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sophie-jen · 3 years ago

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water lilies and tadpoles

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James rolled onto his back. He looked up at the sun, shining joyfully in the cloudless sky, then immediately groaned, and rolled back onto his stomach.

"You look like a beached whale, honey."

James groaned again. "S'hot," he mumbled.

"Why don't you go down to the lake and take a swim?"

James did not dignify this question with a response. His mother had been trying to kick him out all morning. She clearly didn’t want him in her way as she pranced around in her sunhat, gardening tools in hand. James was too miserable to care. He just groaned louder and rolled over again. But this was the wrong move, he realized belatedly, as he felt the crunch of his mother's favorite lilies being crushed under his weight.

Five minutes later and a shovel shaped dent in his skull found James making his way toward the stupid lake. As he pushed his way valiantly through swarms of mosquitoes, he considered the very real possibility that he would drown in his own sweat before he ever reached water.

The suffocating heat made everything hazy. Overhead, branches swayed. Leaves rustled. Underfoot, twigs crunched. Moss whispered. Streams of light danced around him. Birds croaked. Frogs chirped. A mushroom tipped its cap to him.

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it occurred to James that he might be lost. Just as the beginnings of panic started brewing in his stomach, his foot caught in a root and he went toppling down a hill. He rolled to a stop next to a small glittering lake, and groaned. This was definitely not the lake his mother had been referring to. He hadn’t known there even was another lake in this area. It really was quite small, resembling more of an oversized pond.

There was something emphatically off about the happy twinkle of the water and the ethereal glow that bathed everything in a golden light. He also couldn’t help but notice that the water lilies were eyeing him suspiciously. To their left, a large, judgmental looking trout poked its face out of the water, took a good look at him, and with a disappointed shake of its head, went back down to report what it had seen. And sat on an outcrop not three feet away, looking straight at him while her fingers combed through her long tendrils of red hair, was a mermaid. This was a little much for poor James to take, and mercifully, after one last groan for good measure, consciousness fled and everything faded to black.

James gasped awake. He lay in the dark for a few seconds, contemplating the strange dream he had been having, before sitting up. As he did, something cold and slimy slid off his eyes and down his face, taking his glasses with it. He felt around for the glasses, slid them back onto his nose, looked at the lily pad that had dropped into his lap, and felt his stomach drop with it.

"I thought it might help cool you off."

He looked over at the girl who sat not far away. She was looking at him with an expression of mingled apprehension and curiosity. And sure enough, when James looked down, he saw curled under her a long gray tail, scales shimmering in the sunlight. He had to make a considerable effort not to faint again.

"I’ve found lily pads are really refreshing. I was afraid you had heat exhaustion or something,” the girl said.

“Oh. Thank you.” James didn’t know how to explain to her that it most likely wasn’t the heat exhaustion that had caused him to swoon.

“I'm Lily, by the way."

James considered her for a moment. Considered at what point between rolling onto his mother’s lilies and meeting a mermaid named Lily he had lost his mind. Considered the lily pad laying limply in his lap. Made a decision.

"I'm James."

“So, uh…” James kept his eyes on the small blue fish eating out of the mermaid’s hand. He was trying not to stare at her webbed fingers. “You live here? In the lake?”

“No, I actually prefer to perch on tree branches.” She gave James such a deadpan look as she spoke that he was inclined to believe her. At this point, he was inclined to believe just about anything.

“Yes, of course I live in the lake,” she continued after a moment. She turned back to the fish, which was stretching as far as it could out of the water, vying for her attention.

“Ah. Right.” James mulled this over for a moment. “But where do you-” he paused, trying to think of the best way to ask the question. “Well, where do you, you know, live?” Well said. “I mean, have you got a bed at the bottom of the lake or something?”

“Yep. I even splurged on a water mattress recently.”

To James’ surprise, a snort of amusement escaped him. Lily smiled as she stroked the fish, which flapped its tiny fins happily.

“Honestly, I mostly sleep on land. I like looking at the stars.” She gave the fish a final pat, before leaning back onto her arms, her tail stretched out in front of her, and tilting her face towards the sun. “I couldn’t really do that much back home.”

“Back home?”

“I live in the ocean.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I got caught in a storm and washed up in a river somewhere, so I swam up here.” She leaned over and lifted a clump of moss off the end of her tail, where a large translucent fin lay. The left portion of the fin was in tatters, and an angry looking rip spanned almost the entirety of it. "I can't swim properly with my tail in that state."

"So, what, you're just stuck here?"

"Until it heals and I can try finding my way home. But I honestly don't mind. I grew up surrounded by angelfish and dolphins, so lake trout and tadpoles have been a nice change of pace.“

Despite her lighthearted tone, she didn’t look particularly thrilled as she said it. James immediately felt compelled to do something, though what that something was, or why he even felt compelled to do it, were beyond him. Instead, his mouth moved of its own accord. "Oh, so you're usually surrounded by a much more so-fish-ticated crowd, then," he said, placing emphasis on the “fish”. He regretted it immediately.

“Did you just-” She looked at him incredulously, but James was thrilled to hear the laughter in her voice. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Yeah, my bad, won’t happen again.”

“Unbelievable,” she said through a giggle.

Not wanting to push his luck, he stayed quiet, and they sat in silence together. The fish, realizing it wouldn’t be getting anything more from Lily, swam up to James and gave a hopeful wiggle. He stroked it distractedly as the mermaid next to him sighed and readjusted the moss covering her fin. James only hoped she couldn't hear the frantic whirring of cogs as he tried to make sense of the pretty redhead and her tail, quietly soaking up the sun beside him.

"Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at my tail."

"It looked at me first."

"It's impolite to stare."

"Social norms don't apply when your cousin is a guppy."

A lily pad thwacked James across the face.

The sun was beating down mercilessly. James sat at the edge of the water with his feet dipped in up to his ankles. He watched as Lily resurfaced, yet another trinket in her hands, and swam closer to add it to the row of eclectic objects she had set out on the sand. She called them her treasures, although they looked more like what a demented three-year-old might drag home from the playground.

While she fiddled with what looked like a vaguely heart-shaped ball of algae, he examined one of the rocks. She had said it reminded her of the hammerhead shark that would dig up her garden in search of crabs. It was oblong and one of the ends was slightly flat. To James, the resemblances ended there, but Lily had been thrilled at the discovery, so he had smiled and praised how hammerheaded the rock looked.

He set the rock back down and checked to see what Lily was doing. She was still poking at the green blob. Her hair looked darker now that it was wet, pooling like blood in her collarbones and trickling down her back in rivulets. He looked away as soon as she turned toward him, and stared intently at a chipped snail shell.

“I know, it’s not very impressive.”

“What? No...”

She raised her eyebrows in skeptical amusement. “I wish you could see the collection I have at home. I’ve got this gorgeous pocket watch I found with all these flowers carved on the back. It doesn’t tell the time anymore though.”

“Where’d you find it?” asked James. He slid into the water and made his way towards a water lily he had spotted.

Lily hadn’t seemed to notice, focused on smoothing out the wrinkles of the snake skin she had laid out. “We collect them from shipwrecks,” she explained.

“That’s morbid.” He snapped the flower off the stem and waded back over to Lily and her treasures.

“Is it? I remember when I was little, my sister and I used to go looking for sunken ships and scare the octopuses living in them.”

“Here, add this to your collection.” Lily turned toward him, and he handed her the water lily he had picked.

“I can’t add that. It’ll start wilting soon.” She took the flower from him, her fingers brushing his as she delicately held the white petals. He dipped his fingers in the water to quell the tingles.

“Oh. I just thought it was pretty.”

She studied the flower for a moment, before placing it in her hair and securing the stem behind her ear. He watched as she fussed with it, trying to get it wedged properly. “There. That way we can enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I can get you another when it turns brown,” James offered.

“No, I like this one,” she said. “I don’t want to replace it. Some things are meant to be temporary anyway.”

"GAAAHHhhbrrggllslg..."

"Pipe down, you'll scare the fish."

James came back to the surface, spluttering and coughing. “This clearly isn’t working,” he wheezed.

“Really? I thought we were making great progress.”

“Funny, ‘cause I thought that’s the third time you’ve nearly drowned me.” James rubbed his eyes a final time and opened them. Lily floated next to him, her hair like a pool of blood around her. He pulled a piece of it out of his mouth.

She rolled her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair, picking out a snail that had gotten tangled in the strands. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Well excuse me for having a sense of self-preservation.”

“You’re acting like I’m trying to kill you!”

“Lily, I don’t have gills! You can’t just push me underwater without warning!”

She looked surprised at his outburst, her green eyes were wide with worry, and James immediately felt bad.

“Listen, it’s fine. I just got freaked out for a moment,” he backpedaled.

Lily wasn’t listening. “Maybe we should stop.”

“No, really, it’s fine! I’ll just make sure to plug my nose next time!”

But she was already swimming away, and with a flick of her tail, she had disappeared to a place where he couldn’t reach her.

The bite was oozing. Oozing what, he didn’t know. Didn’t really want to know. He had never thought he would be having to deal with fish bites. Hadn’t realized such small fish even had teeth. Evil little bastards. Always sweet and cuddly when Lily was around. But this was apparently a summer of firsts.

He poked at the angry looking marks, and hissed. Lily would know how to take care of this. Fix it. He had no idea where she was. She hadn’t yet resurfaced.

Not knowing what to do, he climbed onto the outcrop where he had seen her for the first time, and stretched out. Warmth enveloped him on all sides, immediately making him drowsy. As he drifted off, he thought about how unbothered he was. Everything was fine. He let himself be pulled under, into the depths of sleep, not worried in the slightest. She would turn up. She always did.

He’s sinking deeper into dark blue depths. His legs keep up a frantic pace as he kicks, trying to propel himself forward. All he can see is her: her long, slender fingers, her wrists, her collarbones, glowing in the murky water as she hovers, ethereal. All he wants is to go to her, but with a laugh she turns and swims further down, engulfed by the darkness.

He can just make out her tail undulating as she moves inexorably on, never slowing down. As he follows her, going ever lower, several jellyfish zoom by, their tentacles tangling together to form a billowing cloud of exhaust. Somewhere to the side, a school of clownfish float in a large reef together, studying. A preoccupied looking manatee comes out of a dense wall of seaweed and almost bumps into James, muttering an apology as it hurries away.

James is undeterred, his focus only on the mermaid in front of him. She turns to face him, curls one finger in a beckoning motion, and her smile is a hook that snags him, reeling him in, pulling him closer to her. Her lips are moving. He can tell she’s saying something, something important, but he can’t understand her. The water is filling his ears, muting everything, and he strains to hear her, to make out something, anything. Panic rises in his throat as her face grows troubled, panic so thick it’s suffocating. He can’t breathe, and she’s floating further into the murky shadows, and he hates the greedy gloom taking her away from him with every fiber of his being. As she grows ever more distant, his panic grows, and he’s never felt so lost, so helpless. He has to reach her, to stop her, and she’s screaming, screaming his name, over and over and-

“James!” He opened his eyes, gasping for air. After several steadying breaths, the darkness began receding. He blinked while the world came back into focus. The panic he had felt so acutely was already fading, dripping through his fingers, leaking out of his ears. It was replaced by the feeling of solid rock under his back, the sun wrapping him in warmth, and Lily’s hands cupping his cheeks. Her face was right over his, her hair forming a curtain around them.

“Here.” He felt his glasses being placed gingerly over his eyes. “You alright?”

Lily’s voice was laced with concern, her eyebrows knitted so close together they were almost touching. Her face was so close to his that he could see every individual hair in her eyebrows. He focused on one hair that lay slightly askew, pointing towards a freckle on her eyelid, as he finished catching his breath.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just had a weird dream.”

“Oh. Sure. I have those all the time.”

“Really?”

“Oh, definitely. The other day, I dreamed that I had climbed up a tree, and I couldn’t get down. And you were in the water, and I kept calling you, and asking you to help. But you insisted that you couldn’t, because you had to practice your underwater somersaults. And I was so angry that I started picking crabs off the tree and pelting them at you. But you kept catching them in your mouth and eating them. And you were laughing the whole time. And then you said, ‘Look, Tulip!’ and did a backwards somersault with so much force that you created a huge wave that knocked me off the tree. And then I woke up.”

“Sorry about that.” James was trying very hard to keep a straight face.

“I can’t believe you called me ‘Tulip’,” Lily said with a frown.

She looked so genuinely offended that James immediately felt compelled to comfort her. “Like I would ever forget your name!”

“What was your dream?” she said quickly.

“Oh, I was just drowning.”

“Well that’s not bad. Why do you get to have normal dreams?”

“Probably because I know how to do backward somersaults.”

James stared at the water intently, looking for any disturbances in the smooth surface. In his hand, he held a freshwater mussel the size of a large baseball. Lily had dug it up from the bed of the lake for the game she had devised. She had informed him that the mussels' name was Petunia, mentioning something about the mussel reminding her of someone.

He tightened his hold on Petunia, causing her to give an indignant shake in response. James had discovered that a firm grip was necessary when handling the mussel. She had a tendency to clamp down on his fingers when he wasn’t paying enough attention, and getting her to let go required threats of feeding her to the snapping turtle that lived nearby.

A sudden ripple drew James’ attention to a spot on his left. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the flash of a tail flicking above the water. As he scanned the green surface, he spotted a smudge of red. Raising Petunia above his head, his eyes following the billowing of crimson under the water, he took a steadying breath, and aimed. He exhaled. Petunia went flying.

“Fucking ow!”

The cry told him he had hit his mark. The proud victor had only a moment to celebrate his success before a wave of water was flung in his direction, drenching him entirely.

“Bit of a sore loser, aren’t you?” James smiled as the top of Lily’s head surfaced. Her eyes narrowed and the green flashed somewhat dangerously, but he took no heed. He was on a roll. “Seems I’ve o-fish-ially won!”

His laugh was followed closely by a scream as Lily pulled him into the water, and he felt his nose being pinched shut as he went under, smothered by a wave of red tendrils.

"You know I can't stay here."

"Can't you? What's so great about the ocean, anyway? So it’s got dolphins. Did you know dolphins are actually vicious? I read that they kill porpoises just for fun."

“James-”

“And they’ve been known to attack people.”

“Are you honestly trying to slander dolphins?”

“I’m just saying, it’s a cruel world out there. But it’s safe here. I can guarantee you’ll never be attacked by a toad.”

“The other day, I woke up with a tadpole up my nose."

“Small price to pay.”

“Small price to pay for not being viciously attacked by a dolphin? Do you hear yourself?”

“I just don’t get why you have to leave right now. How could it possibly be safe? Your tail isn’t even fully healed yet!”

“It will be soon.”

Quiet settled over the little lake again. She broke the silence first.

"Mermaids can live for up to 300 years."

"My dad is turning sixty next month."

“I want to go home, James. You can go home any time you want. You can be sure that you’ll be able to celebrate your dad's birthday with him. What about me? All I've got here are the tadpoles.”

"You've got me."

"What?"

"You've got me, haven't you? Or do I not count?"

"Of course you count, you idiot. You count so much, you have no idea."

James' heart must have swollen so big it cut off the oxygen going to his brain because all he could come up with was, "I'm actually terrible at maths."

She sighed. “I will miss you. But I can’t stay here forever, hoping you’ll visit me occasionally.”

“That’s not-”

“It is.”

The heat had somehow worsened. The pair floated in the cool lake water together, incapable of anything requiring any more energy. He could sense her presence, sensed it constantly, incessantly, tugging on his consciousness whenever he was around her.

They floated in silence, the only sound coming from two particularly loud swallows. The birds were having it out over a spider they each felt entitled to. The angry chirping hadn’t ceased for at least the last ten minutes.

James felt a ripple and saw Lily shift over and look up at the birds. She rolled her eyes and smiled at him. He felt the sudden urge to bottle up her smile and keep it stashed away, to take out and enjoy on special occasions. Instead, he dunked his head in the water and pretended with all his might that his heart wasn’t being constricted so tight it would shrink to the size of a marble and roll out of his mouth when he was sleeping.

And then she was gone. Just like that, the lake was empty. James sat on the outcrop, and watched as a wilting water lily floated by serenely. A small blue fish poked its head out of the water. The fish looked around and then stared at James for a few moments, as though wanting to ask something, before diving back under with a small splash.

Here’s a painting that I think looks just like Lily

#this was supposed to be done so long ago #my bad #i guess i'll go burrow back into my hole now #mermaid!lily #mermaid au #jily #james x lily #james potter #lily evans #fic #oneshot #jily fanfiction

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eveningstar1516 · 3 years ago

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Rise of the Demon King ~ Chapter 9

Rise of the Demon King

Fic: Multi Chapter Paring: MC x Everyone (Mostly Lucifer) Type: Angst with a Happy Ending Total Word Count: 26,758 TW: Major Character Death, Reader gets stabbed with a sword through their chest so..., Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Demon Hunters, Loss of Control Summary: You’ve done it. You’ve finally done it. You’ve managed to anger the demon king. Now you hold your head high as he hands down your sentence. AO3 Portal: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065362 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A/N: I gotta Discord server guys! It's primarily Obey Me but other fandoms are welcome as well. It's kinda baby and dead so me and the other members are looking to revive it and we'd love for you to come join us. A roleplay area is included :) https://discord.gg/F3YEmDZCPS Please remember to read and accept the rules once you join for access to all the channels. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Previously: “Of course, what are big brothers for. Anyway, about my payment, maybe you can forget about the money I owe ya?” Groaning, Levi started walking faster, leaving Mammon and his whining behind as he made his way back to the safety of his room. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 9 - Not So Different After All (1754 words)

You were practicing your swordsmanship in the garden clearing when Michael approached you. You’ve been living with the council for 3 decades by now and was confidently running them like Lucifer used to. This left you little time for yourself and you cherished these moments to yourself. That doesn’t mean you don’t like teasing Michael from time to time.

“Good afternoon Y/N”

“Good afternoon to you too Mike. What’s up?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” “Just be glad I don’t call you that at work. Anyway, how can I help you?”

“May I join you?”

“I don’t see why not, but on one condition. If I win, tell me why you despise Lucifer and why you refuse to call him by his new name. If you win, I’ll answer 2 questions with complete honesty, no restrictions on the type of question.”

Michael visibly stiffened at this. He contemplated this for a moment then agreed. He summoned his sword and stood opposite of me in a ready position. I matched his stance and parreyed off with him, signalling the start of our match. Michael started with a calculated quick strike to my neck. I brought my sword up to block his strike and tried to twist it from his grip but he pulled back and made a quick swing toward my left leg. I jumped up and switched to offence striking for his sword arm trying to land a hit. He saw this and backed away. This continued on for a few minutes. Michael attacking and me blocking and returning the favour. After a few more strikes, I saw an opening, he shifted his legs a little too wide. I dropped my weight and swept his feet out from under him. Before he realized, he hit the ground and I was standing above him, my right foot on his sword arm and my sword by his throat.

“Looks like I won.” I withdrew my sword and extended my arm to help him up. He grabbed my hand with a distasteful look on his face, ashamed at making such a mistake and losing to someone with less skill and combat experience than him.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Handing him a towel and some water I sat under a date tree and took a sip from my own bottle.

“Lucifer. I took an interest in it after seeing him practise one day and he took it upon himself to teach me, his excuse being that I should know how to protect myself if I insisted on taking up a blade. Enough of that, you lost, now can you tell me why you despise Lucifer so much?”

Michael took a seat next to me and leaned back against the trunk.

