that represent it. For example, for Sci-Fi, the icons are rocket ship, astronaut, robot, planet, gray alien. (You can find a full list here: http://sims.wikia.com/wiki/Interest) Before you go to a meeting, pick a sequence of icons. This sequence can be as few as two icons, or as many as you like. (The higher the number, the more unlikely it is that you be able to use it.) When you arrive at the meeting, go up to the sim you think might be your contact and initiate a conversation about the chosen Interest. When your first chosen icon starts off the conversation, this is bringing in the code phrase. If the other sim replies with the next icon in your chosen sequence, they are an allied agent. (If your chosen sequence is longer than two icons, then matching icons need to continue until the correct sequence is reached.) In English, this exchange might go something like “The pelican flies at midnight” answered with “Crickets chirp in the rain.” In TS2, the exchange might go “Rocket ship” answered with “Gray alien.” Feel free to make up your own fancy code phrases to go along with the icons; making up silly code phrases is fun! +25 for every successful pair of code phrases exchanged. -10 every time the initial code phrase is not met with the return code phrase. -25 if the entire topic of conversation is rejected.

Use dead drops: Spies often communicate with or leave things for allies who they never meet. They do this by leaving things in a public place to be picked up later, leaving things visible in an area they control, or doing specific things that are publicly visible. This way, their ally can get the message without ever having to come in contact with the spy. Every day, flip a coin or roll a die to see if you need to do one of the “dead drop” type tasks listed below. Heads/evens= yes, tails/odds=no. If you get an assignment, roll a d20 or use a different randomizer of your choice to choose what your assignment is for the day.

1.       Put red flowers out in front of your house (in a vase or a pot or something, not on a bush)

2.       Mail something (this can be paying a bill or using the custom mail system of your choice)

3.       Wear a blue shirt

4.       Read the newspaper in your front lawn

5.       Wear a hat

6.       Play fetch

7.       Go jogging

8.       Buy a magazine

9.       Walk to work/drive to work (whichever is not usual for you). If it is your day off, walk/drive to a community lot, again doing whichever is not usual for you.

10.   Order groceries

11.   Have coffee on a community lot between 4-6 pm

12.   Comb/style your hair differently (do not cut or dye it – just a different part, an updo, something like that)

13.   Sunbathe (either on a towel or in a recliner – if it is currently winter, this will be quite cold)

14.   Water your plants between 2-3 pm

15.   Dig for treasure and leave the hole for 24 hours

16.   Make and play with a paper airplane, then leave it on the lawn

17.   Buy and display a new lawn ornament (you can leave it on the lawn after – it won’t be new anymore, so it’s okay)

18.   Leave trash on the lawn while you are at work

19.   Wear sunglasses

20.   Hang out in the yard with a radio playing salsa music in the yard with you

If you do not have the specific EP needed to perform one of these actions, do something similar given your particular game set up. +1 for every dead drop completed

 SPECIAL CIRCUMSTANCES

These are special circumstances that may or may not come up in your game, depending on your set up and play style.

Friend or Foe?: When you identify an allied agent using a code phrase, spend 3 hours cultivating a relationship with them. If you end up with a positive relationship, you earn points. If you end up with a negative relationship, as enemies, and/or with the other sim furious at you, they will betray you. You lose points when they betray you. If you are Enemies, this blows your cover. +15 for a positive relationship. -25 points for a negative relationship.

Take a Chance on Me: If a stranger calls you up and asks you to go out (either date or outing), always accept. Flip a coin before you head out. Heads=the person is an ally, tails=the person is an enemy agent. If the person is an ally, nothing further happens – have an ordinary outing. If the person is an enemy agent, try to befriend them. If you max out the outing/date meter, you turn them into a double agent who is now secretly on your side. If you have a positive (but not maxed) or a neutral outing/date, you and your enemy go your separate ways with a new respect for each other, but without interference. If you have a negative (but not bottomed out) outing/date, this triggers the torture scenario above. If you bottom out the outing/date meter, you become the double agent who is now secretly on the enemy’s side. If you become a double agent, adjust your relationship with the enemy spy to 75/75, and change your relationships with your former allies to no more than 30/30. For all scoring purposes, your former allies are now your enemies and your former enemies are now your allies. Every time you complete a mission for your former allies, call your friendly enemy spy and chat on the phone for one game hour. +25 for a maxed outing/date meter, 0 for a neutral meter, -20 for a negative meter, -100 for a bottomed out meter.

Sim of a Thousand Faces: If you are contacted by a hobby leader, you must put on a disguise – in fact, a whole new identity (see below) – go to a community lot (or even the hobby lot), and pick a sim you don’t know to interact with in keeping with the disguise for 3 hours. At the end of the time, if your relationship with the sim is positive, your mission was a success. If your relationship is negative, this triggers the torture scenario above. If you end up as enemies/furious, your cover has been blown. +25 for a successful mission, -20 for a failure triggering torture.

 Identity Elements (Choose all 20 elements randomly via whatever randomizing method you prefer)

1.       Male/Female

2.       Young Adult/Adult/Elder

3.       Hair: Red/Blonde/Brown/Black/Custom

4.       Fit/Average/Fat

5.       Eyes: Brown/Dark blue/Green/Gray/Light blue/custom

6.       Supernatural/Not supernatural

a.       If supernatural: combination supernatural/just one type of supernatural

b.       Vampire/Alien/Zombie/Witch/Bigfoot/Genie/Servo/Plantsim/Werewolf

c.       If witch: Good/Neutral/Evil

7.       Employed/Not employed

8.       Rich/Not rich

9.       Hobby: Cuisine/Film & Literature/Tinkering/Sports/Music & Dance/Fitness/Arts & Crafts/Science/Games/Nature

10.   Turn On: Hair Color/Clothing/Accessories/Makeup/Fitness/Smell/Life State/Employment

a.       Hair color: Red/blonde/brown/black/grey/custom/facial hair

b.       Clothing: Swim wear/formal wear/underwear

c.       Accessories: Glasses/hats/jewelry

d.       Makeup: Makeup/full face makeup

e.       Fitness: Fat/fit/average

f.        Smell: Cologne/stink

g.       Supernatural state: As in #6b above

h.       Employment: Unemployed, employed, hard worker (Level 6+ in career)

11.   Turn Off: As in #10 above. Remove the Turn On you chose from consideration.

12.   Primary Interest: Environment/Food/Weather/Culture/Money/Politics/Paranormal/Health/ Fashion/Travel/Crime/Sports/Entertainment/Animals/Work/School/Toys/Sci-Fi

13.   Career: Adventurer/Architecture/Artist/Athlete/Business/Culinary/Criminal/Dance/Education/ Entertainment/Show Business/Journalism/Law/Law Enforcement/Medicine/ Military/Music/Natural Scientist/Oceanographer/Paranormal/Politics/Science/Slacker          (Note that Intelligence is NOT an option!)

14.   Successful/Not successful

15.   Pet/No pet

a.       If pet: cat/dog/bird/fish

16.   Taken/Available (for romantic purposes)

17.   Kids/No kids

18.   Favorite color: Red/Orange/Yellow/Green/Blue/Purple/Pink/Black/White/Gray/Brown

19.   Conservative/Rebellious/Quirky/Sporty/Elegant/Geeky/Ordinary

20.   Social group: None/Gearhead/Bohemian/Jock/Tech/Socialite

Some of these things may require custom content to pull off. (For example, if a male sim has to pass himself off as a female sim, you will probably need some form of custom content for his clothing.) Some of the things you choose will not show (such as social group), but can inform your interactions. For example, if your sim is supposed to be a Socialite, they should greet people with the Kiss Kiss Darling interaction. If your sim is supposed to have a Turn Off for red hair, they should not flirt with any redheads. If your sim has kids, they might turn the conversation topic to School or Toys. If your sim is a geeky sim with a pet fish and with the favorite color of pink, they might wear a pink shirt with a picture of a fish on it. Some of the Turn On options listed above are not available in game, or are broken. That’s okay – you’re not really changing your sim’s preferences, just having them pretend. (It’s harder that way.)

Maintain a Legend: Have a pretend relationship with another sim, preferably an allied agent. This pretend relationship has all the trappings of marriage/romance, including living together and sleeping in the same bed, but without romantic attachment. This sim may NOT be Mr. Big or The Diva. Bonus points if, when you’re playing a different household and invite the spy over, this pretend partner comes along when the spy asks “Can my friend come too?” +100 for a cover identity, +50 if the pretend partner your sim’s friend brought to a different household.

 END OF THE CHALLENGE

This challenge can end in one of two ways: Either you are successful enough to eventually be brought in from the cold, or you mess up badly and can never work as a spy again.

If you make it to Elder without having your cover blown, you can come in from the cold. You can drop your cover identity, and even take a job in Intelligence if you like. (This represents getting a nice desk job or training new recruits.) Alternatively, you can relax and enjoy retirement without any fear of anyone torturing or killing you. You do have to move to a completely different house. +500 for honorably coming in from the cold.

If your cover is blown once, you lose all your points, lose your job, and lose any Rewards or inventory you may have earned. You have to move to a new house with a new cover identity (use the Sim of a Thousand Faces chart to help pick this) and start a new job. Your new job cannot be in your old career track. You are immediately placed in Hard Mode, if you weren’t already there. -200 points for being forced to complete the challenge on Hard Mode because your cover was blown (Yes, this means you might start over with negative points.)

 If your cover is blown a second time, you are not cut out for the spy life. Flip a coin or roll a die to decide what happens to you.

1.       Heads/evens=You are forcibly retired. You move to a new house with a new identity. You can never see your family again (if you had one), and you have to get a new job that is not in any prior career path, in Intelligence, or in Law Enforcement.

2.       Tails/odds=You are found out and killed by the enemy. You lose all your points. Kill your sim via the method of your choice. Hey, being a spy is dangerous!

 SCORING

+1 for every dead drop completed

+5 for every time your sim is invited on an outing/date with a known sim

+5 per covert contact

+5 for every successful completion of the “iffy things” requirement above.

+25 bonus points for completion of the “iffy things” requirement with five different sims

+10 for every vacation destination greeting mastered

+10 for learning to teleport via meditation

You can only learn to teleport via one method, not both.

+10 for every time you send a message via an innocuous object

+10 if you faithfully complete the driving requirements

-10 If you have not completed it faithfully

+10 if you faithfully complete the hacking requirements

-10 If you have not completed it faithfully

+10 for each successful courier mission

+20 if you leave the couriered item on a community lot without handing it off to a contact.

+10 if the item in question didn’t belong to you in the first place.

+15 for every time your sim is invited on an outing/date with an unknown sim

+15 for every time you successfully take covert pictures

+15 for every time your sim withstands torture

+20 for every time your sim successfully follows someone

+20 for learning to teleport from the ninja

You can only learn to teleport via one method, not both.

+25 for every successful pair of code phrases exchanged

-10 every time the initial code phrase is not met with the return code phrase

-25 if the entire topic of conversation is rejected

+50 for successful romance/seduction of Mr. Big/The Diva

+25 bonus points for a one-sided love

+50 bonus points for a romance with the opposite of your autonomous gender preference.

