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nothisis-ridiculous · 4 years ago

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Take Me Home Now: Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen: Teardrop In My Eye

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

"Smith, you are being relieved of duty."

"Sir?" Jane stumbled, her smile turned downward.

The man laughed, clapping her on the shoulder, "only for the day, thought it would get you."

She sneered, "always an ass."

"Though," his green eyes sparkled, it was not settling, "you have company."

Fuck.

She pulled the elastic from her hair, attempting to pull her blonde locks from the day-long wear of a ponytail. In the end, it was pointless, she had thrown it up wet- a braid would have to hide the indent. Jane could do nothing for the simple hoodie and slacks she had thrown into her locker that morning. Forcing herself to take a seat, she pulled in slow breaths until her mind took heed. It was small potatoes.

Gingerly, she finished the jaunt outside of the Human Embassy and combination C-Sec building.

Evelyn slammed into her side, a good three inches added to the kid, "we're going to space!"

"We would have rang, but you know," Roy pointed to his wrist, his smile cautious.

Jane had avoided anything technology-related, she would have done it much earlier in her life if it were not for necessity. This was an old game, the response a sheepish smile. It was an act of avoidance. But she was trying to do the moving on thing: she had an apartment and a stable job. Sure, it was working as a guard for the relay that led to the Citadel, but it was moving in a direction she was comfortable... if not bored doing. It involved a lot of people watching, as using the relay was not the most sophisticated way to the station. The last person had fallen in drunk and almost drowned upon arrival. Now it functioned more as a memorial for all those lost in the war. She kept the peace and that was enough.

"Are you here to visit the Memorial?" Jane jabbed her finger toward the building, it would give her an excuse to spend some time with them. To clear the air.

Rahna suggested she may be ready.

"We're here to see you, silly!" Evelyn cooed, taking the woman's face in her hands, "you're a little less glowy."

"You're a little less short."

Evelyn returned with a moderately careful headbutt. Helen didn't look too approving as the child sauntered away but cracked a grin. Roy still couldn't manage a full smile.

Jane needed to clear another thing.

"What did you need me for?" she was careful, trying not to let the statement come out in a bark. These visits would always end in the same question, and it was getting harder to say no.

"We're hoping you'd watch our place while we are gone, " Helen finally chimed in, the stern look had softened over months. The strange silence between them never improved much, "we know it's sudden, but if we didn't have to go through Rahna to-"

"Helen," Roy soothed.

"We got it all approved, and we'd even pay you on top of it."

"I'm sure the beam won't miss you-" he paled at his words.

"I'm sure Harold won't miss you-" Roy tried to diffuse Jane's bubbling before it could erupt. The hand on her elbow gripped tighter as she tugged away. It devolved to his full strength pulling around her as she screamed, pleading that they didn't take the Reaper away. Bargaining became a barrage of hate and seething words, still, he held his recruit tightly until she collapsed.

If it was once, the guilt might have faded.

But Jane was stubborn, requiring steady arms until the derelict ship was nothing but an imprint in the ground. The woman didn't leave the crater left behind for the next day, her gaze avoiding him at all costs.

Jane looked up, if only to avoid the sudden turn of emotion, "I suppose it wouldn't."

When this is over, I'm going to be waiting for you. You'd better show up.

Don't get me wrong, I'm gonna fight like hell for the chance to hold you again.

"Is that a yes?"

His evident enthusiasm worked a giggle from the blonde, "it would probably do me good to get out of this city. I heard the English Bay is nice." Jane offered out a hand to him.

Roy swallowed her into a tight embrace, disregarding if the simple gesture was out of forgiveness or striking a deal. It had been far too long, and his recruit been left far too long without proper fatherly affection. Or he was giddy from good news, it was hard to tell.

"When do we need to leave?"

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Jane examined the scattering of personal items in the apartment. Living light on military ships (excepting pets) followed her through to civilian life. Everything she owned could fit into a footlocker without fancy folding. A knife for whittling if she got bored. Shower supplies, her underwhelming supply of clothing, the M-77 because why not. But her eyes stopped on her bedside.

A blank picture frame and the chit to an omnitool would be innocuous to anyone else. It was everything in the world she refused to touch but couldn't look away from. Was it love for her own misery? Or owning up to herself. That other person knocked. She wasn't ready. Couldn't she be ready?

Her fingers graced over the chit, watching it light and unfold. The device would only unlock for an authorized user, and somehow she was that user. Anderson's face popped in on the screen. The panicked expression was no longer a surprise as he searched for something out of shot from the recording, but his eyes eventually returned to the device.

"Shepard, I-"

Jane cut it off, the device flickering away as quickly as it formed. It was two words further than the last attempt. It would have to count as progress.

The picture frame came next, but not even a jolt of power betrayed a change. It was empty, devoid. Still, as if it was familiar, her thumb caressed over the glass surface.

"Kaidan, I-"

Jane's throat seized, the name was still hard to form, "eight hundred and fifty-one days. Tomorrow will mark eight hundred and fifty-two days."

She had long surpassed the days he had in waiting for her not to be dead. She had kept her promise. She had waited, was waiting. Now, Jane had to go. The landlord given notice, her job with a note of apology attached to a resignation letter. Jane felt afraid.

"I'm sorry."

The picture flickered to life, the bubbling of the tank behind her a dull murmur. It took a few rounds, but she settled into the chair, staring at the frame like it was supposed to do something. Her ear tilted for the door, hoping that it would slide open. Wasn't that how the time before a suicide mission was supposed to go? A last-minute confession, sex to blow off some steam before the genuine threat of death.

Mary was waiting, nor would she question the miracle that would have to bring him here.

"Shepard, I could patch you through," Edi chimed in gently.

Slow breathing, counting, clenching her jaw and releasing it kept her busy for five minutes before she let herself consider it. It was her way to leave him on unread, but is that how she wanted to go out again? Was that immaturity the memory she wanted to leave for Kaidan? In the same thought, a call wasn't mature either, but if she died the shame would be short-lived after all. She wanted nothing more than to hear his voice, to feel something akin to comfort. Mary was afraid.

"Edi, send the c-"

Her tool blipped, "I've already programmed a block."

"Thank you, Edi."

Mary fawned over the code, re-entering it several times until she felt a little less panicked. The first attempt ended a few counts after the tool attempted the connection. She shouldn't. What could her greed jeopardize?

She settled back in her chair, sending herself through another wave of madness. The email running through her mind again. She didn't want that to be the last thing she heard from him. Besides, what was he to Cerberus if she was gone? Her greed entered the number again, this time it patched through. Connecting, connecting, connecting until it timed out.

Mary held back on questioning Edi.

She waited again, promising herself this would be the last try. 'Connection' scrawled on the screen within seconds.

"Hello?"

Kaidan's voice was groggy, his rasp evident that he had just woken wherever he was.

"Hello?" he tried again, with mild frustration.

"Look, this is a secured-," he spat, but his voice dropped, "if this isn't- if this- dammit."

The voice waited, but Mary was frozen. She hadn't planned a word, this was a terrible idea. Stupid.

"This is a little insane," he let out a small chuckle, "and will look bad if this just ends up on the extranet. But, just in case," he paused again, pulling in a steadying breath, "if it's what, who, I think it is. Really, the Omega 4 relay? I-I thought Ilos was bad, that is a whole new level of-"

Kaidan cut himself off, waiting, questioning if he should continue. But it made a strange kind of sense. Who else could it be? She wouldn't call unless it were dire.

"Whatever you are doing, be careful. The galaxy needs you back, I ne- just, be careful."

Both parties lulling to sleep at the memory.

Jane set the frame down, it could be a gift for the next tenant. Perhaps they could program it with something/ The chit slipped into her pocket, her gaze winding to the door. She waited, shook her head, and swept up the handles of the black footlocker. Again, Jane stared at the door. Praying for a miracle.

The rigors of hauling the footlocker at a clipped pace down several flights of stairs did nothing to stop the shaking. Echoes of footsteps turned into the voices of her crew, the bad, the ugly, and all of the good memories. Garrus's mandible quivering in silent frustration as she made the shot atop the presidium, Tali's indignation at the 'induction port' as she tried to slip it into her suit. Liara always deep in thought, scanning over the work of the Shadow Broker, Javik who never got his wish of dying with the rest of his kind. Vega's shock as she decimated his pull-up record, and Edi taking up Joker's hand in a quiet moment. Tears splattered on the steps. Was this the end?

She couldn't stop them as she stepped into the light of day, awaited by three figures.

"That's all?" Roy huffed, taking the luggage from her.

Helen placed a hand on her shoulder, "it will get easier."

The older woman forced Jane to look her in the eyes, dark brown meeting blue, "you should make the call."

"But you-"

"You know Roy won't let it go until you're all settled."

The LT was always worried about her, even if they weren't on speaking terms. Jane knew all she had to do was reach out, but the pang of guilt was too much. It was always this way, and her soul grew tired of the mind that housed it.

This was a horrible way to treat the family that kept coming back for her months after they had returned home to Vancouver. They kept worrying when she struggled to care about herself. They kept asking her to return home with them, to give her a new life. They hadn't stopped loving her after every no, despite her asinine rigidity to an old promise. Despite the lingering secrets she barely kept from them. Jane was sick of herself, too.

Jane nodded, pulling in a deep breath.

"It will get better," Helen murmured, "after you've taken the time to be pissed off for a while."

She didn't fight a grin, nodding again just to make sure she was assured. Leaving the woman to enter the room her fingers didn't hesitate this time. Entering the code she had memorized too long ago.

Three calls later- silence was her answer.

Unable to save face, Jane stormed past Helen.

"I'm sorry for how I left last time," her head hung, but this time she returned the touch, briefly touching the hand on her shoulder.

The older woman shrugged, pointing her at the shuttle.

Jane nodded, wasting no further time by sliding into the back. Evelyn chattered into her ear; Jane tried to keep paying attention but found her mind wandering. The familiar stirring of her stomach starting within moments of take-off. She had grown a little used to a hardsuit that would deliver the meds into her system.

The paper bag landed in her hands without a word.

The vehicle fell silent, save for the buzzing of the radio-

"The Normandy returns to the Citadel after a Victory run spanning over-"

"The Normandy is back?" Jane bleated meekly through the bag.

"Oh- yeah! Our son made it," Roy smiled, but it was partially forced, "sounds like this 'Shepard' wasn't so lucky."

Jane's stomach emptied into the bag, Happy Birthday Shepard.

#fshenko #shenko #kaidan alenko #mass effect fanfiction #take me home

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theotherjourney7 · 4 years ago

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“I was gonna leave The Week In Tory until Friday the 2nd October but at their current rate it'll be very long by then, and I'm worried about you, mate.

It's OK to get drunk on at 5pm on Monday the 28th of September, isn't it? Well, that's my recommendation anyway. Here goes...

1. In June UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson said to Black Lives Matter protestors: “I hear you”, and acknowledged the “incontrovertible, undeniable feeling of injustice” that “we simply cannot ignore”

So obviously, 40 Tory MPs refused to take part in unconscious bias training

2. The government shut pubs an hour early, seemingly under the impression coronavirus (an inert, sub-microscopic infectious entity with no brain or nervous system) can tell the time.

The government demanded we all follow the rules

The government exempted House Of Commons bars from the rules

3. Health Minister Helen Whately said “people who get drunk and leave the pub to keep on partying should remember their responsibility for the nation’s health”

Helen Whateley, who is *actually* responsible for the nation’s health, was sober when she said this. Presumably

4. After 6 months of world-leading “throwing apps in the bin but taking the cash anyway”, the government finally proudly released an NHS Testing App

It didn't work with NHS tests

Or on 18% of phones

Or in Scotland or Northern Ireland

And a report said only 10% of the us will use it, cos we don’t trust Dominic Cummings with our data

Nor should we: the Data Commissioner said Cummings' proposed changes to privacy law will see the UK barred from sharing global data, and cost the UK economy "up to £80bn"

5. Meanwhile the promise of 500,000 tests per day won’t be reached because, in news that should shock nobody, the government failed to order enough raw materials

So the government stopped releasing evidence of how many are being tested, cos if you don't look at it, it isn't real

6. The government, which only weeks ago was demanding we go back to work or all get sacked, now demands we all stay at home

7. Them the government said the reason the UK had the worst Covid response AND worst economy in Europe is because we are “freedom-loving”

8. And then government freedom-lovingly banned schools from using any materials that criticised capitalism

Not content with this, they also banned schools discussing “victim narratives”, which is going to make it tough to maintain their national anti-bullying strategy

9. And then a leaked report said the government was planning to freedom-lovingly deploy the military on the streets

10. Meanwhile, the government announced only 24% of businesses have done any preparation for Brexit, and only 30% of cross-channel HGVs have the correct paperwork

11. The government finally admitted what they’d been told repeatedly since 2016, and said Brexit would create 2-day queues of 7000 lorries at Channel ports

7000 lorries (at the average 16.5m each) is 1155km. That’s a queue over 70 miles long. Every day.