“You mean other than the fact that he went against Father, started a civil war, killed numerous angels, abandoned his duty, embraced the very sins that father forbade us from committing, birthed a demon of wrath, and willingly bowed down to the demon prince and still serves him to this day like a loyal lapdog all because he couldn’t take care of Lillith enough to keep her from trying to break one of our laws to save a human? No, no reason.”

“Wow, and I thought humans were the masters at holding grudges.” I took a swing of my water.

“Think about it, at the root of all that, Lucifer did it to protect his family, to protect his little sister. He may have embraced and embodied the sin of pride, but he pushed all of it away to save her. You don’t really think he serves Diavolo just because he asked him to? His pride would never allow it, and yet he does because by doing so, he can protect his family and the ones he loves. Isn’t that a virtue in Father's eyes, protecting loved ones no matter what you need to sacrifice?”

“Well yes, to an extent. You are supposed to do that, unless it means you defy him. If protecting your family results in you turning your back to him, he’d tell you to leave them behind.”

“Why do you keep calling Lucifer "Samael"?”

“That is the name Father gave him, that is the name I will call him. Samael was my brother and I don’t want to remember him for the destruction he caused but for the moments we shared as brothers. He was the pride of the heavens. Despite that, he embodied humility. He never took advantage of his authority. He always made sure the minority were heard. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion as Father's right hand. He never let the praise get to his head. Despite all that, he still embodied pride. He would never ask for help insisting that he could take care of things. He still took in his siblings and raised them, despite the burdens that were already placed on his shoulders. I used to look up to him and saw him as a role model. I accepted the fact that he is no longer an angel and is now a completely different being. In my mind, Lucifer and Samael are 2 separate creatures. I will remember him as Samael, my brother and best friend and Lucifer as the demon serving Lord Diavolo.”

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that they aren’t that different from each other? Samael may have taken all the burden and worked himself till he passed out from exhaustion, but Lucifer still does that. I can’t tell you the number of times I would enter his study just to find him clinging to consciousness trying to finish the never ending paperwork for both the Devildom and from his brother's antics. He does his best and works himself to the bone to make sure that his family has a roof over their heads, enough food to eat which I got to tell you is hard considering they are living with someone who embodies the sin of gluttony. He works himself to make sure that Diavolo doesn’t do the same and can focus on running his kingdom and school without having to worry too much about what goes on behind the scenes. Even with all those responsibilities he took, he still makes sure to be there and protect his family. He raised Satan as a first time father with no knowledge on demonic children. He always set aside some time each week, no matter how busy he is to spend some time with the rest of us. He may be harsh, but he isn’t heartless. He may look incapable of it, but he is very caring and compassionate towards the ones he holds close to him. He is still very much the Samael you knew, he just looks a little different.”

“Was your intention just to tell me these things so that I wouldn’t act distasteful to you or Samael?” “No, I just wanted you to see things from an outsider's perspective, nothing more.”

With that, I got up and left Michael in the garden to think about what I had said as I went to shower and finish up any outstanding work before dinner.

In the Devildom After they lost Y/N

After they lost Y/N, Asmo could barely function. Some days, he would lock himself in his room and not come out for days on end. When Beel would come and drop off some food, Asmo would always insist he just leave it outside the door. When Beel would come back to collect the plate, he found that only a small portion was eaten and that more than half of the food was left. They would never find out that it was because he was unintentionally starving himself and that he was dropping his self care routine. Other times he would leave for days on end and when he did eventually come home, he was either stoned or drunk out of his mind, but he always had a lingering scent of sex on him. It continued on like this for weeks before Satan found him. Asmo had just come back after being missing for a week and once again refused to leave his room. This time, Satan insisted on delivering his food. He needed to check on his little brother no matter how much Asmo didn’t want him to. When he got to the door he knocked and announced he was coming in. Without waiting for a reply, Satan broke the lock on the door and was greeted with an emotionally exhausted and physically wrecked Asmo laying face up on his bed. Tears streaming down his face. Satan closed the door and looked around the room noticing how everything was thrown around and the state of what used to be one of the most organized rooms in the house, now looking like a hot mess. Carefully, he cleared a spot on his dresser, making sure nothing got damaged in the process and set the tray down. Next he went to the washroom, equally messed up, and located a washcloth. He ran it under some warm water and went back to Asmo, carefully wiping away any tears and smudged make-up. Slowly, Asmo opened his eyes to look up at the soft expression on Satan’s face. He turned his head the other and screwed his eyes shut.

“Asmo, look at me.”

When he didn’t turn his head, Satan asked again, a little softer and put a comforting hand on his shoulder to ground him.

“Asmo, can you please look at me?”

Slowly, Asmo turned his head towards Satan and reluctantly opened his eyes. Satan gently lifted him up and pulled him into an embrace. Asmo couldn’t take it anymore and broke down on Satan’s shoulder. Satan rubbed soothing circles on Asmo’s back and stroked his tangled hair, grounding him. Eventually, when Asmo stopped crying, he pulled away from Satan with a sad smile on his face. Satan cupped his right cheek.

“It’s alright, we all miss them too. It’s ok to break down. When was the last time you took care of yourself?”

“I don’t know,” Asmo mumbled.

“That’s alright. Let’s get some food into your stomach first.”

Satan spent the rest of the night by his brother's side, cleaning his room and slowly, step by step, bringing back how his brother usually looked like. A glowing masterpiece, worthy of both envy and praise.

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dontjudgemeimawriter · 3 years ago

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Excerpt/Sketch Scene: Ardisci

I shared lines from this recently but in looking it over I remembered how much I love it so I decided to share. From Ardisci’s POV, Ardisci is the god of knowledge and is living sort of in-hiding on Earth.

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Alright. So we’re here: Kaitlyn is lying on the couch, reading chapter 3 of her textbook on cultural anthropology. Netalia is lying on the floor, her book— a thick book with thin pages that’s a survey English literature— open above her. It’s open to Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth, but I’m not sure if she’s reading it— Buttercup, her golden retriever, is licking her face, and she’s laughing and pushing her away. I’m taking notes in my notebook. My reading, Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, is open as a pdf on my laptop, though that’s mostly for show, since Netalia is here. My notebook, which Kaitlyn insists is technically a journal (but it’s not my place to say it is or isn’t— language and labels aren’t my responsibility to determine), lies in front of me, and I’m scribbling in it with a recycled water bottle pen that I got at freshman orientation that Netalia always marvels that I haven’t lost and Kait and I then share a knowing look about. If Kait (and the collective’s) definition of “journal” is a place for writing out one’s own thoughts, rather than simply noting facts for studying purposes, then yes, it is a journal. I don’t have much need for notetaking— even without the constant stream of direct-and-all-encompassing knowledge, simple information—what’s part of the collective knowledge—is provided to me automatically. But that’s why I love philosophy classes. In the science class I took I did find it interesting what aspects they taught or what they knew, but still, so much of it was known information, simply a method by which to integrate that knowledge. It didn’t excite me the same way. But philosophy? No answer came to me automatically. I know how others have answered the question before, yes, but there’s no collective answer, and I can listen to classmate’s opinions and thoughts and I actually feel like I’m learning.

Focusing. I’m journaling on the allegory of the cave. I won’t be able to bring what I write up in class, but thoughts—my thoughts, my own!—are coming tumbling out. Because I know the outside world, the sun, all of it, I am the regular people in this metaphor when everyone around me are the prisoners who know only shadows and can but squint at the sun. Because not knowing and a limited perspective isn't something I was ever able to to really have. Because not that long ago I didn’t even have an “I” through which to narrate. Google doesn't have an “I” and never has a choice in knowing that these are shadows, not the extent of human existence, but maybe I could know only that. And who would feel jealousy of prisoners chained up in a cave with only a fire casting shadows to quantify as real— and since when has jealousy been a thing I feel?

Kaitlyn had been the one to suggest I write, to journal. She’d given me a look that she told me later was frustration (which I don’t feel bad about not recognizing— psychologically speaking, most people don’t recognize the facial expression “frustrated” as they do “happy” or “sad”—it’s not a basic emotion) and said in a very calm voice that as much as she loved listening to my rants, not everyone had the collective knowledge at their disposal—she actually had to study. And she later suggested writing out my thoughts, telling me that writing could be helpful in self-discovery, which got a green-light from the collective knowledge, so I agreed to try it.

Netalia pushes Buttercup’s nose away. “Buttercup, go-lie-down. I gotta read this.” Buttercup harumphs and trots over to me, pushing her nose into the space between my arm and my waist. That’s something I never got to appreciate—the simple joy of an animal burrowing into you. Of loving you. I suspect that’s something few gods get to experience—at least, outside of the Nature domain. And to have that physical form in which an animal can burrow into.

I can’t write with Buttercup there, so I finish the sentence, put my pen down, and turn to Buttercup, taking her face in my hands and scratching behind her ears. Buttercup starts panting, her tail wagging loud enough to slam against the carpet.

“Did the good doggie get snubbed?” I coo to Buttercup. It’s lucky humans developed a way to communicate thoughts, or I may never have had access to even the concept of thoughts and emotions, just behavior and knowledge of consciousness. At least a person can tell me what they’re thinking and feeling, even if it’s not always true— or all I’d have is what I can tell about animals, what their behaviors indicate.

“It was not a snub,” Netalia said. “I have to read this.”

I quiet, just smiling at Buttercup and scratching behind her ears. Kaitlyn’s looking at me. I know what face she’s making without looking up, but I look up anyway because sometimes using the human eyes helps me interpret it better. There’s a slight smile. I think it’s in reference to “Some of us need to actually read the assignment.” Just because that’s usually what Kaitlyn likes to tease me about.

Kaitlyn closes her textbook and sets it down on the table. “Talia, can we take Buttercup outside and play with her a bit? I think Addie’s getting antsy.”

Addie’s not really my name—my god name is Ardisci, and before going into hiding, Kaitlyn called me Ardi, which I love—never had I been close enough with someone for them to need a shortened way to refer to me. It felt affectionate. But going into hiding I needed a name-name, something not quite my god name. Kaitlyn had actually said that Adelaide felt too close to Ardisci to her, but once I’d picked it it had felt comfortable and I couldn’t pick another one, so we went with it. Plus, “Addie” and “Ardi” sounded similar, which made the transition easier.

“Sure,” Netalia sits up, folding the book over her finger for a moment. “Her toys are in the basket next to the porch.” She stood and sat down on the couch Kait had been lying on.

I stood, giving Buttercup a tug towards the door. Buttercup lept, realizing what we were doing, and ran to the door, barking when it didn’t open for her.

“Hold on, girl.” Kaitlyn followed us over to the front entrance and grabbed her jacket off the hook, then handed me mine. Now out of earshot from Netalia, she said to me, “The rest of us need to actually read the assignment.”

“I know,” I said. My jacket was thick, zippered, and knit, with cables curling up the sleeves. I wanted to try knitting sometime, to see if it was as easy as the information of “how to purl” came into my mind. Kaitlyn had said she’d knit when she was younger, had described how she’d learned to spot the difference between a knit stitch and a purl stitch and how to make a cable or bauble. When I look at it I know, but I have a feeling that that knowledge is different from recognizing it.

Kaitlyn takes a moment to adjust the collar of my jacket, which wasn’t folded properly. “I know you know,” she smiles—me saying “I know” is ironic, she’s said, just as anyone saying “do you know?” is to me. But “know” doesn’t, in my case, always mean knowing, it means understanding, and that (I know) is a different thing.

Buttercup bolts out the door as soon as I turn the handle to leave—it’s into Netalia’s family’s backyard, where Buttercup has previously been allowed to roam freely, so I’m not concerned—and Kaitlyn shouts to Netalia’s mom that we’re taking Buttercup out. Her mom, Lynette, tells us alright, and that she’s heating up some hot apple cider for us. Lynette was horrified my first year living as a human that I’d never had hot apple cider, and had filled me up on it ever since. I’d told Kaitlyn how I knew what apple was used, the origins of the drink, different versions, what was considered the best mixture.

“Alright,” Kaitlyn had said. “But the drink you’re drinking right now. Do you like it?”

I’d been confused at first. I’d taken another sip— not really familiar with the concept of myself liking things. I knew it was generally accepted as good, but then I really absorbed the flavor, the heat, the spice, the sweetness. “Yes,” I’d said finally. “I like it.”

I bound outside, running to the basket under the porch and grabbing a frisbee. “Wanna catch?” I ask Buttercup. Buttercup jumps side to side, ready. I swing my arm, try to snap my wrist, and let go. Buttercup runs after it, but the frisbee curves, making about a 60° angle away from where I thought I’d aimed. I laugh, and Buttercup, who started running straight, looks around in confusion.

“I gotta get better at that!” I shout to Kait, and run over to where the frisbee landed. Running is nice, a feeling I’ve gotten used to. The exertion, adrenaline, my lungs pulling in air, my heart beating, lactic acid starting to flow through my muscles (which’ll make them sore later). One of the things I can’t know, I have to feel. I get to feel. I scoop up the frisbee and toss it again. This time Buttercup knows to watch it, and runs after the very curved path it follows. I run back over to Kait, meeting Buttercup halfway as she trots back with it. Kait takes the frisbee.

“Here,” she holds it out, but instead of letting me take it, guides my hand to hold it. She takes me through the motion of throwing it, of the flick of the wrist. “And here you let go. Eyes on your target.” she says.

I know how to on an instructional level, but when Kait releases my hand for me to try, this time I pay attention not to the collective knowledge, but her instruction. I follow through, and this time it goes straighter, only curving a bit at the end. Buttercup races after it, then picks it up from the ground.

“Better,” Kait observes. She’s staring at Buttercup at first, but her eyes don’t follow the return, so she seems to have spaced on the trees. “Russell never quite figured out how to throw one,” she said.

I take the frisbee from Buttercup, spinning it in my hand for a moment. I don't look at her, knowing she won’t notice me averting my eyes.

I still haven't told her. I should tell her. It’s my obligation really, to our friendship and to my role as god. But really, just because I am the god of knowledge, did that mean I have to tell her? I’m trying to escape that role.

She’ll find out eventually. And maybe I can say I just hadn’t thought of it— I’d been shutting down the constant stream of information, and one person's death isn’t collective knowledge. If I hadn’t wondered, I still wouldn’t know, not actively.

But I do know actively. I’d checked in and realized. And decided not to tell her.

Her brother had died two years ago. That’s why he’d never found her, never shown up. I hadn’t known him, not really, but I knew him somewhat through Kait, though her memories and relationship.

Maybe it’s a bit selfish, too. I don’t know how she’d react, but I have a feeling (that was new too, having a feeling) that knowing might change things. It might lead her back to her family, and yes perhaps I can stay in hiding without her, but I don’t want to.

A part of me has always longed to do this. Live as a person, learn, experience. Not be the source of all knowledge for once. And part of why I finally had was the pressure had gotten worse—but really, a large part of it was meeting Kaitlyn. Kait, who never used me, who never asked questions I wouldn’t know if I wasn’t god of knowledge. Who actually got to know who I was, with enough patience to handle me. Who’d believed I even got the chance to be an I.

I throw the frisbee again. It arcs a bit, but Buttercup jumps up and catches it midair. “Whoo!” Kait cheers.

I bend down, clapping and then petting Buttercup. “Good job!” I tell her.

“Good job to you,” Kait says, tousling my hair the same way I’m tousling Buttercup’s ears. I grin.

#ardisci #second chance #crossed lines #Again need a series name #Been thinking about the overaching theme and like ik what it is I just don't know a way to cover it #I know I want an actual series name and not just 'Second Chance 2: Crossed Lines'#Because Second Chance is only significant in that it's where we start and the route in it's not inherently more important than the others #Like Chrys is hardly in the later books #/will be #Anyway. meet my favorite character wo write who probably will ever be a main #who*#Kait might. maybe #*gasp* just remembered picrews exist. Gotta make Ardi's human form

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boxedblondes · 4 years ago

Text

killing eve fic recs

since we’re all yearning HARD after the s3 finale, i thought i’d share some of my personal favorite ke fics (in alphabetical order by author) to maybe, possibly, help fill the void until season 4!

we tried the world; good god, it wasn’t for us by agentpolastri (@topeve)

rating: G

warnings: major character death

summary: They jumped together. When do they not?

↳ i never ever ever read fics with a major character death warning, but mei is just such a fantastic writer i had to give it a try. this fic is SO exquisitely beautiful and heartbreaking. i’ve read it several times and it never fails to punch me square in the chest. i don’t have enough words to express how much i love this piece.

i don’t have a choice (but i’d still choose you) by agentpolastri (@topeve)

rating: T

warnings: major character death

summary: It’s the ending they didn’t want, but knew was coming anyways.

↳ well....... she did it to me again. idk what else to say about this except the line “she feels like a sunset.” makes me craaaaaazy

(if you need something a little happier after these fics, i could be your excuse for a lover is also wonderful)

this is what you wanted by dollsome (@dollsome-does-tumblr)

rating: T

warnings: none

summary: Villanelle goes to Alaska. Set after the season two finale.

↳ essentially v goes to alaska and absolutely hates it. a creative, funny, and lighthearted take on what could have happened post-s2.

you know i'm such a fool for you by dollsome (@dollsome-does-tumblr)

rating: T

warnings: none

summary: Eve waits. Villanelle hallucinates. Set after 2x02.

↳ this was one of the first KE fics i ever read, so it holds a special little place in my heart. short, sweet, and very, very gentle.

Tell Me by dollsome (@dollsome-does-tumblr)

rating: T

warnings: none

summary: Eve and Villanelle catch up on what they've missed. Set right after 3.08.

↳ essentially, the girls FINALLY have a conversation about everything they haven’t talked about. a soft, cathartic little fic to fill the post-finale hole in all of our hearts.

touch and go by etymology

rating: not rated

warnings: none

summary: “Why are you in my hotel room at 3 a.m.,” says Eve. “I could not sleep,” says Villanelle, shrugging. Eve narrows her eyes. “Are you kidding me.”(Or, the one where Eve keeps hiding Villanelle from the authorities.)

↳ also one of the first KE fics i ever read. this one is short, soft, and gets their dynamic just perfect.

there are no rules when you show up here by glitteration

rating: E

warnings: sex stuff, dubious consent (kind of), ambiguously violent ending

summary: this is why we can't have nice things, darling. (eve goes ahead and hops out of the frying pan only to launch herself straight into the fire. post-s1 fic, told entirely through phone calls. working title in my gdocs was "the one with all the problematic phone sex")

↳ there is a lot of phone sex in this which, although problematic, is also very hot. the characterization in this fic is so on-point, and the dialogue is both funny and believable – which is often a delicate balance.

your body hurts me as the world hurts god by GucciAspirin

rating: M

warnings: sex stuff

summary: "I think of you when I look at the sky. I think about how we share it with so many other people - when it was clearly meant for just the two of us." // Villanelle wants closure

↳ another entry into the collection of lovely, sexy villaneve fics. this one also deals with the aftermath of the s1 finale.

tie me to your longing, I'll tie you down to mine by nextgreatadventure (@next-great-adventure)

rating: M

warnings: sex stuff

summary: These are all things Villanelle remembers. She doesn’t know if any of it meant love, but surely it meant something. It was not nothing.

↳ my comment on ao3 for this fic is: “I’m officially quitting my fic writing career because this is THE best villaneve fic out there, goodbye. :’)” and i think that’s all i need to say.

this dark world is precious to me by nextgreatadventure (@next-great-adventure)

rating: M

warnings: sex stuff

summary: Eve dreams of so many things after Rome.

↳ this is the kind of fic that leaves you wanting more once you’ve finished reading it. it is sexy and complex and extremely well-written. i’ve reread it so many times in the past year and it’s just as good every time.