+200 points for voluntarily completing the challenge on Hard Mode

-200 points for being forced to complete the challenge on Hard Mode because your cover was blown

+500 for honorably coming in from the cold

Friend or Foe? scenario

+15 for a positive relationship

-25 points for a negative relationship

Take a Chance On Me scenario

+25 for a maxed outing/date meter

0 for a neutral meter or a positive but not maxed meter

-20 for a negative meter

-100 for a bottomed out meter

Sim of a Thousand Faces  scenario

+25 for a successful mission

-20 for a failure triggering torture

Maintain a Legend scenario

+100 for a cover identity

+50 if the pretend partner is the “bring a friend” at a different household when your sim goes to visit

[wonderingangelsuniverse]

January 7th 2018

 I’ve noticed something different in me which I think I understand. The universe is astonishing lately, keeping kind. It maybe because my wishes always vary from light to dark in some ways, so it doesn’t have to worry to much about how to find that fine balance between love and torture. I consider myself invested in my own growth as I tend to make sure I learn things I need to for my overall goals of becoming a better writer and most importantly so I may understand the humans more. I realize I have a fine sense of people/psychology as I have never truly been one myself, so I am able to take a not so bias embrace to what I’ve heard is truth from many voices in my lifetime. Mostly empathy not so much sympathy.

This brings me to my point. As we both know I’ve been experiencing raw emotions on a next level basis like I have never before felt. In any case I have expressed that I may need some assistance discovering what true evil within a person is like. I never expected in any way that I would become the dummy. It makes a very large amount of sense to me that in some aspects I must suffer in order to test what darkness is, but for me to be both the antagonist and the victim is a shock. Destiny is the greatest writer and although I too wish to be that good, I almost feel like it has a fairly high advantage over me. Over my existence, even at a young age, I have found that if destiny wants to shake anyone simple put it can, perceive or think such an outcome maybe not so much. Its kind of screwy, I have spent many, many of times writing out all the possible situations that may unfold upon the future. I have gone as far as taking bets with you. I feel like its not always entirely true as destiny attempts to persuade me otherwise with letting me predict small things. The problem is that it appears to keep an equal playing field for all the players in the game. If I am able to predict something then someone with an equal or better ability of anticipation an assumption can also interpret the next move. I can’t decide within myself weather to be mad or what, however my only outlet right now appears to be: to push everything towards the unknown. It’s because of the unknown that I am having these issues. This will never solve my problems and will only just do what I am proficient at which is to withdraw and berry any remnants of my issue. I keep finding myself having no reason to be so sad, not depressed, no, sad. A deep rooted sadness that makes me question if I’m going to stop living shortly. My lead theory is this strong inner emotion that often strikes me later in my day almost but most definitely heartbreak. I thought and I keep thinking, sadly, that I have once before experienced heartbreak undoubtedly, previously in my lifetime, however this is not true. We can come to this conclusion because of a recent discovery, one that separates admiration from lust. I’ve always understood love, as love is something given out. Love is not only something given out but something us humans are often exposed to at a very young age. I however have had a real tussle with lust so far. Not necessarily in a bad way but in a very confused way. Confused to the point that the only thing that makes sense to me, may not make any sense at all in the long run. I feel like the conclusion I have come to is both easily agreeable and nearly identical to the literal definition which should lead me to believe I am correct, although, from my point about destiny, I surprisingly may not know definitively. Let me explain, admiration is an extremely intoxicating feeling that makes me unable to get enough, because I find this person to be godly beyond and I must impress them. I fall unable, silent in fact, and yet I absolutely crave that persons presents. No matter how imperfect, their imperfection becomes my idea of perfection. Simple put, envy to an extreme. Lust is completely different is it not? I have gathered at some point that both lust and admiration enjoy holding hands romantically while they gaze at the vast illuminated ocean at the days end. Lust picks at me like ticks in hidden places, making me yearn for something I want desperately. I don’t consistently want actions from a person, but I feel a consuming warmth, like I’ve been eaten. I feel my blood rush in response to the ticks. The ticks are no unpleasing in anyway, but exactly the opposite of pain. I find myself taken away by lust just as I am taken by admiration except the dreams I have of lust are pearly sexual and admiration treats sex like its embarrassing.

In middle school the trendy thing to do was to have a boyfriend. I have to say I’ve always admired the idea of an intimate relationship with another. As I am/was female and ignorantly unable to be anything else, questioning the boy part in the word boyfriend wouldn’t cross my mind. What I wanted in my partner wasn’t sexual and just included sex in the package, so what did it matter to me? I was never repulsed by the thought of having sexual interactions with any gender anyways. In factuality I had already had intercourse with a male before I even entered the middle grades. I found it very glorious on a physical level. When I found the right guy, it would be both physically good and emotionally good as well, right? I was positive that the right guy would spark greatness in every encounter we made together. Wrapping this up I had absolutely no way of telling or evidence to reconsider about my partner not being a male. Why would I ever set out to make my life any more difficult then it already was? I scouted the halls of the middle school for the perfect male partner, even when I had a boyfriend, and was regarded as very happy. I was even admired for my cute little half cocked relationship I graciously accepted my way into as a kind favor. I loved the thought that someone genuinely enjoyed who I was, and could easily be broken emotionally if I were to protest. I’ve always been quite a kind and gentle soul. The boy I did end up admiring, key word, was a kid I thought was perfect in his appearance. I had little to no idea about him and in no way ever wanted him to mount me. I was addicted to how I felt about him however, always speaking of him kindly, and felt disingenuous stringing my so called current boyfriend along for no reason. If I had to break his heart it was going to be over the truth. The truth was simply because I didn’t find him, or in his defense any man, ever to be sexually appealing. I didn’t feel anything but love for him as a good overall person. always feeling that way over and over again towards admirable male personalities. Back to my walking art piece. My luck was quite fantastic when it came to wooing over the male I thought was perfection, sense I ironically had picked up many females online before. Definitely not an overly obvious hint to my clear lesbianism. I persuaded him to go out with me for a whopping ten days. I however was completely ignorant to this fact and avoided him like the pledge. I thought he genuinely rejected me sense he dashed off and didn’t answer my question. When I finally did catch up with him I found many people cheering in shock for whatever reason. Turns out he had admitted he would like to date me for some unknown reason. I didn’t understand this at the time so I was completely crushed into small shards of melting glass pieces when I did come to the realization. We did not love one another, I am still sure of this, but we were going out for an entire ten days. We never actually hung out or chilled, or did anything at all. He just kind of acknowledge my existence, stuck some half ass gum in my hair and made sure to remind me that my life was shit occasionally throughout those days. It was when he broke up with me and I realized I’d momentarily squabbled my chance that I was truly tortured. I retired from ever going back to my only public school option therefore deciding I could easily be self taught. I have only ever know this as heartbreak.

You however maybe wondering quite deeply at this point on, why or,who or, perhaps how, I managed to become heart broken considering I haven’t been with anyone as of late. I’ve acquired many deep and meaningful connections with an assortment of types of humans so far. One of my dear friends for example displays a personality type I like to consider like minded. Their like mindedness gives my brain a magnetic pull of justification. This person is always ahead of me on deep beliefs/concepts that I try to explore making them everything I could find attractive. I guess hiding that this person is female would be silly at this point, but you’ll have to excuse my need to be discrete. I did mention that I didn’t want to desire to struggle in anyway if I didn’t absolutely need to. Having a partner who could communicate both appropriate and clearly to me some of the answers in which I often seek out hands me no reason not to want them by my side forever. I find them both attractive physically and mentally, although I am unable to give out any physical features they have, I am sure you know whom I am speaking of Pain. Possibly I could go on and on about how I have been emotionally connected to this person, however I am not witting this out to cause myself inner conflict. My opinion on this person hasn’t seeped into the quicksand, because it was ultimately I who decided to be a masochist. That’s right I chose to stomp on my completely legitimate feeling. I debated spiritually and mentally about it but inevitably asked the universe to give me the ability to truly open up to her. How would I ever get anywhere in our already existing relation ship if I am constantly clouded by emotions that I don’t have a license to drive? It seemed illogical to me for many reasons. One major cause being that we had already spoke about in some way of, us. She didn’t break my heart because I find that she does love me dearly. Quite sad isn’t it? Already it’s unfortunate, although I am entirely to blame. It is I who fell for her. It is I who didn’t stop me, and it was I who made the end choice of continuing. Even at the time of discovery of my feeling, I still felt back then that I wasn’t a lesbian. I debated long and hard with myself on the topic of whether or not I believed that I honestly enjoyed who I was as an individual. All because of this heartbreak I poisoned myself with. I have always stuck true to myself so if I did decide that I hated me, it would be a difficult task to change who I am, nearly impossible in fact. I really can’t justify disliking my character in anyway due to my overall life accomplishments.

Finally all of what I have written about will come around now into my new thoughts. I asked the world what true evil was like. The only evil I have ever found is greed. Now I know that true evil can and will come from within. Sense I am now extremely heartbroken in order to speak with a dear friend on the same level, regardless of all the circumstances, I am pissed off. I am unable to be regretful about all of it, I am unable to be to angry at her in anyway sense she has done nothing wrong and doesn’t deserve any form of ridicule, and most important I am not going to be mad at myself for this shit that I didn’t sign up for. I didn’t say I wanted to be gay, I didn’t say I wanted to love her in that way, nor lust. I in no way said yes. I asked the universe questions, I asked the universe for favors. Oh yes I fucking nearly begged for love, because that’s what I was sent to this plane for. I was sent here as a human to do human things and be human and I REFUSE to take the blame for doing what I was called to exist for. No, I caused this, I undeniably did this to myself. I am the victim of my own crime and yet I have no choice but to be entirely angry at the universe. I will thank it, I will take more, I will complete any task it asks of me, but it can’t really be frustrated at me in anyway. NO, if the universe is a friend of mine then it should allow me to be mad. More Importantly because of the truth that it is I who both caused and was effected by said heartbreak. It has ripped a black whole deep with in me. My purity ruined by myself. I see the evil. I see it. I lay my gaze on the darkness I feel, how it manifests from the this sadness. 

Edit from the Future: Blackhole of sadness not heartbreak but a deep warning from the pits of space calling to me, watch out. 

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper-Chapter 5 :  Telephone

Jamie does a science project with his students

Click Here to Hop to the Table of Contents Or Read the Entire Work on Archive of Our Own

Previously on Island Hopper: Chapter 4 : Skinny Dipping Exactly what it sounds like. . .

    “Save that can, will ye, Claire?”  Jamie called from the table where he was, again, grading papers.  I was beginning to see a trend of what the life as the wife of a teacher would entail.

     “What for?” I asked, deferentially cutting off the label and rinsing the can out before setting it on the counter, instead of mashing it and tossing it in the trashcan.

     “I’m teaching the fourth through sixth graders about waves in Science class,” Jamie said, “And we’re going to make tin can telephones.  With that one, I think I’ll have 12.  Not enough for everyone, but I dinna have enough string, anyway.”

     “Tin can telephones?” I asked, incredulously. “We really have stepped back in time!”

     “It’s a fun way to teach them about sound waves,” Jamie said.  He furrowed his brow.  “You wouldna be available to help in my classroom for a few hours tomorrow, would you?”

     “Sure,” I responded.  “Clinic is never that busy, and I can leave a note on the whiteboard.”

    Jamie sighed in relief.  “That’s the one awful thing about active projects.  They can be fun, but trying to help the kids, when they all have questions at once, can be really overwhelming.”

    The next day, I strolled down to the school to arrive there at 10 o’clock. Jamie was perched on the edge of his desk at the front of his classroom.  Unlike the last time when his back had been turned and I snuck into the room, this time he looked up and smiled as I entered.  “Ah, here’s Miss Peach.”  It amused me that everyone still called me by their version of my maiden name, but it sounded especially funny coming out of Jamie’s mouth.

     “Iiokwe, Miss Peach,” the happy faces chorused as all the kids turned to me.

     “Okay,” he said.  “Patrick, will you take one end of this Slinky™?”  Patrick responded obediently, and I peered at him, wondering why his Marshallese parents had decided to give him such an Irish name!  After Jamie had another student on the other end (I think his name was Telnan, which sounded like Telling-on),  Jamie had the boys take turn shaking their end of the Slinky™ to see if they could get a wave to travel to the other end of the metal spiral. I loved the adorable peals of giggles as the kids watched.