To solve this, the government announced a new internal border in Kent, helpfully relocating 70 miles of queues to London, Essex, Surrey and East Sussex instead

A month ago, Tory MP Sir Edward Leigh was demanding we “take back” Calais. Now we’re essentially abandoning Kent.

Because we only had 4 years to plan for this, our lovely new border will start on 1 January and be controlled by software that – and you should probably open a second bottle around now - won’t be ready until at least 4 months later

Oh, and border checks won’t be ready in Northern Ireland either

But we might not have a problem anyway: it was revealed there are just 2000 EU haulage permits for our 40,000 UK hauliers. That’s 5% of what we need, for any Govt Ministers struggling with the maths

12. And we don’t even have enough pallets for the goods we import, cos we currently rely on a supply we share with the EU, and have neither the wood nor the treatment plants, nor the required chemicals to make and treat our own

So now the government has to make a 200m border, a mechanism for policing it, an internal passport system, software, admin, buy 38,000 permits and grow enough trees for 700,000 pallets. In 3 months.

It had 5 months to add up some A-Level results, and that went swimmingly

13. I’m sure supply-and-demand won’t force prices sky high, cos it never does when you have 5% of the food the nation needs and a govt which boasts about breaking the law, but it was also announced tariffs will add £3.1bn to the nation’s food bill in Jan 2021

14. As a mark of confidence, Jim Ratcliffe, Britain’s richest man and a leading Brexiteer, buggered off to Monaco

15. And an unnamed minister was quoted: “We are stuck in a bind. If we try to cancel Brexit we destroy ourselves; if we go ahead with it we destroy the country”

16. The London School of Economics reported the long-term cost of Brexit will be 2-3 times the cost of Covid

So Rishi Sunak cancelled the budget, cos once again, if you don’t look at it, it doesn’t exist

17. JPMorgan shifted £200 billion out of the UK and into Germany calling it “a result of Brexit”.

At least 22% of our entire national economy depends on international banks based in the City of London, so when the largest one fucks off, it's a relaxing development

18. Former Prime Minister Theresa May said the government’s bill to break international law is “reckless” and “risks the integrity of the United Kingdom”

19. The Attorney General, who takes an oath to parliament, the Queen and The Bar to observe the law, said she was “very proud” to be breaking the law

The UK is a signatory and legal guarantor of the Good Friday Agreement, which brought peace to the island of Ireland after 3600 violent deaths. The Attorney General, who is sworn to maintain peace, says Brexit will break the GFA, and she is “extremely proud” of that too.

Turns out, the advisory Professor who told her she should go ahead and break the law and endanger peace in Ireland is the partner of Michael Gove’s special advisor. It’s amazing, these coincidences. Almost as if they don’t want to listen to anybody else

20. Speaking of which, UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson’s old friend and unfailingly irrumating backer (google it) Charles Moore, who has spent his life demanding the end of the BBC, and said the BBC causes "human misery worthy of Dickens" (does he mean Mrs Brown's Boys?) is in line to run the BBC

And it was reported ex Daily Mail Editor Paul Dacre, who shouts c*unt so much his meetings are called “the vagina monologues”, and whose paper is banned as a Wiki reference cos it lies so often, is going to be put in charge of Ofcom: ensuring decent and honest broadcasting

Oh yeah, and Boris Johnson tweeted “a free press is vital in holding the government to account”, which is probably why the people holding his govt to account are being replaced with his mates and cheerleaders

21. Tory MP and successful conscience-donor Andrea Jenkins got paid £25k from a thinktank that doesn’t exist

22. And because no list is complete without a disturbing nocturnal visitation from the smirking angel of death, Home Office Secretary Priti Patel was accused of incitement to racial hatred

23. Whilst Patel, Jenkyns and the Attorney General were busy redefining “the party of Law and Order” the rest of the govt took a wild swing at “the party of fiscal responsibility”, when it was revealed the government has wasted £3,895,556,000 since March.

This includes unsafe testing kits; face masks that don’t work; broken tracing systems; useless antibody tests; cancelled ventilator challenge; and inexplicable contracts to sweet manufacturers and dormant companies with no employees, to provide PPE that never arrived!

24. The government, which insisted schools and universities reopened, said it was now vital to lock down students and prevent them from mixing in large groups

And then the government said it was sanctioning class sizes of up to 60 which ... remind me, is that more or fewer than 6?

25. Health Secretary Matt Hancock said “we’re giving up to 11,000 iPads to care homes to enable residents to connect with loved ones”

“Up to” is a bit telling, but even if it’s 11,000, there are 21,700 care homes in the UK. I guess they’ll just have to share. Goodbye forever, nana!

26. And finally, if you feel all alone in despairing at this: you aren’t. Belief in Britain as a “global force for good” has fallen 10% since 2019. I, for one, am shocked to the core....”-Russ

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secret-engima · 5 years ago

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Also, considering the sheer number of Clans, and that some Trials could take upwards of a month to pass and receive Arms from - Regis and Co are gonna spend like 2+ years in Galahd, INCOMMUNICADO. What are Mors’ and HADRIAN’S reactions (cause Hadrian is actually visibly caring of Clarus, and Mors isn’t gonna stand for Regis disappearing off the face of the earth.) Ooh, would Mors get the Astrals involved?! I could see that as a last resort thing, especially if Mors knows he’s dying.

Oh definitely. Some take place in the course of a day or three, but some, like the Ulric and Arra Trial take 1-2 MONTHS and that kinda time stacks up pretty fast. Not to mention they don’t immediately jump into the Trials (don’t know about them at first, only choose it as a desperate plan to get out of Galahd after Cor VOLUNTEERS HIMSELF like an idiot), plus any recovery time, travel time, time just- learning what they need to know to pass the Trial... yeah. They disappear completely off the grid for A WHILE.

-Mors is worried. He hides it behind a strong front, tells the public and his council that he knows exactly where his son is/what he’s doing, Regis and his group are just on a secret task that requires the utmost secrecy and discretion.

-Behind closed doors he’s the Mors equivalent of a hot mess. Cold, agitated, short-tempered, frequently brooding. Everyday he checks the reports for word of the Galahdian Wall going down and everyday it still stands strong something in his heart contracts. He’s worried. Worried for his son, yes, of course, because Mors does love his son, however distant he kept himself. But mostly for his kingdom and how it will survive if he has lost his heir, because Mors hasn’t let himself worry frantically over an individual for the sake of the individual since his wife. Since Umbra. And Mors can’t allow himself to feel that way again. (Mors had adored his daughter up until the test, showered her in affection and time until he learned she was Cursed and that he had to- the Founder King’s Decree insisted-)

-(Nothing ever broke him as badly as leaving Umbra behind. And after his wife died too years later, Mors had nothing left to anchor his sanity but his job, because he couldn’t look on Regis, couldn’t laugh and play with his boy without choking on memories of a bright-eyed toddler girl who should have been Crown Princess, who should have grown up playing and doting on her little brother).

-So Mors awaits word, and contemplates what he might have to do if Regis is dead (there are medical treatments that would let him have another heir in his old age he knows, but he doesn’t know if he would live long enough to raise them and he doesn’t actually want to do it, because to do that is to admit that Regis- that Umba killed her little-.

-Hadrian is a much more open mess, because that’s his Crown Prince and his SON out there, missing behind an unknown Wall, one presumably raised by whatever shell of a human the Curse has left Umbra (and he believes in the Curse, believes that it must be as terrible and all-consuming as the legends say, because otherwise Mors would not have broken himself carrying out the Founder King’s decree, he knows how deeply LCs adore their children, their Own, and that for 2k years these dragon-like people have abandoned children to die in the wilderness despite all their instincts- he believes there must be a Very Good Reason.)

-Of course, he’s composed in public and with the council, but in private, with his wife especially, he’s a mess. Worried, stressed, unable sleep well. Mors temper doesn’t help matters even if Mors is careful never to aim it at Hadrian. Hadrian is worried for his son, his Crown Prince, and his King and there’s NOTHING HE CAN DO. This really doesn’t sit well with the Amicitia Go-Fix-It attitude.

-Eventually, Mors gets desperate. All of the agents he’s sent have been either caught on the boat or caught in the port towns and sent back in increasingly injured states (none killed so far, but after two were crippled to the point of forced retirement, Mors knew better than to try again, he couldn’t afford to lose anymore agents while still at war with Niflheim). Out of other options, Mors decides to call on outside help. He has two options for contacting the Astrals, one is to contact the Oracle and let her in on his problem and ask her to intervene on his behalf, the other is to communicate through the Crystal.

-Mors is not ... in the BEST of health, though not dying, but he knows the Crystal is a strange, greedy thing and doesn’t want to risk it. So he contacts the Oracle.

-If he’d gone to the Crystal, Bahamut would have heard him and roused himself from his slumber, would have finally realized Galahd was so much more than it seemed and come down from on high to “correct” the issue. But Mors doesn’t go to the Crystal, he asks the Oracle, and the Oracle reaches out to the Astrals in general rather than Bahamut specifically.

-And Ramuh has been watching for this moment. He and Leviathan have spent too long keeping Galahd a secret from Bahamut, spent too much time convincing Shiva to look the other way so long as Bahamut did not directly order her to do something, to let his Storm Children be harmed now. Ramuh answers the Oracle, tells her that a Messenger will be sent to the king to inform him of his answer.

-Two weeks later, Mors and Hadrian look up sharply to the far corner of the locked study to see something that looks like an old man in simple, old-fashioned robes leaning on an ornate walking stick. “I am Stratus,” says the old man with inhumanly bright eyes, “High Messenger of the Astrals.”

-”What has become of my son?” King Mors asks through stiff lips.

-”He lives. He lives and goes through great Trials, but he will emerge from them stronger.” Stratus informs them, a pause, and then he adds as if it is meant to be a comfort, “The Crown Prince will not die, we will ensure it, for his destiny yet stretches beyond Galahd’s shores. He will return when the time is right.” And King Mors struggles not to sag in relief, because his son is alive and his son will return, the Astrals have promised.

-Stratus lowers his head, and something about his posture indicates he’s about to leave, and a desperate Hadrian blurts, “And his companions? His Shield? DO they also live?” Stratus stares at him inhuman and too-sharp, like lightning contained in a fragile mortal shell and as Mors glances worriedly at Hadrian, Hadrian hopes he has not just signed his own death warrant for speaking out of turn to a High Messenger. Still, he asks in a soft, trembling voice, “Does- does my son also live?”

-After a moment of staring, the High Messenger’s gaze softens to something that, on a human, Hadrian would have thought was gentle understanding (but this is an Astral’s Messenger, immortal and fae, at best Hadrian takes it as an extension of mercy for his speaking out of turn), “All of the Crown Prince’s companions live, for they too hold destinies beyond the reach of the isles. They will return with their Crown Prince when the time is right.” With that, Stratus is gone, and Hadrian sags against Mors desk from the weight of his relief while Mors slumps slowly into a chair and breathes thanks.

-Mors, in perhaps one of his most human moments since the death of his wife, cancels all their appointments for the day and instead sends Hadrian home to share the good news with his worried wife. Hadrian is reluctant to leave his king and ... somehow, perhaps through shared exhaustion from worry, relief that their sons live, he talks Mors into coming down to his house for the first time since Umbra... since Umbra.

-The three of them, Mors, Hadrian, and his wife, end up in Hadrian’s living room, sharing drinks and crying discreetly from relief (but also worry, because the Messenger said Great Trials. The Messenger promised their children’s lives, but not what condition they would be in mentally and physically when they returned).

-(But that is a worry for another day, for now they bask in relief and the knowledge that, no matter what deadly secrets lie behind the Wall of Galahd, their children are safe and will return).

#SE asks #a-world-in-grey asks #Thrown to Wolves verse #Secret Engima Rambles

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charlieswan-squad · 5 years ago

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Twilight Rewrite 1. First Sight (i)

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was warm in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favourite shirt — sleeveless, white lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a raincoat.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only three months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself— an action that I took with great horror. I detested Forks.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city. It was the anonymity of Phoenix that i would miss, second only to the heat; now that my mother would no longer be there. I loved that you could be anyone in Phoenix and rarely stand out; participate just as much as you wanted then retreat; never be in the spotlight.

"Bella," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

"I want to go," I lied. I'd always been an awful liar, but I'd been saying this specific lie so frequently lately that it sounded somewhat convincing now.

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will.”

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want — I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone.

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

Charlie had really been really nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyone would call chatty, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision — like my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane.

"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't allowed to call him Charlie to his face.

“And you’re really okay about leaving her, Bella?”

We both understood that this particular question wasn’t really about my happiness or any desire to be back in Forks. This question was Charlie’s way of asking if it was a good idea to leave Renee, who I had responsible for throughout the majority of my life. Mom could be summarised by the phrase: good intentions, poor execution. This was the main reason Charlie had never fought Mom for custody; he knew she needed me.

“Yeah, of course Dad. I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t sure.”

“Fair enough.”

I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," Charlie announced when we were strapped into the cruiser and en route to Forks.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down at El Cheldez?" El Cheldez is the small Native American reservation on the nearby coastline.