If at last we be true by pengukat

rating: E

warnings: sex stuff

summary: My contribution to the "Eve doesn't stab Villanelle, they bone instead" repertory of works.

↳ i am.... suddenly realizing how many of the fics on this list are explicit. anyway, this one is perhaps the best sexytime villaneve fic of them all.

two wills (one mirror holding us dearer now) by poiesis (@weirddyke)

rating: E

warnings: sex stuff

summary: "I don’t want to be around you. / I don’t want to drink you in. / I want to walk into the heart of you / And never walk back out." Nico Alvarado, 'Tim Riggins Speaks of Waterfalls' – post-series, eve waits for the inevitable

↳ idk what to say about this. sometime after the s1 finale, v breaks into eve’s house (again) and they finally give into their mutual sexual attraction. it’s both hot and incredibly well-written – aka the best kind of fic.

of villages, and other places that villanelle would like to burn to the ground by silent_h (@yesokayiknow)

rating: T

warnings: canon-typical violence/death, animal death summary: canon divergence au, of course (but maybe not in the place that you were expecting)

↳ after the s1 finale, eve and v go on the run and “accidentally” take irina along for the ride. this fic is written in second person pov, and the stream-of-consciousness style is just gorgeous.

feedback loop by silent_h (@yesokayiknow)

rating: T

warnings: none

summary: (season 2 episode 2 spoilers) the person you have called is not available. please try again.

↳ a lovely, dreamy look into eve’s mental state after 2x02. second person pov again!!!!

One Hundred Minutes of Normality by variousflumps

rating: M

warnings: none

summary: In which Eve and Oksana watch a movie. Finding Nemo, to be precise. "For the next" – Eve checks the back of the DVD case – "one hundred minutes you and I are going to pretend that the following things are true. One, neither of us is a psychopath. Two, we both strongly disapprove of murder. Three, I never stabbed you, four, you're not even thinking about stabbing me back, and five, we're dating and have a perfectly normal, healthy relationship. I need one hundred minutes of normality or my entire head is going to explode. Do you want popcorn?"

↳ THEY FINALLY WATCH A MOVIE!! (but they mostly ignore it in favor of having the world’s most chaotic get-to-know-you conversation.) funny, sexy, and incredibly full of life.

and of course! what’s a reclist without some self-promo. my own KE fics can be found right here. comments and feedback are ofc always appreciated ♥️

#FINALLY done with this #please let me know if any of the links are broken :)#killing eve #fic rec

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eat0crow · 5 years ago

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Jasonette Prompt! Mari and Jason first meeting but it’s after a bunch of thugs tried to jump her (she beat them uppp). anyways they’re both in civilian form and she’s validly untrusting and he calms her down.

Bullies count as thugs, right?

116%

Partly by accident, mostly by self-preservation, Jason figures out that, in order to get everyone to stop looking at him like the poor-orphan-charity-case Bruce Wayne had taken in, he needs to instead get them to write him off entirely.

It’s a genius plan. Gotham Academy is nothing if not judgemental. All he has to do is wear his uniform loose, his tie undone, tell everyone exactly how little he thinks of their petty power plays, and get into a screaming match with his xenophobic history teacher about how people working minimum wage, “Absolutely should be making a living wage. Screw you, you bootlicking capitalist fuck!” within the first month of school. Honestly, he’s surprised he lasted that long.

So maybe he’s a little out of line, it’s not like he’s wrong. And it’s all worth it just to see the look on Bruce’s face when he walks into the principal's office. The man’s eyebrows are practically up to his hairline by the time he hears that Jason, in the face of his teacher's warning, had the audacity to ask, “What are you going to do? Expel me? unfucking likely.”

“It’s not like I’m actually going to be expelled,” Jason says. “Half the school’s annual budget comes from the money you donate. If I’m expelled I’ll have to go somewhere else. You’re not going to invest in a school I’m not attending and they’re not going to those funds.”

With unmasked glee, Jason watches the growing horror spread over his principles face-he’s a smart brown-nosing man after all. He knows exactly what kind of trap he’s walking into. It doesn’t matter that Jason’s history teacher is glaring the man down, looking like he's’ just bitten a lemon. Nope, Jason is not going to be expelled.

“Jason,” Bruce, simply sighs, looking far more put out than he has any right to be.

They settle for him being suspended for the rest of the week with detentions taking place after school on Mondays and Wednesdays for the next two months.

As all interesting gossip tends to, the rumor makes its way through the school before the day is even over-rich kids have way too much time on their hands-by the time Jason comes back the following Monday everyone seems to have decided that he’s a troublemaker unhinged just enough to be dangerous.

It marks the end of people trying to suck up to him, they all seem to have collectively decided that if they mind their own business and leave him out of it, he’ll do the same.

The thing about Jason Todd- fourteen-year-old high school freshman- is that he’s really bad at minding his own business. Like Dick’s Discowling suit levels of bad at it. He's a Robin, after all, you couldn’t be a Robin if you were actually able to keep your nose out of where it shouldn't be. It's practically a rule.

Never once has Jason ever had any fondness for bullies, it doesn’t matter if they were school kids or criminals or one percenters-looking at you Jeff Bezos, looking at you. He’s seen enough of them growing up in the Narrows, and maybe, it’s because his dad, the utter asshole, had been a bully. Maybe he just spends too much time fighting against people who think they can get away with pushing their weight around. It doesn’t matter.

Jason Todd could not bring himself to turn a blind eye, which is why by the beginning of his second semester he’s gained the title of actual-punk-you-know-the-kind-who-fight-the-man with his biweekly detentions being upgraded to triweekly and extended indefinitely. The number of fights he’s gotten into in the last couple of months has easily erased whatever Golden Boy standing Dick had established. Jason is confident that the only reason he’s yet to be kicked out is the fact that Bruce had almost doubled his donations.

So really, when he hears raised voices and the distinct sound of someone being thrown against a wall just as he’s leaving detention for the third time this week, he has to investigate.

Disgust is the first thing Jason can register when he turns the corner because there’s a ring of five students- two girls, three guys- all crowded around the new girl from France. Jason’s pretty sure he shares a class or two with her, maybe. She's easy to miss, small as all hell and stick thin.

This, this isn’t a fair fight. Or a fight she even has a chance of winning. Jason has a bad feeling about this.

But-

But Jason takes a closer look. Her back is pressed against the side of the building, yes. Her bag has been thrown to the ground and she’s shaking but that stance, it definitely doesn’t belong to someone who doesn’t know how to defend themselves. Sure these idiots have her backed into a corner, one point them, but her feet are firmly planted on the ground, her back is straight. She’s not going to run, at least, not before she throws a punch and, judging from the way she’s holding herself, a good one too.

Jason doesn’t really know how to approach this. This girl looks like a deer caught in headlights who will spook the second she hears a loud sound. Getting a teacher would be the most sensible thing to do. It would also require leaving, Jason isn’t confident enough in the situation to do that.

He’s almost talked himself into it, sure it might be a little off-brand for him but this seems slightly out of his depth, when Idiot Number Three, the smirking brunette addition, makes a move toward Marinette-Jason only just remembers her name-and Marinette lashes out.

Dead silence overtakes the yard as the girl goes down, her body crumpling to the ground like a wet paper towel. Marinette’s fist is still curled, her arm still outstretched. She looks like she can’t believe what she just did. Everyone stands frozen for one disbelieving moment before one of the guy's snarls, lunging to grab Marinette’s jacket.

If she was a deer in headlights before, Jason isn’t quite sure what to call her now. She looks like she’s on the cusp of a panic attack, frantically babbling a mishmash of jumbled up words. Jason sees what she’s going to do a second before the bully does, but by then it’s too late.

Marinette, with way more force than someone her size should have, brings her knee up and kicks her would-be attacker in the balls. Jason does not want to feel sympathy pains. He doesn’t, but still, if the way Idiot Number Five falls to his knees is any indication...well.

Idiots Numbered One, Two and Four run off without much fanfare taking their downed Idiot Number Three with them. Jason has a distinct impression they’re going to snitch and Marinette, who was only defending herself and is in no way capable of explaining her side of the story right now, is going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble.

Nope, not on Jason’s watch. He makes his way over. Closing the distance in three precise non-threatening strides. “So I’m thinking, this isn’t exactly what you had planned,” he says lightly.

“Fuck you, Todd.” Eloquent as ever Idiot Number Five.

“No thanks. You seem like you’re having enough fun clutching your balls for the both of us,” he says cooly, crouching down just enough to make eye contact. “Between you and me, I would run if I were you. Before she decides to come and knock your teeth in.”

“Like she would,” the bully scoffs.

“We both know she could and you know I would let her. Hell, I would help her if it kept your mouth fucking shut.” Jason cracks his knuckles, casually pressing his elbow further into the prick's collar bone. “Fuck, I kinda want to do it too. You really piss me off.”

At least he has the good sense to take Jason seriously. Jason can’t help the satisfaction that comes from watching him get to his feet and limp off. Some things really are poetic. Serves the bastard right, even if he promises that, “I’ll get you back for this, Todd.”

Jason snorts, as if he’d worry about what some schoolyard bully was going to do. Have you seen half the lunatics he fights on a monthly basis? “You good?”

“I-no!” Marinette cries, sinking to her knees in shock. “I am so going to be expelled. God, I’m going to be deported. I’ve only been in Gotham for a month! One whole month and already I’ve

messed this up. Momma is never going to let me out of the house. That’s if they don’t send me to jail. Oh, they’re going to send me to jail, aren't they? I can’t go to jail, orange is a terrible color!”

That's ... a lot to unpack. Jason feels something flutter in his chest. He has the strongest desire to comfort her. So, he does the only thing he can think of, he reaches out, wraps his arms around her waist, and promptly gets punched in the face. Hard.

He staggers back, clutching his eye, Jason barely registers Marinette’s steady stream of. “I’m sorry, so sorry I didn’t mean to hit you.”

Self-consciously Jason shrugs, he’s had far worse. The only thing in danger is his ego. “It was my fault. You were literally being threatened a minute ago, I shouldn’t have touched you. Sorry about that.”

“I’m panicking a bit,” Marinette says, pulling at the end of one of her pigtails. “I’m not usually...I just-I don’t want to be expelled.”

“You're not going to be expelled, Hermione,” Jason says dryly. “Yeah, those bastards are going to snitch but you were just defending yourself. They got what they deserved.”

“Do you think anyone’s going to believe that?”

Jason takes a moment to look Marinette over. There is so much earnest hope on her face that Jason...he feels really bad but... “Of course not. You kicked Pattrick Thomson in the balls, his dad’s on the school board. There is no fucking way any one of these teachers is going to believe that he actually got what was coming to him. No matter how much of a prick he is.”

“I’m doomed,” Marinette cries.

“You’re not doomed.” Jason catches Marinette’s look of pure utter disbelief and continues, “You’re not going to be expelled because you’re not the one who is going to be taking the fall for this.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly,” Jason says scooting down to sit next to Marinette. He makes sure to leave a good foot between them. One black eye is enough, thank you. “Unlike you, I won’t get expelled, trust me this isn’t anywhere close to my first fight. If they could have axed me, they would have like a month in. The good news is that this is the one corner of the school security cameras can’t see. So as long as we make our story sound believable, no one is going to question it.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re all going to find it sketchy when no one can agree on who threw the punch.”

“See you would think that but, no offense, you’re a literal wafer cookie. A strong breeze could blow you over. No one is going to believe you took down those idiots. Not when it’s so much easier to blame the one who’s admitting it.”

“I did take them down,” Marinette says, narrowing her eyes.

“And it was badass, but for this to work, we need to milk as many of their sexist assumptions as possible. So,” Jason starts, pressing his hand a little further against his eye, there’s a bit of blood slipping onto his fingers. Marinette got him good. “This is what we’re going to say. We’re going to keep it simple. Tell them that those guys were picking on you and I came over to see what was happening. Things got heated, Thomson punched me in the eye and I bumped into what’s-her-face. You were panicking and didn’t really pay attention until you saw me knee him in the balls. Short, sweet, and believable.”

“What are we going to say when they ask about why everyone is blaming me and not you?”

“Well, why were they bothering you in the first place.” Jason shrugs reaching out to grab some of the stray papers that had fallen from Marinette’s bag. “Just use that. Trust me, Thomson’s going to jump at the chance to save face. Once he changes his story the rest will follow.”

Marinette grimaces. “It feels wrong.”

“Please,” Jason snorts. “They’re rich, they’re cheating at life. They’d get away with murder if they dropped their wallets. You could tell them all exactly what happened word for word and the teachers would still only hear their side of the story.”

“That’s awful.”

“That’s Gotham.”

Marinette falters, as if she wants to dispute the inherent corruption of this city. She stares at Jason, who would probably be blushing if it wasn’t for the excruciating pain coming from his right eye.

“You’re sure.” Marinette bites her lip, nervously picking at her nails. “You’re absolute, one hundred and twelve percent sure you won’t be expelled.”

“I’m one hundred and sixteen percent sure,” Jason says and then Marinette smiles.

It’s a nice smile, Jason doesn’t think he’s ever experienced the full force of someone's relief before.

“Thank you.” Sincerity is dripping off every word, so much so it almost aches. “I-you’re really nice Jason.”

Marinette knows his name. That’s-not necessarily surprising given the act that yeah they do share classes, probably. It’s just this is the first time they’ve talked.

“It’s cool,” Jason says leaning further back into the wall. He can hear people coming, it won’t be long before they have teachers to deal with. Jason might as well get comfortable. “You’re Marinette, right? I think we have English….Math..something together.”

Marinette nods, scooting closer to him. “Yeah, I’m Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I sit three rows over in Math and two seats up in English.”

“It’s nice to meet you Marinette. Officially.” Jason takes the hand off of his eye and holds it out to her. “Jason Todd.”

Slowly, Marinette’s smile slowly morphs into a look of pure horror. “You’re eye!”

#maribat #crow writes #jasonette #prompt fills #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng

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calenheniel · 4 years ago

Text

Queen of the Ashes, a frozen fanfic | Part IV

Frozen | Alternate Universe | Hans x Elsa | Romance, Drama | T+

They met as children, each with a secret. Plagued by tragedy, their paths meet again many years later, and their secrets are unraveled.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Updates: #QueenoftheAshesFrozen

Author’s Note: This fic is probably going to end up being 7-8 parts in total in draft form. I may then go back and re-edit to have it published in 4-5 longer chapters. Anyway, I don’t want to say anything else. Happy quarantine reading!

»»————-　❈　————-««

IV.

She awoke the next morning to a vicious headache, groaning at the sunlight streaming through her window.

Every scene from the night before came into clear focus, and she swore at herself for refusing to drink, wishing that she could forget certain conversations.

I wouldn’t joke about something like this.

She rolled over, stuffing her face in her pillows, trying to block out the sound of his voice.

I wanted to be honest with you, Elsa.

She raised herself up on her hands in a huff, marching over to her closet and throwing the doors open with a burst of wintry wind. She regretted it as soon as she saw her clothes covered in a dusting of snow, and brushed it off while muttering to herself, the headache unabating.

Just as she finished changing, a knock on the door made her jump, and her newly-made crown nearly fell from her hands.

“Your Majesty? It’s Gerda,” said the voice of a servant on the other side. “Breakfast is ready for you. The princess is already at the table.”

The queen almost dropped the crown again, blinking. “Anna is… at breakfast? Already?”

The older woman creaked the door open a little to smile at her queen. “Yes, Your Majesty. With one of your guests, I believe.”

She turned red from her face down to her hands, still uncovered, and her mouth dropped open, then shut again, before she could manage to reply. “I see. Thank you for telling me,” she said, and quickly slid on her gloves. With trembling hands, she secured her crown atop her head. “I’ll be down shortly.”

“I’ll let them know,” the servant said, curtsying and closing the door.

The queen leaned against her bedpost, shaking her head. A frown spread across her features and remained there even as she left the room, taking long and angry – but still outwardly composed – strides through the hall and down the staircase.

She stopped just before the entryway to the private dining room, and took a deep breath, knowing what waited for her if she turned the corner.

I can promise you that it’s not Anna I’m after.

She shifted her frown into a neutral expression with some effort, swallowing, and stepped forward.

Her headache was gone.

»» —— ««

“Elsa! We’ve been here for a while. I thought maybe you decided to sleep in, for once.”

Her sister’s exclamation forced the queen to present a smile, though her nose wrinkled as she did. “Yes,” she replied dryly. She ignored the other person in the room even as he rose and bowed to acknowledge her entrance. “How the tables have turned.”

Her sister laughed at the remark until she snorted, and the prince sat down again. “She’s saying that because I’m never up this early,” the princess explained to their guest, grinning. “Elsa’s always back at work by the time I make it downstairs.”

Her smile dipped a little at this last comment, though the prince was quick to reply: “Is she?” He looked up at the young queen, who was taking her seat at the head of the table when their eyes finally met. “I can see that.”

She stared daggers back at him until he turned away. “I feel very fortunate to have been invited to a private breakfast with you two,” he continued, bowing his head. “It’s been a long time since I shared a meal with family,” he said, smiling sadly, “or something like family.”

Her lip twitched at the comment, and she could barely restrain a scowl as her sister pressed a sympathetic hand to his. “Well you have us, now,” the princess assured him, “and you can join us for breakfast or for any other meal whenever you like.”

Irritation crackled through the queen’s spine. “Anna…” she said, “I don’t think—”

“Don’t worry, Elsa,” her sister interrupted. “I already told Hans he’s welcome to stay with us in the castle as long as he likes, so he doesn’t have to go back home so soon.”

Her mouth went limp. “As long as he likes,” she repeated, oblivious to the servants placing her meal down in front of her.

“Yep,” her sister said, smiling. “Won’t it be great to have him around? Up until yesterday, we haven’t had anyone else here in the longest time,” she said, adding in a gentler way: “I know it’ll be a change from what we’re used to, but… isn’t change good, sometimes, too?”

She gripped her silverware hard enough to feel them start to ice over, and then she exhaled, compelling herself to nod politely in agreement. “It can be,” she forced the words out, and then looked at the prince, her gaze hollow. “And has our guest agreed to stay?”

He matched the princess’s smile. “Yes, at least for the next two weeks of festivities,” he replied, standing to bow. “Or as long as you’ll both have me.”

She gestured for him to sit again, and turned to her sister. “We should talk about this later,” she said. “Anyway, please keep eating, or the food will get cold.”

The princess pouted but went back to buttering her toast, eyeing her sister with caution in the silence.

The queen refused to meet the look, finding her gaze torn between her breakfast – which she had no appetite for – and the prince, who ate his meal with patient precision, his utensils hardly making noise as they touched the plate.

At length, she cleared her throat to get his attention. “So,” she began, tapping her nails against her glass of water, “what were you two talking about, before I arrived?”

“I was just—”

“We were mostly just talking about that time he visited when we were kids,” her sister interjected, looking relieved to be speaking again. “He was reminding me about a lot that I had forgotten.”

She swallowed, her stomach turning just as it had the night before. “Did he?” she asked. “And what did you remind her of, Hans?”

“Just the games we used to play together—or rather,” he corrected himself, “of the games I used to watch the two of you play, while I skulked off to the corner.” He chuckled. “I was really so unfriendly back then. It’s a wonder you two were still so kind to me in spite of it.”

Suspicion laced her stare as her sister giggled at the memory. “Yeah, you were a little on the antisocial side. But you did help us with those puzzle sets that I hated, and I almost got to dress you up in one of Elsa’s gowns that one time, before you ran away.”

As they laughed, the queen watched their exchange between small bites of her meal. Observing how her sister’s sunny, bright disposition was unflinching throughout, she wondered if her deeper fears were unfounded.