     Jamie had several pairs of students rotate through, getting a chance to hold an end of the Slinky™ and both beginning and receiving waves started by others.

    After all who wanted to had a chance, Jamie got the students corralled in their seats again.

     “So, wee ones,” he said.  “We’ve been talking about waves.  Can any of ye raise your hands and tell me an example of a kind of wave?”

    Lots of arms waved furiously in the air, and Jamie heard from several in succession. “Ocean waves!”  “Sound waves!”  “Seismic Waves!” “Light waves!”  “Radio waves!”

     “And then,” Jamie asked.  He was totally adorable, I thought, wondering why I didn’t watch him in action more often.  Teacher Jamie was mesmerizing, with his copper waves falling over his forehead, his expressive face engaging with the kids and showing pleasure when they got an answer correct.  I would have had such a crush on him as a student, I decided.  

     “What are some of the things we have here on Arno that use waves?”  Jamie  asked, accepting a number of answers.  “Ocean waves?  Of course.  Short wave radios?  Satellite phones?  Have any of you even seen or held a cell phone?”

     “Yes,” Hemity Ogawa, the store-owner’s daughter responded first.  “My cousin Ruben in Majuro has his own cell phone.”

     “Do ye think that a good thing or a bad thing?” Jamie asked.

     “Well, emmon and enana,” Hemity responded.  “It’s good and bad.  It’s good because he can call his auntie who lives in Hawaii and talk to her.  It’s bad because sometimes he just wants to play games on his phone, and he doesn’t play outside with us.  He’s getting really pig.”

    It made me smile to hear Hemity’s pronunciation of “big.”  Sometimes I would forget that the Marshallese pronounce b’s and v’s and f’s all with the same sound.

    Hemity liked the response of her classmates, who had giggled at “pig.”  “Ayet,” she continued.  “He’s lukuun kilep.  Very fat!” All the kids giggled.

    One little guy had been raising his hand for a long time.  

     “What are you wondering, Carlson?” Jamie asked.

     “In Amedka, they have many phones, don’t they?”

    At Jamie’s glance in my direction, the kids all turned to look at me.  “Um, yes,” I responded.  “Almost everyone had their own cell phone that they carry around.”

     “Ri-pālle are bery rich,” one child remarked.

     “Oh, is that why Amedkins get so fat ?”  One little girl asked, earning a response of giggles across the classroom, but lowered eyebrows and a head shake from Teacher Jamie.

    Carlson had his hand up again.

     “You weren’t finished, Carlson?” asked Jamie.

     “No,” he responded.  “If all of those waves are traveling everywhere in Amedka, isn’t that a dangerous thing?  

    Jamie nodded thoughtfully.  “Well, we dinna ken for sure.  But I think it’s healthier in many ways to not have phones.”  He grinned over their heads at me.

    With that, Jamie went through a quick demonstration of what we were going to be doing.  Each student would work in a group of three.  Two of the group members were to come up and get a tin can.  The third group member was to grab a string or a piece of wire and a nail.  Jamie showed an example of two tin cans with a small hole in the bottom, and the string threaded through and knotted.

    Jamie quickly realized it would take forever to pass the hammer between the groups of students, and that it was quickly going to get too loud in the classroom.

     “Meester Shamie,” Riti said.  “If we go outside, it willna be so noisy, and we can use rocks as hammers.”

    Was that really possible?  I wondered with a grin.  She had totally just done a Scottish shortened verb.  I was curious how many Marshallese students were running around the island telling people they “dinna ken” things and that they “didna” “couldna” “wouldna” or “shouldna” do that!

    Once the students had gotten their supplies, we headed out to the grassy play area, where the groups spread out.  They needed less help than Jamie had imagined they would, but he and I meandered from group to group, offering assistance as needed.  

    Within ten minutes, all of the student groups had spread even further apart, and were happily putting their ears or mouths to the cans and trying to send and decipher messages.  True to what Jamie had said, the groups didn’t stay separate for long.  They traded telephones, trying out the sets with different lengths of string or with wire, and experimenting with different tightnesses of line between the cans.  

    When we were done, Jamie could tell the kids were a bit excited, so he had them set the telephones down a play a round of soccer before returning to the classroom to debrief.

    I found the din of excited voices overwhelming, and it was interesting to hear the mix of Marshallese and English during the discussion.  Even Riti seemed to fall into Marshallese when she was trying to describe her response to the experience.  In times of emotion and excitement, it did seem like it would be natural to return to your native language.  

    With a grin and a wave, I tiptoed to the door, but Jamie made sure to stop his students in time to have them call out, “Thank you, Miss Peachay!” as I left the room.

      That afternoon when Jamie got home, he seemed rushed and breathless.  

     “Meto is taking his fish to Majuro to sell,” Jamie panted.  “He’s leaving from the dock in a half hour, but he’ll be coming back early tomorrow morning, so we wouldna miss any work or school.  Do you think we can make it in time?”

     “Why do we need to go to Majuro just for a night?” I questioned, though the idea of an adventure appealed to me.

     “Dinna we need to buy plane tickets to Guam for Christmas?  Ye can talk to yer family.  And I really need to call my sister, Jenny.”

    I didn’t have much time to consider it, but Jamie’s reasons were good enough.  However, at the thought of a boat ride, I instantly went to the clinic to grab a package of motion sickness pills and quickly administered the maximum dosage for Jamie.  Within ten minutes, we’d thrown some clothes and simple toiletries into Jamie’s backpack, along with my cell phone and charger, and we were jogging down the road toward the oceanside dock in Ine.

      Although Jamie still did get a little bit queasy from the fishy smell of Meto’s boat, generally the motion sickness pills did their job.  Jamie and I sat together on a stack of pallets during the 90 minute boat trip, and for a part of the time, at least when Meto wasn’t watching, Jamie lay with his head on my lap.  When he had his eyes closed he could ignore some of the movement of the boat, he told me, and I enjoyed the comfortable monotony of running my fingers through his curls.

    The island of Majuro came into our sights quite quickly, but in order to dock Meto’s boat, we had to travel around the south side of the atoll, pass under a bridge, and then travel north to the Shoreline boat dock, which was right next to the MIMRA Outer Islands Fish Market.  Meto told us that he would sell his fish and spend the night with his brother’s family, who lived on the island.  We would need to meet at four the next morning at the boat dock to head back to Arno.

    And with that, Meto headed off toward the fish market, leaving Jamie and me standing on the dock.

     “Shall I call a taxi?” I asked.

     “I dinna want to ride in anything else,” Jamie responded.  “Anyway, the hotel is just about a quarter of a mile from here.” He gestured down the road to the left.  

     “Hotel?” I asked.  “You don’t want to call Dougal and see if we can stay on their couch?” I had turned away from him while talking, so when I turned back to him I could still see the slight look of confusion on Jamie’s face as he thought through the logistics of staying on his uncle’s couch as a married couple.  When he saw my teasing expression, he narrowed his eyes as me jokingly.  

     “You’re a cheeky one,” he said to me, drawing me to him with his arm around my neck, pulling my ear close to his lips.  “Ye ken verrry well exactly why I dinna want to sleep on my uncle’s couch tonight, Ripālle.  Ye arna very good at keeping your noises in check, wee one.  And I mean to make ye squeal tonight, that I can tell ye.”

    Then Jamie looked away from me, but not before I could see the smirk on his face as he recognized my visceral response to his words.

     “We’re such newlyweds,” I scoffed, shaking my head.

     “Well, it’ll only have been three weeks tomorrow,” Jamie said.  

     “You’re kidding,” I responded skeptically.  “I could swear it’s been a year.”

     “No.  Just three weeks ago,” Jamie assured me, as he started walking in the direction he had indicated, reaching back for my hand.  Instinctively I almost pulled away, then realized we weren’t on Arno anymore. “Anyway, I thought it would be good to check in at the hotel first.  I was thinking we could drop our clothes there and take just the backpack to do some shopping.  There are plenty of stores right here—a hardware store, a supermarket, and if we want to go to a Taiwanese restaurant for dinner, we can stop in at the Office Mart store, which is also in that direction, to pick up paper and pencils, things I need for school.”

    It had already been a long day, and the thought of shopping, at real stores, was almost overwhelming to me.  “But I thought you wanted to call Jenny,” I said.

     “It’s only 5 am in Scotland, so I shouldna call Jenny right now.  No if I want to catch her in a good mood, anyway,” he said, a hint of some emotion in his voice. I could tell something was going on; what, I wasn’t sure.

    In a few minutes we had arrived at RRE Hotel and restaurant.  By States’ standards it was quite a plain building; in comparison with Arno, it seemed a palace with electric lights, and even a little air conditioning in the lobby.  When Jamie and I stood at the counter waiting for assistance, I looked over at him.  He had a very thinly-veiled look of excitement on his face.  At the question in my eyes he leaned over to whisper.  “It’s my first time.  At a hotel.  Wi’ a woman.”

    We decided to stick with a basic room instead of a beachside bungalow.  I had an idea that flying to Guam wouldn’t be cheap, and simple was quite sufficient for a single night stay.  After retrieving our keys from the desk, we headed to our room to drop off our clothes.  Realizing that they provided free internet, I also thought I might try to make our reservations for flights to Guam at Christmas.

     “D’ye mind if I take a real shower, Ripālle?” Jamie asked.  “It’s been a long day and it’s been several weeks since we were at Dougal’s house.”

     “No worries,” I said, from my spot at the desk where I was charging my phone and signing into wifi.  “It’ll give me time to figure out flights for Christmas.”

    It was good that Jamie was enjoying his shower and took a long one, because it gave me a chance to recover from sticker shock.  The per person price for the “Island Hopper” to Guam was $1056 per person.  I knew, from my dad’s experience going on a diving expedition, that the Island hopper was called that because it landed on Kwajelein atoll, Kosrae, and then Pohnpei (Ponape) in between Majuro and Guam. With short stops at each island to refuel and for passengers to get off and new passengers to get on, the travel time was just over 8 hours.  I could only imagine how green Jamie would be after four take-offs and four landings.

    Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to make payments if I used my credit cards, I had set up an automatic payment to come from my checking account.  I’d left several thousand in there when I left home, but thanks to online banking, I was able to transfer the amount from savings into checking, and charged both tickets by the time Jamie got out of the shower.

    He walked out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips, drying his hair with a second towel, and came to stand behind me at the desk.

     “Holy Hell!” he exclaimed, when he saw the price on the phone.  “A thousand dollars for the two of us?”

     “Um, no,” I replied.  “That’s a thousand dollars for one person.”

     “We canna do it, then, can we, Ripālle?” he said. “I guess I can just have you go to Guam for Christmas.”

     “Too late,” I said, switching off my phone.  “Already purchased both of them.”

    I turned and smiled up at him, but was surprised to see that he looked irritated. I was taken aback at the flash in his eyes.  I knew he had red hair, but there hadn’t been many flares of temper in our short marriage.

     “Are you kidding me, Ripālle?”  Jamie asked, in a low, intense voice. “You spent two thousand dollars while I was in the shower?”

On to  Chapter 6 : Siblings Between money and marriage, there’s plenty to argue about.

Chapter Notes:  It was quite fun to research the stores and hotels, look up the menu, and find pictures and descriptions.  I didn’t spend much time on Majuro when I was there, but it was definitely way less primitive than Arno.  The thing I liked more than anything was that the fishing dock turned out to be within walking distance of pretty much anything Claire and Jamie needed.