"No."

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.

That would explain why I didn't remember him. I had gotten extremely proficient at blocking out painful, unpleasant and unnecessary things from my memory.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few years old, really."

I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily.

"When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Ch — Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…"

"Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

The thing, I thought to myself… it had possibilities — as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the deal breaker.

"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"That's awesome, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth, or rather, engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows in silence.

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees were covered in moss, their branches hanging as a canopy above it, the ground blanketed with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.

It was too green here — an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had — the early ones.

There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new — well, new to me — truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged — the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed. I reckoned I would be able to plough down a marble statue and not even have to worry about any dents.

"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful.

I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser; which was of course, the worst-case scenario.

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had been belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window — these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a second-hand computer, alongside a crappy landline phone. This was a requirement of my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. An odd arrangement, as she knew (albeit did not actually understand) the overwhelming anxiety I faced any time I had to make a phonecall. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner by the window.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. This was a fact I was trying not to dwell on too much. A small comfort to this, was that it would inevitably be better than sharing a bathroom with Renee, who was a self-confessed sucker for impulse buying any time she saw an add for a skin or hair product; meaning the bathroom cupboards were in a constant state of overflow. Charlie’s skin-care routine is definitely less rigorous than Mom’s.

One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about the coming morning.

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven — now fifty-eight — students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together — their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak.

Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I ought to be athletic; tall and skinny yet petite and muscular - a volleyball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps — all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun.

Instead, I was pasty, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine, which always made me look slightly ill. I had always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself — and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close. No, physically, I don’t fit in anywhere I go.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I always hated the feel of “aeroplane” on myself after traveling. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin did have the potential to be nice - it was usually smooth and not too oily nor too dry - but it all depended on colour. I had no colour here.

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here?

I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Like, when I saw green, everyone else saw red. Where I saw beauty, everyone else saw something terrible that must be avoided. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added a pillow too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

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gcldveins · 5 years ago

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HELLOOOOOO everyone !!!!!!!! i just wanna say .. thank you SO MUCH for joining misty hollow with jin and i , you have no idea how happy it made us to see so many people interested and join and like .. just clearly so in love w their own muses so like i just wanna say i love u all with my whole freaking heart !!!! ok enough w the sappy stuff let me introduce to u all literally the worst muse i have ever created .. malcolm o’sullivan. but he goes by sully bc he was ur og e-boy who goes “ oh ? my favourite band ? you wouldn’t have heard of it .. they’re called the rolling stones uwu ” and i rlly do hate him for that... it’s okay tho i punish him accordingly :~)

overview

✎⌠paul rudd. cismale. he/him⌡❝ — well, look who’s just arrived ! if it isn’t the one and only malcolm o'sullivan. though, around here they’re known as the harlequin. don’t tell ‘em i said this but the forty-seven year old owner of o'sullivan’s books kinda has a reputation of being stubborn and irresponsible. but y’know, they can be creative and analytical too. typical aquarius. anyways, welcome home and stay safe sully ! ❞

statistics

full name: malcolm eamon o’sullivan

nickname(s): sully, anything else and he twitches ..

date of birth: february 2nd, 1973

hometown: misty hollow, connecticut.

gender identity: cis gender

preferred pronouns: he/him

sexual orientation: bisexual

hogwarts house: ravenclaw

aesthetic: an old leather jacket thrown over a wrinkled t-shirt, dog-eared pages, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, untied laces, the soft rumbling of a motorcycle engine, messy handwriting, calloused fingertips

distinguishable characteristics: is looking homeless a distinguishable characteristic..

pinterest board: here.

their song from the sigh no more album bc i love this album and it makes me Sad™ : little lion man

background ( murder tw )

— born in the town of dingle, a small port town in ireland, malcolm and his family immigrated to america when he was ten years old. they moved into misty hollow after his father opened up his own bookshop and the o’sullivan’s have been there ever since.

— always having been a rebellious child, malcolm ( slowly gaining the nickname sully in school ) seemed to have a knack for doing anything that pissed his father off. his greatest act ? moving out as soon as he graduated without so much as a goodbye.

— malcolm was only a wee lad when the misty hollow murders were happening. his older brother, his only brother, was unfortunately one of the victims, being eight at the time. he’s not too torn up about it, he was only two years old. but his father reminded him everyday growing up, how much smarter and accomplished and just overall better his brother was than him.

— the only thing that sully was grateful for about his father was the love for books he had ingrained into him. growing up, he developed a knack for writing and he ended up going to the university of pennsylvania for journalism. after that, sully moved out to new york where he worked as a journalist for the new york times and wrote articles on political updates and reports.

— he met his wife in new york and they had three children together, two girls and one boy. sully was living the classic american dream. until, of course, it was all ruined in a single camping trip.

— it was just sully and the three kids, except the trip was cut short and he had to come home with two kids instead of three. sully’s youngest, nancy, was taken at the campgrounds and evidence of her murder was found in a nearby cabin.

— this tore sully’s family apart. the tragedy forced him towards a downwards spiral, an endless cycle of destructive habits. it got to the point where his wife decided to divorce him and to take the kids with her.

— sully eventually, reluctantly, made the decision to return to misty hollow. there, he stayed with his parents for a bit until he got a job at o’sullivan’s books and was able to take a couple months to get back on his feet.

— his parents initially pushed him towards trying to work at the mystic herald but sully hasn’t written a single sentence since his daughter died. now, his father has essentially left him to run the bookshop for him, which sully doesn’t mind. it’s quiet work that doesn’t require too much effort.

personality

— to sum it up in one sentence .. sully has essentially has regressed into a man-child in the more recent years of his life, but the inferiority complex is a tried and true constant.

— he hasn’t really properly dealt with his daughter’s death ( even though it’s been over a decade.. ), just lives in a constant cycle of whenever he does try to think about it, he feels like shit and just thinks about all the things he could’ve done differently so he stops immediately.

— sully always wanted to be a dad, to prove that he could be a better one than his own father. so he feels like he really failed in that retrospect. he’s like a human pity party. though he does that classic thing where he glosses over his sad feelings with destructive behaviour and inappropriate humour.

— very self-indulgent, does whatever he wants, whenever he wants. as long as it makes him feel better, even just for a moment, he’ll do it. doesn’t take anything very seriously, just kinda jokes around all the time. is one of those people that just give off.. kinda pathetic vibes you know? like you look at him and you’re like ?? what are you doing with your life dude ?? and he’s like idk

— but, on the bright side, this makes him pretty easy-going and down-to-earth. definitely a roll-with-the-punches and no bullshit type of guy, isn’t discouraged by much and doesn’t care a whole lot about what others think of him. it’s easy for him to engage in conversation and be all charismatic when he feels like it.

— despite all .. of that, sully actually comes across as a relatively okay guy. he can be friendly and crack a few jokes while he’s at it, he’s one of those people that, as long as thinks you’re chill, treats you like you guys have been friends forever. but he can be pretty crude / vulgar at times, sooo how others react to that is kind of a gamble !

wanted connections

his one true bro <3 just someone that’ll be a complete idiot with him and they are definitely a bad influence on each other. this person probably hangs around the bookshop alot and they just spend all day with each other doing and saying stupid shit. like you know that gif set of seth rogen and joseph gordon-levitt where one’s like “ i’d fuck you ” and the other goes “ thanks :3 ” that’s it.. those are the vibes..

drinking buddies ! these two just get really drunk off their ass together and probably don’t even know each other that well despite of like.. several years of sort of friendship. one night they’re probably five drinks in and sully goes “ when i was married — ” and they’re just like “ wayment .. what the fuck . ” and ! maybe if your muse has something to get emo about ! maybe they can get drunk AND emo together <3

casual relationships ? he could have one or two of these ! sully.. does not date. tried being in a serious relationship once after his divorce and it ended... terribly. like imagine asking your adult boyfriend if he wants to move in together and his response is essentially just “ ... yeah i’m ok thanks tho. ” and you never hear from him again ndijgnk

that being said... if anyone wants that plot alluded to above .... let me know......

for the younger muses out there ! anyone that he’s kind of ? taken under his wing. pseudo-children essentially. i can’t promise that he’ll be a good influence.. he’s probably not even aware that he’s done this lmao but deep down, sully’s still a dad. he’ll probably be protective over the youngins but shows it in the form of tough love, y’know ? probably tells your muse to stop being a shithead all the time, cute stuff like that.

and some more casual connection ideas that we can further flesh out through some plotting / brainstorming:

old friends from misty hollow

regular customers

co-workers

an unrequited crush ( either on sully’s end or your muse’s )

a good influence on him .. please... i’m begging you

someone that can nerd out over books with him !

friends !!! everyone needs friends and lucky for sully, he’s pretty good at making them !! in a pushy and annoying way..

enemies / frenemies pls ... these are always so much fun

anything and everything else !! if we can’t figure out a plot between sully and your muse, we can always just do it old school and throw them at each other in a random thread and see what happens !!

#misty.intro #this is a whole ass novel im sorry nfidjmfsdl

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marshmallow-phd · 6 years ago

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Lies Untold

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Luhan x Reader

Summary: For generations, your family has been the protectors of mankind. You were considered one of the best and due to that reputation, you were sent on what could be the most important mission for the organization. Going under cover in a college to sniff out a particularly large and threatening wolf pack seemed easy enough. But when you meet one of the members, everything you’ve known since birth will be overturned and your loyalty to your family and heritage will be tested.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I Final

You were pretty sure this wasn’t going to work, but any alternative seemed just as stupid.

Clipboard in hand along with a fake syllabus you’d spent all last night making, you marched up to the front desk of the museum. Well, not really “marched”. You were trying to give off the impression that you were a nervous, harmless college student, so it was more like a slow shuffle up to the woman who held the key to your target.

“Excuse me?” you said quietly. You kept your gaze down, only flicking it up for a second or so to look at the museum worker.

She smiled at you. “Yes, how can I help you?”

You cleared your throat. “I’m, uh, I’m supposed to be doing this project on ancient Greek pottery for class and our professor is giving us extra credit if we use the examples that were supposed to be on display here, but I guess they’ve been taken down?” Thank you, overly helpful museum bulletin for that nice piece of information. “I didn’t realize that when I started my paper and I’m already falling behind in this class and I just – I really need – do you think-” You putting on the fully blown desperation act. If you kept going the snot and tears would be flowing soon enough.

Sympathy was written clear as day all over the secretary’s face. “Oh, dear. Give me a moment and let me see if the curator is here. I’m sure we can let you see the vases for a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” you hiccuped. Scurrying out of her seat, the secretary left the main lobby and disappeared into another part of the museum.

Now along, you quickly surveyed her desk. The keycard you were searching for was lying conspicuously right next to the mouse for the taking. But you had to leave it there. Snatching it right now would be too obvious. However….

As nonchalantly as you could, you knocked over the display of pencils that were resting in a mug with the museum’s logo printed on the smooth surface. Just as you were hoping, it clattered onto the desk, spilling the pencils everywhere.

Keeping up appearances for the camera, you hurried to the other side, clumsily trying to put them all back in the cup. While one hand was occupied with the mess, the other was working on opening the drawers as sneakily as possible.

Bingo.

Three extra keycards were lying there in the drawer, just waiting to be taken. You pocketed one and then closed the drawer before putting the mug back and rounding the desk once more. Phase One: complete.

A minute or so later, the secretary was back, along with the curator of the museum. She was a kind looking woman, in her fifties or so. You almost felt a little bad for lying and taking from her. Almost.

Guilt was certainly an emotion that followed you around lately. Its point of origin was one that you didn’t want to think about. Going into that part of your mind… it was too dangerous. A fog would begin to take over your thoughts and you didn’t know up from down, wrong from right. Everything grayed together with no visible way of separating it again. It was best to stay out of that mindset as much as you could.

“I’m told that you’re supposed to be doing a project on Greek pottery?” the curator asked.

You nodded, holding out your clipboard for her to see. “It’s a pretty big paper. I need to do well on it if I want to pass the class. It’s not my major, but-”

“That’s alright, dear,” the curator smiled at you. “Just follow me.” Without really waiting to see if you were behind her, the curator led you straight to the back door that you’d seen the alpha slip into before. Maybe you didn’t need the keycard after all.

Sliding her own keycard that was clipped to her jacket’s lapel, the curator opened that forbidden door and motioned for you to go inside.

The left side of the long hallway was dotted with doors also locked up tight, but instead of just being able to swipe the card again, each door was secured by a keypad that required the right number sequence to enter.

Crap.

To make matters even more difficult, the curator covered the keypad so you wouldn’t accidentally see the code she was typing in. Not that it would help you at all. Each door probably had its own sequence. And you didn’t need to get to the pottery. You needed another door that held something even more valuable.

In the room you didn’t really need to enter were rows and rows of faded, cracked pottery safely guarded behind thick glass that was padlocked shut. On the table in the middle was a two-hundred-plus catalog explaining each piece’s history.

“I’ll let you spend some time in here,” she said. “You may take pictures, but, please, don’t use your flash, and let me know if you have any questions.”