“But you told us that really good story that one time, about a kid who could… make fire? Or something like that.” The princess shook her head with a smile. “You had a good imagination for such a sourpuss.”

He looked embarrassed at the comment. “Oh, that? I’m surprised you remember it,” he replied. “I just made it up on the spot, actually. It wasn’t from a book, or anything like that.”

“I knew it!” the princess proclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Even as a kid. I mean, I don’t really remember it that well, but…” She trailed off, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I think I was upset because you didn’t give us a good ending, or something like that.”

His smile flinched for a second. “No, I didn’t.” He sat up taller. “But enough about me. What about you two? Are you still getting into any trouble, these days?”

“Us? Trouble?” the princess replied. “No. Not really.” She forked a morsel of smoked salmon over to the side of her plate. “Not in a while.”

The two sisters exchanged a long look at this, and the elder coughed to break it. “Not for a long time,” she agreed, and took another sip of water. She shot the prince a dark look. “We can’t afford to get into trouble.”

“Well, Elsa can’t, anyway, now that she’s queen. Me, on the other hand? I do all sorts of crazy stuff,” her sister said in a conspiratorial way, smirking. She added in just above a whisper: “I just do it behind the scenes, you know? So it’s not obvious.”

“Right,” said her older sister, her blonde brow rising. “It’s not obvious at all when you’re riding a bicycle in the hallway, whooping as you go.”

“Okay, well, a little obvious.”

The two shared a genuine laugh at this, which lasted until the queen remembered the presence of a third party at the table. She cleaned her lips self-consciously with a delicate dab from her napkin, and when she looked up, she noticed him staring at her.

Her face flushed. “I should be going now,” she said suddenly, “as I have some work to attend to.” She forced her head to turn towards her sister. “And I believe you have a meeting with the French ambassador and his party starting in a few minutes, don’t you?”

The princess slid down in her chair with a groan. “I forgot about that,” she sighed. “Can’t we take the day off? Your coronation was only yesterday, and—”

“No, Anna, we can’t,” she cut in with a stern tone, though her skin was still tinged red, feeling his eyes on her. “And besides,” she continued, “it’ll be an opportunity to put your French lessons to good use. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

“I guess,” her sister muttered, crossing her arms and sliding down the chair further. “If I have to.”

The queen held in a chuckle, her attention finally returning to the prince. “And you…” she paused, uneasy.

He glanced down at the napkin on the table next to her plate, and then back up at her. “I’ll find some way to occupy myself, I’m sure,” he offered, smiling in the same, unnerving way he had all morning. “Should you deign to have me at another meal, I would be honored to join.”

“The library,” she said suddenly, wearing a thin smile. “We have an extensive collection; I think you might like it in there.” After a beat, she explained: “If I recall, you were quite the bookworm when we were children.”

He nodded, a little taken aback. “Yes, and still am,” he said. “I’ll go there, then. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

She did not like his manners –the overtness of his looks, the presumption of another invitation to dinner, the use of her formal title – but, for her sister’s sake, she smiled and nodded as she rose from the table. The prince and princess followed, curtsying and bowing to her as she left.

As she reached and then ascended the staircase, her heart pounded so loudly in her ribcage that she could hear little else.

»» —— ««

The presence of the dignitaries at court meant that the queen could not avoid in-person meetings as before, and her morning was soon occupied by one foreign sycophant after the other. Each was more eager than the last to make an impression on the mysterious young queen, with more than one unsubtle mention of marriage prospects and suitable candidates.

Forced to endure their suggestions, she was at pains to smile through the conversations, and often tried to change topics to trade, politics, architecture, or really anything else. She snuck a curious glance in the direction of the library whenever she got a chance, and her nose would wrinkle a little each time she did, remembering who was inside.

When the last meeting with the Spanish ambassador had drawn to a close – she ended it early after the words “Prince Diego, a fine young man” had left his lips – she took a small lunch in her bedroom and walked directly to her guest’s place of temporary exile, finding that her feet were leading her there before her head could protest.

She was unsurprised to find her sister with the prince, sitting at a table with a large book of maps open between them. He pointed at locations while the princess commented between bites of her sandwich; his handkerchief being empty, the queen surmised that he had eaten his already.

“Ahem,” she said to announce her entrance, and the prince leapt up from his seat, bowing.

Her sister merely waved, gesturing for her to come over with a mouth full of food. “Elsa! Come and look at this. Hans has been showing me where he’s traveled with the Navy.”

She frowned a little as she approached them. “You know you’re not supposed to eat in here,” she scolded.

“Sorry,” the princess apologized, grinning sheepishly, and stuffed the remainder of the sandwich in her face.

This earned her an eye-roll from the queen, who nonetheless took a seat next to her, staring at the prince with feigned interest. “So you’ve traveled,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied, smiling as he took his seat. He smoothed his bare hands out over the pages, pointing at the North Sea. “I was just telling the princess about my last trip to Scotland on duty, some years ago. We were out on a naval exercise and got caught in a bad storm with crazy winds. I was lucky to—”

He paused when he noticed that both sisters looked uncomfortable at his tale, their gazes turned down. Realizing his faux pas, he sat back with an embarrassed look. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “I didn’t think—”

“It’s fine,” the queen snapped, eyeing her sister with some worry. When the princess nodded back, she repeated in a calmer way: “It’s fine. You were saying?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, “it wasn’t a good story, anyway.”

A silence settled upon the group until the princess broke it, remarking: “But his other trips sounded wonderful! He mentioned one to France, where he stayed out so late he missed his cleaning duties the next morning on the ship.”

She giggled, and he chuckled in return. “It wasn’t funny at the time, when I was sure I’d be whipped,” he commented, “but I was able to squeeze out of that scrape, fortunately.”

The queen smiled. “It’s good to be a prince, isn’t it?” she remarked, a hint of smugness in her tone. At his furrowed brow, she peeked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room behind him. Seeing the time, her eyes lifted. “Oh, Anna,” she said to her sister, “isn’t it time for your music lesson?”

The princess blinked, following the queen’s eyes to the clock, and then sighed. “Yeah, it is,” she admitted, dragging herself up from the table with a frown. She patted down her dress, and looked at her older sister with pleading eyes. “Can this be the last of it today? I told Hans we could have tea together later.”

She inhaled, and then relented. “Fine,” she agreed, then added more gently: “You’ve been very helpful these last few weeks, Anna. Thank you.”

The princess beamed at this praise, nodding. “Of course, Elsa. I just want to help where I can.”

The two sisters curtsied to one another, and just before the younger one left the room, she grinned at their guest. “I’ll see you later, Hans. But don’t you dare eat any of the chocolate eclairs without me!”

He smiled back at her. “I’ll try not to, Your Highness.”

She flashed him a suspicious look before finally exiting, and he laughed a little when the door closed after her, eyeing the queen with a curious stare. “Does she really have a lesson,” he asked, “or was that just an excuse to get her out of the room?”

She frowned. “She always has music lessons on Mondays at one. Not everyone has ulterior motives like you, Hans.” Her gaze narrowed at him before turning to the table, and she brushed off the remaining crumbs from her sister’s sandwich into her palm with a sigh. “She brought you lunch, I presume?”

He folded the handkerchief, calmly following her lead. “I thought I’d made my motives quite clear last night,” he replied, “and yes. She was kind enough to bring it to me.” After they had both finished cleaning the table, he shut the book and placed it under his arm, meeting her eyes with one raised eyebrow. “I’m surprised you haven’t sent me away yet.”

She gestured for him to lead them as he walked to the original location of the book, following him with a straight and stiff posture. “I wanted to, when I heard you were at breakfast with her, but…” She swallowed. “Then I saw how you two were getting along this morning, plus just now, and I—well, I couldn’t just throw you out of the castle in front of her.” Her frown returned. “But you knew that would happen, didn’t you?”

He paused in their travels to turn around and look at her, his smile cautious enough to invite suspicion, but not confirm it. “You really don’t trust me at all, do you?” he asked. “I can’t say I blame you; I haven’t really earned it yet.” He didn’t aver his eyes from hers. “I was prepared to leave this morning, but Anna insisted I join her. And, remembering that you wanted to tell her yourself that I was leaving, well…” He shrugged and turned back around, continuing his walk between the library’s endless, tall shelves. “I didn’t want to disobey your orders, Elsa.”

She stood stunned for a moment, and then stomped after him, her arms crossed. “How convenient for you,” she hissed as she caught up to him, and then added with a crinkled brow: “And where did you find that book? I haven’t seen it before.”

He stifled a laugh. “The stacks at the end,” he informed her. “Reminds me of the library at home.” He continued after a beat: “I spent a lot of time in there, growing up.”

In spite of her reservations, the queen replied: “I did too, in here.”

He peeked at her over his shoulder, tapping the volume under his arm. “Then I’m surprised you didn’t recognize this.”

She glared at him. “I haven’t read every book in here—just most of them,” she retorted. “Nautical maps weren’t exactly my favorite.”

They arrived at their destination a moment later, and he smiled at her as he slipped the book back into place. “Then what is it that the Queen of Arendelle likes to read?”

She reddened. “History of architecture, mostly,” she mumbled, her arms relaxing a little, “and fiction, from time to time. Everything else I read out of boredom, or because—”

“You were told to?” he finished, and she frowned. “Yes, I’m familiar with that kind of reading, too.”

Their gazes met in the pause that followed, and her cheeks grew redder upon realizing how closely they were standing to each other. “Anyway,” she began, stepping back from him, “I… I’m not going to ask you to leave. Not yet.”

He blinked. “Oh?”

She pursed her lips. “Not because I want you to stay, of course,” she continued. “It’s for Anna. She hasn’t had anyone to talk to in a long time outside of me, and I’m not exactly the most thrilling company.” The redness in her features had not abated, though her face softened as she admitted: “I haven’t seen her this happy in a while, and I don’t want to take that away from her.”

Before he could chime in, she continued: “She does seem taken with you, to be sure, but… knowing Anna, if she liked you in that way, she’d have told me so already, and probably in dramatic fashion.” Something in-between a smile and a cringe touched her expression. “Thankfully, that hasn’t happened yet, so I’m inclined to believe that the connection you two share is… innocent, for lack of a better word.” Her gaze was penetrating as she added: “And it must remain so.”

He bowed his head. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he assured her. “I’m just grateful to know that you’re starting to believe me when I say as much.”

Reminded of what he had told her the night prior, she sucked in a breath, her stare still wary. “Right,” she rejoined. “Because your designs are on me, not Anna.”

“‘Designs’ makes it sound so… villainous,” he remarked, sighing.

“Is that so?” she scoffed. “Then which term, exactly, would you prefer me to use?”

“Just…” he started, and then leaned his elbow against the shelf, his hand brushing against a divider. His gaze grew more focused on her. “Interest.”

“Interest,” she repeated. She glanced at his hand dangling a few feet away from her, his bare skin unnerving her again. “The kind of interest that leads you to sit on the throne, I presume.”

“It’s not about that,” he replied so quickly as to catch her off-guard. “You said it yourself last night: if I really wanted a crown and nothing else, I could’ve had that already.”

“Then what is it, Hans?” she asked. “What makes your ‘interest’ in me so different from all of that?”

He looked down at her crossed arms, and she followed his stare; when she realized the meaning in it, her skin flushed anew, and she aligned her hands to her sides.

“You know, I thought it was strange, at first,” he began, cocking his head to the side, “how Anna never mentioned anything, in all our conversations over the last two days. I would’ve thought that she’d speak of nothing else, remembering how enthusiastic she was about it when we were children.” He stared at her in a thoughtful way. “Not to mention that shock of white hair she has now, which I can’t recall her having before.”

At her silence, he resumed his speech. “But then I remembered the news of how the castle in Arendelle had suddenly been closed off, and how, for years afterwards, no one had seen either of you in person. I thought at the time that it might’ve been related to what I saw here, as a boy, but I couldn’t be sure, and I…” He shifted in his stance. “Well, I had my own problems to deal with back then, and couldn’t spend as much time theorizing about it as I would’ve liked to.” He paused. “Talking to Anna, and then seeing you again, all those old ideas came back to me. I tried to bring it up with her in a roundabout way last night when we were in the gallery, after almost an hour of discussing our favorite kinds of sandwiches and chocolates, but she just gave me an odd look.”

She swallowed. “What did you ask her, exactly?”

“If you two were still building snowmen in there,” he answered, and her shoulders rose nearly to her ears. “She said, ‘how could we build them indoors?’ So I didn’t pry further.” He studied her red face and trembling hands. “I thought perhaps she was protecting you, but… given how chatty she is about everything else, I guessed that wasn’t it, either.”

His tone was calm but directed as he continued: “Then, I saw it at breakfast – when you were gripping your fork and knife – and when she didn’t even notice it, that confirmed for me that whatever is going on, I wasn’t going to find out from her.”

She bit her lip to keep it from quivering, but did not reply, staring at the ground.

“So I’ve been wondering, Elsa: what happened?”

She watched him take one step closer, and sucked in a breath, her head snapping up. Tears stung at her eyes. “I—” she started to say, but her reply was cut short by her own, erratic breathing. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

His gaze softened. “It’s all right. You can tell me.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he offered. “I might understand it better than you think.”

“How could you?” she shot back at him, a deep frown etching itself onto her lips. “You don’t know what it was like to be alone for all these years, to have to lie to your only sister, to not even be able to hug your own mother and father before they—”

She cut off her speech before she could finish, placing her face in her hands.

“Elsa.”

A familiar voice and a warm hand on her shoulder roused her from her misery, and she looked up, half-expecting to see her father again.

Instead, she was greeted by a pale-faced prince who held her steady with his hands on her arms, and when she had gathered her senses about her, she stepped back out of his grasp, faintly aware of the traces of snowflakes still stuck to her dress.

She passed a gloved hand over her face. “I hurt her, Hans,” she said in a small, quiet voice. “I hurt her.”

“How?”

Her hand dropped to her side, though she still would not look at him. “It happened a couple years after you visited,” she murmured. “I struck her in the head by accident while we were playing, and… everything changed, after that.” Her jaw tensed. “By some strange creature’s magic, she was made to forget what happened—not just on that night, but on all the other nights before. Anything related to my—”

She could not bring herself to say it, her voice coming out as a croak when she next spoke. “She thinks she was born with that streak of white hair.” She touched the spines of some of the books on the shelf next to them with shaking fingers. “She doesn’t know, because she doesn’t remember. But I do.”

He was quiet for a long while, venturing to speak only when the temperature had become more bearable. “It’s not just your powers that she doesn’t remember, Elsa.”

At his comment, she finally looked at him, bemused. “What do you mean?”

He brushed a snowflake from his shoulder, and watched it melt in the air before looking back at her.

“If she was made to forget who you were,” he replied, “then how can she know who you are, now?”

#helsa #frozen #frozen fanfiction #QueenoftheAshesFrozen #iceburns

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taetaespeaches · 5 years ago

Note

You opening request? If yes can you make songfic based on taylor swift you belong with me? The member can be jimin or jin, you pick it. Thanks!!😁

“Dolly Parton’s a real jerk, huh?”

Jin x Reader

Word count: 2.7K

a/n: So this is very loosely based on “You Belong With Me”. It mostly just uses the general idea of the song and the whole “Hey isn’t this easy,” line. I hope you all enjoy! Thank you for reading :)

The rain was getting heavier, drops increasing in amount and weight as they drummed against the car roof and windows. Pulling up behind the Big Hit dance studios, you opened up your messages, tapping on the most recent conversation, finding your way to the call option. You put the phone on speaker, the ring back tone echoing throughout your car as you leaned over the center console to rid the passenger seat of your junk- various papers, a few food wrappers, your gym clothes, and a water bottle.

“Jesus, I need to clean this,” you mumbled to yourself, “I’m disgus–”

“Hello?” Jin’s voice cut you and the ring back tone off.

“Hey, I’m here,” you replied happily. “Out back.”

“Ok, we’re packing up now,” Jin spoke into the phone, seemingly distracted.Sitting back in the driver’s seat, you looked out the front window, focusing on the patter of raindrops against the glass. “Yeah, cool, I’ll be here,” you said, pushing down on the windshield wiper switch, sending the blades into a single swipe. “Wanna get some snacks bef–” Jin abruptly hung up the phone, making you flinch at the sudden silence. Scrunching your face in confusion, you began to think that maybe tonight you wouldn’t be getting your fun, carefree best friend.

After a few minutes went by, the doors of the building opened up, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jimin pouring out, all hurriedly headed towards the same vehicle to escape the rain as Jin, sporting a hoodie with the hood up, hung behind them, breaking away to head to you. The others waved to you, flashing small apologetic smiles, you waving back tentatively. What the fuck happened?

When Jin opened up your backdoor, a water bottle that was lodged against the backdoor rolled out, bouncing on the wet street near his feet. “Jesus, you really need to clean this,” Jin told you with a huff, throwing his practice bag across your seats before bending over to grab the water bottle, tossing it onto your car floor, pushing your door shut. You pouted as he opened the passenger side door, hopping inside the vehicle, grabbing the seatbelt, pulling it across his body, clicking it into place, all while not sparing you a single glance.

“Um, hi?” You questioned, your tone laced with confusion and sass. Jin slowly turned to look at you, raising his eyebrows at your expression and tone.The gears visibly turned in Jin’s head, as he strategically decided his next move.

“Hi love,” he smiled, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes, which you took notice of.

“Hi love?” You mocked. “You come into my car clearly in a bad mood, criticize my cleanliness, and then toss me a hi love?” You were teasing, your tone dripping in dramatics, but you were studying his features as he let out a light chuckle. “Ok, what’s up?” Jin’s eyebrows pulled together as he looked at you, avoiding meeting your eyes. You cocked your head as you observed him. “You seem off,” you frowned, “What’s wrong?”

Shaking his head slightly, Jin looked ahead, watching the raindrops trickle onto the windshield, streaming down the glass, collecting into larger drops of water.

“Just dance practice,” he sighed, “Stressed me out.”

Leaning forward, you tried to catch his gaze. “Nothing else?” When Jin responded with a little head shake, you hummed. “You know what this calls for?” Your best friend looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Sad Bitch Hours.”

Reaching for your phone, Jin let out a breathy chuckle. “What bops do you have in store for us tonight?”

“Oh, you’ll find out, just you wait,” you said as you looked over your shoulder out the window to check for oncoming traffic before pulling onto the street. As “You Make Loving Fun” by Fleetwood Mac filled the car, a smile spread across Jin’s face. You snuck a glance at him, smiling when you saw his expression. “There’s my boy,” you cooed with a fond grin, causing him to bashfully snicker, shaking his head as red tinted his cheeks and ears.

“Sweet wonderful you,” you sang with the song with a little shoulder shimmy, causing a small breathy chuckle to escape Jin’s lips. “You make me happy with the things you do.” Looking to Jin for a moment, you smiled widely before whining, “Jinnie,” you dragged out his name. “Sing with me,” you giggled.

As you sang along with the chorus, Jin started to bob his head to the groovy beat. When the guitar solo kicked in, Jin couldn’t hold back from rocking out.“Ooh, Rocker Jin, get it,” you cheered, bursting into giggles. Watching Jin fully commit himself to the guitar solo, arms in position as his left hand slid along the imagined frets, his fingers wildly moving along the non-existent strings, you couldn’t help but think how easy it was to just be with him. Even when one of you was in a mood, neither of you could ever stay upset for too long when around each other.