And the other research was the cost of flight.  Yeah, it costs $1065 to fly to Guam.  The cost to go to Scotland is over $3000 per person.  I really want Claire and Jamie to visit his family, but logistically, I think they need to win the lottery...

[cami-chats]

Abject

Continuation of Abeyance 

Fandom: Marvel

Pairings: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Some self-worth issues on Bucky’s part, but it’s nothing terrible

Bucky had seen horses before. To be precise, he’d seen Stevie’s horse, Coop, and Sam’s horse, Maple. Both Coop and Maple were short and thick, hair above their hoofs with manes puffier than Bucky’s hair when he slept on it wet. The horses the Royal Guard-- the Royal fucking Guard-- used, were nothing like that. They didn’t have any dangling hair above their hooves-- Bucky didn’t even know horses could be made that way-- and their manes were sleek and trimmed. They were easily a foot taller than Coop and Maple, and their legs weren’t as stout.

“You never seen a fighting horse?” one of Tony’s guards asked when the group stopped to set up camp for the night. Bucky thought his name was Happy-- or at least that’s what Tony had called him earlier. This was his first good look at the horses surrounding him, and it was unnerving.

Dumbly, Bucky shook his head. Coop carried packages, and Maple helped Sam farm. Sometimes they’d strap them to a cart together and make a long trip, and Bucky only ever saw similar horses on those trips when he went. This… this was something else entirely. He began to feel out of his depth, but he glanced at Tony, conversing with the others in the group, and felt his determination grow. He loved Tony, and Tony loved him, and he’d implicitly offered Bucky everything he’d ever dreamed of. A little bit of cold feet was normal in the face of getting everything. “Didn’t know they made ‘em this slick.”

Happy chuckled, giving his horse a pat on the neck as he finished tying them to the tree. “You’ll get to see more at the stables.”

“There’s more’n just these?”

“Yeah,” Happy said, laughing a little.

Bucky knew he didn’t mean anything cruel by it, but there was definitely the edge of ‘how did you not already know that’ to his tone. He swallowed and looked away. This was going to be a long trip.

~~~

Bucky stuck out like a sore thumb. He didn’t know the places the guards talked about on the trip to the Iron City-- New York Kingdom’s capital-- he didn’t speak like them, he didn’t understand their slang or them his, and anything nearing political talk went over his head. He’d felt out of his depth that first night on the road, but reminding himself that Tony loved him wasn’t helping as much as it used to.

It was getting to the point that Bucky wondered if he’d convinced himself that Tony said that, instead of him actually saying it. He knew, logically, that Tony wasn’t about to have sex with him in the dirt and no privacy, but he didn’t kiss him even once. He touched him, held his hand sometimes, but Bucky noticed that Tony was a tactile person. He touched all his guards in passing, gave them hugs and shoved them when they were playing a fight. Out of everyone here, Tony paid the least attention to Bucky. And again, he knew that logically, this made a sort of sense. Mostly it hurt like hell.

It got worse once they were actually in the city. Bucky could dismount without falling on his face now, but after that, Tony was talking with a light red headed noblewoman that had been waiting for him, the guards were going about grabbing their bags and leaving like they’d done this a hundred times, and then there was Bucky, standing there like a lost jackass.

The noblewoman was poised, her clothes fancier than anything Bucky’d seen, but he got the feeling that this was dressing down for her. She glanced at Bucky, then Tony, then looked at him again, far more pointedly this time.

Tony turned, face alight with a smile that made him feel weak in the knees. “Bucky! Come here,” he yelled above the hubbub, waving him over. He kissed Bucky’s cheek when he made it to his side and slipped an arm around his waist, making him feel silly for doubting how Tony felt-- for all of two seconds.

Two seconds because then the woman sighed and said, “Another one, Tony?”

His heart froze. ‘Another one’? What did that mean? Did Tony make a habit of picking up backwater entertainment for a few months?

Tony rolled his eyes. “No, not another one. The best one! His name’s Bucky. Bucky, this is Pepper, she’s going to help me run the kingdom.”

“Am I?” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he said to her, then turned to Bucky and whispered loudly. “She totally is.”

“As you say, your highness,” Pepper said drily, making Tony laugh. Bucky tried to smile.

“Come on Bucky, I’ll show you inside,” Tony said, moving to walk past Pepper, but she stopped him with a hand in the center of his chest.

“Not so fast Tony. With Howard and Maria gone, and you missing for six weeks, there’s a lot to go over, and yes it has to be done by you.”

Tony sighed dramatically and leaned into Bucky. “I wanted to show him around, come on Pep.”

“You can show him around tonight.”

“That’s not the same.”

Pepper shrugged, but she didn’t seem too apologetic. “That’s the best I can do.”

“Hmph.” Tony turned and kissed his cheek again. “Loki will take care of you. If he acts a little murderous, just ignore him, he won’t actually hurt you.” At Bucky’s panicked look, he added, “He does it sometimes to see how people will react, he’s never killed someone. That I know of, at least.”

“That’s not helpin’,” Bucky said, more than a little nervous.

“Tony exaggerates,” Pepper said, waving someone to her side. “Jan, this is Bucky, Bucky-- Jan.” Jan smiled brightly to match her yellow dress and waved even though there wasn’t more than two feet between them. “She’ll escort you to Loki.”

~~~

Loki, Bucky found out standing in the man’s room, was a courtesan. An honest to god, bonafide courtesan of the court, catering his services to the noble and otherwise wealthy. And he was the one Tony sent him to. Guess he didn’t have to worry about wondering what Pepper had meant by ‘Another one?’ anymore. Hearing Loki’s story of how he got here just made it worse.

“Anthony was of course the prince at that time, and he took great pleasure in testing his boundaries. Picking up someone with zero training from a disgraced town that once rebelled against the crown, was one of his more scandalous, but ultimately harmless, tricks. It caused a ruckus, but there was nothing anyone could do about it. The worst that could have possibly happened was that I wouldn’t be able to do my job, but I still would have had a place to live and food to eat if no one took interest. Don’t look so scared darling, I was as worried as you when I arrived, and look at me now.”

Bucky looked, and he couldn’t help but think that he’d rather have died on the ship that took his arm than try and be Loki. Loki wore jewels and fabrics richer than the sum of everything Bucky’d seen in his time, and he bore them like they weighed nothing. Just looking at them made Bucky feel bogged down, but Loki stood tall and proud, a person who was a work of art and knew it. Bucky was the broken down, uglier version of him-- that much was clear. Missing an arm didn’t even make that big of a difference when his rough skin was marked and scarred, his hair ragged with just enough of a wave to never be tamed to sleekness, and a body that was too thick for the slenderness he knew popularized tales of beauty. “I don’ think I can do this,” he whispered, overwhelmed.

Loki put a hand on his shoulder, not a trace of the threatening persona Tony had spoken of in sight. “Take a deep breath,” he said gently. Bucky did so, but it didn’t feel like it helped. “The prince-- pardon me, the king-- will give you gold and passage home should you desire to leave. Many have, and it bore them no ill. But this is the opportunity of many lifetimes for people like us, darling. I would be starving on a snow covered hillside right now if I had chosen to leave, and even if I had plenty of food, that life holds no happiness for me. I thought myself unsuited for this life, and I nearly left. You should give it a chance Bucky. Fortune like this does not visit twice.”

Bucky took another shuddering breath. “I’ll think about it.”

Loki squeezed his shoulder once in comfort before dropping his arm back to his side. “I have a few pieces I’d like you to keep, but you don’t have to wear them if you prefer not to.”

Bucky shrugged with one shoulder. “Guess there’s no harm, right?”

Loki smiled encouragingly. “Right. Now let’s see…” He went to the side of his room and opened an out of the way trunk. “Ooo this would look good on you, and this, oh and definitely this.” He glanced at Bucky. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into trying them on for me?” Bucky didn’t know what his face did, but bare seconds later, Loki said, “So that’s a no. Pity. Well, you’ll look fantastic in them whether I get to see it or not, darling. Come here.” He waved Bucky over and started handing him the pieces he’d chosen-- and Bucky felt very confident calling them ‘pieces’ and not outfits because there was no way he’d call these scraps of fabric clothing. Some of them were panties, but there were others that hinted at a modesty that was nowhere to be found.

All that being said, he could see the appeal for how it would look on him if someone had the right body and for it. He accepted them gingerly. No one would know if he tried them on, after all.

“That will have to do for now,” Loki said even though Bucky was holding eight different pieces. Hell, he had three outfits total, and here Loki was half-apologizing for giving him eight new ones-- even if those eight were skimpy and not meant for wear outside a bed. “How do you feel about jewelry?” he asked, giving Bucky’s neck a speculative look.

“I’ve- I mean, I’ve never worn… before,” Bucky managed awkwardly. Jewelry was for the rich, or the married and he was neither. Or, he hadn’t been. Guess being a courtesan was rich adjacent.

“I have a few necklaces you can have, I never use them, they’re just using space I’d rather have cleared. Your ears aren’t pierced-- right?” At Bucky’s nod, he continued, “So we don’t have to find you earrings, and rings don’t look like your style. Besides, I think nothing I have would fit you. Necklaces though… Ah! Here we are.”

Bucky couldn’t see what they looked like because Loki wasn’t making a point of showing him, could only see that they were glinting gold.

Next thing he knew, Loki was closing the ornate box and striding to the door. “I’ll show you your room so we can drop these off, and then we can see the rest of the castle. It’s quite large, but you shouldn’t have any trouble finding your way.”

Bucky doubted that very, very much. His and Stevie’s house hadn’t been part of the village, and the village itself was so small that it was called Brooklyn Stop because it was the last town on the Brooklyn Bridge road before reaching the city and wasn’t big enough to warrant an original name.

“Down the hallway and to the right from my room is your’s,” Loki narrated as they took that path. He pushed the door open and set the pile of necklaces on the table that was just inside the room. “There’s a latch on the door, if you wish to not be disturbed. Short of breaking it down, no one will be able to get in. Now, would you like a tour of the castle and grounds, or would you like to rest?”

“I- uh. It’d be nice to know where everythin’ is,” Bucky hedged.

Loki nodded, like he’d expected that answer. “We’ll go to the kitchens then. After your room, it’s the most important place to know,” he said with a wink. Bucky was pretty sure winks weren’t supposed to look so refined. He followed Loki out the door and down the hall. He was confident he could remember the way two turns in, but then there was a fourth and he started to feel lost. If Loki decided to tease him by vanishing, Bucky wouldn’t be able to find his way back to his room; he’d probably wander around until he found a chair and sit there until someone rescued him-- not that he thought Loki would do that to him.

Everyone that worked in the kitchen was kind and welcoming, but Bucky could only offer awkward smiles in response to their hospitality. They invited him to come by anytime he was hungry day or night, and he thanked them as politely as he knew how and ate the fresh bread they all but shoved at him.

“Do you want to go back to your room?” Loki asked quietly, once the door behind them had closed.

Bucky nodded, taking what was surely an unseemly bite out of the bread. What did he care, only Loki could see him, and he hadn’t had fresh bread since he was a child. He made it back to his room, and Loki reminded him that he was just down the hall if he had any questions or didn’t want to be alone. Bucky nodded even though he had no intention of leaving unless he was starving.

He laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling with the hope to let his mind roam, but he immediately noted how soft the mattress was and how ornately the ceiling was decorated. Who needed a painted ceiling? And it wasn’t a single color, or even a pattern, it was like a mural. A mural on his room’s ceiling because why not?

He took off his shoes and stood on the bed to get a better look. His balance wasn’t the best, especially on something as soft as this mattress, but if he fell, he’d land on the bed and there were worse places to fall. There was a dragon terrorizing a village, when someone regal-looking was sent from the palace to save the day. Bucky assumed there would be some dragon slaying, but instead they tamed the dragon and brought them back to the village to help rebuild, and eventually they brought the dragon home with them. That explained why the Stark crest was a dragon, then.