“Thank you so much!” you smiled. “You’re a life saver!”

The curator waved your compliment off, but seemed extremely pleased to be praised. She left you alone as promised without another word. Your lips snapped back into their normal neutral state.

Now what?

You still didn’t know which door you needed to get through and now you had another obstacle standing in your way. You were going to need outside help again.

Shoving the clipboard into your bag, you turned the handle and propped the door open with your bag so you didn’t accidentally lock yourself out. Technology was definitely not your strong suit, but even you could tell that hacking this dinosaur of a keypad wasn’t going to be easy. You pulled out your phone, taking a few pictures of the pad from different angles and sending them off to Carter before dialing his number.

“You sure are racking up the favors now, aren’t you?” was his greeting.

“Shut up,” you hissed. “I’ve hit another snag, that’s all. I’m pretty sure the book is behind a lock like the one I sent you. But I don’t have a way of getting the code.”

“Did you look to see which numbers are faded?” Carter asked snarkily.

You mimicked him quietly before replying, “From what I can see, none of them are faded enough to give me even an inkling of what the combination could be.”

“Welp, you’re SOL.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s an older basic model,” he explained. “No port for maintenance, so no hacking it from there. It doesn’t work wirelessly from what I can see, so you can’t get in that way either.”

“Fan-freaking-tastic,” you growled through clenched teeth. “I might as well just break the door down.”

“Now that doesn’t sound very subtle.”

Before you could retort, the sound of the main door’s keypad beeping reached your ears. You hung up with Carter without even saying goodbye and rushed back into the room, shoving the door closed. But it wasn’t the curator coming to check up on you.

Two male voices passed by your door, making your ears perk up.

“I don’t know. I just don’t think there’s any more in the book about them that we don’t already know, Junmyeon.” At the sound of Luhan’s voice, your heart lept in your chest and it wasn’t out of nervousness. You pressed a hand over it as if to try and calm or quiet it down. Such a simple thing like hearing his voice shouldn’t be making you react like this. The thick gray fog was starting to cloud your mind again and you almost missed the vital information about to be passed in front of you.

“I know. But there might be something about hunters in there that we missed.” A heavy sigh came after that comment. “I’ve never heard of them actually sending someone undercover before. They’ve always preferred to just attack in numbers. I don’t know how to fight this.”

So, they knew about you. Well, at least partially. Shit. Now you were going to have to be even more careful. You felt like a sitting duck. You couldn’t go home with your tail between your legs just because the wolves started sniffing around. Johnny would never let you hear the end of it, even if your parents said it was okay to put personal safety first. No, you had to stay and see this through.

At least, that’s what you told yourself was keeping you here.

When you heard another door open, you decided that was your time to leave. Checking to make sure the hallway was clear, you quietly made your way out back into the main lobby. You nodded to the secretary, who waved goodbye to you, completely unaware that you were walking out with one of her precious keycards.

As soon as you were out on the front steps, however, a hand grabbed your wrist. Whirling around, you tried to break the hold, but your heel lost balance on the edge of the first step, nearly sending you backwards until Luhan caught you around your waist.

“Whoa, there!” he chuckled as he steadied the two of you out.

Now your mind was really messed up. Standing there, slightly leaned back while Luhan hovered over you with his arm around you was making you feel… somehow calm and in hyper drive at the same time. The instinct to fight and get away from the supernatural wolf was being beaten by something else that couldn’t be named. A shimmer in Luhan’s eyes brought you back to your senses, pushing him away.

“Don’t you know better than to just randomly grab people?” you snapped.

“I’m sorry.” But there wasn’t really any apologetic evidence in his face. He was looking at you with a soft expression that had never been sent your way before. You didn’t like it.

“Did you need something?” You crossed your arms. Your gut reaction whenever he was around was to put up a titanium wall that couldn’t be stormed through. What could possible happen if you didn’t was an experience you weren’t sure you could live through.

“I-” He stopped. “Just checking on you. Since you left rather quickly last week.”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him a little curtly. “But I have to go.”

He nodded. “I’ll see you later.” Shoulders drooping, he turned and headed back inside the museum. Your foot took a step towards him involuntarily before you could stop yourself. You blinked.

What were you doing? Get out of there!

Forcing yourself to turn back around, you flitted down the steps and to the bus stop where you could get away from the area as fast as possible. You ignored the rattling of the window as you pressed your forehead up against the cool glass. Understanding was starting to come to you, thought you still couldn’t fully explain it. There was just something about that boy – that wolf – that was stirring up your stomach and making your heart flutter. You felt calmer after looking into those dravite eyes. Like the world and time themselves were no longer moving and you didn’t have to worry about what was coming next because you at least had that moment.

But you did have to worry. The wolves now knew that there was a hunter under their noses, learning about them. You didn’t know if they knew that you were trying to get to their closely guarded secret. The one you now knew for sure was kept in the museum. And maybe that could still give you the advantage. Would you be able to carry out your mission and get away without blowing your cover?

Did you even want to succeed anymore?

The idea of letting everyone back home down was just adding to your stress. Some would be quick to label you a coward. Others would just shrug and say they knew it would be a failure from the beginning. Most believed that the straightforward approach was best. Ambush the pack and take them out. None of this sneaking around and playing games for those people like Johnny, who couldn’t care less about the book and its secrets.

Maybe the reason they preferred it that way was because then they could stay disconnected. They didn’t see them interact on a daily basis or watch them laugh and do basic human things. Was that what was going on with you? Were you becoming like John Smith or Sam Worthington’s character in Avatar? Were you simply becoming sympathetic to the wolves?

That didn’t explain the way Luhan plagued your mind or invaded your dreams. Nothing did. Except…

Once – when you were fifteen or so – your parents brought in another hunter to train you in archery. His name was Darien, a few years older than you, maybe in his early twenties or so, you couldn’t remember. He had dark blue eyes framed by jet black hair that made his features even more striking. With a tall stature and a body that he took great care of, it was no wonder that the other girls were jealous of your one-on-one tutoring. But none of that was the reason that you soon fell head over heels for him. It was how he handled the bow, how quick he could be, the best at combining speed and accuracy while maintaining grace in every movement. There was an elegance to the way he shot the arrows. Soon, your eyes started inserting a glow around his whole person every time you stared at him.

Looking back, you were utter humiliated at how upset you were when you found out he was already engaged to someone else, like you ever actually stood a chance. You were a kid, he was a grown adult. But you were convinced that you were in love him. Typical teenager angst.

That was the one and only time in your life that you’d ever felt those kinds of emotions towards someone and therefore that was all you had to compare with whatever it was that Luhan was doing to you.

But there was no comparison. Not really. The two incidents felt isolated, on completely different planets. With Darien, it was more of an adoration. No matter how hard you racked your brain, trying to figure it out, you couldn’t understand what the underlining definition of your emotions towards Luhan was.

Now back at your apartment after riding the bus around and around for a few hours, you found yourself standing in front of the bulletin board, contemplating where you should go from here. Part of you honestly just wanted to rip the whole thing down, tear it to shreds and run away.

No. You couldn’t do that. So, instead, you did the next best thing.

You took the board off the wall and stuffed it into your closet before swinging the door closed. You needed a drink.

Before leaving you changed into a more bar appropriate outfit, getting out of the innocent college student gear of a hoodie and jeans. Sliding your arms into your favorite jean jacket, you locked up behind you and began to walk towards the business district where a majority of the bars were located to give easy access to the university population.

You passed by the first few bars you came across, deciding that they were too full from your view through the windows. Being around crowds of careless drunks was not what you were wanting at the moment. Not that you would protest possibly throwing a punch at a drunk frat boy who thought he could invade your personal space because he worked out.

Remember, these methods are only to be used in self-defense came your mother’s voice in your head.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

The next bar that caught your eye was exactly where you didn’t need to go.

The Moonlight.

You should keep walking. You should not put yourself in any position to be closer to the confusing wolf. You should find another bar on the other side of town and –

You walked inside the bar, hating the fact that, while not empty and secluded, it definitely wasn’t as rowdy as the others you’d nixed. Maybe they weren’t even actually that full. Maybe your brain was self-consciously taking you here. What an idiot.

The next preventative step to avoid disaster would have been to sit at one of the small round tables as far away from the bar as you could get. So, naturally, you sat right down in Luhan’s section of the bar.

“What can I get you?” he asked in the most droll voice when he approached.

“What?” you frowned. “No friendly greeting? Not even a smile?” His unusually gruff demeanor was not what you expected – and you didn’t like it. Great, even more of a reason for that drink.

“From our run-in earlier, I didn’t think you were in a friendly mood,” he replied. “In fact, I’m kind of surprised to see you in here.”

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, looking down at your nails. There wasn’t much to pick at, but you managed to do so anyway. “I shouldn’t have treated you like that. Things are just… very complicated in my head right now.”

There was that smile you’d come to know. “Well, then. I guess you came to the right place to clear it up again.”

You pointed at him in a very un-menacing manner. “That’s the plan. So, can I get a whiskey and coke?”

Luahn made a face. “So boring.”

“I’m not drinking for pleasure.”

Still slightly smiling, Luhan narrowed his eyes at you before expertly flipping a short glass onto the bar, simultaneously filling it with whiskey from the large bottle and coke from the nozzle after adding ice. He slide the full glass over to your side. “There you go. A glass of boring sugar.”

Maybe you were being a little cheeky, you took the glass and gulped down the drink in just a few chugs, dropping it down on the bar with a slight clatter just for emphasis.

Luhan just stared at you. “That was fast.”

You shrugged. “I told you. I wasn’t drinking for pleasure.”

His look of awe slowly transformed into a look of concern. “What’s going on, (y/n)? You don’t seem like the kind of person who normally does this.”

“I….” You laughed. “I honestly don’t know how to describe it.” Because it’s all about you. “I just need to… not think for a little bit.”

“That’s not a healthy coping mechanism,” he pointed out.

“No, but I didn’t necessarily say I was looking for a healthy solution, now did I?” You didn’t think there was one anyway. Sitting here across from him was making it a little better, even if you were still just as confused. Maybe it wasn’t the alcohol that you needed in the end.

You weren’t a consistent drinker and that first glass was already starting to hit you. But when Luhan started filling up it up again, you didn’t protest. You did, however, take this one a little slower.

“Hae In’s going to throw a fit when she finds out you went out without her,” Luhan chuckled after walking away for a minute to help another patron.

“Oh, Innie will live,” you smiled.

Luhan frowned thoughtfully at the nickname. “Why do you call her that?”

You cringed, both from the sting of a particularly strong gulp and the question. “Well, when I was younger, I couldn’t pronounce Hae In very well. Or at all, really. So we came up with Innie as an alternative. It just kind of stuck ever since.”

“It’s cute.”

You pursed your lips. “Cute is not normally a word associated with me.”

Leaning forward, Luhan rested on his elbows, a smoldering gaze blazing in his eyes. “Well, I think you’re very cute.”

Okay. That was… flirty. Now you were blushing. You could actually feel your cheeks and neck burning up. But just as you opened your mouth, another customer called out for Luhan, making him straighten up and leave you alone to do his job. You downed the rest of the drink in a sad attempt to cool yourself down.

Fun fact: alcohol heats you up and now you were practically on fire. The jacket came off to help with the heat, draping it over the back of your chair for safe keeping.

You stayed for several hours, slowly sipping on another two drinks while talking to Luhan in between other patrons demanding his attention for refills. Though it was ultimately a short amount of time, it just might have been some of the best hours you’d ever spent on this planet. You’d laughed and smiled the whole time, getting to know Luhan on the human level that you never were meant to. But you didn’t care. You liked spending time with him like this. Why had you been so resistant to it in the past?

As the night grew older, you decided it was time to head home. Luhan’s own grin faded when he saw you get up from your seat. When you got to your feet, however, you started to wobble unsteadily and he hopped over the counter, using only one of his hands as a base on the bard before landing in front of you.

“Well, that was impressive,” you giggled. Oh, yeah. You weren’t drunk, per se, since you still had good control over yourself and there was only one Luhan, but you were definitely tipsy.

“Okay, I’m walking you home.” Luhan turned to tell his coworkers but you slapped his chest.

“No, I’m fine.”

He ignored you. “Hey, guys, I’m going to see her home since we’re pretty slow. Just put her tab on me.”

“Okay!” One of the female bartenders yelled back, waving the two of you goodbye.

Luhan waited for you to put on your jacket, snickering at your struggle, and then he escorted you out of the bar with a hand at the small of your back.

The night air felt so good against your skin. You walked in the direction of your apartment with ease, albeit still a little wobbly, just enjoying the quiet. It wasn’t quite closing time yet and so only those wanting to beat the crowds were heading to their cars or calling services to pick them up.

“I think I like you like this,” Luhan suddenly said.

You whipped your head at him, surprised. “Intoxicated?”

“Oh, no!” he laughed at his own slip up. “I just meant… more relaxed. You don’t seem like you’re looking for a way out this time.”

“That’s because I think I might give up looking for a way out,” you admitted.