Returning your focus to the road, you nodded towards the small convenience store to your right. “Hey, I’m gonna stop up here for snacks.” Jin nodded as he finished out his guitar solo, both of you joining in on singing the chorus.When the second verse kicked in, Jin’s singing faded out as he watched you groove, your head smoothly moving from side to side to the beat, your voice belting it out with Christine McVie.

Don’t break the spell,It would be different and you know it will,You make loving fun, And I don’t have to tell you but you’re the only one.

Too into your jam session and your focus on driving the vehicle, you didn’t see the mix of a sad expression and an adoring smile plastered to your best friend’s face. Straightening his form, he settled further into his seat as he kept his gaze on you.

The outro of the song played out as you pulled into the convenience store lot. Parking the car, you looked at Jin, who was already staring back at you. Eyes widening, you pointed to the store. “You coming with?” Shaking his head, he pouted his lips in a frown. Eyeing his features for a moment, you could feel your heart break, knowing there was something wrong but also knowing he wasn’t planning on opening up any time soon.

With a sigh, you unclicked your seatbelt. “Want anything in particular?” You stared out the windshield as your mind raced over the possibilities of what could be wrong with your best friend.

“No, I’m good,” he said, making you turn to look at him. “You always choose the best stuff anyway,” he said with a small smile. If you were anyone else, you may not have noticed the heaviness in his tone, reflecting the heaviness in his mind.

“Yeah, I have good taste, huh?” You smirked, opening the car door as the piano intro to Dolly Parton’s “Here You Come Again” started playing.

“Dolly Parton?” Jin asked in confusion, you staring at him blankly. “Since when is Dolly on Sad Bitch Hours?”

“Hey, Dolly speaks to my soul,” you shrugged, hopping out of the car. “Yeehaw bitch,” and with that, you slammed the door shut, leaving Jin alone to fondly gawk at you and your antics.

Jin settled into his seat, blowing on the cold passenger window, drawing little squiggly lines on the glass as the song played.

He tried not to think about you and what the 95s had told him not even twenty minutes ago, he really did. But as the song went on, he slowly starting to process the lyrics.

All you gotta do is smile that smile,And there go all my defenses.Just leave it up to you and in a little while,You’re messing up my mind,And filling up my senses.

He pressed the previous button on your car stereo, restarting the song. The piano intro started sounding as he focused in on the song, staring at the stereo.

Here you come againJust when I’ve begun to get myself together.You waltz right in the door,Just like you’ve done beforeAnd wrap my heart ‘round your little finger.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until you ripped the car door open exclaiming you got all the way to the candy aisle before you realized you didn’t have your wallet. “Fuck, I’m a mess, I really need to get my shit—Jinnie?” Your voice got quiet as you stared at Jin, his eyes wide and pointed at you, cheeks damp as more tears built up on his water line.

“Jin, why are you crying?” You stood frozen, in shock, rain drenching your form though you hardly took notice.

“Huh?” Jin snapped into consciousness, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “I’m not.”

“Jin,” you started, “my love, you’ve got to talk to me.” Finally coming to terms with what was happening, you hopped inside the vehicle, shutting the door and turning your full attention to your best friend.

“Dolly Parton’s a real jerk, huh?” He said with a small laugh as more tears appeared in his beautiful orbs.

“You’re crying because of the song?”

Shaking his head, he waved you off. “No, I’m just stressed, the song must have hit me weird tonight. I’m ok,” he forced a small smile in a poor attempt to assure you.

“Ok, you’re my best friend, I love you, you are not ok,” you said, reaching out to touch his arm, only to have him pull away. He saw the hurt flash across your face at his action and he felt all control and resolve crumble.

“You belong with me,” he said suddenly. It was whispered but it rang loud and clear in your ears, however you couldn’t hold back the shocked “what?” that slipped out. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He said louder, this time accompanied by an angry tone.

Flinching a bit at his change in resonance, you pulled your eyebrows together. “Tell you what? What is going on?”

“That you’re seeing someone,” he yelled, not at you but out of frustration.

“Huh?” You said in utter confusion. “Where the hell did you get that idea from?”

You looked around the car as if you were searching the perimeter for answers to your own question. “Wait, did you say I belong with you?” You asked in surprise, suddenly hit with the meaning behind those whispered words. Dolly’s voice faded out as the song ended, though neither of you noticed.

Jin looked at you sadly, defeated, as Rick James’ “Give It To Me Baby” started playing through the car speakers, still neither of you taking notice. “It’s so easy with us,” he spoke quietly, tears welling up again, your eyes mimicking his.

“Jin–”

“You talked to Tae and Jimin about some dude you were interested in,” he explained in a sudden loud voice. “Why were you keeping it from me?”

Realization slowly came to you, resulting in a scoff escaping your lips when you figured out what had happened.

“Did they tell you that at practice tonight? That I talked to them about some dude? That I’m seeing someone?” You chuckled, shaking your head, your focus shifting to the two morons, momentarily getting distracted from Jin and the possible confession that just took place.

“Why are you laughing?” He asked you, hurt written in his features.

“Because those two morons are as big of idiots as you are, jesus Jin, you think I wouldn’t tell you if I was seeing someone?” You looked at him with scrutinizing eyes.

“You didn’t tell me though—”

“What did they say?” You asked impatiently, already preparing yourself to kick their asses next time you saw them.

Jin looked at you a bit taken aback at your hasty tone. “What? Th-they,” Jin stuttered. “You asked Jimin about some guy. Him and Tae said you’re dating him.”

“Ok, first of all, I didn’t even willingly talk to them, they practically forced me to after they caught me pathetically watching you play guitar.”

Jin’s look of confusion only set further in as he repeated your words, “Watching me play–”

“Second of all, I only told them that there is a guy I like, that’s it. They came up with all the other shit on their own, I guess they have some wild imaginations,” you said frustratedly. “How the fuck could they have even gotten all of this so wrong? I was literally pining after you right in front of their eyes, it was obvious what guy I–”

“Pining after me?” Jin’s eyes practically bulged out of his head as he tried to figure out if he was somehow hearing things, officially having gone mad, or if you somehow actually just said those words.

“I didn’t tell you I’m interested in someone because I didn’t think you felt the same way,” you confessed quietly.

Jin stared at you blankly as his mind carefully considered everything that just happened. “You like me?” He asked for clarification, wanting to be completely sure before he prompted his next question.

“I do,” you told him genuinely, your eyes locked on his own.

Nodding slowly, he took a few seconds to process. “Can I kiss you?”

It felt as though the oxygen within the cab of the car disappeared as you nodded quickly, a whispered, “Yes,” slipping from your vocal cords.

Leaning towards you, he placed a hand on the side of your neck, fingertips digging into your wet hair, his thumb brushing over your jawline. Your mouths were a mere inch away from each other, your noses bumping together as he rubbed his against yours, a small smile on his face, before he tilted his head opposite to yours and connected his lips with your own.

As soon as his plump lips met your own, the oxygen rushed back into your lungs and you felt more alive than you think you ever had before. He deepened the kiss and you happily responded, getting lost in the moment, the rain still pattering against the car, and him, kissing you after all that time.

Interrupting the intimacy, Jin groaned, “this song,” as he chuckled into the kiss. “Why is this song playing right now?” He shook his head lightly still laughing as you pressed small pecks to his lips and the corners of his mouth.

“This is our song now you know,” you teased, giggling against his lips. Jin’s hand cradled the back of your head, pulling you more firmly against his mouth, kissing you hard.

“Absolutely not,” he mumbled into the kiss.

“We’re gonna have our first dance to this at our wedding,” you continued to laugh at yourself causing Jin to pull back just enough to see your face clearly.

“Already planning our wedding?” He smiled widely. “You really have been pining after me huh?”

Groaning, you turned away from him, pulling your seatbelt back on. “Nevermind, call it off,” you said as you positioned one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift as you pretended to prepare to drive. “You ruined it,” you joked, a smile toying on your lips. Jin laughed loudly as he leaned over the console, placing a hand to the side of your face turning you towards him, capturing you in a needy kiss. You responded easily, your hand moving off the gear shift to grab at the material of his hoodie, your lips moving perfectly with his.

It was always so easy with him. Almost as if you really did belong with each other.

“You’re all wet,” he suddenly spoke, pulling back a bit.

“Jesus, you’ve got a filthy mouth,” you teased, Jin sighing as he flashed an embarassed smile. “Give it to me, baby,” you giggled, sliding your hand from his chest to his neck, holding your palm against the warm skin.

“Stop it,” he laughed, shaking his head, his face tinted red. “I just meant we should head to the dorm so you can–”

“Nuh uh,” you interrupted. “If I go to the dorm and see those two idiots I’m going to kick some ass and I don’t want to do that tonight. Tomorrow maybe, but not tonight,” you smiled as you put the car into drive, pulling out of the parking lot.

Jin strapped his seat belt, laughing at you fondly. “Ok, to yours we go then.”

So fucking easy.

#jin #seokjin #jin imagine #jin imagines #jin drabble #jin drabbles #jin fluff #jin scenario #jin scenarios #bts #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts drabble #bts drabbles #bts fluff #bts scenario #bts scenarios #requested

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amberenigma · 4 years ago

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stream of consciousness thoughts on ( ovan’s ) will. and about graphics. this is your spoiler warning for volume 4: reconnection.

i spent too long last night playing gu for a hot second and now i have some Thoughts:tm: about plots, ovan, and the notion of will. enjoy some 2015 levels of rambling about objectively minuscule details.

anyway literal toilet thought but the archives have a very interesting way of creating meaningful iconography using particular design elements of characters ( mainly the infinity eight ) and minimizing it to something both unique and recognizable. namely, the epitaph pattern icons used for each player in the archives---they’ve always been really neat, unique, and it’s been something that the cc2 team has always used in their archives since _02.

ovan’s has changed between trilogy/original gu and volume 4, which i always thought was pretty neat, especially in terms of what’s actually presented.

( but anyone with the book be like: okay but haseo has a different one too in volume 4!! and i say shshshshshshshh this came about purely because of unison skeith’s icon which uses haseo’s epitaph version since he’s.......you know.......skeith’s host. epitaph talk will come up later )

anyway excuse my 5 minute “slap a banner of images” but the difference here is obvious and i just have an appreciation for what it means with aida---mostly that aida was acknowledged and treated as a completely different entity, an anomaly that didn’t belong on ovan at all and depicted as such during the trilogy. but after kusabira fuses back with him as true neighbor ( which i always thought was a very interesting name to give tri-edge ), we get a spiffy new icon for big blue and wah-lah, aida is now cyan! YAAAA!!! whether or not ovan actually accepts her as part of him ( in which he at least seems reluctant in-game, not so much my main verse after 6 years of writing him lmao ) is rather up for debate, but here we can at least verify that she’s not there to be malicious per se ( but that doesn’t quite exclude her as a menace, see haseo’s “it’s kusabira, isn’t it. it’s that aida whispering in your ear.” ), and not to the extent of trying to completely fuck up his day. i found that slight change pretty interesting. this is where i get into the meat of what i wanted to talk about.

the notion of will in .hack---gu in particular.

but first i do wanna say that there’s this blaring fucking pothole when it comes to corbenik and the rebirth that i don’t know will ever be explained. like. if it’s a failsafe that was a one and done thing, then corbenik should have been......destroyed or severely damaged or something.....right...or at least that’s what kind of makes sense to me unless the product of the RA plan really makes epitaphs less prone to the crumbly wumblies like they were in imoq after being salvaged. although that doesn’t seem to be the case given unison skeith is a solid half corbenik/half skeith. it’s bothered me for years and canon doesn’t really lean one way or the other, it just is ( again, i’ve written something out for my corbi blog years ago and tl;dr ovan and azure kite go fish him out of the sea of data, put him together, but he lacks the ability to rebirth again--i need to tag that thread actually ). but maybe he’s never meant to truly disappear as his moniker implies. always coming back ( additionally fitting for ovan, but i digress ).

will is an interesting concept in gu. and at least with ovan specifically, it’s a strangely powerful trait in him, which may be why part of why he has this sort of enigmatic sort of vibe to him to anyone---this notion of, “i don’t know what this guy wants, but whatever it is, he’ll get it one way or another.” and i think it may really be stronger than at first glance, pivotal almost. we see it twice in dire moments, even though he’s so, so tired.

the first ( and not chronologically, there’s obvious some other off-screen moments we can speculate, these are just two instances that come to mind clearly ) is with the fight with cubia in redemption, where 7 of the 8 are trying to break through ballsack cubia’s final AT field ( forgive me it looks like an AT field what can we expect from sadamoto okay ). yata says they can’t do it without “the epitaph of rebirth”, which always struck me as odd for quite awhile. what did he mean by epitaph of rebirth? didn’t haseo have all of the epitaph data in his pc? he data drained corbenik twice now, they should be okay, no?

but, yata wasn’t referring to corbenik specifically in this case. he was referring to ovan, and in that extension, corbenik as his epitaph. the remnant data skeith absorbed was essentially not enough in this case despite corbenik containing a metric fuckton of data between himself and aida. what skeith can’t devour is human will. ovan’s will.

in the archives, ovan’s specifically noted to have an extremely high mental resilience---it’s the primary trait that attracted corbenik in the first place when searching for a host. this could mean quite a few things, honestly, and taking into account what little of his past we actually know, it makes sense that his sense of direction is incredibly poignant, his will to be essentially unmatched ( although parallel to haseo’s in my opinion, just simply a different flavor ). the man’s just an absolute unit. it’s also noted that ovan didn’t really take into account the repercussions of activating the rebirth and purging the net, thus spawning our good friend cubia, so he truly was just ready to go sleep forever. paraphrasing aura here, the rest of the infinity eight’s praying for ovan to hear their collective voices ( admittedly it just boils down to ovan hearing haseo’s voice, gestures at lost files in the trilogy archives which is a hilarious conversation by the way; “leave me be, i’m tired. i just want to sleep.” ) is what gets him to muster up any remaining strength he has left to come help.

it’s an interesting sequence of scenes with haseo’s cracked data just magically healing up once ovan enters the picture---his presence alone drives haseo. it’s his image and his voice that’s alongside haseo’s ( which is an interesting choice because it could have been all eight of them in this case ). his will is what catalyzes everything to it’s end, including himself.

the second is the avatar fight with moralta, where haseo realizes that he can’t do it alone again---and ovan is still surprisingly able to put himself through that kind of strain despite being in the deep freeze for a year ( avatar and all! again! goddamn! ), combining into unison skeith and yeeting the shit out of giant slug baby once and for all. this particular encounter takes a different note compared to cubia considering we hear both of them synced up ( literally all of their dialogue is the same )---and beyond the fact this whole epilogue is about haseo and ovan, it really ends up being the sheer fact that it’s both of them together that overcome and stop moralta from fucking up [the world]. sheer will’s a strong motive for pretty much all of vol 4 though, so this is kinda expected. it’s haseo’s lament at the end that poses an interesting discussion---he couldn’t do it by himself again ( in this case he is referring to everyone as a whole as well before finding ovan, too ). for all of the power that he holds via skeith, kusabira, etc, he still needed ovan there to push to victory. i’ve always felt that was an interesting distinction the staff has made throughout the gu timeline ( in any retelling of it, actually ). even ovan has to let him know that it’s the fact he had a warband of support that got him that far in the first place despite the trauma ovan had pushed him through.

the series has been consistent about ovan’s ability to push things the extra mile, even for things that he may not personally want, even if there’s few people he’d undoubtedly be alongside. his involvement makes all of the difference, and that’s powerful in it’s own way ( he is the antihero after all ). we see the power ovan has by guiding the events of gu throughout all three volumes, but we really see just how strong he is when he’s actually on-screen the few times he’s there for more than 10 seconds. it’s kind of fucking insane such a laidback personality has that much influence on the outcome of incredibly dangerous/dire/important situations.

when he knows exactly what he wants, he knows exactly what makes people tick, and what makes the world around him change. ovan’s will is a terrifying weapon and it’s one of my favorite details about him.

and last thing that just came to mind from playing around last night..

in one of the demo trailers, haseo’s monologue expresses the emotions he’s experienced throughout playing to that point---specific people embody specific emotions, and in ovan’s case, he’s associated with despair. despair drives ovan--haseo’s correct about that honestly even if the context of what he knows boils down to the fact ovan’s burdened with aida and saving his sister ( things we see in the archives explicitly point out that the indou parents are straight up dead ). this man has lost so much, is losing too much, and is on the brink of losing even more during the events of gu and it shows. despair is a powerful force, a reaction to the things one has experienced and an outlet for all of the things it can cause. a man with nothing left to lose is the most dangerous and the most powerful of them all even in silence---and somehow, somehow ovan has managed to keep his edge despite being on the brink of death himself in the real world. that’s fucking scary.

#( ╳┊ headcanon. )#i guess?? i don't have a tag for whole ass rambles but this is a huge part of his character.#god i just [clenches fist] love ovan so much he's so [clenches other fist] shrimptresting......even after 10+ years.....

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meta-squash · 5 years ago

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Journal For Plague Lovers & Modernist Literary Style

So I’ve had this theory/idea/whatever in my head for at least a year now about Journal For Plague Lovers and Modernist literature. (Note: I’m talking about the full, unedited lyrics available in the deluxe edition booklet, which you can find my scans of here.) Basically, my theory is that JFPL reflects and uses a Modernist style of writing in order to express feelings and experiences. The Modernist writers really started experimenting with form and meaning and how each dictates or manipulates the other, and there are certain stylistic choices that Richey made in these lyrics that are really reminiscent of the Modernist techniques and experimental styles.

To begin with, JFPL is a notably massive leap forward in lyrical writing for Richey. Which, frankly, is amazing if most of it was written between autumn 1994 when he got out of hospital and January 1995 when the binder was given to Nicky. That means that his lyrical advancement occurred in about 6 months, between the writing/recording of The Holy Bible and Richey’s release from hospitalization, which is incredibly fast. Nicky is always mentioning how Richey’s mind was in high-gear around the time of writing Journal For Plague Lovers, how he was unable to switch off or slow down, which probably accounts both for the advancement and the overwhelming overload of references in these lyrics.

Anyway, I’m just gonna go through some of the main characteristics of Modernist literature/poetry, and sort of look at how JFPL reflects that or utilizes it.

Probably the most obvious is the “cut-up” word/writing style of most of the songs. The Beat poets took cut-up and really ran with it, but it kind of started during the later modernist period. Cut-ups are where a text or texts are cut up and rearranged to make a new text.

I don’t think Richey was literally cutting up texts, but the way certain songs, like Me & Stephen Hawking, Peeled Apples, and Journal For Plague Lovers leap from subject to subject or POV to POV very much seems to emulate that cut-up style. Me & Stephen Hawking is a really good example. In an interview about the album, someone mentioned the weirdness of the lyrics to the song and James responded, “Seriously, you haven’t seen the rest. Seriously, you wouldn’t fucking believe them.” The lyrics clearly have an ongoing theme, but it’s hard to make out at first. They’re very cut-up style, random and almost unintelligible:

Queen mother stuffed for exhibition Three strikes yr out – execution – pizza 2/ Dante III, spider robot, Mount Spurrr Increased plastic surgery for pubic hair Sanitation police, crime of proportion.

Peeled Apples, while clearly political, and Journal For Plague Lovers, clearly personal, also really use the cut-up style. Peeled Apples slams together political/history references with images of personal suffering and popular media as well as just plain bizarre phrases like “Canaries are always behind bars the day of deliverance lied.” Pretension/Repulsion also does this, as it’s just single seemingly unrelated words clustered together separated only by commas. The cut-up sort of style allows a ton of words to be put together where it might not have been so easy before. It’s hard to follow, but it manages to pack a LOT of information into a small amount of space, and creates a sensation of overwhelming reality and/or unreality.