He let himself fall back onto the bed and stared at the mural numbly. What was he doing? He didn’t belong here.

((This is Chapter 1 of 2, and the second chapter will be posted on AO3))

[indn241callagdecl2021]

Project 3 - Identify a design opportunity by trying to give your answers to the following questions

Have any issues drawn your attention during your research into the artefacts, objects or precedent approaches?

While researching plastics, I found out very little I was not peripherally aware of and was disturbed by all of it. Much of what we buy is plastic, even if we do not know it, and almost all is eventually discarded as waste, even though we do not have long term solutions for that waste.

Are they significant or serious enough to warrant interventions? Why do you think so?

Yes, as plastic pollution is one of the biggest problems that humanity is going to have to deal with over the next century. We need systematic reforms on a global level to reassess our toxic and destructive relationship with plastic waste.

Are you interested in dealing with the issues? Why do you think it is worth working on?

I find the issue too distressing to think about most of the time, especially given other people’s casual relationship with throwaway plastic packaging, and their self-absolution in the vague hope that everything will be recycled, even though it is far more profitable for petrochemical companies to simply produce new plastics. I would argue that political reform to prevent this would be far more useful than bashing my head repeatedly against a wall, trying to find design solutions to political problems. However, this does not mean that there are not pragmatic design innovations to be made to make use of the plastic waste we already have.

Have there been any attempts to resolve the issues? How effective were they?

While many attempts have been made by action groups and sometimes governments to stem the flow of commercial plastics, we are far too complacent in our relatively comfortable lives to ever want to give up the ease that they provide, even when reasonable alternatives are available. For instance, when the current government came to power in 2017, they put a ban on all single use plastic shopping bags. This was a small step, and initially inconvenient to some, however it proved that we do not need single use plastics, and they should be phased out completely.

What do you think is the root cause of the issues?

I think the root cause is that because plastic is such a versatile and ubiquitous material, we do not value it, and have no qualms about discarding it without a second thought. Looking back at the last 100 years, it would be easy to spot that we have built our comfortable modern world on the limited amount of oil on planet earth, which can be made into energy as well as plastics. We have blindly pursued the bottom line and deregulated to the point where multinational corporations are as powerful as governments, and as long as something like plastics are profitable to produce, then they will keep producing them, regardless of the long-term consequences.

Is it related to materials, production, or distribution? Are there better options available?

Yes, but it very much depends on what is meant by ‘better’. Plastics are unsurpassed in areas such as permanence and resistance to light, air, and water. This is largely because they are chemically stable, but this also means that they will not break down. There are certainly functionally acceptable options available such as waxed paper, cardboard, or compostable materials, but none that have the same lustre and universality as plastic.

Is it associated with human behaviour including beliefs, instincts, habits, or traditions? How rigid are they?

People will buy plastic wrapped food at the supermarket because it is there, and they need to eat. People will buy clothing made from plastics because it is cheap and warm, and they need to wear something. They will buy the food and the clothes regardless of the packaging or materials. The essential problem is not one of supply and demand, but of deprivation and necessity for profit. Moral and ethical complicity through coercive commerce.

Are the issues known to the public? Can awareness mitigate the issues? Is there ignorance or indifference?

There tends to be moderate to good theoretical understanding, but almost total practical indifference, because everyone of mine and my parents’ generation have relied on plastic products for a great part of their lives. Some brands have switched back to waxed paper or cardboard as a way to appeal to the environmentally conscious, and this shows that it could be possible to fully return to older, more sustainable methods of packaging.

Are there any potential antagonists? Can they be approached, persuaded, or overwhelmed?

Under our current system of neoliberal capitalism, with its emphasis on choice, free markets, and personal responsibility, we are formally all to blame, as we are all consumers. However, we often do not have the effective freedom to choose what we consume, as it may only ever be possible to buy the cheapest items, which most likely come wrapped in plastic.

I would argue that we need political reform in order to combat this problem, as the companies who produce the plastic waste will not stop on moral, ethical, or sustainable grounds, while it is more profitable to continue to produce plastics. And it terrifies me to think that humanity may be the first species in the universe to walk open eyed and fully conscious into our own extinction.

[greenishbucket]

If the World’s So Small

A humble offering to the Cialina/Blue tag. Pre-The Raven Boys.

4.6k. ao3

The first time Cialina asks if Blue wants to come to the cinema with her, Blue doesn’t think anything of it.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she says, focusing on making sure she’s got all the little salts in order before the new kid arrives in fifteen minutes and probably messes them all up, silently thanking whatever power that be that she doesn’t have to train them.

Blue doesn’t have time, inclination, or money to randomly go to the cinema with a co-worker who’s not bad to work with but isn’t really anyone apart from that. She has dog walking to do and at least two to three weeks of ignored homework to complete before the end of the year lest her grades slip beyond all repair – who has time for something like the cinema? Cialina certainly didn’t seem like someone with time to go to the cinema. Blue isn’t even sure Henrietta has a cinema. She's pretty sure it's the next town over. What are they going to do, drive to the cinema too? In whose car?

Cialana wipes down the counter quickly one last time, folds her apron into her backpack and slings it on her back, then checks her hair in her reflection in the wall menu – all without looking at Blue. “No problem,” she says finally. “See ya.”

Blue responds in kind but doesn’t watch Cialana as she leaves. She takes a moment to think about how she doesn’t even know what’s on at the cinema right now before she’s distracted again, this time by a child crying when they knock over their entire milkshake with a splat. Blue goes to get the mop.

The second time, Blue sees Cialina outside of Nino’s which is disturbing enough in and of itself.

She’s letting herself speed freely downhill because she’s dawdled with the groceries Jimi had requested at a shout, Blue half-out the door, and with collecting the packages Calla had asked of her that had been her initial reason for leaving. That and the fact that Fox Way has become only more oppressive as summer passes, the muddling noise and too many people grating and catching on Blue in all the wrong ways in the last surge of heat. Work is hardly a reprieve, nor the thought of school looming on the horizon, and there’s only so many times someone can take a walk before the same streets become unbearable. She wishes so hard she could spend her summers travelling that it hurts, the sting from listening to already returning Aglionby boys gloating bursting anew every time she revisits it.

Luckily, Blue has factored the dawdling and moping into her time management. She came to the conclusion they were fair game so long as she accepted the possible injury of reckless cycling and Maura being concerned in light of said possible injury. It feels good to take her feet off the pedals, let the wind blow through her hair and accept what happens happens.

What happens turns out to be she nearly crashes into Cialina who steps out into the previously empty street without looking. Blue yells something rude very loudly and nearly goes over the handlebars trying to stop in time while Cialina shrieks and nearly gets stuck in the wheel trying to stop Blue’s bike from toppling over. There are a few seconds of embarrassing and uncoordinated scrambling before they’re both safely upright again.

“Why did you do that?” Blue asks her, her heart pounding in sickening jerks and nothing like the cool exhilaration of moments before. She’s unfairly irritated with Cialina for ruining it, the first calm she’s felt in days.

“It was an accident,” Cialina says like Blue’s being stupid, though still checking Blue’s got a foot down before letting go of the bike. “You were the one that came out of nowhere.”

Which is fair but that doesn’t mean Blue has to admit it. She tries to shake her hair away from her face instead where it’s sticking to her temples but it doesn’t work and she just feels ridiculous as Cialina watches. Cialina probably never has to do that, her hair always off her face because it goes upward-ish usually and especially so in high stress situations like Nino’s, because she's a little stretched thin but ultimately practical and predictable like that.

“Thanks for saving the bike,” she says after a pause because that doesn’t place the blame anywhere but the saving of the bike – which isn’t even hers, she just picked it up off Fox Way’s lawn, who knows whose wrath she might have faced – is something that deserves thanks.

“You’re welcome,” Cialina says. Then: “I’m just headed to the cinema. Want to come with?”

It’s here that Blue realises they’re interacting outside the usual framework of Nino’s. There are no customers to make demands, no tables to serve or counters to clean, no end of shift acting as a time limit on their interactions. It’s weird to think Cialina exists outside of the walls of shiny diner plastic and sticky floors. She’s not even in the very loosely enforced Nino’s uniform – her shorts look worn and comfortable, her shirt a light blue that would show up every stain a shift could acquire, the jewellery around her wrists against all health and safety regulations. Cialina never seems to not have an aura of stress but her posture seems looser. Blue finds her eyes catching awkwardly on Cialina’s waist and looks away quickly.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she says without thinking.

Cialina maybe deflates a little, Blue thinks, but then she shrugs. “All right. See you at work.”

This time Blue watches her as she crosses the street and carries on her way to the cinema. Not that Blue has found out if this cinema actually exists, or where it might be if it does, since she feels like she’s explored every inch of Henrietta that deserves exploring a dozen times over and she’s never found a cinema. Maybe Cialina has a car or a very vivid imagination. Maybe Blue should have said yes, the thought of the long evening ahead stretching out in front of her with little appeal.

But then she remembers Jimi’s groceries and Calla’s packages and the promise she made to Persephone to lend her magnifying powers to something or other and the fact she has dog walking early tomorrow and bedding new flowers in the hot afternoon. And Cialina probably already has people to go with, other Mountain View kids that Blue certainly can’t remember seeing her with but that doesn’t mean much. Blue doesn’t pay a lot of attention and the summer has been long. She sets off home again, time management ruined.

The third time Cialina asks, Blue doesn’t remember what is said to her or what she says in return.

She’s so swamped with readjusting her schedule to school and her upped responsibilities as a not-psychic and the exhaustion that seems to just seep into her from the stillness of Henrietta all around her, the stagnation sinking into her skin, that it feels like time is warping. Hours pass by in a blink, like at school where she doesn’t even remember taking her sparse notes, and this carries on all the way until partway through a shift or partway through the walk home or partway through dinner when suddenly time slows and drags and fatigue hits strong enough that Blue could curl up forever.

That night she eats dinner late alone in the kitchen straight from the box she found it in in the fridge after taking a nap that lasted longer than planned, the house still and quiet around her for once. The quiet, for all that it’s a luxury, allows space for what feels uncomfortably like loneliness to grow from where Blue keeps it carefully squashed down in the tiniest corner of her heart and she pushes it away harder. She looks around for the day’s paper to see what would have been in the cinema if she had said yes but she can’t find one anywhere.

Blue isn’t one for films, or for spending money, or for spending time with people she knows little of other than as an association with places she’d rather not be – like school, or work, or her trapped-in-a-small-town future – but she thinks it would have been nice.

Of course, following that realisation Cialina shows no inclination to ask Blue again.

Blue finds herself trying to start conversation when they share shifts but Nino’s is far from the best place for it and Blue feels prickly and weird about it, starting conversations with people her age minus any provocation being far from her strong point for all that she knows how to charm anyone over 25. She sees Cialina approximately once outside work, in passing at the school entrance when they both arrive late and Blue nods and Cialina smiles but it means little.

It doesn’t help that Cialina can retain at least a passable farce of politely chatty, occasionally laying on the accent a little too heavy if Blue was to critique, with just about anyone even when her stress aura is at maximum. Blue can’t tell if she’s being humoured in her awkward attempts to make friends or receiving genuine engagement.

She has no practice in making friends and it’s hard to ignore the instinct to retreat when there’s no immediate, golden-light-and-angels click of a moment between them, no all-encompassing meeting of kindred souls that Blue has filled her expectations and dreams with since otherwise what is she? Mean, cold hearted, a bitch, stuck up? She’s heard all of it before and she doesn’t believe it, not really, but sometimes she’s not sure. She’s 16. Why else can’t she make fucking friends? Who started holding the other at arm’s length first, everyone else or her?