Luhan stopped in his tracks. “You… what?”

But you didn’t elaborate. You just kept on walking in the direction of home, staring up above. The moon was getting smaller, waning more and more each night until it disappeared again. You hated that. You preferred big and bright, like a flashlight in the sky.

“So, are you going to stay? Here in town?” Luhan tried again.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “For now. While I can.”

The mood was dampening again, but Luhan could be counted on to lighten it up again after walking a couple blocks in silence. “So, did you come to my bar to see me?”

You scoffed, your acting as if that was ridiculous being of terrible quality. “No. Everywhere else was just full of people. I don’t like people.”

“But you like me?” He was giving you a crooked smile.

You shook your head, now walking backwards to face him. “I’m not allowed to like anybody. Especially….” You stopped yourself from exposing what you knew. Good. You weren’t that intoxicated to make that slip.

Luhan raised an eyebrow. “Especially….”

You pulled a dumb category out of the air, telling in a flirty manner, “Especially the unmanly kind.”

His jaw dropped, offended. “And you’re sticking me in that category?”

“Pretty boys aren’t usually manly,” you giggled, even patting his head for good measure.

“Not manly, huh?” Taking you up on your challenge, Luhan scooped you up in his arms, twirling you around while you cried out in joy.

When you were back on your feet, you were more unstable than ever but you couldn’t stop laughing. That’s when you realized that you were right outside your door now.

“This, uh,” you cleared your throat. “This is me.”

Disappointment was all over Luhan’s face now that the journey had ended. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’m glad you made it home safe. Sleep well.”

He turned to leave, but you stopped him by grabbing his sleeve. “Wait.”

Hope now filled his eyes as he stared back at you. This was the ultimate crossroads. You either let him go, staying where you were and reverting back to your previous guarded self or you took the plunge and explored what it was that you were feeling for him. Either way, you knew there was no turning back. You knew exactly what you were doing when the next two words left your mouth.

“Stay. Please.”

Wordlessly, Luhan nodded.

Feeling like you were moving in slow motion, you turned and unlocked the door. You stepped into your apartment with Luhan right behind you. With this seemingly harmless choice, you knew you were committing the ultimate betrayal. But regret was nowhere to be found.

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #luhan x reader #luhan #lu han #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo series #exo supernatural au #Lies Untold #untamed wolf universe

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ivadeshin · 6 years ago

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Careful Steps (Essik/Caleb) (2/n)

(previous chapter here. Or, catch up over on ao3.)

“Scribe Indril.”

She looks up from a sheaf of papers, straightening as soon as she recognizes him. “Shadowhand. I trust you’re having a good morning.”

“I am, and wish you the same.” Essik pulls his report from his cloak, laying it respectfully on the side of her desk. “I have no doubt that the Empress is using your capabilities to their fullest, and that your schedule is quite full, but I still find myself requesting your specific review upon these documents.”

The reports of his co-mingling with defectors, he does not say. She does not say it either. Rather, she picks the report up by the corner, scanning the top for a few key words before nodding and filing it away in one of her many complex wooden slat organizers. “I will be happy to intake all of your reports for the foreseeable future, both of your interactions with the group and otherwise.”

Otherwise. “Thank you.” Essik bows very slightly at the waist, as much as one of his stature could to a Scribe, and takes a breath. “I knew you would understand the issue of discretion applicable here.”

Scribe Indril takes a careful moment to compose her words, giving Essik an uncharacteristically knowing look. “As long as the information exchanges are made explicitly clear on the documentation, I see no issues moving forward.”

Knowing the right people is everything. “I am in your debt.”

“The Kryn silhouette suits you,” Essik says as they enter the restaurant, indicating Caleb’s coat and noting a curious red tinge to the human’s ears. Caleb’s exotic pink-white skin is both extremely telling and extremely perplexing - such a flush may be indicative of pleasure, or perturbation at an inappropriate comment. Caleb’s expression offers no help at this moment.

“They are nothing special,” Caleb deflects, lifting his chin - this seems to be a common gesture for indication, however informal - toward Essik’s cloak. “I, we, you know. Dressing in our Emipre-styled clothes from back home did not seem... prudent.”

“A wise observation.” Essik sheds his outerwear and hands it off to one of the staff. “If you are interested in speaking with a tailor, I have one not far from the Marble Tomes Conservatory that has been in high regard for several generations now.”

Caleb smiles through what is definitely an embarrassed grimace. “I’ll get something nicer before the next time we go out somewhere,” he promises, and Essik internally berates himself for making this man feel self-conscious.

The first two courses go splendidly. The service is exquisite, although Essik notes that this is the first time in the last fourteen years that the owner has not come personally to visit his table.

In the delicately arranged candle light, the human’s exotic hair color is displayed at its best, capturing the rich golds and coppers and reflecting them with every movement of his head. Even the light stubble on his jawline catches the light. His eyes are, fascinatingly, the color of aquamarine stones.

“I don’t mean to press,” Caleb says. He sounds more stilted than he has the rest of the night. (Essik has been quite pleased with how much the human had seemed to relax up until now.) “And, I certainly don’t want to sound unappreciative of this good food or drink-”

“Please,” Essik says, lifting an open hand in invitation. If Caleb actually asks for something specific, that means that Essik will have an opportunity to provide him with it, and please him in some way.

“Only, my spellbook is in my coat in the cloak room down there, and I don’t know if you brought yours, or when we were meant to study tonight.”

Caleb is yet again focused on work. Essik suppresses a flash of disappointment. “Rather than copying new work, I thought it prudent that we practice tonight instead.” He collects some marinated pheasant on his fork, dipping it lightly in one of the sauce bowls. (Caleb has not repeated his error from the first night.) “I have had the front room cleared out so that we may have enough space to work.”

“The front room. Of your house.” Caleb sounds strange. Essik is unable to detect whether it is anticipation or just hesitance.

“I apologize that I do not have a larger space for us. A human using dunamancy, if seen by someone uninformed, could cause quite a panic.”

Caleb pauses, but then he inclines his head. “I’m very grateful that you’ve opened your home to me.”

“Please think nothing of it.” Essik lifts his chin just an inch, brushing a long strand of white hair away from his cheek. “You are most welcome in my home.”

Nothing comes of the evening practice.

Shadowhand Essik’s reports faithfully recount all relevant context. Caleb does not discuss much of his personal history with the Empire, nor anything of strategic value - Essik does not ask - but the human does recount several non-strategic details, such as the Zemni Fields’s changes throughout the seasons, common past-times, and specific festival foods. Essik finds the descriptions of the various dishes interesting, and finds it acceptable to give only very brief summaries of these discussions in his official documents.

Caleb’s questions must always be reported, but these are often summarized and grouped together very easily. Caleb is obviously very careful not to ask anything that would make him sound overly interested in military activities, ports, teleportation capabilities, etc. When he asks about Xhorhas, the questions are broad and simple, those of a tourist. Essik answers them happily. When Caleb asks about Essik’s personal experiences in the land, Essik is even happier to answer, and finds himself fascinated every time he is able to make those strange blue eyes light up in interest.

Other intel that is not necessary for the forms: which foods Caleb Widogast prefers (rice, white fish, oxtail, plum sauces, any roasted vegetables so far), which wines (red, as does Essik), or that Essik has reached out to the Marble Tomes for light sociology knowledge on Empire natives. He is very sure that the mixed messages he is receiving are a fault of his own, and that more effort is required.

It is several days later, after the fourth report, that Scribe Indril stands from her desk when Shadowhand Essik enters her office.

“Shadowhand,” she says respectfully. “I trust that this afternoon finds you well.”

“And you.” Essik’s hand hovers over the opening in his cloak, unsure if she wishes to receive anything from him. Indeed, she rounds the desk, opening the door Essik just shut and turning the small metal dial on the front to indicate that a private meeting is taking place. Essik’s heart goes perfectly still in his rib cage, not beating as Scribe Indril shuts the door, returns to her seat, and indicates for him to take a chair.

“In order to not be disturbed,” She explains, leaning to the side and unlocking a drawer in her desk. She pulls out what Essik recognizes as his most recently submitted report, and makes sure not to display any particular reaction. “I have no suspicions of maliciously exempted content, Shadowhand Essik,”

He can breathe once more.

“But I must also run checks for clarity of word, and I admit that I have some questions. I apologize as these may be a display of my own ignorance.”

Essik will endure any amount of nitpicking in this moment. He is just grateful that something has not led to a formal inquiry. “Please inquire as much as you need. I am still in your debt for making sure these are handled personally.” There are several Scribes, it is known, who keep operational knowledge very close to the chest, but are happy to gossip about matters considered unimportant to the mission. This would surely qualify.

Scribe Indril nods and pulls out a dark blue quill, hovering over a few lines halfway down. “Shadowhand Essik, in paragraph fourteen you state that you have again... please pardon me...”

“Speak freely.”

Scribe Indril adjusts the long silver pin keeping her hair back. In this moment, she looks very young, Essik thinks, although he would not be so disrespectful to her station as to say so. “You state that you invite Mr. Widogast to taste the wine you are drinking from your glass.”

“Correct.”

“You have done this in the past.”

Essik thinks back. “Since our second time eating together, I have done this.”

Scribe Indril nods and moves her quill further down the lines. “Mr. Widogast accepts the drink, thanks you, and does... not offer you the same?”

Essik keeps his back straight and his face impassive. “It is my understanding that many of the social norms we assume to be universal do not, in fact, reach as far as the Empire.”

Scribe Indril shoots him a very disbelieving and compassionate expression. “You also ordered his meal for him, and he accepted this. I’m not sure I understand why this was noted.”

“Ordering a meal for a dining partner is an Empire gesture. I recently gleaned this tradition from some texts.”

Scribe Indril considers this. “I suppose there are many customs which seem normal to those who live with them,” she says finally.

“Indeed,” Essik agrees, and does his best to keep the weariness out of his tone.

“Finally.” Scribe Indril clears her throat and glances at him with what appears to be an apology in advance. Essik steels himself. “There have been several visits to your home.”

“Yes.”

“If there has been....” Indril spins her quill between her fingers, lips pressed together. “Any sort of physical contact, I am obligated to inform you that it must be noted in your reports, and that omission of such content could be viewed as something that would require investigation. I understand that there is a specific sensitive nature to such encounters which requires brevity, but-”

“If such an event occurs, it will not be omitted from my reports.”

Scribe Indril looks at him with open surprise.

Shadowhand Essik remains perfectly still.

“No such event has occurred at this time,” Scribe Indril concludes uncertainly.

“Correct.”

Scribe Indril looks at Essik Theylas, Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, then down to the report, then, after the uncomfortable silence as she unlocks another drawer to access his previous reports and scan them, back to him.

“I do not understand humans,” she declares in a stilted formal tone. “Thank you for your compliance, Shadowhand. I wish you a peaceful day.”

“And you.”

#critical role #critical fic #shadowgast #shadowhand essik #essik #caleb widogast

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euteh · 5 years ago

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How long have you been using your current smartphone? The answer for an increasing number of consumers is years, plural. After all, why upgrade every year when next year’s model is almost exactly the same as the device you’re holding in your hand?

Dutch social enterprise Fairphone sees this as an opportunity to sell sustainability. A chance to turn a conversation about ‘stalled smartphone innovation’ on its head by encouraging consumers to think more critically about the costs involved in pumping out the next shiny thing. And sell them on the savings — individual and collective — of holding their staple gadget steady.

Its latest smartphone, the Fairphone 3 — just released this week in Europe — represents the startup’s best chance yet of shrinking the convenience gap between the next hotly anticipated touchscreen gizmo and a fairer proposition that requires an altogether cooler head to appreciate.

On the surface Fairphone 3 looks like a fairly standard, if slightly thick (1cm), Android smartphone. But that’s essentially the point. This 4G phone could be your smartphone, is the intended message.

Specs wise, you’re getting mostly middling, rather than stand out stuff. There’s a 5.7in full HD display, a Qualcomm Snapdragon 632 chipset, 4GB of RAM and 64GB of storage (expandable via microSD), a 12MP rear lens and 8MP front-facing camera. There’s also NFC on board, a fingerprint reader, dual nano-SIM slots and a 3,000mAh battery that can be removed for easy replacement when it wears out.

There’s also a 3.5mm headphone jack: The handy port that’s being erased at the premium smartphone tier, killing off a bunch of wired accessories with it. So ‘slow replacement’ smartphone hardware demonstrably encourages less waste across the gadget ecosystem too.

But the real difference lies under the surface. Fairer here means supply chain innovation to source conflict-free minerals that go into making the devices; social incentive programs that top up the minimum wages of assembly workers who put the phones together; and repairable, modular handset design that’s intended to reduce environmental impact by supporting a longer lifespan. Repair, don’t replace is the mantra.

All the extra effort that goes into making a smartphone less ethically challenging to own is of course invisible to the naked eye. So the Fairphone 3 buyer largely has to take the company’s word on trust.