Which brings me to another characteristic of modernism, which was the destabilization of reality, the realization that there is not central truth and that truth is provisional and reality is constructed by the “writer” and the “reader.” Jackie Collins Existential Question Time really utilizes that, as it warps reality into this bizarre sort of talk show asking relationship questions– but you don’t know if you’re the audience or not, or where you/the speaker is, or what the conclusion is meant to be, or what the questions really mean. It’s silly but also serious and you’re not really sure how to take it because it’s so weird. You get a sense of place, of what’s going on, but not enough to feel like your feet are on solid ground and that you’re understanding anything.

Facing Page: Top Left and Virginia State Epileptic Colony do this as well, but in very different ways. In Facing Page, you get the sense of a hospital or institution, flashes and fragments of moments and images from within, but there is never any clarity about what is going on, and the world constructed by the words is obscured from any conclusion or truth or central point, since images of institutionalization are interspersed with phrases like “The scum as jewellery,” “Pig bargaining,” “Christian fraternity meeting Pagan idolatry,” and of course “This beauty here dipping neophobia.” It’s comprised mostly of collections of short phrases, and none of these phrases coagulate or combine to clarify anything or to give the listener-reader any sort of intended message. Virginia State Epileptic Colony also presents a hospital scene, but it is much clearer. Instead, the destabilization of reality comes from spaces in the text, and the repetition. We only get about half an image in 13 lines of text– people (patients) sitting at tables drawing circles in chalk, given medication by doctors, waking to strange lights and being told that they are independent because they are allowed to learn domestic tasks. We have the repetition of “Piggy” (and those double asterisks) 5 times in the chorus, with no true explanation as to what it means, and with two verses, a repetitive chorus, and a two-line bridge, there is so much space in this song, so much emptiness. It is up to the listener to fill that space, that reality, making it something constructed not by the words, but by what isn’t there, the information that the listener has to create for themselves out of the half-image that’s given.

As an extension of the above, the use of stream-of-consciousness (and first person) writing became really popular during the modernist era. Most songs are sort of a form of stream-of-consciousness, but the lyrics on JFPL seem to do it more on a literary rather than lyrical level. More than any of the others, William’s Last Words does it best. It’s literally a Faulkner-style first-person prose monologue without line breaks or a verse/chorus/bridge structure. The original version is clearly a drunk character leaving or attempting to leave a party or show of some sort. It’s sad and nostalgic and self-deprecating but it’s all one unbroken monologue-scene of stream of consciousness speech. This is just a small chunk of the page and a half of text:

Goodnight all, you’re all my friends…remember my wedding day, should’ve heard ole Bill singing, we’ll have a good old ding dong tomorrow, you’re lovely all of you, goodnight godbless I’ll always remember you, hope you liked the concert. I’ll go nice and quiet, I’ll just say cherio, here I go on my way, till we meet again, wish me luck as you wave me goodbye. Yr the best friends I ever had, yes, no, no I’m not a clever chap, I made a balls up again, first, second, third time but not on your time I hope, you’re a part of the world….oo be quiet old Bill, no applause, sleeptight, isn’t it lovely when the dawn brings the dew and I’ll be watching over you. It was lovely singing to you, I won’t forget you.

It’s full of commas and run-on or unconnected sentences, but it is prose that connects to itself rather than lyrics. Still, it seems to start in the middle of a scene and fades away into not much of a concrete conclusion, so we get a moment of consciousness– perhaps the most emotional moment– before turning away. Facing Page: Top Left and Marlon JD do stream of consciousness to some degree as well. Facing Page is not a typical stream of consciousness, but more like a list of things or experiences or associations. In some ways again it makes me think of Faulkner, of the way he writes characters that don’t really know how narrate their thoughts/experiences in words. It never leaves its institutional location or changes the subject to something else, it just rambles about the situation it’s in through fragmentary phrases. Marlon JD is also very stream-of-consciousness, but because it’s already based on a monologue from a film that’s kind of to be expected.

Modernism was also characterized by a sort of “what’s becoming of the world?” reaction, in response to the speeding up of technological advancements and scientific discoveries etc etc, as well as the consciousness of the changes that came from the end of the 19th century and how the new 20th century was shaping up to be. Something that the band specifically notes in interviews about the Journal For Plague Lovers album is the emphasis on information overload, of the speed of technology and information/media consumption, as well as concerns about things like the environment, religion, and global politics/history and the end of the millennium.

Me & Stephen Hawking is the clearest example of this “what is becoming of the world?” anxiety, and the focus on information overload. The main body of the lyric –the verse(s)– never actually made it onto the recording, which just uses the bridge and the chorus. This is probably because the verse(s) are just jumbles of references to history and media and events and ideas. It’s also characterized by swaths of blacked-out lines. Whether the Richey did that or the band did it posthumously, we don’t know. If Richey did it himself, it certainly changes the interpretation of the lyrics, as it adds another layer of “information” (censoring) overload. But the words trip over each other, so many different references all piled in one spot:

2/ Dante III, spider robot, Mount Spurrr Increased plastic surgery for pubic hair Sanitation police, crime of proportion. 3/ Paisleyism and ecumenism and cenotaph bombers [blacked out] wearing policing Soviet labour medals sold for Coca Cola 82 million watch Gorilla Meets Whale

Peeled Apples does the same thing, piling political and historical and emotional and media references in one place until they’re so jumbled it’s hard to make sense of them, showing the anxiety of that information overload and speeding up of communication, creation, knowledge. I’ve always thought that All Is Vanity is a kind of reaction to that reaction, putting the anxiety succinctly into “It’s not whats wrong it’s what’s right / Makes me feel like I’m talking a foreign language at times” and the desire for control or some semblance of order and calmness in “I would prefer no choice / One bread one milk one food that’s all / I’m confused I only want one truth.” Which, again, goes back to that Modernist realization that truth is provisional, reality is constructed, and there is no central point because not only is it all relative, it’s also always moving and changing and growing and shrinking and twisting.

Another characteristic is that of an emphasis on the sexual (in the form of fetish or obsession, usually), and the visceral or grotesque. While JFPL doesn’t really have much of the former, it certainly has plenty of the latter. The most obvious are Journal For Plague Lovers and She Bathed Herself In A Bath Of Bleach. She Bathed Herself really contains the most visceral image in the title, which is, as Nicky calls it, “quite a shocking title.” Aside from the title, the more intense lines are “She thought burnt skin would please her lover” and “Love sat her in a bath of bleach / But salmon pink skinned Mary is still caring.” Even so, the title kind of dictates where the listener’s mind goes with these words, and so with the suggestion from the title, the imagination goes to more grotesque places that the words actually literally contain. On the other hand, Journal For Plague Lovers has some really grotesque imagery. The band sort of cherry-picked lines to record around the more intense parts of the verses. The verses altogether seem to be an image of a rotting self, whether physical, emotional or mental, especially when combined with the “dying relationship” of the bridge.

These perfect abattoirs these perfect actors Babies bones, dustbinned, shorn

Oh such love smeared stimulus Vacuumed pain slow suck luck Wake in hell murder one Troughs o’ bones wade in gore

Weep helpless skewered flesh Milky teeth soured and fetid PG certificate all cuts unfocused Sick in skin embarrassed within

The imagery is really intense but non-specific, creating a reaction of disgust and fragments of gross images without really knowing what we’re looking at or what we’re supposed to be disgusted by. It’s a shock factor that transitions into the bridge, which is a scene of a failing or failed relationship, so that the gross images overlay this moment of romantic collapse, making it even more visceral and pitiful.

Modernism also started really focusing on the meaning and history of words, and how they could be used to create an image without blatantly telling a story. Pretension/Repulsion is the best example of this, especially because James Bradfield specifically noted in an interview that the way the song was laid out meant it felt like Richey was telling him “Look at the words, James, look at the words.” Which makes sense, as it’s just a bunch of individual words divided by commas:

Explored, inclos’d, amaz’d, perturb’d Assum’d, annoy’d, ceas’d, unhinder’d Burden’d, gather’d, agonis’d, lock’d Mix’d, sear’d, receiv’d, unclaps’d

Instead of focusing on a story, the listener-reader is paying attention to the sound of each word and thinking of the meaning behind it. Instead of a narrative, we get flashes of image/emotion for each word. Peeled Apples also relays on knowledge of words and historical references, with lines like “In SB’s Cistine Chapel inabilities wither / Boy smoking cigarette infront of Himmler’s painted ether” and “Nutrition is neuroses for a maelstrom of inadequacy.” Doors Closing Slowly relies on religious knowledge, and its references go very deep. It twists biblical stories and references, and expects the listener-reader to understand the origin and therefore the modified version:

I want your sin third day perfected Lazarus burning Jerusalem Blaspheme, cut dead, Isiah One day birds of prey Israelite

But, like the Modernists, each of these lyrics uses an emphasis on the expectation that the listener-reader will have the literary or historical or vocabulary knowledge to understand the meaning/origin of the reference in order to create a specific image through the twisting or reinterpretation of that reference. It wants the definition and history to expand the story, so that it’s the effort of the listener-reader and not the speaker that will expand the story into something fleshed out and recognizable. Despite the cuts that were made for the studio recordings it’s clear when you read the full versions of the lyrics that every single word is important and researched and meant to be included. There is a history and meaning infused in every reference, and Richey’s brain was going so fast that some of the lyrics feel like they’re piled on top of each other, but at the same time, they seem to build on each other, each reference allowing the listener-reader to glean more meaning the more history or definitions they know.

What I found most telling was seeing the quality of modernist literature that my professor really drilled into us: that modernist lit (especially prose, but also poetry to a large extent) was not necessarily about the plot, and the plot was not the most important thing. Instead of a specific narrative, what was important was the impression or emotion evoked by the words. I always think of the novel Nightwood by Djuna Barnes when it comes to feelings/impressions being more important than the plot; there is a plot, but it’s just a scaffolding or a base for the emotion to build off of, for the reader to interpret and feel from. It’s basically what all of the above is driving to create and express. Instead of having a direct narrative within the lyrics (like 4st lbs or La Tristesse Durera or even, to some extent, PCP or Intense Humming…), it relies on fragments of scenes or references to create an impression or an emotion on the listener-reader. Faster and Of Walking Abortion do this as well, but JFPL manages to take it to another level.

The band, when being interviewed about Journal For Plague Lovers, often talk about how much this album seems simultaneously “of its time” and strangely fitting for the present. In his very last television interview, Richey mentioned that his dream was to “write a lyric which I think is flawless, that makes sense to me, not anybody else. That I think in 15-20 lines sums up exactly how I feel about everything, not just how I feel today, how I’ve felt all my life. Everything I’ve read, everything I’ve seen, everything I believe, that in those 15 lines you just say it all.” Considering the sheer amount of knowledge and imagery and information packed into just the 13 songs on the album (not to mention the 20 or so more in the binder that have never been published), I think that’s partly what Richey was trying to do with these words. We’ll never know if he thought he succeeded, but instead of being left with a clear-cut picture of his opinions (or accusations) like THB, instead we are left with impressions of experiences, feelings, and events created through the fragments of information all slammed together– everything, all in 15 lines.

Aside from one or two songs, the tracks on JFPL don’t really have a defined narrative. Instead, they rely on fragments of images, emotions, references, and ideas to form an impression in the listener’s mind. For example, Peeled Apples, the most reference-filled track on the album, doesn’t actually tell a straightforward story or clear opinion the way the more political tracks on THB did. Instead we get an opening line that is clearly political followed by a much more personal line: “Riderless horses, Chomsky’s Camelot / Bruises on my hand from digging my nails out,” and the rest of the lyrics that follow are a mass of references, from the bible to Japanese post-Hiroshima films to the Birdman of Alcatraz to George Orwell, intermingled with lines that are abstract and emotional. Yet somehow what the listener-reader gets out of is an impression of frustration, political anger, and historical/political/personal entropy. Me & Stephen Hawking is similarly reference-packed, and out of that comes the impression of overwhelming technological/information enhancement and concern for the survival of both the environment and the self.

Doors Closing Slowly is full of religious references, and leaves us with an impression religious and personal doubt, and the overwhelming feeling of rejection and dejection towards both. And they’re so twisted together there are some lines, like “Love the soul not the body / Let me forgive the word ruins / I wanted to kill but my tears love,” where you don’t know if it’s a personal reference or a religious one.

There’s a sense of desolation and loneliness, of overwhelming exhaustion at the uncertainty of truth. William’s Last Words, on the other hand, feels desperate, lonely but wishing not to be alone. As a prose monologue, it is more personal-sounding, able to sound rambling and drunken because of the amount of space the words are allowed to take up. Within the words there’s the impression of nostalgia and a sort of rainy quietness, a mental fading, and a sort of muffled personal mourning.

In All Is Vanity, there is a sense of desperation. For control, for understanding, for being understood. Especially in “I’m confused I only want one truth / I really don’t mind if I’m being lied to,” there’s an impression of simultaneous frustration with monotony and a desire for it, a frustration with and desire for beauty, love, a non-existent central point, a conflict of interest on the personal level. This Joke Sport Severed feels bleak, an impression of rawness or over-sensitivity being dealt with through rejection and repression, hiding or turning away from everything that hurts. It includes the odd bridge, “Repress yr emotion / Repression yr revenge / Stoic shitter nerve end,” which radiates anger as well as dejection and frustration. The song leaves an impression of being curled in a corner somewhere, barefoot, confused, frustrated and lost and nursing wounds and pretending nothing outside of your little corner exists.

As I mentioned before, Facing Page: Top Left absolutely leaves the listener-reader with an image of hospitals and institutionalization and the monotony of that existence. It also gives an impression of discomfort, a body seen in fragments rather than as a whole, and a loss of agency. It feels frustrated, searching, but also pointedly disgusted both with the self and with others. The final two lines, for me, pack all of those feelings in a short punch packed with words and images: “Dipping neophobia. Gillette Cuticura. Flak. PS. Recovery. Huh / Central dissolves. Exceed dosage. Subscribed. Cleansed. Boring.”

Journal For Plague Lovers also reflects that disgust, to a much higher degree. The grotesque imagery gives the listener-reader a distinct feeling of uneasy revulsion, but also a sort of pity or helplessness, both for the self and for others that seem to exist in the song. Especially because it’s difficult to make out who the speaker is and what they feel– which puts all the interpretation on the listener rather than the speaker. It makes the listener-reader feel conflicted, uncertain whether they should feel horrified or sad.

Again, most of the songs don’t really have an obvious narrative, just images you can kind of construct meaning out of. But on the off-chance we do get a narrative, it is left so vague and open-ended it’s barely a narrative at all, but a fragment left open at both ends. In Virginia State Epileptic Colony, we get a momentary picture of a hospital scene, but we leave it before we get anything but an impression. She Bathed Herself… gives an incomplete narrative of a mentally ill woman and her views/attempts at romance, a fragment of her thoughts and feelings and experiences, and a fragment of the speaker at the bridge demanding “Brush her hair, no one else will / Don’t hurt her anymore, stop hurting her.” Marlon JD is also fragmentary, but some explanations can be found in the film it references, because most of the lyrics are a monologue from Reflections In A Golden Eye, or descriptions of scenes from the film. William’s Last Words starts abruptly, practically in the middle of a sentence, and peters out into nothing without the narrator going anywhere or doing much. It’s a long, sad, drunken ramble with no central point (as there is no set or stable truth), in which the narrator seems to circle around whatever it is he wants to say without really saying it, and loses steam before he gets to it. Instead we’re left with this strangely contradictory set of ending sentences, (and, apt for the album and its circumstances) a conclusion without any real meaning or conclusion:

“If I sing a song I’m down a scale or up a scale. I’ve come a long way, really, even for a tone deaf singer, if you want to know.”

Nicky also tends to mention how the binder was filled not only with lyrics, but with paintings, scans of other authors’ literature, collages, drawings, prose, journal entries, and other sorts of clippings. He makes it clear that the binder itself was meant to be a work of art. Again, this places emphasis on the form and the importance of references and of the whole being seen to create an impression rather than each little piece being interpreted. This does make me wonder how much more to the lyrics and art within there really was, and if within the whole thing as a work of art Richey did somehow reach his goal of writing the perfect lyrics or the perfect album or the perfect piece of art expressing himself. Either way, I think the inclusion of Richey’s art and non-lyric writings and things in the booklet are a sort of attempt at allowing the whole to give an impression, because the inclusion of the drawn-upon diagrams of Dante’s Infero with the lyrics to Journal For Plague Lovers, or a Christ figure with Marlon JD, or Richey’s notes from therapy with Pretension/Repulsion, flesh the piece out into art as a whole, in which the visual aspect also informs the creation of the impression upon the viewer (or listener-reader).

In Journal For Plague Lovers, modernist style is used and reflected to talk about Richey’s own experiences and thoughts, but also to capture and express a very specific moment and emotion and idea without saying it outright. There is never any mention of that information overload, of apprehension about the coming millennium, no outward or straightforward reference to his time in hospital or his views on relationships or the self. Instead, each song leaves us with an impression, a feeling rather than a clearly defined narrative or message. There’s an internalization of meaning, of imagery, so that it must be sensed and pulled out of all the jumbles of words and emotions; this time, it isn’t the plot or the message that is important, it’s the impression and feelings of an experience and a moment in time that is simultaneously constant and passed, intensely, vividly present and faded away like a memory.

#manic street preachers #msp #journal for plague lovers #richey edwards #manic street preachers meta #jfpl #old meta repost

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pokii-jonas · 6 years ago

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The Impossible Death

CHAPTER 1 - BROUGHT TO THE LIGHT

CHARACTERS: Deceit, Virgil, Patton, Logan, Roman, Thomas

SUMMARY: Deceit is not okay. He hasn’t been for quite some time. The others try to help and understand, but they may be too late.

WORD COUNT: 1,237

WARNINGS:

self harm, depression thoughts, dissociation, sympathetic deceit

PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT SOMETHING!!!

Deceit felt his right eye begin to twitch, but didn’t move or stop staring at his plain white ceiling. At least, he knew that’s what he had been staring at, but his eyes had been still for so long his vision was now completely black.

As the twitching continued, Deceit finally moved his eyes side to side. His room quickly came back into view and his eye stopped twitching.

He was so tired, but he couldn’t sleep. He was going on day three of not moving from his bed or sleeping.

Funny how much time he spent in bed not sleeping. Considering that was the main function of a bed, anyway.

If he were a human, he probably wouldn’t even get up to go to the bathroom. That was one perk to being a trait. No bodily functions meant that Deceit didn’t have to wallow in his own feces at least.

Though maybe then he’d finally feel something. Even disgust would be welcome to him right now. At least it would be something.

He was just there, but not at the same time. He didn’t feel anything, except for the discomfort at remaining in the same position for three days. Even that seemed distant though, like it wasn’t really happening to him.

So he sat there, feeling a chill set over his room but not even moving to cover himself with the blanket. Just letting the cold seep into his body, causing him to shake. But he still didn’t move. He almost didn’t even notice the cold.

Three days. But had it been three days? It didn’t feel like it. It felt more like a few minutes. Like the passage of time hadn’t ever happened.

He felt what could only be described as a small tug on his body and consciousness, trying to pull him somewhere else.

He didn’t try to fight it, barely noticing it anyway, and felt himself being pulled out of his room and into the real world.

As he appeared in his standing position next to Patton, he suddenly felt all the weight of his body being supported on his two asleep and weak legs. Without the support or mental ability to keep himself standing, he let himself fall, not even bothering to try and protect or catch himself.