Instead, Blue and Cialina share snippets:

“I’m okay, though I completely bombed the chemistry test today. My notes didn’t even make sense last night.”

“Richardson’s the teacher, right?”

“Ugh. Yes.”

“Sucks. Bet it went better than you thought.”

and

“Did you see the cat next to the bins just now? Quick, I’ll cover your tables for a minute – it has a monocle marking.”

and

“God, could some of these boys been any less subtle about staring at my boobs? Like are you kidding me?”

“They probably think they’re seducing you with it. Maybe they should spend some of that money getting some common sense and decency knocked into them. Or at least on buying a mirror so they can see how ridiculous they look.”

“Don’t, you’ll make me laugh. I’m trying to look intimidating.”

and

“So I was watching Teen Wolf–”

“You were watching what?”

“Don’t pretend not to know it.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“So you never watched even an episode?”

“Why would I be interested in a show with the worst effects I’ve ever seen–”

“So you have seen it!”

“… One episode. Not even one. Half of one. A quarter. A reflection in a window.”

and

“So you help out with the family business and walk dogs and work here?”

“And odd jobs here and there.”

A laugh, passing busily behind the counter. “Wow, and I thought I was stressed. You're unstoppable.”

It’s nice.

Blue feels like it’s a solid foundation for something, a foundation they’re slowly adding to bit by bit together but still as steady as the kind of friendship-forged-in-fire she’d always set her sights on. It settles something in her to see evidence that such a thing can exist forming in front of her own eyes, feel it forming in herself with the worry when Cialina looks too tired and warmth in her stomach when they’re back on shift together after a few days separate.

Despite the conscious effort she’s made to reach out to her, it still comes as a surprise to Blue that she actually likes Cialina. It’s not pleasant to confront the reality that even when Blue thought she’d moved past seeing her just as a fill-in companion at work something must have still lingered, or that the reaching out had been more self-centred than she thought, a semi-desperate lunge away from the yawning loneliness and claustrophobia of Henrietta. It’s not something she’s proud of.

But Cialina is hard not to like. She frequently mixes up her whole family’s whites with their reds even though she’s been on laundry duty since she could be trusted with the detergent and she has hands down the worst taste in media consumption Blue has ever encountered (not that it stops her Googling it all via stuttering internet connection because she’s never been trusted with this kind of intimacy, people’s real and honest interests. It fascinates her even as it infuriates her when Cialina laughs and calls yet another one of Blue’s better-media-suggestions pretentious, voice warm.)

Cialina subscribes to ‘the customer is always right’ like it’s the word of God until the second she’s behind the kitchen doors, at which point her reactions range from a restrained sigh at best to a 30 second, cuss-filled rant at worse, which has only happened once. She tells Blue both when she thinks her clothes are innovative and when she thinks they’re too far. She knows how to play basketball and is happy to teach anyone that wants to know, even though she gets shy about it.

Blue settles into it, feels pleased with it. She likes Cialina.

Sometimes, she thinks maybe she likes Cialina. It’s something her mind skirts around and she’s nervous to look closer at it. Sure, Cialina is attractive in a way that has made Blue unsure before if she wants to be her or be with her but what does Blue know? Cialina certainly isn’t the first girl Blue’s looked at and felt something over but it’s hard to pull apart – is she enamoured and stupid with the rush of friendship or is it really something else? Sure, she’s attractive but what does Blue want to actually do with that?

Blue turns it over in her mind during menial tasks like school and serving tables and walking and helping in the garden and looking up what career paths are open to her for a moment before it makes her feel ill and gets pushed aside until next time. The prophecy of true love’s kiss lingers; presumptive though a label like love might be, it’s a risk Blue knows she’ll always be taking if she kisses someone until one day it’s too late.

Ultimately, she decides it doesn’t matter whether she likes Cialina or not because she can’t push their whatever-it-is outside the realm of Nino’s. Cialina doesn’t offer the cinema again, is as elusive to find outside work as ever, and Blue feels flushed and embarrassed all over whenever she tries to buck up and suggest something even as simple as walking part of their journeys home together.

She’s irritated with herself and irritated with Cialina for stopping showing an interest as soon as Blue showed some back and it all twists up until Blue’s spending half her time ignoring half her emotions because they’re largely messy and unsolvable. The women of Fox Way take to giving her annoying and superior looks that only make her feel worse. If Cialina notices she doesn’t say anything, just as Blue doesn’t question the sources of Cialina’s constant stress, and for a while it’s a status quo neither of them push the boundaries of.

It comes to a head as spring break is coming to a close.

Blue feels like she’s been working every waking moment of her life for the entire break and she’s pretty sure she’s currently on her twelfth consecutive day of Nino’s shifts. Her feet and back ache and she got all mediocre to poor grades back on her tests just before break started (as if the ongoing downward spiral of her academic career wasn't apparent enough) and one of the cousins has had some kind of flu that’s made her a tiny storm cloud over Fox Way for days. Yesterday it spread to the third graders she helps out with work so they were terrible too.

Cialina calls in to say she’s coming in late so Blue has to cover all of her tables because no one bothers to call in anyone else so by the time Cialina arrives Blue is worked off her feet and kind of pissed off. She doesn’t even nod back when Cialina, slipping her apron over her head, gives a muffled greeting, just stalks off to serve the endless sea of fucking raven boys she’s been left with. It’s an empty kind of satisfaction that isn’t actually satisfying at all to see Cialina look a little hurt.

They’re both on shift until closing and it’s quiet and thorny between them, no respite of normal conversation that has become the norm between them to keep the frustrations at bay. Blue deals with six returned meals, three spilt drinks, roughly fifty cases of napkins shoved in wet glasses to congeal and straw wrappers shredded everywhere, three smirking Aglionby boys telling her to smile and two more trying to hit on her, the last of whom dares to lift a hand as if to touch her arm. She jerks back and away from the table, marching to the kitchen and barking the table’s order even as she feels the last threads of her control slipping from her grasp.

By the time it’s just her and Cialina mopping the floors and stacking chairs, Blue can feel her chin wobbling with angry, exhausted tears. She isn’t going to let Cialina see because it’s not like Cialina even cares, she left Blue to deal with it all on her own and it’s not even like she actually likes Blue – or maybe she does, but she doesn’t like Blue and Blue didn’t think that it mattered that much but suddenly it really, really does and it’s awful. Blue isn’t fond of crying in front of people anyway, regardless of whether she’s developed a terrible, no good, useless crush on them.

She thinks she might have just gotten away with it, taking her jacket and heading towards the door with a vague wave back to Cialina, when the dreaded words:

“Hey, Blue, are you all right?”

How anyone is supposed to stay strong in light of those words when they’re upset, Blue doesn’t know.

The crying comes out snotty and loud and jagged and Blue thinks it might have been a long time coming, the way she feels a release like some kind of pressure valve that’s been at absolute maximum whatever the fuck for much too long. She’s aware of Cialina’s arm around her shoulder leading her out of Nino’s into what amounts to the parking lot, aware of Cialina locking up and guiding her down onto the wall that everyone leaves their bikes against where Blue is aware she cries for quite a bit longer.

After a while, the tears dry up and her face just feels raw and her nose clogged. She’s sure the embarrassment will set in hard soon enough. Cialina’s arm is still around her shoulders and she’s offering a tissue with her spare hand. Blue takes it and does the best she can to wipe up the snot.

“Sorry,” she says, surprised by how hoarse she is.

Cialina sounds quite calm when she says, “Don’t worry about it. Crying can be like that sometimes.”

“Still. Sorry to make you sit there with me like that. Sorry I was mean earlier.”

A shrug. “Want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know. Not really.”

There’s a pause. Blue is aware that Cialina’s arm is still around her shoulders and she doesn’t know what to do with it, whether to take the comfort as is or move in closer – even have a hug, a real hug that isn’t from her mother – or move away entirely. Blue Sargent; sensible, strong, self-sufficient.

“I guess I figured– well,” Cialina says, voice determinedly casual. “I thought maybe it might be some crushing uncertainty about the future because you’re stuck in a small town with few prospects and few real friends and you want to make something of your life but you don’t know how, or if you’re good enough, and maybe all you’re good for is waiting tables and being disrespected by customers and doing endless mundane things you don’t really enjoy so why bother.”

Blue blinks. “Oh.”

It’s a strange experience, sitting with a girl she barely cared to know only a few months ago outside their shitty workplace in the dark covered in dried tears and snot. Blue looks at her and can barely see her in the faint efforts of the streetlight a little down the way now Nino's doesn't have a lit-up sign anymore. Perhaps it’s for the best. She can’t imagine how heady the she’d feel if she could really see Cialina, mix these new emotions with the ones she already feels when she looks at her. Maura will be worried if Blue doesn’t come home soon but Blue can’t leave yet, not after that. She feels wordless, unsure of how to express herself. Like her chest is lighter than it’s been in years but she’s more grounded than ever. It’s a strange feeling, being known.

“Not to rain on your pity parade for one, but you’re not the only one,” Cialina says, squeezing Blue’s shoulders once quickly before letting go. She shifts over a bit and Blue wishes she’d come back.

“I didn’t know,” Blue says honestly. Is that superiority rearing its head again or is that natural, to assume you’re alone in all your worries and troubles only to be proven wrong?

“Just because I watch Teen Wolf, doesn’t mean I’m not a complex being.”

Blue laughs, croaky. “Shut up. I know that. You just always have things under control, even when I can see you’re stressed.”

“It’s called having a managed anxiety disorder.” Cialina says, quickly, hesitantly, firmly. “There are useful strategies.”

“Oh,” Blue says again. “I didn’t know.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad it’s managed. For your sake.”

“Well, you know. It’s a work in progress. I want to act, so. We'll see.”

Blue twists to look at her fully even in the darkness. “Act? I didn’t know you could act. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Cialina sounds embarrassed. “I don’t know, it’s just a bit of a dream at the moment. We’re still young, you know? Who knows what will happen.”

“You should do something with the drama club.”

Even more embarrassed: “I already am. Just a small part for now but I’ve been going to rehearsals. It’s why I came in late today, they rescheduled without a lot of warning. Sorry.”

Blue fights the urge to push Cialina off the wall. “Why didn’t you say? I’m going to come and watch.”

“You hate school,” Cialina says like the case is closed.

“But I like you,” Blue says because it really is that simple and sometimes she doesn’t think before she speaks even when she should. She knows it came out way too fervently. Her stomach rolls horribly.

Cialina has gone quiet beside her.

“Oh,” she says eventually. Then, almost laughing: “I didn’t know.”

Blue can feel her face glowing with heat but the laugh didn’t sound like a bad one. It sounded like a good laugh, fanning the flames of hope in her stomach. She doesn’t know what to say. She feels abruptly twelve. Feeling clumsy but bolstered by the way the light catches on Cialina’s smile, so wide her face must already ache, Blue grabs for her hand.

“So?” she asks nonsensically because who knows what she’s asking. Will you keep working on this foundation with me? Will you date me? Will you ask me to the cinema that I still haven’t found again? Will you share this existential dread and trapped small-town fatigue with me even though I wish you didn’t feel it, I’m so glad you do and we can get out of this together?

Maybe Cialina gets all of that or maybe she doesn’t but she gets something, she gets some part of Blue, and she squeezes Blue’s hand hard. “Yes,” she says. Then she laughs again, loud and happy this time. “God, I asked you out so many times. I thought you must hate me for being so pushy”

“Just because I turned you down all those times you asked me to the cinema, doesn’t mean I didn’t want to date you,” Blue says, smiling and revelling in the feeling of Cialina’s hand in her own, both of their hands chapped from Nino’s cheap cleaning products.