The only visual evidence is repairability. Flip the phone over and a semi-opaque plastic backing gives a glimpse of modular guts. A tiny screwdriver included in the box allows you take the phone to pieces so you can swap out individual modules (such as the display) in case they break or fail. Fairphone sells replacements via a spare parts section of its website.

Despite this radically modular and novel design vs today’s hermetically sealed premium mobiles the Fairphone 3 feels extremely solid to hold.

It’s not designed to pop apart easily. Indeed, there’s a full thirteen screws holding the display module in place. Deconstruction takes work (and care not to lose any of the teeny screws). So this is modularity purely as occasional utility, not flashy party trick — as with Google’s doomed Ara Project.

For some that might be disappointing. Exactly because this modular phone feels so, well, boringly normal.

Visually the most stand out feature at a glance is the Fairphone logo picked out in metallic white lettering on the back. Those taking a second look will also spot a moralizing memo printed on the battery so it’s legible through the matte plastic — which reads: “Change is in your hands”. It may be a bit cringeworthy but if you’ve paid for an ethical premium you might as well flaunt it.

It’s fair to say design fans won’t be going wild over the Fairphone 3. But it feels almost intentionally dull. As if — in addition to shrinking manufacturing costs — the point is to impress on buyers that ethical internals are more than enough of a hipster fashion statement.

It’s also true that most smartphones are now much the same, hardware, features and performance wise. So — at this higher mid-tier price-point (€450/~$500) — why not flip the consumer smartphone sales pitch on its head to make it about shrinking rather than maximizing impact, via a dull but worthy standard?

That then pushes people to ask how sustainable is an expensive but valueless — and so, philosophically speaking, pointless — premium? That’s the question Fairphone 3 seems designed to pose.

Or, to put it another way, if normal can be ethical then shouldn’t ethical electronics be the norm?

Normal is what you get elsewhere with Fairphone 3. Purely judged as a smartphone its performance isn’t anything to write home about. It checks all the usual boxes of messaging, photos, apps and Internet browsing. You can say it gets the job done.

Sure, it’s not buttery smooth at every screen and app transition. And it can feel a little slow on the uptake at times. Notably the camera, while fairly responsive, isn’t lightning quick. Photo quality is not terrible — but not amazing either.

Testing the camera I found images prone to high acutance and over saturated colors. The software also struggles to handle mixed light and shade — meaning you may get a darker and less balanced shot that you hoped for. Low light performance isn’t great either.

That said, in good light the Fairphone 3 can take a perfectly acceptable selfie. Which is what most people will expect to be able to use the phone for.

Fairphone has said it’s done a lot of work to improve the camera vs the predecessor model. And it has succeeded in bringing photo performance up to workable standard — which is a great achievement at what’s also a slightly reduced handset price-point. Though, naturally, there’s still a big gap in photo quality vs the premium end of the smartphone market.

On the OS front, the phone runs a vanilla implementation of Android 9 out of the box — preloaded with the usual bundle of Google services and no added clutter so Android fans should feel right at home. (For those who want a Google-free alternative Fairphone says a future update will allow users to do a wipe and clean install of Android Open Source Project.)

In short, purely as a smartphone, the Fairphone 3 offers very little to shout about — so no screaming lack either. Again, if the point is to shrink the size of the compromise Fairphone is asking consumers to make in order to buy an ethically superior brand of electronics they are slowly succeeding in closing the gap.

It’s a project that’s clearly benefiting from the maturity of the smartphone market. While, on the cellular front, the transformative claims being made for 5G are clearly many years out — so there’s no issue with asking buyers to stick with a 4G phone for years to come.

Given where the market has now marched to, a ‘fairer’ smartphone that offers benchmark basics at a perfectly acceptable median but with the promise of reduced costs over the longer term — individual, societal and environmental — does seem like a proposition that could expand from what has so far been an exceptional niche into something rather larger and more mainstream.

Zooming out for a second, the Fairphone certainly makes an interesting contrast with some of the expensive chimeras struggling to be unfolded at the top end of the smartphone market right now.

Foldables like the Samsung Galaxy Fold — which clocks in at around 4x the price of a Fairphone and offers ~2x the screen real estate (when unfolded), plus a power bump. Whether the Fold’s lux package translates into mobile utility squared is a whole other question, though.

And where foldables will need to demonstrate a compelling use-case that goes above and beyond the Swiss Army utility of a normal smartphone to justify such a whopping price bump, Fairphone need only prick the consumer conscience — as it asks you pay a bit more and settle for a little less.

Neither of these sales pitches is challenge free, of course. And, for now, both foldables and fairer electronics remain curious niches.

But with the Fairphone 3 demonstrating that ethical can feel so normal it doesn’t seem beyond the pale to imagine demand for electronics that are average in performance yet pack an ethical punch scaling up to challenge the mainstream parade of copycat gadgets.

Read more: Source link

Fairphone 3 is a normal smartphone with ethical shine – TechCrunch How long have you been using your current smartphone? The answer for an increasing number of consumers is years, …

#ethical #Fairphone #Normal #Shine #smartphone #TechCrunch

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nayanasri · 5 years ago

Text

Despite this radically modular and novel design vs today’s hermetically sealed premium mobiles the Fairphone 3 feels extremely solid to hold.

For some that might be disappointing. Exactly because this modular phone feels so, well, boringly normal.

It’s also true that most smartphones are now much the same, hardware, features and performance wise. So — at this higher mid-tier price-point (€450/~$ 500) — why not flip the consumer smartphone sales pitch on its head to make it about shrinking rather than maximizing impact, via a dull but worthy standard?

That then pushes people to ask how sustainable is an expensive but valueless — and so, philosophically speaking, pointless — premium? That’s the question Fairphone 3 seems designed to pose.

Or, to put it another way, if normal can be ethical then shouldn’t ethical electronics be the norm?

That said, in good light the Fairphone 3 can take a perfectly acceptable selfie. Which is what most people will expect to be able to use the phone for.

Zooming out for a second, the Fairphone certainly makes an interesting contrast with some of the expensive chimeras struggling to be unfolded at the top end of the smartphone market right now.

Neither of these sales pitches is challenge free, of course. And, for now, both foldables and fairer electronics remain curious niches.

Android – TechCrunch

Fairphone 3 is a normal smartphone with ethical shine How long have you been using your current smartphone? The answer for an increasing number of consumers is years, …

#“Normal #ethical #Fairphone #Shine #Smartphone

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swanqueeneverafter · 6 years ago

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After The Sunset, Pt.12

Enchanted Forest. Present. (Regina walks alone through the forest until she arrives at 'Emerald Acres Farm' where 'There's no place like home'. Placing a hand on the gate, Regina takes a look around to see several little pigs snuffling around in their pen. Suddenly an arrow lands right next to her hand, followed quickly by a second. Pulling her hand away, Regina turns to face her attacker.) Regina: (Chuckles:) "I'm impressed. You're getting good." Robin: (Dropping her hood and running to meet her:) “Oh, Aunt Regina, I'm so sorry. (They hug:) I thought you were an intruder.” Zelena: (Arriving at the gates:) “Well, luckily, she's got her father's aim. (Opening them:) Those were warning shots, weren't they?” Robin: “Yes, of course, Mother. Just warning shots.” Regina: (The sisters embrace:) “Zelena, it is so good to see you. And Robin? She sure has grown up fast.” Zelena: “Well, at a much more normal pace recently. Oh, that reminds me, (Reaching into her pocket and withdrawing something:) This was dropped off on my porch yesterday. (Regina looks at the coin:) Have you seen it before? (Regina shakes her head:) It's a symbol of the Coven of the Eight. When it comes to witches, they're the worst of the worst.” Regina: “Gothel’s coven? But how can that be?” Robin: “Mom, if Gothel’s back then I have to warn-” Zelena: “No, don't worry. Look, darling, as soon as I knew what this was I flew right over and checked. Gothel is still a tree. She’s not coming back, I promise. (To Regina:) She's got a case of young love.” Regina: (Nods:) “Your mother’s right, Robin. Gothel is gone for good. This is most likely some prank being pulled on the Wicked Witch.” Zelena: (Scoffs:) “You’re probably right. Everyone knows about the Black Fairy taking my magic, but less people have heard I’ve got it back. The local village boys sure found out soon enough though. That’ll teach ‘em to play knock, knock, ginger with me.” Regina: (Shaking her head:) “All that aside, I’ve come to ask for a favour.” Zelena: “Oh really? Go on then.” Regina: “Well, Emma and I have decided to go away on honeymoon and I need someone to handle things at the mayor’s office.” Zelena: (Touched:) “And you thought of me?” Regina: “Of course. Storybrooke needs someone with authority in charge. That, and I don’t want Snow White getting anywhere near my office again.” Zelena: (Removing her apron, smiling:) “You can count on me.”

Storybrooke. Goldilocks Gym. After The Black Fairy's Curse. (It is the morning before Regina and Emma's bachelorette party. As Maid of Honour, Zelena is in charge of all proceedings, including the spin class they now find themselves in.) Emma: (Groaning:) "A spin class. Seriously?" Zelena: "Absolutely, you'll both need your energy for what I have planned tonight." (They all enter the room and each choose a machine.) Emma: (Climbing on, to Regina:) "What kind of bachelorette party requires us to work our quads beforehand?" Regina: "Believe it or not, I've been to a few of these classes. (At Emma's look:) As Roni. Just play along and pretend you love every second of it." Zelena: "That's right. You're all about to sweat like your life depends on it. Care to make it interesting, sis?" Regina: "Oh no, I'll be happy if I just survive." Zelena: "I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to my sis-to-be. (Looks to Emma:) How about it, Emma? Person with the most miles wins?" Emma: (Smirks:) "Yeah, all right, you're on. Gina?" Regina: (Scoffs, shaking her head:) "Play nice you two." Zelena: "Of course. (As the instructor starts the music and the class is about to begin:) All right, my cycling monkeys. Grab onto your bikes and fly!"

Wonderland. Past. (Drizella walks through the forest before being met by Gothel.) Gothel: “I see you've come to your senses.” Drizella: (Holding up the coin:) “I've come to join your little supernatural sewing circle.” (Places it in Gothel’s hand.) Gothel: “It's not that simple. You're not the only witch with interest. (They walk further into the forest, arriving at a circle of witches:) Now the last recruit has arrived we can begin. (Drizella takes her place around the circle:) Each of you shows promise. But only two of you will get the honor of joining The Coven of the Eight. I've hidden two golden flowers in the woods beyond the river. Whoever returns with these mystical plants will show themselves worthy. You'll each work alone. You'll have to be savvy and cutthroat.” Drizella: “Well, so much for sisterhood.” Gothel: (Turns to face her:) “Sisterhood is a prize not easily won. Happy hunting.” (Gothel disappears in a cloud of smoke and the witches split off in different directions.) Eilonwy: (Walking with Drizella:) “Gothel can be a bag of wind sometimes. I liked seeing you put her in her place.” Drizella: “Well, I'm glad you enjoyed the show.” Eilonwy: (Grabs Drizella’s arm:) “Hang on one second. (Drizella pushes her against a tree, holding a branch at her throat. Impressed:) I knew you were the strong one.” Drizella: “What's your point?” Eilonwy: “Alone out here, we're just gonna get lost. But together, we can find these things. We can both win this.” Drizella: (Considers for a moment, then drops the branch:) “I'm glad I didn't run you through with that stick.” (The two witches walk off together.)

Arendelle. Present. (Two women lay in bed together making out when a cell phone rings. Both women groan at this before one reaches out their hand and answers the phone.) Lily: (Sitting up:) "Hello?" Emma: "Hey, Lily, how's it going?" Lily: (As her companion kisses her neck:) "Oh, I've had worse mornings. What's up?" Emma: "Well, I'm gonna be headed out of town for a little while and I thought maybe you'd like to come help out at the station?" Lily: "The Sheriff's station?" Emma: "Yeah, I mean, your dad mentioned that you'd not been up to much lately and-" Lily: (Smiling down at her bed mate:) "Oh, I've been doing plenty." Emma: (Frowns as she hears the sounds of kissing over the phone:) "Are you- Are you with someone right now?" Lily: (Chuckles:) "Maybe. Listen, Emma, thanks for thinking of me, but I really don't think me being your father's deputy is something I could handle-" Emma: "No, no. You misunderstand. You'd be the Sheriff while I'm gone. I'd be leaving you in charge." Lily: "Really?" Emma: "Well, if you don't think you can handle it..." Lily: (Sighs:) "I'll be there in a little while." Emma: "Okay, great. Wait, Lily, where are you right now?" Lily: (Laughs:) "Don't worry about it. I'll see you soon. (Lily hangs up and turns to the woman beside her:) That was Emma. She wants me to take over as Sheriff for her while she's out of town." Elsa: "That sounds wonderful. D-do you have any experience with that sort of thing?" Lily: (Scoffs:) "No. (Kissing her:) But neither does Emma. She was a bail-bonds person before she became Sheriff and the guy before her was a huntsman. I think I can handle it." Elsa: (Watching Lily get dressed:) "Well it sounds like all you need to be sheriff is the ability to find people. And who's better at that than a dragon?" Lily: (Turns, buckling her jeans:) "Exactly." Elsa: "Will I see you later? Perhaps for dinner?" Lily: "Babe, we've talked about this. I'm just not ready to meet your family yet." Elsa: "But I know Anna would just love you." Lily: (Chuckles:) "That's not been my experience with families. (Leans down to kiss her once more:) I'll call you, okay?" Elsa: (Softly:) "Okay."