But instead of hitting the floor, he felt warm arms encase him instead and distantly heard a strangled shout of, “DEE!” from somewhere in the room.

Maybe it was the warmth of the person holding him, or maybe it was the sudden summon, but Deceit could feel his eyelids droop closed and he passed out in mere seconds, still being held up by the warm side.

At least he could finally sleep.

***

“But I don’t mind being single!” Thomas exclaimed. Throwing his arms out to the side and looking at Roman.

He hadn’t meant to summon Deceit, though with the obvious lie it didn’t pass the other sides that he would most likely appear.

They hadn’t been expecting Deceit to appear and for him to immediately pass out into Patton’s arms.

“DEE!” Patton shouted as he caught him, gasping as he made contact.

“He’s freezing!” he whispered, his wide eyes starting to fill with tears.

No one said anything else for a moment as they took in what was happening.

Thomas lied, Deceit appeared in sweatpants and a t-shirt(something they’d never seen him in before), he instantly collapses, Patton catches him and he is now unresponsive and apparently freezing.

“Whaaaat is happening?” Thomas said, turning his eyes from the unconscious Deceit to Logan who seemed to finally be processing the situation.

“Well Thomas, I believe that Deceit is currently unconscious and being held up solely by Patton. I can figure out more after we place Deceit down. Roman, could you place Deceit on the couch?”

“Wha-oh, yeah sure.” Roman said, moving forward to pick Deceit up bridal style. He carried him over to the couch and placed him down. Patton gently picked up Deceit’s head and sat down, letting his head rest in his lap as he ran his fingers through Deceit’s knotted locks.

Logan walked over and kneeled next to the couch, picking up Deceit’s hand and feeling his own eyes widen in response as he took note of how cold he was, along with the bruises that littered up and down his arm.

“Virgil, could you go to Patton’s room and grab as many of his blankets as you can? Grab the heated blanket from your room, too.” Logan directed and Virgil immediately sunk out.

Logan pushed his glasses up his nose and started to inspect the bruises on Deceit’s arm.

There was a mix of old and more recent ones and they covered his arms, making his skin patchy and uneven. Logan went to go check his pulse but stopped, remembering that they didn’t actually have a pulse.

He gently placed his arm back down and reached out for the other one, noticing more bruises of the same magnitude and many thin, red and white lines that ran horizontally up and down his arm all the way to his shoulder. Some were old scars, but many more seemed a lot more recent, dried blood still surrounding the wounds.

When Patton noticed this, he let out a choked sob and tears started to fall down his face as he covered his mouth with his hand.

“Oh my god.” Thomas whispered and Roman simply looked away, feeling bad for staring.

Logan himself felt his own emotions begin to bubble up inside him, mostly shock. He had enough knowledge to know that these were definitely self inflicted wounds. The bruises probably were, too.

How long had Deceit been doing this to himself?

Virgil returned shortly with his heated blanket, along with four of Patton’s fluffiest blankets.

He started to walk over to the couch, but stuttered for a second when he saw Patton with tears streaming down his face.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” Virgil asked as he approached, afraid for what was wrong with the trait that used to be his best and only friend. Not that the others knew that bit of information.

Thomas and Roman both jumped, but Logan just kept holding onto Deceit’s arm, staring at the cuts. Trying to make sense of it.

Thomas spoke first.

“Uh, well… Deceit doesn’t seem too well off…” he said, looking away from Virgil and back to the unconscious trait.

Virgil felt his anxiety skyrocket as he took the final steps forward and was finally able to see what everyone was looking at.

Virgil’s eyes went wide as he processed the sight before him.

Deceit, once his friend and one of the strongest sides within Thomas, was… was…

Virgil let out a choked laugh as his own tears made their way slowly down his cheeks.

Dropping the blankets where he stood, he took off his hoodie and walked over to the couch.

With some help from Patton, they succeeded in wrapping Virgil’s hoodie around the unconscious figure and put his arms through the sleeves as delicately as possible.

By this point, Logan was able to repress his initial shock and set to work with plugging in the heated blanket and began to cover Deceit with all the blankets Virgil had collected.

As everyone stood around the sleeping figure in complete silence, one thought was shared by all of them in continuity.

What happened to Deceit?

-*-*-*-*-*-

oofh, guys this one is gonna be pretty dark so run away now if you want.

trying to keep chapters short so i update more often :p

(btw, the thing that happened earlier with deceit's vision going black from not moving his eyes? yeah, that's actually a thing. look it up if ya want, it's kinda cool.)

and i’m doing a tag list, so ask if ya want to be on it :)

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skiphunt · 5 years ago

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Porto Wine Cat Feed

The next stop was Coimbra and a few other towns heading North. Lovely, but the usual travel stuff. First, had to find a budget place to stay, then look for some food, then look up in the guide book or maybe ask around on the street what unique things Coimbra is known for, then wander around aimlessly. Finally, I’d dare adventure fate to take the reins. The usual.

Might’ve called it too quick, but after a good hike around the town, checking out the University campus, and a couple of the parks… it basically just felt like any other cozy college town. Small bars and coffee shops, pretty landscape, and mostly quiet. Figured it might take more time to find any potential adventure than I’d afforded to this one location. I’d only stopped in Coimbra sort of randomly on the way North anyway. Not even sort of randomly. Literally at random. I met another traveler who said he liked to jump on a bus going anywhere, then get off at one of the stops randomly. Sounded cool and so I tried it out with Coimbra.

Definitely, a lovely place to go to school and live, but wasn’t quite giving me that adventurous edge I was hoping for. Pleasant, but decided to cut bait and keep on moving North toward Porto.

When I made it to Porto, near the border with Spain and the Northernmost port city in Portugal... named after and known for its delicious port wine, I felt the travel magic start to kick in much stronger.

I’m not even entirely sure of the moment the travel vibe shifted from rote to full-on mystique. Might’ve got a hint of it in the ancient Porto train station as I gazed at the giant clock’s antique second hand begin to move in what I began to perceive in slow motion. Or, it could be when I took the train for the day, passing through the vineyards in the rainy emerald green countryside. I looked out the back window of the last train car, through the raindrops collecting on the glass... the vineyard-lined tracks appeared to fall away faster than the train was actually moving.

It’s bizarre how the perception of time can so drastically change in psychedelic ways when you’re traveling. It speeds up and slows down in ways that can sometimes induce mild vertigo. That’s when you know it’s about to get good.

The moment in Porto that was likely the strongest trigger happened later that day and is also the most vivid.

The port of Porto is fed by the sea and into the Douro river. The sides of the Douro are lined with tug boats, colorful architecture, and lovely silver bridges. You can wander all day along both sides and will perpetually be presented with the most amazing views across the Douro from just about any point of view.

Near the mouth of the Douro are dozens of places where you can taste fine port wine from various vintners for only a few euro. This is what I’d spend the afternoon doing after the train returned from the vineyards. The sun was now out and the sky defined the words Royal Blue. Contrasted with the colorful tug boats and architecture… it was simply sublime.

Tried to keep my wits about me and pace myself with regard to the wine tasting. The port wine was so incredibly divine that this conservative task of pacing myself was hopelessly futile. Before I knew it, I was so intoxicated that walking and remaining upright had become a bit of a challenge.

Luckily, while I could still mostly function I realized the beautiful warm light falling all over the uniquely curved and stacked architecture. I knew this would be my last chance to get some final photos before moving on into Spain in the morning so it was time to voluntarily cut myself off from the sweet port nectar.

Meandered and wobbled my way into the shadowy passageways decorated with flourishes of laundry hung to dry with pigeons swirling about. I could mostly still function well enough to compose a few quick images. I hadn’t counted on the buildings blocking the majority of the best golden light rays streaming across the city. Most of the corridors had already fallen into the darkest shade.

I panicked that because I’d once again been too lazy and not bothered taking the needed time to capture this special place. Started darting quickly from passageway to passageway, desperate for any bit of leftover light I could find. Moving like an early evening moth drawn to the last diminishing pockets of sunset light. There! I spotted a final sliver of amber rays shooting down a long dark tunnel. I quickly made my way toward the end and when I popped out the other side, I was instantly blinded by last rays of sun burning directly into my retinas.

Tried to shield my eyes but couldn’t see anything at all until several seconds later when they finally acclimated. Reached into my pocket for a cigarette and lit it to kill time. At this point, I was reserved to the fact I’d have to give up. I’d lazily let the day slip away and wasn’t going to get anything decent after the sunset. And, I didn’t have the time or funds to stay on another day. Besides, had I stayed another day, I’d have likely tried to do the exact same port wine tour I’d just done and would make the same mistake again. I know myself too well.

Inhaled the cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the last of the rays dance in the swirling smoke. There was a sound that I couldn’t quite make out. Sounded like small seeds or small pebbles being shaken onto a big tin plate. I looked to my right. My eyes had finally adjusted and noticed that the last shaft of sunset light was illuminating an old Portuguese woman standing on her balcony tossing refuse down below. It was as if she was in a theater with the main spotlight illuminating her. The sound I heard was whatever she was tossing from her balcony, landing on a large tin roof below. There were about a dozen cats scrambling across the tin roof for the discarded treats. I could also now hear the cats meowing and scrambling for the best bits. A large, lone seagull watched the cats from above as sentry and I noticed the shaft of light diminishing rapidly as it moved past the opening between the buildings.

Didn’t even have time to check my camera settings or consciously frame the image. Still partially blinded, I raised my camera up quickly, turned it vertically to my right side and blindly snapped one image. Then, just like that, the magnificent light was gone and the old woman went back inside her home. The cats scattered away and the seagull flew off.

Frantically checked to see if I got the lucky shot. I had. This was the precise moment the pure travel magic truly kicked in. —Skip Hunt

(from Absinthe Carousel - A Novela by Skip Hunt - Available as ebook on Apple Books + In Print and on Kindle at Amazon + As a PDF download from this Site)

#cat feed #travel #street photography #architecture #porto #portugal #cats

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kristinarambles · 6 years ago

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Cheeseburger Backpack

Analysis Four

Two more players are introduced in this episode, Jamie the Postman and the Cheeseburger Backpack!

"Hey Mr. Postman bring me a post, bring me the post that I love the most" I love that Steven sings all the time. Me too man, me too. Waiting is always easier with some music lol. Obviously his love of music mostly comes from Greg, last episode he sings along with his CD so enthusiastically even though Greg is kind of embarrassed. Considering later on Steven says that Jamie is the only one who knows where he lives I wonder at what exactly his address is, and how Jamie found it in the first place. We know Barb is also a mailperson and the way she talks there must be other mailpeople around even though we only see Barb and Jamie.

Jamie's sense of humor leaning towards the dramatic is apparent even this early in the game, pretending like he doesn't know what package is for Steven lol. I guess he could just be messing with him because he's a kid, but I like to think that Jamie just knows that he can be himself around Steven. He does have a way of drawing people in and making them feel comfortable. Jamie is absolutely right that it's reasonable that the Gems want Steven to learn to control his powers before he helps out but I don't think he realizes just how real it is. The people who live in Beach City are pretty used to weird things happening, and the Gems being a part of that, but I don't think they realize that it's global. Part of that is probably because the Gems generally like to track down the corrupted ones in the wild before they find the temple, thus keeping them away from people as much as possible. The rest is probably just the general centrism most of us humans are guilty of. We get our first mention of Barb here, in the context of her being Jamie’s boss. I was just as shocked as Steven when I found out she was Sadie's mom, but that's another analysis. I love that little exchange though "Do you know how you can save my world?" Plus Steven's signature with the stars? So cute. And he really must be comfortable with Steven to tell him Barb yells at him, you don't just talk about your boss like that casually, even if it's true and she would probably laugh at you for sharing it anyway. Barb isn't exactly easy going, but she's pretty accepting and she's got a good sense of humor. Jamie is definitely surprised to see the warp pad go off, but not concerned enough to say anything about it, he just wants to know what a Whacky Sack is.

That egg that Amethyst has got opens up my questions about gem reproduction again, Centipeetle had her centipeetle babies and now we have a giant bird that we assume was also a gem that lays eggs? No naturally occuring birds lay eggs that have stars on them, and none that large. I'm leaning towards thinking it could be a gem creature similar to the crystal shrimp we see later in this episode or the lizards that Lion eats regularly. After all there are feathers everywhere and generally when a Gem, corrupted or otherwise, poofs it completely disappears with only the gem remaining. We don't see a bubbled gem either, although it could have already been sent into the temple. I also have to wonder why the bird had the Moon Goddess statue if it wasn't a real Gem. It makes me think of the bubble bird we see later in Giant Woman, who collects other gems and gem artifacts within itself. So many questions about something we never even actually see. And Amethyst's fake caution in getting that egg in the fridge never fails to entertain me.

The Moon Goddess statue comes with a whole other set of questions. I've wondered, and mentioned before, if gem tech was powered by poofed gems for a long time, and there is for sure something to that after what we've seen on Homeworld. Is it a gem that is trapped in a statue, held in its tiny hands? Is the statue perhaps growing out of the gem from the bottom? It's obviously tied into keeping the Lunar Sea Spire intact. I've seen speculation as to why the Gems would even have a goddess of any kind considering they answer to the Diamonds and those are their supreme beings, but I'll talk about that in a little bit. I think there's pretty good evidence that all gem structures have some sort of lodestone, so to speak. There's the Crystal Heart, this statue, there's a large gem powering the hand ship that Peridot uses. Even the gem that kind of takes over the lighthouse. The warp pad even looks like a huge gem that's been embedded in the ground. Not to mention all the walls we saw on Homeworld. I hope this is something they address in Season Six.

This conversation with Pearl about the statue and the Spire has so many hints about both the future of the show and the past from before Steven was born. Pearl is so expressive that we can glean a lot from that short little speech. First she supports my lodestone theory in saying that without the statue the Spire will fall apart, although it would seem it stood mostly okay for quite some time without it, and I wonder how the statue was removed from it in the first place [I think it was removed during the rebellion and if the bird was in fact a corrupted Gem it stands to reason that she's the one who removed it]. Then another hint that the Gems are aliens in her saying the Spire was an oasis for gems on earth. She shows us her power of holograms/projections to give him a visual of what the Spire used to be, including a statue of what appears to be a cross gem fusion since it has two sets of arms. Which, what the heck, cross gem fusions are supposed to be illegal. Her tone of voice when talking about how the Spire used to be is very similar to how she speaks about Rose and is in stark contrast to the flatness in her voice when she says it's abandoned now. It says that she still loves Homeworld in some way and misses the Gems she used to be around, although I'm sure mostly Pink. It's highly probable that it was with Pink she was at the Spire during it's heyday. She wants to save it so bad, and share with Steven it's history. Clues galore about her partnership with Pink and her desire to tell Steven the truth about his mother and himself, but none that we could put together or even fully understand until we actually knew the truth.

We know now that the Spire was a test, I think they probably discussed it thoroughly while Steven was packing his cheeseburger and I really like Amethyst being the one to suggest bringing him along because it would be educational. This is the first time outside of the theme that we actually see the warp being used, as well as getting an idea of what the warp stream really does and the fact that you can leave it, and I have to say that Amethyst in the warp is probably the most elegance she ever shows. Gorgeous.

Seeing the Lunar Sea Spire is pretty impressive, and time really does mean very different things to the gems. A hundred years isn't much to Pearl at all, and yet the last fourteen have changed her more than all the thousands before. The spire probably degrades faster closer to it's deadline to return the statue, although we really have no idea how long it's been removed despite my theory that it happened during the rebellion.

Garnet has to be so careful with what she says so as not to give away the fact she can see the future. She's "sensing" structural instability, it must have been so much easier for her to just say as little as possible even though we get a signature shades adjustment. It had to have been difficult knowing that it was keeping her from bonding with Steven on a deeper level though. Pearl too, keeping Pink's secrets the way she did when she wanted to share, to expose Steven to his heritage. The little nod to Full House was fun though "You got it, dude", and Pearl having no idea what he's talking about. I guess Steven watches reruns lol

It's pretty interesting how Garnet became the leader even though Pearl had been with Rose/Pink the longest, although we didn't know it back then. There's really so much to unpack in the Pearl/Garnet relationship. Some of why Garnet has moved up to being the leader has to do with how Rose was following her, as put forth in Now We're Only Falling Apart, but I think some of it was subconscious on both Pearl's part and Garnet's herself. Sapphire is an aristocrat and at least partially used to being in charge, and even though we've seen no hint of it it's entirely possible she's even had her own pearl at some point. This is both tempered by Ruby's lower class and station being used to being bossed around and exacerbated by her impulsiveness. Then there is Pearl's feelings of being inadequate by herself, needing someone to tell her what to do. Both of them later address and begin to handle these issues, but we see how their former lives seep into their current ones. That comes into play with how they choose to educate and expose Steven as well. They are who we get most of our information on who and what the gems are in the beginning, but they're informed in very different ways. I'm sure there's some former knowledge on Garnet's part just from what Sapphire and Ruby what have seen and experienced before they were and since they’ve been together, but I also think that her future vision plays a large part in the details that she knows. It is the hand with Sapphire's gem that Garnet lifts when she tells the others to stop before they attempt to cross the whirlpool [after touching her two hands together briefly though], and although most of her actions are purely Garnet and not Sapphire and Ruby taking turns or whatever you can see their separate personalities occasionally in the things she does. Like eloquently explaining about the magic that sustains the Spire and then throwing a rock into it to demonstrate. Pearl however doesn't have a magical way of knowing any of this information, she only knows what she's directly experienced and only has one consciousness of memories to draw from. Being a Diamond's personal pearl she had access to a lot of information, managing Pink's day to day activities and working her screens and stuff, but even that is limited and after what happened to the original Pink Pearl Pink Diamond didn't share as much with our Pearl as she could have, and being a Pearl I'm sure no one else thought to explain things to her. Our Pearl couldn't even work the doors at the Zoo.

Before Steven uses his sweaters to jump he gets diamond eyes, and I wonder if that has any significance. I've noticed too that a lot of the backgrounds have diamonds, and not just the architecture like above the arches when the first enter, but throughout the whole show just like, representing light and whatnot. He's so eager to prove himself though, and it seems like Amethyst has more faith in him then the other two.

After the jump Pearl freaks out, Garnet does the hair ruffle I love so much, Amethyst bumps him with her shoulder, and then Pearl compliments him. All of them showing him affection and pride in their own ways, which for Pearl means talk talk talking lol. She goes on quite a bit about the damage, we see on the walls what appears to be tigers because of the stripes but are definitely cats of some kind. Lots of diamond and triangle imagery, statues that are falling apart. The one with the crystal shrimp climbing on it looks very much like another fusion statue. Typing this now I'm formulating a rough theory that they were cross gem fusions that were punished maybe? I don't know exactly how they would statue-ize them, but I suppose it's possible considering what they did to Lapis and the wall Gems we saw on Homeworld. Although, I suppose then Pink would have heard more about cross gem fusion other than that it's unheard of. I don't know, something to think about anyway.

Now, those damn crystal shrimp. Besides Steven continuing to ace his test so far, every time we see some of these gem creatures [not monsters] I start thinking again about how they came to be and am driven crazy. How do they know what to call them, are they like the centipeetles, and if so then why isn't there a mother around? If the mother were to die would all the babies, because the drill gem babies didn't work that way. Peal calls it an infestation. Are they just regular creatures that mutated due to proximity to the Gems magic? I suppose that could solve the lizard dilemma as well as explain Rose's moss. Oh geez I'm kind of getting off the plot of this particular episode, but there's just so much still left unanswered. And here people though that Change Your Mind solved everything. Ha.