“You didn’t at the time,” Cialina says. “You don’t have to pretend you did.”

“I know,” Blue concedes even though it seems weird and wrong that she looked at Cialina and thought her uninspired or boring or whatever else. It feels like limiting herself which Blue has never liked to do. “But I didn’t hate you either. It just went all over my head, I can be like that sometimes. Now you can ask me again, we can share popcorn and share an armrest.”

Cialina laughs at her again, this time like all the times before where she’s laughed at Blue’s interests being ‘pretentious’, at her disconnect from other Henrietta residents her age. It should sting but the fondness softens it out, makes Blue feel something like the flip side of being known, like being accepted and appreciated.

“Blue,” Cialina says, “there isn't actually a cinema. Not a real one. I mean, not in Henrietta so unless you want my brother to chaperone us it’s just a projector set up in our dad’s old garage and other people come along if they want. We take turns choosing the film. Mostly I pick horror movies, I think they're funny.”

“Huh,” Blue says. Figures why she couldn't find the cinema.

“Let me guess, you didn’t know.”

Blue rolls her eyes at that but there’s no real heat. “I don’t like horror but I guess I’ll bring popcorn next time anyway.”

“Sounds like a date,” Cialina says, pleased.

Cialina’s hand is so warm in Blue’s and it would be a really good moment and Blue wants so desperately to kiss her. She can’t imagine how it would feel, is so eager to find out she almost forgoes being sensible about it. Is it a risk she could take? How does she know true love from not? Do you have to love them yet or just have the potential? How much does a pronoun matter to fate?

“I can’t kiss you,” Blue blurts out before either of them can act. She really hopes it isn’t a deal breaker to Cialina. “My mom said if I ever kiss someone they might die.”

Cialina takes a moment to consider this. “Said it in like a psychic way?”

“Yeah.”

Cialina takes another moment to consider this. She doesn’t take her hand out of Blue’s.

“What if I kissed you?” she asks. “Not for real, just–” she leans in and Blue’s breath catches in her throat but she doesn’t want her to stop. She can feel Cialina’s breath on her cheek and it has her heart rate sky rocketing; by contrast, the kiss on her cheek is gentle and brief, a quick press of lips as close to Blue’s mouth as she guesses Cialina dares and as close as either of them can bear.

It feels like a lot, for a kiss on the cheek. Blue shivers and she can hear Cialina’s breath shake a little as she moves away again. Blue stares into the dark and tries to take stock. She doesn’t want to forget what she’s feeling now.

Cialina says after a pause, tone light but her hand still clasped tightly in Blue’s giving her away, “Alternatively, we could try that one saran wrap idea from Pushing Daisies, did I ever show you that one?”

She hadn’t; Blue had discovered it herself when she’d looked the damned show up since Cialina had mentioned it so many times and had had a slightly hysterical giggling fit about being able to relate. Cialina doesn’t need to know that.

Instead, she really does try to push Cialina off the wall who grabs Blue tight and shushes her even though she isn’t speaking. Cialina keeps getting interrupted by her own laughter as she tries to defend the idea and the possibilities of Henrietta open up to Blue in ways she’d never imagined all around her.

[coffeecakey]

hello! uhh i saw u @sabo last yr n i was digging through old photos and i saw ur table so hopefully this isnt too out of the blue? (if this question makes u uncomfortable pls just ignore) would you mind sharing how you make your prints and such? im tabling for the first time this september @ sabo and i dont realy know where to start.. ive never had to deal with printers and such before especially not like buttons/stickers/prints without (1/2)

“without investing in a better printer or button press or something? i feel like something is bound to go wrong considering its my first time doing something this big but any advice would b really much appreciated..! sorry about the sudden msg i hope u have a nice day !! :) 2/2”

HI absolutely not a bother at all!! And I’m sorry I’m only just responding to you!! But here is a comprehensive post in re: CONS because AA stuff is hard when you’re just figuring stuff out, and I’m still working on it myself. But I can definitely prevent you from making the same mistakes I did (like getting 11x14 prints for $9 each for my first con OTL)

First off, let’s talk prints.

Prints should always be the main event of your table, especially if it’s your first con. If you showcase your art style on a large scale, it is more likely to attract people to your table. You want to build your stock around the prints you choose to make.

Since saboten is the biggest anime con in AZ, you’re going to want at least a few (I would say at least 6!) 11x17 size designs for print. The less designs you have, the more of each print you should have. I like to have 12-15 print designs for each con, so i buy 8-12 of each depending on popularity. For really popular things, I like to have an upwards of 20. But since this is your first con, I would suggest you start with a smaller stock with about 10-15 of each one, 15 being for your most popular fandom!! A total stock of about 75 prints should be good, and I don’t think you would need more than that.

And while it’s a good idea to choose subjects that you like, it’s also important to choose popular fandoms and subjects. Voltron, Yuri on Ice, and Sailor Moon have been among my best selling subjects over the last year! I know people are also interested in Breath of the Wild, Overwatch, Final Fantasy, and MP100. Do your research in what’s up and coming in the next few months so you know what’ll have traction. It takes practice to understand, but also talk to friends, look on instagram to see what people are planning for cosplay, etc. For example, Voltron will have a lot of hype because of SDCC in July, so people will be excited for season 3, whenever it comes out in the next year. Cater to those people! The point is that you have to balance what you want to sell with what people want to buy. Also, it’s worth noting that generalized/group images sell VERY well because they appeal to more people.

Postcard sized prints are ALWAYS up to you, and feel free to make them individual characters or popular pairings–and how many you have is sort of just up to you. In my opinion, they don’t sell perfectly well. People are more interested in things they can either put on their wall or on their bags, so they aren’t as popular. Between 5-10 of each design should be acceptable. It’s also okay to make a smaller version of one or two of your anticipated larger best sellers (you can usually assume).

Now, where to order them from!

Catprint is absolutely the best place I have ordered prints from, and I prefer it to having them printed at Kinkos. They do absolutely any size, with different paper stocks, finishing options, and coating options. Holy customization, Batman! Plus, it’s cheap (especially if you manipulate a little. Not in a bad way, of course, but in a way that suits your needs). I like to order 11x17s on Matte Lightweight cardstock because they’re only $0.65 each and are sturdy and beautiful! For postcards, I arrange 5x7s/6x4s & 5x5s on an 11x17 file and cut them out with an industrial cutter when i print stickers and buttons at Kinkos, rather than ordering them (because for some reason they severely overcharge on postcard sizes). This is also a good idea if you want an irregular shaped print but want to save!

Also, make sure that you follow the file requirements that Catprint lists on their website–it’ll save you time and money!!

If you like, here is my referral linkfor catprint that will save you (and me!) 10$ when you order.

On to buttons and stickers!!

These are GREAT for first cons, especially because they are cheap for buyers and they can buy all their favorite characters or pairings!

For stickers, it is cheapest and easiest for me to buy unscored, matte label paper on amazon or ebay. And lots of it. I am still hacking through mine, even after using them for my stock, shipping labels, and freebies. I make all my stickers circles because I’m hard enough on my hands as it is and… uniquely shaped stickers sell exactly the same. So I own a 2.5" circle punch and make all my stickers 2.44" so there’s a white boarder. You can always fill them to be exact (and go over to about 2.6" for the design file), but i think they look finished this way, and if you miss the mark a bit, you won’t have any added whites on your design.

Buttons are certainly more complex, and it depends on whether or not you already have a machine. If you have one, don’t buy one unless your current one breaks. If you don’t have one, WAIT until you’re making good figures to buy an American made button maker. Chinese made machines are cheap, but pricey to fix and replace. American Button Machines are FANTASTIC (they’re what I use!) and use all metal fixings so that they’re basically guaranteed to last. But until you are making 2-5k per con, it’s not really worthwhile to buy a nice machine.

BUT! You CAN team up with other AA people local or otherwise (LIKE ME) who are willing to make buttons on their fancy industrial button makers and cutters (if you’re interested in this, I proof files, print them myself on no-bleed paper, and assemble the buttons myself. I also do proofs for $0.50 a button with no minimum and there’s flat shipping fees for under 100 buttons! I can set you up with my pricing for labor and materials if you like). This is very much so your cheapest option for buttons if you don’t already have a machine, as most companies charge more and have higher minimums per design.

My recommended size are 1.25" buttons. They’re not too small and they’re not too large! This is the only size I offer, but if you’re feeling specific I know places like PureButtons have great options and pricing.

You will certainly want to have lots of each sticker design. They sell very well, and people will even buy original designs of stickers if they’re cute enough! Buttons are a little more tricky, and it’s better to have less if you are ordering them, and better to have more options if you make them yourself. I don’t really sell more than 30 buttons at any con since it’s not my main focus. So choose wisely for button designs!

I know I went overboard with this answer, so please feel free to ask me more questions on ordering prints. This is mostly my process, but I hope I was able to help you at least a little bit!!! Let me know if you want help with displays, business cards, packaging, or con commissions. I’m happy to help !! ♥️

[callmeblake]

Selections from Kerrang Issue #1642 (screencaps from pressreader)

Photo Credit: Paul Harries and Ashley Maile

Magazine Release Date: October 19th, 2016

Issue Label: October 22nd, 2016

I just LOVE Frank’s face in this

(you can read it, on presssreader, you just have to play around with the size of your screen to see it all)

OMG it has a an audio as WELL. It’s a computer voice! It calls Gerard “Jared”!

Transcript for selections below 

REJOIN THE BLACK PARADE

It’s the mcr album that changed your life. 10 years on, we retell its amazing story…

Kerrang! (UK)

19 Oct 2016

In the autumn of 2006, My Chemical Romance’s third album, The Black Parade, landed in the lap of this magazine. In Kerrang!’s world, the quintet from New Jersey were already stars, the band having graced our covers since the release of 2004’s Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge. Two years on from the grief-stricken purge of their second album, MCR were ready for a leap into the great wide open of superstardom with a capital ‘S’. The Black Parade would serve as a down-payment on this new exalted status… The review that preceded the album’s release described MCR’S soon-to-be-blockbuster as having “flamboyance in abundance”, but also depth. “Beneath the surface is where to look on this album,” we wrote .“underneath the imagery and the concept is where you’ll find all sorts – hope, resignation, anger, defiance, self-loathing and a thousand more emotions aside. It’ll take a few listens, but when The Black Parade reveals its secrets to you, you’ll be dazzled by its brilliance.”

Turns outthe Black Parade revealed its secrets with such resonance that a decade on, we’re still talking about it.this week, the 13-song set (14 songs including hidden track, Blood) celebrates its 10th birthday.

“I remember reading an early interview with [frontman] Gerard Way where he said something that I think best sums up My Chemical Romance,” remembers former Kerrang! writer Catherineyates, who in August of 2006 spoke with the band in Camden Town for their first cover story in support ofthe Black Parade.“before he found success with the band, he was talking about how he was living in his parents’ basement, working a crappy retail job and was unhappy with his life. He thought,‘i’ve just got to get out of this basement.’ And he did. I think that serves as a powerful metaphor for anyone unhappy with their current situation. It’s a powerful metaphor for anyone.”

By the time of The Black Parade, Gerard Way had left behind not just his parents’ basement, but also the My Chemical Romance music that had preceded it.

For the latter part of the 20th century and the first years of the 21st century, the terms ‘concept album’ and – Shock! Horror! – ‘rock opera’ were about as appealing as being run over by a car.with the release of American Idiot, in 2004 Green Day changed all that. Suddenly, thematic ideas splayed upon vast canvases were as artistically acceptable as they had been in the 1970s.