Enchanted Forest. Past. Underwater Cave. (Will Scarlett, Hook, Liam and Captain Nemo find themselves entering an underwater cave.) Will: (Pulling his helmet off and looking around:) "Bloody hell." Nemo: “These are dangerous waters. Stay close. Don't step off the path.” Hook: “What exactly are we after?” Nemo: “You'll see soon enough. It's up ahead.” Liam: “You heard the Captain, stay close.” (They begin walking, Liam and Nemo leading the way.) Hook: (To Will:) “So you’re telling me you stole Maleficent’s looking glass and used it to send yourself here?” Will: “No, I stole it to give to my sister so she could escape the tower she’s currently trapped in.” Hook: “Well, either way, I no longer have means of contacting Maleficent. The woman doesn’t trust me at the best of times, lord knows what she’ll be thinking if she can’t keep tabs on me.” Will: “Sounds to me as if your wife keeps you on a tight leash.” Hook: “Hey. She’s not my wife, we just have a... mutually beneficial arrangement.” Will: “Well I’m not being funny, mate, but you’re a pirate. Can’t you get that sort of arrangement at any port side tavern?” Hook: “In case it slipped your notice, mate, Mal isn’t like other women. She’s special.” Will: “Oh, aye, a woman who breathes fire and has scales sounds mighty special to me.” Liam: “Quiet back there!” Will: “Listen, do you really believe everything the old man says?” Liam: “You should listen to him. You might learn something.” Hook: “Well I think the pressure's getting to all of you.” Liam: “I'd give my life for that man.” Hook: “Why? What's he ever done for you?” Liam: “When I was a child, my family was taken from me. I grew up next to the docks, fending for myself, desperate to make the people who took them pay. (Sighs:) It was only a matter of time before I got myself killed.” Will: “And then what? Nemo kidnapped you?” Liam: “That man saved my life.” Hook: “Let me ask you one question. Your quest for vengeance... did you ever find those who wronged you?” Liam: “No, and I'm lucky I didn't.” Hook: “Then talk to me when vengeance is in your grasp. It won't be so easy to give up then.” Nemo: (Up ahead:) “There it is.” (Will, Hook and Liam hurry to catch up to the captain.) Hook: (Spotting a chest in the distance:) “Bloody hell. All this for hidden treasure?” Nemo: “Aye, but there's more than gold and jewels in that chest.” (Suddenly, Hook and Will are both grabbed by tentacles coming out of the water.) Hook: “Kraken!” Liam: (Rushing to save them:) “Hold on!” (Liam uses his knife to stab the tentacle holding Will’s leg, causing the creature to roar in pain before releasing him.) Hook: (Still in the Kraken’s grip:) “Nemo!” Nemo: (Picking up a harpoon:) “Hold on!” (Nemo hurls the harpoon at the Kraken’s eye, finally causing the creature to release Hook and return to the murky depths of the sea.) Liam: “We told you to stay close.” Will: “We could've been killed!” Nemo: (Chuckles:) “No, your destinies have yet to be fulfilled. Believe it or not, you're part of this family.”

Storybrooke. Goldilocks Gym. After The Black Fairy’s Curse. (The spin class has ended and people are leaving the room. Only Zelena, Regina and Emma remain.) Zelena: (Checking the clocks:) "So it seems that I win. And quite easily by the looks of it." Emma: (Gasping for air:) "H-how did you keep up that pace for so long?" Regina: (Laughs:) "Isn't it obvious? She used her magic." Zelena: "Aw, ‘fraid not, sis. Though it is nice of you to try and make your blushing bride feel better about her dismal performance." Emma: "Then how?" Zelena: (Chuckles:) "Well while you two are off enjoying your sordid sexcapades together, those of us who are still single have to channel our energies in different ways." Regina: (Checking each woman's machine for herself:) "So you're saying you whupped Emma's butt because you're hor-" Zelena: "Frustrated? Yes, it would seem so. (To Emma:) Remember, darling, my needs aren't being attended to regularly like yours are." Emma: (Climbing off the bike:) "I need to shower. (To Regina:) I think I pulled something." Zelena: "Just wait until tonight, they'll be plenty for you to pull." Regina: "Zelena!" Zelena: "Fine. More for me." A Short Time Later. (Freshly showered, the three women stand in the gym's reception area.) Zelena: "So, you remember the itinerary for tonight?" Emma: (Nods:) "We meet you and the others at Roni's for drinks." Regina: "And then you'll let us know the rest of your plans?" Zelena: (Smiling:) "All will be revealed, I promise. Now, off you go and make yourselves beautiful. It's gonna be a memorable night." Emma: (Shares a look with Regina before speaking:) "Hey, Zelena, I just wanted to thank you again for organising all this." Zelena: "Oh, please. It's the least I could do for my little sister and her bride-to-be." Emma: (As she and Zelena hug, quietly:) "You may have beaten me in spin class, but there's no way you'll beat me at shots." Zelena: (As they part, smiling:) "I look forward to the challenge." Regina: "Promise me you won't make us look foolish tonight." Zelena: "You can count on me. Besides, I've already checked and there's no karaoke where we're going." Regina: (Chuckles:) "You bitch." Zelena: (As they hug:) "It's not my fault you're tone deaf." Regina: "I am not!" Emma: "All right you two, lets break it up." Zelena: "See, Emma agrees with me." Emma: "I didn't-" Zelena: (Smirks:) "You two are too easy. So, drinks at Roni's, 7pm sharp. I'll be waiting." (With that, Zelena vanishes in a cloud of green smoke.) Emma: "Oh thank god." (Emma quickly leans on Regina for support.) Regina: (Wrapping her arm around Emma:) "I warned you before we came to go easy." Emma: "Yeah yeah, just help me to the car. I'll be fine after I lay down." Regina: (Laughs:) "Whatever you say, dear."

Wonderland. Past. (Drizella and Eilonwy walk through the forest, lead by the latter’s magical bauble.) Drizella: “Are you sure we can trust this bouncing ball of yours?” Eilonwy: “It hasn’t let me down yet. You know, you remind me of a friend? He was moody too, but I won him round.” Drizella: “Well, if you guys are so tight, why isn't he out here with you?” Eilonwy: “We were very young when we first met each other. Where you start with people isn't always where you end up.” Drizella: “And where did you end up?” Eilonwy: “He and I met in the Horned King’s dungeon, where we were both being held. We didn’t like each other at first but after you experience something like that together, it bonds you.” Drizella: “Well whatever happened, it seems like you got out okay.” Eilonwy: “Not unscathed. And from that day on, I was determined never to be weak to that sort of power again.” Drizella: “And your friend?” Eilonwy: “Forever altered. Last I heard, he was traveling around under a different name. You might not get it, but losing someone so close to you eats a hole in you that's damn-near impossible to fill.” Drizella: “I get it more than you know. What was his name?” Eilonwy: “Taran. I'm Eilonwy.” Drizella: “Good to meet you, Eilonwy. I'm Drizella.” (Drizella walks forward and sets off a tripwire. Using her powers, she manages to stop a battering ram flying towards them. Turning, Eilonwy uses her own magic to explode the second battering ram.) Drizella: (As they share a relieved laugh:) “Well, I guess you did learn something in that dungeon after all.” Eilonwy: “And if your abilities weren't as sharp as your tongue, we'd be flat as pancakes right now.” Drizella: “Come on. Let's best these witches.”

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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sandstonesunspear · 7 years ago

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Yahrtzeit

Just something that popped into my head for Memorial Day. Some angst ahead, so if that’s not your cuppa, then maybe take a pass on this one. For the rest of y’all, enjoy.

Yahrtzeit (yart-zeit, Yiddish): the anniversary of the date of one’s passing.

Alex stared up at the ceiling, watching as the stars drifted by. Astra snored quietly next to her. She reached out and gently stroked their headplates. Their face scrunched up at the sensation, but otherwise there was no reaction. She smiled. The soft rumbles were a music to her ears and a welcome change from the choked gasps that had plagued the sick budling.

Alex sighed and sat up, careful not to disturb the sleeping budling next to her. She grabbed several pillows and placed them around Astra. Satisfied that they were no longer in any risk of falling off the bed, Alex stood. She tapped her comm badge.

“Belen?”

Her comm badge crackled to life. “Yes, Captain?”

“Are you free? I need you to watch Astra.”

“Say no more, I’ll be right up.” Her badge clicked off.

Alex looked back over to the bed. Astra was still asleep. The door pinged and then hissed open. She glanced at the door to see Belen walk in.

“That was fast,” Alex noted.

Belen shrugged. “Bob and I were testing the site to site transport system.”

That sounded dangerous. Alex narrowed her eyes. “I assume you both are taking the necessary precautions to not space yourselves?” Given her own tendency to toss safety regulations out the airlock when it came to her own actions, the irony of her making sure her crew were following them did not escape her.

“I’m here aren’t I?” Belen joked.

Alex merely raised an eyebrow.

Belen huffed. “Yes, Captain, we are.” She didn’t mention that the DEO was now short a few potted plants and the mysterious meat that Kessel had picked up at the Kalini space port.

Alex nodded. “Good.” She sighed. “Now, I have to go take care of some things, can you make sure that Astra--”

“Doesn’t fall off the bed?” Belen interrupted, already knowing what Alex was going to ask. “Sure.” She held a hand up. “And I’ll ping you and Zar’ya if Astra starts to get sick again.”

Alex exhaled. Her crew knew her too well. “Alright, I shouldn’t be long.”

“Take as much time as you need. Don’t think the kiddo will be up anytime soon.” Belen made her way the bed where Astra was laying. “Captain?”

Alex paused, hand outstretched to hit the door panel. “Yeah?”

“Good luck with whatever it is that you’re doing.”

“Thanks.”

Alex’s steps echoed throughout the metal corridors of the DEO. There was barely a soul in sight. Occasionally, she crossed paths with someone on the nightshift who raised a greeting, but otherwise, it was silent. Most of the crew were either asleep or catching up on paperwork on different decks. Even if there had been an influx of noise, it was doubtful that Alex would have noticed it. Her mind was caught up on other things.

She came to stop before a heavy metal door. Like just about everything else on the DEO, it had seen better days. It contained a myriad of scuffs and blaster marks from the various confrontations the DEO had found herself in. There was even a spot where a patch had been haphazardly welded on to plug a hole from a pulse grenade.

Alex sighed and pushed the door open. It squealed and groaned as it slowly moved. She inwardly winced at the noise and made a note to get whoever was on the next maintenance rotation to oil the hinges.

Various types of incense and spices filled Alex’s nose the second she was inside. She shut the door behind her and took it all in. On other ships, they would have called this place a chapel or maybe even a sanctuary. To the crew of DEO, it was known as the Room of Respite or even more simply, Respite. It was a place where those of all species could come to meditate away from the chaos that often plagued the ship or perform whatever rituals of worship they needed to. There were a handful of prayer mats rolled up and tucked along the left wall. In the back left corner was a modest bookcase containing various holy texts. The back of the room was perhaps the most important area in the eyes of the crew; it was a memorial wall, containing the names of all of those who had perished during the DEO’s journey. In front of it were several rows of unlit candles.

Alex let out a breath and made her way to the wall. Her hand went to her coat pocket, where a small box of matches sat. She stopped just short of it, taking in the names. She pulled out the matchbox, removed a match, and struck it against the side. Her nose wrinkled unconsciously as the smell of sulfur filled the air.

Falare T’Smar. Alex lit a candle. Falare was from Caldeonia 5 and, prior to Reinhart joining the team and Astra’s birth, the youngest member of the crew. She had escaped a devastating interplanetary civil war that killed her parents, only to die herself at the hands of some low-level thug in space four years later. She had just turned 19.

Alex struck another match and lit another candle. Korliss. A grizzled old Sarcian, Korliss had found himself on Earth in an attempt to start over after losing his entire family to the harsh environment of his homeworld. He had died stopping a group of Kandorian marauders. He managed to dispatch 15 of them before a cheap shot took him down.

Another match, another candle. Pelisarria B’Salaye. A native of Taevar, Pelissaria, or Peebee as the crew affectionately called her, had come to Earth to escape an abusive partner. Before Cadmus had launched her and the DEO into space, she had set herself up as one of National City’s best mechanics. In space, she had proven to be one of Alex’s best engineers. She had died three days after the DEO had come under attack from a Daxamite slaving party. She had been exposed to a lethal amount of radiation while getting the DEO’s warp core back online after a well-placed photon torpedo has knocked it out. Despite the agony she had undoubtedly been in, she died with a smile on her face as Alex and Zar’ya sat by her side.