Steven starts a downslide with the raft, good idea in theory as evidenced by everyone's reaction [also, how cute are Amethyst and Pearl chanting "cheeseburger backpack"?] but executed badly due to the rapid water. But that's not nearly as bad as realizing he left the statue at home. I said earlier I would talk about why the Gems needed a goddess later and I would like to address that now. I think that it's more of a title than anything. Operating under the assumption that the statue holds a sentient gem of some kind, or is at the very least modeled after one, it obviously has some sort of magical tie to the moon. We know that Gems get their energy from light, so I think this particular one gets special energy/magic from the moonlight. Thus it is referred to as a moon goddess, the fact that it's the lodestone for this particular spire is why it's the Lunar Sea Spire. I do wonder if Garnet really didn't know what would happen or if she was just letting Steven try it to encourage him somehow. I know that's what Amethyst was trying to do in telling him his ideas succeeded 50% of the time, and obviously Pearl was trying to make him feel better. I thought the raft popping back up was a nice touch though.

This time the star closed in on Steven with his tongue out lol, and it's still instrumental Love Like You

#steven universe #su theory #su thoughts #su spoilers #cheeseburger backpack #garnet #pearl #amethyst #lunar sea spire #moon goddess #su rewatch

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louislouisrap · 6 years ago

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long distance (kacchako)

I don’t understand what prioritization means.

I swear to god I’m working on the last part of Black Water but I was so captured by one of ualright’s tweets about Bakugo and Uraraka being in a long distance relationship that I had to crank one (a fic) out.

I have strong feelings about LDRs because I was in one for about two years before I moved to be with my now-husband. Shit sucks but it feels real good when you first see the other person after months or years apart.

In this lil one-shot, these two have been apart for about two months while Uraraka was away on a rescue mission. emjoy <3

Finally, the day was here, and Uraraka was coming home. It had been exactly two months and three days since she’d left--not like Bakugo had been counting down or anything. Or at least, not to begin with. Neither of them had been exactly certain when Uraraka would return from her rescue mission, which had made her departure especially hard.

It had all happened so fast: Breaking news reports began popping up that there had been a devastating earthquake in a small developing nation and the estimated death toll was only going up at an alarming rate. While pro heroes did exist there, the network was small, underfunded, and still new. Many support heroes themselves had been killed in the quake, and seismologists warned that the aftershocks would guarantee even more destruction. The same day the news broke, Japan, along with other nations, had sent aid workers to the small country. Amongst them, some of the best pro heroes they had to offer. Uraraka was one of the first to be contacted; she’d accepted immediately and was on a plane a few hours later.

It had been a solemn goodbye at the airport, with Uraraka trying not to cry but doing so anyway, and Bakugo muttering that she better show up those other foreign pro heroes, to which Uraraka laughed through her tears and said she’d do her best. They’d hugged and kissed until Bakugo insisted she’d miss her plane if she didn’t leave now. He’d watched her with an unreadable expression as she shuffled with the crowd towards the security checkpoint, waiting until she’d vanished from sight.

A tiny part of Bakugo’s mind, which he had silenced aggressively and immediately, feared if she would return at all.

But here they were now, Uraraka on a plane bound for Narita airport, and Bakugo on a train there to meet her. She’d fussed that he didn’t have to take the time to go all the way there, and he argued that she would need someone to help with her luggage so she might as well stop complaining, which she did rather quickly with a smile in her voice.

Bakugo didn’t get excited for much. Or at least, not outwardly excited, but when he did, it was usually in response to situations where he could flex his strength and power, be it against villain or Deku alike. Now he was finding the butterflies in his stomach strange, and he fought to keep his foot from tapping impatiently on the floor of the train as it made its way towards the airport. Too damn slow, he thought, even though he’d made sure he’d be arriving before Uraraka’s flight landed. To keep his mind occupied, Bakugo turned on the plush bench towards the window behind him, propped an elbow up on the sill, and watched the scenery. It was late March when Uraraka left, and she’d lamented that they probably wouldn’t get to see the cherry blossoms together this year. The weather had been cool, and the trees were only just beginning to bud. Now the passing scenery was awash with green and the days were brighter, the sky more blue, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Bakugo would soon be reunited with the person he’d come to, after two years, treasure most in this world.

It was early afternoon and the train car was mostly empty and the sunlight streaming through the windows warmed the air, though Bakugo wished the few passengers scattered around would just leave so he could ruminate in peace. He hated the weird tingling in his gut, the way his hands were sweating in anticipation. He scowled as he rubbed his palms roughly against his jeans, desperately wishing he could be alone to pop off a few small explosions to quell his perspiration. Finally, the automated voice overhead announced that the stop for the airport was next, and Bakugo practically leapt out of his seat to stand in front of the train car doors.

When the train slowed to a stop, Bakugo took a shaky breath, shoved his hands in his pockets, and made his way into the airport. It was a massive place, and Bakugo spent a couple minutes checking the signs hanging from the ceiling to make sure that he was headed in the right direction. He passed by other couples walking hand in hand, families hugging one another, and Bakugo’s heart beat just a little faster in his chest. That was going to be him soon. That would be him and Uraraka. He would finally be able to feel and touch her again. The region she’d been sent to wasn’t necessarily remote, but as it was a developing nation in the midst of an infrastructural crisis, a good internet connection had been hard for Uraraka to come by. Adding in the long days, oftentimes even when she did have a decent signal, she was so exhausted that the most she could muster was a ‘hi’ and ‘I’m doing okay’ or ‘I miss you.’ The lack of communication and, possibly more importantly, physicality had begun to take a toll on them both. Bakugo felt himself practically aching to wrap his arms around her again.

Finally, he reached the wing of international arrivals. It was busy--families, friends, significant others milling around outside the restricted area from where passengers would soon stream out before collecting their luggage. Bakugo pulled his hands out of his jean pockets and stuck them in his jacket pockets instead. He bounced slowly on the balls of his feet and scowled in everyone else’s general direction. A few people, Bakugo noticed out the corner of his eye, were glancing at him and whispering here and there. A small child’s eyes grew wide and his mouth gaped as his mother smiled and tried to capture his attention with a small toy. Normally Bakugo would just ignore the stares, maybe even reluctantly take a photo or sign an autograph for a kid, but now he just wished they would all piss off. The only thing on his mind was Uraraka.

Finally, a few people trickled out into the vestibule, and Bakugo’s heart leapt into his throat. She would be here any minute now. He stayed a respectable distance from the edge of the entrance, so as not to appear too eager, but close enough that Uraraka would be able to spot him immediately.

Bakugo’s heart dropped from his throat into his stomach as soon as he caught sight of her. His brain registered her instantly. The chestnut of her hair, her bright round eyes, the exact height at which his line of sight would pick her up. All of the little things about her over the past two years that had nestled and fit into him like pieces of a puzzle, that he had no power over, yet he welcomed her into his consciousness without a second thought.

Bakugo chewed his bottom lip to keep from breaking into a bigger grin as he took in the sight of her. She looked the same--of course she looks the same, you idiot, it’s only been two months--and yet it was obvious that the trauma of the rescue mission had taken its toll on her. There were faded dark circles under her eyes; her shirt sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and her right arm was sporting a square of gauze held in place with medical tape. Small, faded spots of yellow-green bruises speckled her arms and shins, and a long, thin gash that had since scabbed over peeked out from the collar of her shirt. Her hair was pulled messily into a ponytail and her cheeks weren’t quite the radiant pink they usually were, but god she was beautiful.

Uraraka’s tired eyes shone as soon as she saw Bakugo waiting for her in the crowd, and she broke out into a run to meet him, hefting her large duffel bag onto her shoulder as she did. Without a word, Bakugo removed his hands from his pockets, ready to embrace her. He could already see her nose growing pinker, a sure sign that she was about to start crying. Uraraka let the duffel bag fall to the ground as she all but slammed her body against Bakugo’s and wrapped her arms around him.

They quietly clung to each other for what felt like forever, as if making up for the time they’d spent without physical contact by being as close now as possible. Bakugo tipped his head down, and his lips made contact with the crown of her head. He breathed in the smell of her hair, her sweet floral shampoo now mixed with the unfamiliar permeation of the dust and concrete that had followed her home.

Uraraka herself was comforted with the familiar scent of detergent and nitroglycerin as she pressed her face into Bakugo’s chest and closed her eyes. The scent of him seemed to flow through her body, reassuring her that she was home now. All the memories of death and destruction she’d seen, the long days of rescue that had stretched into the dead of night, the pain and fatigue, all seemed to soften just a bit in her mind now.

Finally Uraraka broke their embrace, and leaned up on her toes to kiss her boyfriend. “I missed you so much, Bakugo,” she said quietly, her cheek pressed against his as her arms now wound around the back of his neck.

“Missed you too, Round Face,” Bakugo murmured into her ear. “But let’s get the fuck out of here and go home.”

Uraraka smiled into his cheek and nodded. She knew how much he loved crowds, which was not at all; not to mention after her long flight, she really, really wanted to go home and shower. “Let’s go.”

Bakugo grunted approvingly and scooped up Uraraka’s duffel bag from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. She slipped her hand into his as they made their way downstairs to the trains back into the city.

---

They didn’t speak much on the way home. Uraraka fell asleep for most of the trip, her head resting against Bakugo’s shoulder as he took care to make sure at least one of her fingers stayed upright while he held her hand in his. He shook her gently at the stop before theirs and she woke up blearily.

“You’re cute when you’re drooling,” Bakugo rumbled and grinned devilishly at her. Uraraka blushed and immediately wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand.

“So mean,” she teased back.

After a short walk from the station, they reached their apartment. Bakugo unlocked the door and Uraraka nearly collapsed on the floor with relief. “Hooooome!” she squealed, kicking her shoes off in the foyer and racing towards the bathroom. “A real shower!”

“Keep it down, would ya?” Bakugo tossed the duffel bag into their bedroom, then followed Uraraka into the bathroom. As she undressed to shower, he could see even clearer the contrast of the blue-green bruises and reddish-brown, scabbed-over gashes against her pale skin. Instead of sympathy, however, a burst of pride welled in his stomach. He couldn't help the smile that split across his face as he came up behind her and pressed his lips to the back of her head.

"Damn, Round Face, you really did a number.”

Uraraka sighed and dropped her head. "You should have seen all this before the recovery heroes had a chance to heal me." She bit her lip and ripped off the medical tape keeping the patch of gauze secure on her arm. The skin beneath it was new and pink, a fresh scar that would stay with her forever. “I feel fine, though.”

Bakugo hummed in response, low and gravelly that buzzed against Uraraka’s head. “You want tea?”

Uraraka stepped into the shower and closed the curtain. “Yes, please!”

---

They sat in bed together as Uraraka recounted everything that had happened during the rescue mission. Her voice rose excitedly as she recalled all the pro heroes she’d met, and all the different cuisines she’d been able to try, as the makeshift base camps from each nation had their own cooks on hand. She smiled gently as she told Bakugo about the families she’d been able to save, children, adults, even pets she’d found in the rubble when it seemed hopeless that they’d find anyone alive. Bakugo gripped her shoulder tight and pulled her close when she had trouble talking about those that hadn’t made it through the night, or the countless times when they’d arrived only minutes too late.

“Hey,” Bakugo said, tipping Uraraka’s chin up towards him. “You’re a fucking hero.”

Uraraka sniffed and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

#kacchako #bakuraka #bakugo katsuki #uraraka ochako #my fic stuff #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugo says fuck #mmmm let me drown in this fluffy shit #priorities #i think you mean suggested schedule #i am not a doctor #hi i don't know how to end a story

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micehatecheesecake · 3 years ago

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book tag!

i was tagged by my favorite enjoyer of so-called highbrow culture (complimentary) @allerod to do this. <3 it's not going to be that interesting because i don't read as much as i'd like to, but as books are a recently rediscovered interest of mine i wanted to do this anyway.

Last book I bought: when i initially thought about my answers for this tag i was planning to lie because i didn't want to be vulnerable, and name a book i plan to but have not yet bought (more on that later). but i figured i can just be vague yet honest. the last book i bought is a scholarly book by my professor crush. the most i want to say is that it has to do with book publishing. i liked it very much and will definitely reread it and look into other book publishing-themed academic writing.

Last book I borrowed: nothing because i don't understand how libraries work and at this point i'm too afraid too ask :( (meaning mostly i'm just scared of places i don't know so going to a strange library by myself is more than i can bear.) (very bad)

Last book I was gifted: the first volume of w.i.t.c.h. comics from my dad. hehe. i'm actually so happy they started issuing them again and he got me the first volume as a kickstart. :D i have the second volume already and have fallen behind with the other ones (there's at least two more out now), but i shall be ordering soon.

Last book I gave to someone: i got my grandma one of these river-interview (?) books with donald tusk. or is it a memoir? don't know, don't care, she requested it so i bought it for her lol. it was a gift completely devoid of sentiment or personal involvement. (i wish i had a less cynical answer but again... book-gifting is not something i do)

Last book I started: just a couple of days ago i finally started ulysses. it scares me bc it's a very hard book but i so want to read it and form an opinion. i read the introduction so far and took a peek at the first page. it doesn't look too bad; nevertheless, i am fear.jpg. i anticipate it will take me years to read properly. i can't die before i finish it, though.

Last book I finished: dubliners, aka what started my joyce fascination way back in high school and has now reblossomed. my favorite stories are araby, after the race, a little cloud, and the dead. araby is my #1 and joyce's streams of consciousness hit harrrd, especially the love-themed araby ones, and especially now... *zones out for a moment, then clears throat loudly* i also love the christmassy setting.

Last book I gave 5 stars: see above. hueh hueh.

Last book I gave 2 stars: nothing and hopefully i will never have to do that :v (said he, foolishly)

(bonus question i made up because i can)

Next book I'm planning to buy: i want to buy some james baldwin collections bc i am dying to reread him (took a class on him last semester). also, this book on shirley chisholm. i've always wanted to know more about her and am so thrilled there's a fresh new biography of hers coming out! also, more joyce. also also, more modernist fiction... but first, the first two i mentioned. gotta keep it cool, considering my snail-like reading pace.

i tag anyone who wants to do this!

[tl;dr. joyce this, joyce that]

#abt neo #not2cool4school

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atmilliways · 6 years ago

Note

34 please

“Pickles/Nathan.”

It’s funny, I sincerely thought I had written something about this pairing at some point, but when I went back through my old fics… nuthin’. So. Here’s a thing, set during the “Keep the Party Going” bit of the Doomstar Requiem.

(mtl prompts list)

—

Out of the corner of his eye, Pickles saw Nathan pull out his dethphone. “Stop it,” he said automatically.

Nathan’s head snapped up with the speed of a guilty man who’d been consciously hoping not to be caught. “Stop what?”

Pickles sighed and fished around in his own pockets for anything interesting he happened to have on him, coming up some papers, a baggie of weed, and… a spoon. Damn. He sighed again and decided to start rolling a joint anyway.

“What?” Nathan insisted.

“Stop looking at the picture,” Pickles replied distractedly while he picked a nug apart over the paper, pausing only to sniff his fingers and try to remember if this was a sativa or an indica or somewhere in the middle. “We’re keepin’ the party goin’, not lookin’ at pictures of Abigail.”

“I… wasn’t,” Nathan mumbled, slowly lowering his phone.

“Dood, yer about as convincing as… shit, as this spoon. You got a fuckin’ lighter?”

Dutifully, the frontman patted his pockets and eventually produced a black and silver bic. Pickles finished rolling the joint, put it to his lips, and instead of taking the lighter just leaned in Nathan’s general direction and waited for a light. When it came, he took a hard pull and sat back, draping himself lazily against the couch cushions before letting the smoke out in a slow stream. He passed Nathan the joint and sighed again.

“I’ll put some hash in the next one,” he muttered aimlessly. “I think I got some around here somewhere…” But he made no effort to look for it, so that probably wouldn’t happen.

Ha.

Whatever.

Everything was fine.

“Hey. Hey, Pickles.” Nathan nudged the smoldering joint into his hand. “Uh… Can I ask you something?”

“Dood, if it’s about either of those two people that nonna us are talkin’ about, I don’t wanna hear it.” The drummer took his hit and passed it back. “Ash that.”

Nathan tapped the ash off the end over the coffee table. Nice.

“It’s not. Uh, about them,” he insisted.

“Alright, fine. What?”

The younger man’s face was screwed up in an agony of concentration. “You know… all that shit I said at the funeral? Before… that stuff happened? It’s not about that,” he said quickly, catching Pickles’ glare. “You know how I said… how I didn’t want something if it meant you not being in the band?”

Pickles raised an eyebrow. “Yeah…?”

It figured that Nathan was avoiding saying the S word again, but he hadn’t expected any part of that speech to be directly referenced again. It had been one of those in the moment things, and once it was all said everything was just settled and that was that, no need for dredging that emotional crap up again.

“Uhhhh…” Nathan took another hit, stalling for time while he collected his thoughts and attempted to put his words in some sort of coherent order. “Mmmmmngh never really wanted it in the first place.”

Pickles squinted through the smoke that was turning the air around them hazy. “What?”

Nathan heaved a sigh and took another hit, out of order but whatever. Then, belatedly, he passed the joint. “I never wanted her. I mean, you know. Not like… not enough to fuck up the band.”

There was a moment of silence while Pickles digested that and Nathan stared intently and the little pile of ash on the table.

“Dood, then why’d ya go after her?”

“Because I was pissed off!” Nathan burst out, glancing at him but then eyes sliding away almost immediately. “Because you were mad at me… about the album and, uh, hitting you in the face…”

Pickles groaned. “Ya know, it’d help if you didn’t keep bringing shit up and reminding me.”

“I know, I know. But listen.” Nathan was sitting hunched forward, his fists clenched and resting hard against his thighs. “You were pissed off at me, so I got pissed too. And then we were on the submarine and couldn’t jack off and you were acting like a fucking tool…”

“Again, not really helping, Nathan.”

“LISTEN.”

“Okie, okie, I’m listening.” Pickles took his third hit in a row, sharing be damned. The other man didn’t seem to want it right now anyway.

“I just wanted you to shut up about her. And… I did not go about that the right way. I know that now. But everything was fucked up.”

Between them, amidst the smoke, hung the reality that things were still fucked up. Toki was missing, Abigail might be dead, Charles didn’t seem to be sleeping anymore, and some guy with a beard wanted them to save the world — which, fuck the world, the world was shit-for-brains fucked up all on its own, not their fault or problem.

“So… I think I was jealous, I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.”

Pickles groaned and scrubbed a hand over his goatee. “Well, yeah, Nate, that’s what happens when two doods go after the same lady.”

“Yeah, but…"

As dulled as his reactions were this far into the day — Pickles had been awake for a whole hour and a half, and he’d mostly had coke and beer for breakfast — he felt his stomach give a little cringe of anxiety. That thing, the thing they’d never acknowledged or talked about, ever, but somehow meant that even though by band agreement they weren’t friends they could still go on vacations together and call it a friender bender. That connection. That. Nathan was getting perilously close to actually saying something about it, he could practically taste it.

And that was so many kind of fucked up, but if everything was already fucked up anyway…

Nathan had vomited blood in public for him, for fuck’s sake. That was pretty brutal.

“… I was jealous ‘cause I didn’t want her to get you,” Nathan finished.

There.

Once it had been said, Pickles relaxed. He took another hit, then passed it back to Nathan, who took it and slumped back on the couch as though suddenly exhausted.

“Same, dood,” he said, smoke eddying from his mouth and nostrils with the words. “Same.”

#metalocalypse #pickles the drummer #nathan explosion #nickles #slow burn?#my fanfiction

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