It is testament to MCR’S moxie that while clearly influenced by Green Day’s magnum opus – as well as utilising the services of that album’s talented producer, Rob Cavallo – the only debt The Black Parade owes to the 2004 smash is the notion of an album as a thematic concern, and a sense of fearlessness in its blue-sky thinking. Recorded between April and August of 2006 at Eldorado Recording Studios Recording Studios in Burbank, California, the album encompassed themes of death, life, disease, childhood recollections and the triumph of the human spirit in the face of adversity. The songs Welcome To The Black Parade, Famous Last Words, I Don’t Loveyou andteenagers were picked as singles. In the spirit of the ‘surrogate band’ in Pink Floyd’s The Wall and David Bowie’s alter ego Ziggy Stardust from the The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars set, on the tour in support of their third album the group appeared under the nom de plume The Black Parade.all the while they were dressed in black marching uniforms that resembled a monochromatic incarnation of the clothes sported by The Beatles on the front cover of their 1967 classic Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Released on October 23, 2006,The Black Parade debuted on the U.S. Billboard album chart at Number Two and in the same position in the UK. In their home country, the album would go on to sell some 1.6 million copies. worldwide, the collection would find its way into the homes of no fewer than three million people. Success, though, came at a cost.the recording of The Black Parade and the mammoth tour undertaken in its name – which included a sold-out date at London’s O2 Arena on November 15, 2007 – would take its toll on this sensitive band.at various times on the road, bassist Mikey Way and guitarist Frank Iero would absent themselves from the line-up, vacancies that were filled by stand-in musicians; it would also be the last time drummer Bob Bryar recorded with the group. The album would also prove to be MCR’S creative and commercial high-water mark.as of 2013, as you will know, the band are no more.

“The Black Parade is significant not just for its music, but for the fact that it was probably the last rock album to become really popular before the internet took over,” believes Catherine Yates. “These days it would be really hard for a band to establish themselves with such a strong visual ethic because there’s so much music competing for people’s attention.”

With The Black Parade, MCR defined their legacy in musical form. It is a testament to what was, and what will always be.

IT'S NOT A FASHION STATEMENT...

Andy BIERSACK TALKS us THROUGH The FASHION OF The BLACK PARADE…

Kerrang! (UK)

19 Oct 2016

■ “My Chemical Romance coming back with The Black Parade and the look that went with it was like someone planting a flag and saying that, in 2006,‘This is how we – the weirdos and the outcasts – look, and this is how we feel.’ It’s a fantastic aesthetic, and there’s an incredibly talented costume designer at Warner Brothers [Colleen Atwood] who designed it with Gerard, and that collaboration resulted in this incredible visual style that you can’t ignore. At the time, I didn’t know Gerard was such a comic book enthusiast, and there’s definitely a costumed hero vibe readily noticeable in those outfits now. One of the things that makes me smile is that if you asked the average person to draw the costumes, I’d bet they’d draw the same jacket for every member. But the reality is that each member’s outfit was nuanced enough that they retained their individuality. while I’ve never taken explicit influence from their actual aesthetic, when I designed the costumes for the Wretched And Divine I specifically drew each member’s outfit the way I thought it should be, and then worked with them individually to give each that personality, and that was hugely influenced by The Black Parade. For me, it’s never been just about the music.the whole package is what provides that escapism, the music is the soundtrack to the feeling, and that feeling is one of being disenfranchised. Sometimes you want to show your differences from others, and the aesthetic of The Black Parade empowered so many people to do so.”

THE FIRST GIG AND WE WERE THERE!

MCR ANNOUNCED THE BLACK PARADE IN TYPICALLY ENIGMATIC FASHION IN LONDON ON AUGUST 22, 2006. OUR EDITOR, JAMES MCMAHON,WAS THERE…

Kerrang! (UK)

19 Oct 2016

“I’ll be honest, for me, I didn’t quite realise the significance at the time. I went to the show because I liked MCR, but I didn’t understand the sheer gravity of what I’d just witnessed until much later.‘due to unforeseen circumstances, My Chemical Romance are unable to perform this evening…’ boomed the venue’s PA. I remember the boos.the detritus being thrown at the stage. I remember the pregnant pause. ‘However… My Chemical Romance’s good friends The Black Parade have kindly stepped in as a replacement…’ I remember the confusion.the realisation The Black Parade and MCR were one and the same.the euphoria.and then I remember one of the greatest gigs I’ve ever had the good fortune to be present at. I Don’t Love you, House Of wolves, Cancer… all songs being played live for the first time. I remember thinking,‘this could be to emo what American Idiot was to punk…’ and I think I nailed that one from the off. I have to say, that Hammersmith Palais was one of the greatest venues. So yeah, I didn’t realise the significance at the time, but now, I’m aware I was in the presence of a legend being forged.”

[myfriendpokey]

mystery market

most of my imagination of game culture comes from memories of video rental stores (which rented games, too), with hundreds of different packets of various levels of opacity, blurred alluring pictures, unaccountable gaps (why was there always a copy of The Fly II but never of The Fly?), an enormous immediate level of variation coupled with a strange sense of equivalence, of anonymity. 500 videocassettes which each cost the same to rent / are packaged in the same format / come from the same store are all essentially the same videotape, regardless of what any particular one contains, or how good or bad it might be - everything united through the levelling effect of exchange value. it was a place of great mystery to me but it was also a kind of market, and consequently the way i thought about videogames was also kind of like a market.

this is obviously a framework with sharp, sometimes gross, limitations, even if i'm not sure how fully avoidable it is - i get the joke when small developers invent "companies" called Bob Corp or Susan Industries but it's also sort of close to home when considering just how mediated our images of these things are through the formats most amenable to business and capital. but that being said i don't think this means they're necessarily tainted right through from the start, having an alienated or aestheticised image of these things can help to identify tensions within them, particularly when compared to later and more accurate impressions. i think in retrospect the appeal of the video store to me was as a perverse image of egalitarianism, one of a community where membership would not be given on the basis of some particular quality (being good, being smart, being worthwhile) but in a structural sense which ignored the existence of such qualities altogether. the fact that all the individual cassettes seemed lost in their own worlds, that there was no communication between one video and the other, also had a specific appeal if you were shy or aloof - it was a community which didn't necessitate talking to anyone. and i wonder in general re. the famous affinity of white nerds with market capitalism if, on an emotional if not economic level, it's in part driven less by individualism than a sense of the community of commodities, one which opens indiscriminately to anyone willing to pay, heedless of all invisible hierarchies of social communication - while of course sidestepping the question of who is able to pay, and why, and allowing for the continued pleasant ressentiment towards other, supposedly more sectarian communities (i.e. ones excluding the speaker)  such as blacks, gays, women, etc. so the video-store-as-utopia image doesn't hold up, not just in the most obvious sense of where and who it existed for but even as an experience in itself - where unless you're 8 years old it almost immediately becomes obvious that the videos on display are far less heterogenuous than they initially appear, overwhelmingly the same recent-ish studio productions, the same aspirations and assumed set of references and emotional priorities, same genre signifiers and same functions, like one of those 999 game-in-one cartridges where 994 of the games are just variations of tetris. and in fact this experience is magnified even more enormously in any kind of "open" online market, such as steam or the app store or netflix, where the particular unease comes from the coupling of almost infinite choice with an uncanny lack of actual variation, like bad procedural generation, every possible combination of zombies and match-3 repeating endlessly into the horizon, in fact like a sort of negative image of our earlier videotape fantasy: where instead of individuality existing in a fixed structure we have the coexistence of an open structure with blandly oversimilar, repetitive elements. this might not be especially less "egalitarian" than our previous examples, "you can watch anything if you have money" not that much less limiting than "you can play anything as long as it's match-3" but i think it does highlight one of the felt contradictions of the system - in the discrepancy between the cultural fantasy image of endless "choice", sensation, multiplicity and the real economic factors which ensure such multiplicity will only ever be a fleeting dream before the increasingly uniform accumulation of capital.

i don't know what such contradictions are worth, although the enormous amounts of money and energy spent trying to fix or elide them suggest they're at least worth something - for example every essay or news report in a financial magazine taking the time to point out either that videogames are healthy in some neurological way or else focusing on the bright creative young things who are even now moving this horrible medium away from shooter games and collectibles and closer to dare we say it "art", the frequency of which have risen as the amount of money both made and invested in the format continues to grow. surely nothing this profitable can be ALL bad, surely there isn't a totally irreconcileable break between profit and human value. the question of whether videogames are art is political in the sense that it touches on one of those deep ideological articles of faith which provide legitimacy to economic or political order, like free trade equals freedom or capitalism being a natural fit with democracy, in this case the idea that commercial culture can never depart too dramatically from accepted parameters of merit and taste, which is typically a fantasy both sides are invested in maintaining even as the restless desire for more profits and more markets ensures the line is always only moving one way. in the same way that many proponents of truly free trade would (presumably) still feel some distaste at the prospect of selling heroin to teenagers even hardened conservatives can become a little sickly at the prospect that the future of the film industry consists of 44 years of spiderman reboots and pornography.

which brings us back to indie games, and to a certain awkward argument within them; namely, are these things meant to be replacing the existing industry or just supplementing it? with the consensus, by now, firmly with the latter. it's a little eerie to imagine "indie games" on their own, out of the contrast with some AAA counterpart - they immediately begin to seem more diffuse, if not distracted, stylish but also curiously listless outside of the deep mulch of practice games, physics toys, and abandoned projects that make up the majority of development practice. how much more sense they make as kind of a vitamin tablet, as transient and local infusions of colour, inventiveness and thought helping to smooth over cracks in an otherwise regimented genre landscape - and acting the same way in a moral capacity, where playing a short cute, weird, empathic or political game sort of clears your conscience about going back to play another 50 hours of destiny in the same way that jogging to work "earns" you a packet of crisps later on. which isn't necessarily to dismiss these games, which i think might require another 10 years to see clearly, to understand what "indie" meant to people growing up online or playing videogames - but i do think that lending themselves so readily to a place in this moral economy, acting as the human, creative supplement which makes videogames seem bearable, being the GOOD games, plays maybe more readily into the ideological survival of a dismal market consensus than maybe anyone involved would like to think.

does this mean moving away from things which are cute, weird, empathic or political in favor of some kind of bleak accelerationist impulse (everyone just make spiderman games now. no future), i don't think so. in a weird way i think part of the reason that image of the video store has stuck with me is as counterpoint to this equation of interesting or weird work with values of individuality, creativity, moral seriousness, all the other virtues that small developers are asked to provide in proportion to their gradually vanishing from the scorched earth of consumer culture. the alienated video store image, for reasons discussed above, is untenable as an actual proposal, but it's worth considering what that image, or that desire, represents: the difference between the dream image and the reality is that one is a market without competition, and this discrepency i think strikes at something real, the tendency of competition to extinguish that "variety" held up as the friendly, carnivalesque face of the market, the tendency of capital to eat away at those very features habitually portrayed as its most acceptable. when i think of the most appealling prospects offered by homebrew videogames i invariably think of those which assume from the start that competition is what's holding them back, like the glorious trainwrecks pirate karts or david kanaga's unionization proposal, both of which imply that true variety is only compatible with the equitable structures that they set out to create - which in other words argue for a basic fault in capitalism from the start and a need to move apart from it rather than that of finding aesthetic solutions for economic problems. i think at this point if there's anything i'd "like to see" it's just acknowledging how shitty the existing system for making and distributing these things is, and how few people it actually works for, and trying to move away from the idea that a few "cool folkz" making a living is good enough, broader structures, colder structures. both videogames and video stores are compromised by capital; the value of both is in their insufficiency, in the sense of promises not kept, of unfinished business.