Sameen. Astra’s budparent and one of the few to make it off of Soris-Vel alive after the Katoh-Fel started a indiscriminate, system-wide campaign of genocide. They had died taking down a Katoh-Fel Overseer. Their death had been one of the hardest for Alex to deal with.

Garth Logan. Linda Elvan. Solana Ama Daar’av. Zorah Ga’el. Shalaran B’Navar. Gordot Valern. Jax. Jadzia. Bacchus. Vetor Reegar. Neeves.

Alex went through name after name, lighting a candle for each one. Eventually, all of them were glowing. She took in each individual flame. It was far too many for her liking. She had known from the beginning that the chances of her returning to Earth without any casualties was a pipe dream at best. But still, she couldn’t stop her stomach from twisting at the sight of so many names and lit candles.

She closed her eyes. “Ahl hakol yitgadal v’yishtabach, v’yitroman v’yitnasay, sh’mo shel hakadosh baruch hu...” she started quietly. For the unity, for the complexity, and for everything contained within Great, praised, exalted, and uplifted…

Alex wasn’t the most observant of Jews, but there were just some traditions that even she wouldn’t cast aside. The minyan requirement for a full Kaddish prayer was one of them. Without a minyan present, the full Mourner’s Kaddish couldn’t be said. But tradition or not, Alex refused to let her crew go unmourned. So she improvised and said a modified version of it.

“V’shalom rav yahvo aleinu, v’al kol yoshvay tayval,” she finished. And a great peace will come upon us and to all who dwell in this world.

She opened her eyes. Aside from the occasional crackle from the flames, the room was utterly silent. Respite was the only location on the ship untouched by the hum from the warp core. It created an eerie stillness.

Alex raised her hand to trance the names one more time. She wanted to promise them that not another name would join them. That the most recent crewman to fall would be the last. But she couldn’t. The most she could do was whisper a prayer and an apology and do her best to see the rest of her crew home, safe.

Alex’s comm badge crackled. “Sorry to bother you, Captain, but Astra’s starting to wake up,” Belen said.

Alex sighed. She tapped the badge. “Tell them I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she responded. She stepped away from the wall and moved to leave Respite. She paused briefly to glance back. Small flames twinkled merrily at her. A sad smile drew at her lips. She shook her head. Her time here was up. It was time to get back to work.

She pulled the door open and exited the room. The door slowly creaked shut. The candles continued to burn.

#space pirate!alex #my writing #supergirl #alex danvers #fic #long post #ish

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grimahearted · 7 years ago

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below the cut is a 1.6k-word meta turned drabble about the first timeline. PLEASE be mindful of the trigger warnings listed in the tags--i don’t think it’s too graphic, but i do name certain actions and it might be disturbing. everything has either been drawn directly from canon, has been plotted with another mun, or involves a muse who i have not interacted with.

this is canon to my blog

ruya is a lot less trusting and a lot less forgiving in the first timeline. her past is...painful, shall we say, between being on the run, losing their mother, being forcibly teleported away on the brink of being captured, and suffering from abuse/assault at the hands of previous employers, because in ylisse no one in a court of law is gonna believe the brown girl over the white man--especially when the charge is rape. moreover, she’s faced a lot of racism (both in terms of microaggressions and in overt stuff).

she joins the shepherds out of necessity. she’s running out of money, and sure, she’s not exactly leaping at the chance to be employed by the crown, it’s money and a place to stay, and she figures she’ll leave them within a couple of months anyway. she doesn’t trust the shepherds any farther than she can throw them, and she can’t throw ‘em very far because she’s not the physically strongest person around. also, she’s less likely to forgive someone for a slight, especially if she perceives it to be racial. of course, she doesn’t do much outwardly because she’s clearly the outsider in the shepherds, and doing so wouldn’t be safe (in her mind, anyway).

it’s also harder for people to excuse her lack of social skills. as an amnesiac, there’s a clear explanation. but when she refuses to talk about her past and clearly has some odd mannerisms, people tend to keep their distance. not everyone, of course, but some.

so, fast forward to them reaching regna ferox. she’s not too happy with chrom’s comment about the plegians being sent to cause trouble at the border (even if she understands his frustration), and the only shepherd she feels like is maybe a friend is lissa, because lissa feels the safest out of the shepherds and also being mean to lissa would feel like kicking a puppy, and ruya’s not one to kick puppies.

she does sort of get along with virion, and is one of the first shepherds to realize he’s from roseanne (though even she doesn’t know he’s the duke), and once she tells him to buzz off on the flirting and they discover a mutual interest in chess, they’re at least...somewhere on the way to becoming friends.

by the time they’ve rescued maribelle, ruya’s friend list consists of lissa, virion, chrom (who managed to make amends after some serious conversation), and sumia (whom she bonded with over books). it’s just enough to give her some ties to the shepherds, and with aversa and gangrel knowing exactly where she is, she figures it’s better to stay put.

then the assassination happens. chrom is severely wounded in an attempt on his life, which will leave him with a permanent injury on his leg and prevents him from rushing to emmeryn’s aid once the main force arrives. ruya does her best to cobble together a defense, but she has to get chrom medical attention first. they run into gaius on their way, and the candies that fall out of chrom’s pockets while ruya is trying and failing to soldier carry chrom plus gaius’ own misgivings about the assassination thing. it’s a good thing she does, because gaius can carry chrom better than she can, and he gives her a vital piece of news: rajya is among the assassins, looking for her.

by the time ruya manages to rejoin the fray, gaius in tow, the shepherds are in a bit of disarray, seeing as they basically ran over after hearing the explosion, and there are holes in their defenses even after ruya starts giving orders because ruya doesn’t know the layout of the castle. she manages to recruit rajya, who was all too happy to defect from the other side to join her under the name raven, and a taguel named panne, who claims to owe the exalted line a debt.

it’s not enough. assassins use the secret passages known to only a select few to run right around their defenses, and by the time ruya realizes and scrambles to catch up, emmeryn is lying in a pool of her own blood, and the fire emblem is gone.

it’s not her fault, chrom tells her. but she feels like it is, and what’s more, most people (including many of the shepherds) blame her. it’s bad enough that she’s a plegian who’s tightlipped about her past, worse still that she recruited two of the enemy, and worst of all they find out that validar is her father--something even she didn’t know. chrom is hastily crowned exalt and puts his foot down, promising ruya a place in the shepherds if she wishes it, no matter what uproar the nobility might create.

with the few friends she has in the shepherds suffering from wounds both physical and mental, ruya decides to stay. chrom is grateful, and several of the shepherds relieved. others, not so. rumors begin to swirl, stories of blame twisting into stories of collusion--she was a spy all along, planted to ensure that the assassination runs smooth.

with chrom on her side, she finally has the safety to fight back. she no longer just takes the cruel words and snide laughter, nor the thinly veiled accusations or slights that go beyond just words. but it doesn’t matter. she can insist all she wants, gaius and rajya can corroborate all they want, but the specter of guilt hangs steadily over her shoulders. still, she stays.

the war with plegia is long and grueling, with them facing the full might of the plegian army with their smaller force and low morale. but they see it through. with gangrel’s head lopped off in the desert sands and the fire emblem back in their grasp, they return home, weary but triumphant. chrom makes her his formal advisor and grants rajya a place to stay, should she wish it.

her new position only fuels the anger held by many in the court, and the slights increase to even a poisoned drink. deliberate snubs and rumors of an enchanted exalt, beguiled by plegian magic, begin to swirl. ( if ruya marries chrom, it is only worse)

luckily, she won’t have to put up with them for long. valm attacks port ferox, and the shepherds ride again after just shy of a year of peace, and ruya’s relationship with a majority of the shepherds is as rocky as ever. none amongst them doubt her loyalty any longer, years of fighting erasing that doubt. but they aren’t exactly close, either. ruya holds many of them at arms’ length, save for the precious few whom she trusts. but things are better, and she’s happy to call each and every shepherd a friend, or at least a friendly acquaintance.

the war with valm proceeds more or less the way it did in the second timeline, save for the occasional complication made by chrom’s leg. say’ri and tiki join their party, and while ruya takes to both of them, she’s left chilled by tiki’s occasional musings on their own similarities, and the knowledge that the manakete brings--the grimleal are trying to revive their fallen god, and the only way to safeguard against it is to collect the remaining gemstone and complete the rite of awakening.

plegia has sable. in hindsight, it is just too convenient that they extend an invitation. but alas, validar had been careful to keep distance between himself and his most devout followers, and even rajya does not realize that it’s a trap before it’s too late.

ruya seizes the emblem under validar’s command, bound to his will by the rite performed on her as an infant, and rajya launches an assault on the prince, validar’s aim to end as much of the exalted bloodline as he can. chrom does not want to fight rajya, but frederick cannot simply stand by as his liege is attacked.

frederick’s lance pierces rajya, and the surge of emotion it wells within ruya is enough to break the last of validar’s grip on her mind. she breaks free just in time to cradle her twin sister as she dies. fearing what else they might lose, the shepherds flee castle plegia, rajya’s body left behind.

ruya rounds on frederick in her grief. validar’s control left rajya wide open to attack, her sorcerer’s robes no match for the strength of a lance, but ruya doesn’t know that. she blames frederick, only to find herself facing the business end of his lance, still red with rajya’s blood. he delivers his judgement: she is a threat to chrom, and she must die.

chrom intervenes, placing himself between frederick and ruya as he professes his complete faith in her. frederick reluctantly agrees not to harm ruya without provocation, but it means little to her emotionally, even though she can concede that she understands.

fragile trust grows even more strained in the wake of her forced betrayal, and no matter how much her closest friends try, ruya’s perception of the shepherds is irrevocably soured--in no small part due to grima whispering in her ear.

ruya knows little about the rituals required to revive the fell dragon, but she has ammi’s stories of an altar deep in the desert, where grima supposedly slumbers. if grima will be awakened anywhere, it will be there.

and so they go, grima’s influence on ruya’s thoughts and feelings growing as he takes firm root in her psyche. they enter the dragon’s table to find validar ready for his rite, but the presence of the gemstones has grima so awakened in her that she can barely think straight. still, she leads the shepherds to victory...but alas. the lives lost during the battle--including some of her friends’--at the altar are enough to feed grima just enough, and he takes control for only a moment--driving thoron through chrom’s chest.

“this was not your fault...promise me...you’ll get away from this place.” but it is, and there’s no going back from what she’s just done. chrom’s pretty words of peace and goodwill are nothing, for she has seen that nothing changes that she is plegian and they ylissean. their differences cannot overcome the bonds that she’s made.

the fell dragon calls to her, and she gives in.

#°❀•°: even with ashes in my mouth i was still born to breathe ( headcanon. )#murder cw /#manipulation cw /#abuse cw /#assault cw /#racism cw /#rape cw /#attempted murder cw /#oh i guess ot3 would actually change some stuff but not in the overall narrative hmm #god i hope this readmore works on mobile if not i'm sorry

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swimmingeaglestarlight · 4 years ago

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Sarah Broom The Yellow House

Sarah Broom The Yellow House Award

Sarah M Broom The Yellow House

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Sarah M. Broom was writing long before Hurricane Katrina. What would ultimately become her memoir, The Yellow House, started as a collection of notes and essays on the house she grew up in, her family, her neighbors, and her local community in New Orleans. She began in the late 1990s after leaving home for college, and it eventually became impossible for her to see the work as anything other than a book project: a family portrait and a history of New Orleans, which would explore the larger social narrative of the United States.

‘The Yellow House’ by Sarah M. Broom is an absorbing debut that is both memoir and commentary about her New Orleans East family in a pre and post-Hurricane Katrina world. Broom’s writing style is inviting, filled with facts, and enough descriptive detail to keep me engaged.

Sarah Broom: The Yellow House May 28, 2020 by Michael Schulder &bullet; At Home With Authors &bullet; 66min If you hope to immerse yourself in our one-hour conversation with Sarah Broom but only have a moment to spare, please sample the first two minutes.

Sarah Broom’s The Yellow House is a memoir that is at once intensely personal and of wide and universal appeal. Broom brings her journalistic experience to bear in order to trace her family’s.

While it’s impossible to underscore Hurricane Katrina’s impact on her family and the city at large, Broom’s hope with The Yellow House is to reveal the ways in which Katrina was no singular catastrophe. “When we boil Katrina down to a weather event, we really miss the point,” Broom told me recently over the phone. “It’s so crucially important for me to put Katrina in context, to situate it as one in a long line of things that are literally baked into the soil of this place.”

Broom recognized these connections, but her aim was not so clear to publishers. “The main complaint was that I needed to choose,” Broom recalled. “That I was either going to write a book about New Orleans or a book about my family, but not both—which was so confounding to me that I couldn’t even process it.” While memoir is often pigeonholed as subjective and emotional, the genre is a genuine entry point for history: Collective historical narratives are drawn from individual experiences. Broom writes in her book, “The facts of the world before me inform, give shape and context to my own life. The Yellow House was witness to our lives. When it fell down, something in me burst. My mother is always saying, Begin as you want to end. But my beginning precedes me.”