#high control group is actually extraordinarily helpful for me
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I am deeply deeply grateful for this reblog.
I've never even heard the phrase "high control group" and have always felt so needlessly dramatic describing what I left as a cult.
Even though there's BITE criteria there in spades. And someone who also left an eco-cult immediately described this as that, after maybe 1/3rd of the details. say it's unequivocally a cult
I guess that's another thing they do to you. You end up worried you'll sound crazy or making a mountain out of a molehill.
I thankfully didn't have to stay long, not even a year. But if I hadn't gotten lucky with my housing I would have had to dig in deeper and find ways to justify how people were treated there, I think. I've felt trapped and helpless before in my life. Having root physical safety dependency adds such a layer to all of this.
#if you find yourself constantly analyzing your behavior in the context of one specific figure as a center point of a social group.#if others do too. then that's.. something to think about#cult is such a harsh scary word#high control group is actually extraordinarily helpful for me#thank you
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Suicidal Misunderstanding X
Star Wars Time Travel AU #27
Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V - - - - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII - - - - - Part IX
“I realize this is incredibly difficult,” the Nautolan Soul Healer said calmly. “But in order for us to help Obi-Wan, we need to determine the cause of his current disconnection with reality. Based on the drug panel, and convenient surveillance, we have, to the best of our ability, ruled out temporary psychosis brought on by a drug interaction.”
Cody stiffened further, not sure how to react to anything anymore. When a brother tried to end his own life, it was usually obvious why.
Sife Aerdo continued on. “There have, of course, been cases of Jedi Seers giveing into their fears of the future, or losing their sense of reality, but every case study involving such an extreme reaction was the result a gradual degradation over the course of many years. Nevertheless, it seems clear that Obi-Wan experienced a vision, and it may have impacted his breakdown to some extent. The more we know, the more successful any attempts to convince him of reality will be.”
Bant furrowed her brow in thought, trying to replay three decades of increasingly vague discussions of nightmares.
”Considering the high profile nature of his position, we cannot rule out some kind of psychological attack, perhaps even a darksider incursion.
Anakin leaned forward intently, the inside of his skull buzzing with white noise.
"All that being said, we must be prepared to treat Obi-Wan’s self harm as the culmination of a long and quiet mental health struggle. He would not be the first in the Order to disguise such a thing with durasteel self-discipline.”
At that, Bant and Mace took a moment to release their feelings to the force, while Anakin raised his shields defensively.
Master Aerdo finally hesitated, before continuing in the same smooth tone. “I would ordinarily prefer to structure this kind of conversation quite differently- allow Obi-Wan time to share his feelings first and invite you each separately to support him in the healing process. But he’s gone from fighting sedatives and force compulsions as though the fate of the galaxy depended on it, to a self-induced coma. All while barely lucid, yet still somehow maintaining Master Class mental shielding. We need to get a better understanding of his mental landscape if we’re going to even begin the process of treatment."
It is necessary to note that everyone in that room had led, in one way or another, a somewhat miserable life. This was the main reason none of them could claim that the next five hours were the worst they had ever experienced.
“But he’s always had terrible sleeping habits.” Anakin said hoarsely.
“Yes, but I think they got worse after Qui-Gon passed,” Bant argued, not sure what point she was making.
“When I pointed out he couldn’t be getting more than three hours a night he told me that he could manage on meditation” Cody offered irritably.
“That’s technically true,” Mace confirmed. “If the Master in question is well-balanced otherwise”
“So its like his eating habits, crushing responsibilities, and repeated exposure to violence, then? Completely fine for a Jedi, in less it’s not, in which case it’s a major red flag?”
“I think it would help to establish a timeline.“
Aerdo actually dredged up old mission reports, leading to the group reluctantly contacting Ashoka for her memories of Mortis.
At her Master’s insistence, she told them everything she remembered, hazy as it was, nervously elaborating on her own memories of falling. To her confusion, Master Windu all but brushed past that, assuring her that the important thing with stepping into darkness was the choice to the return to the light. Anakin bizarrely agreed with Windu. Out loud. Unnerved by the cooperation more than anything, she put her holographic foot down and demanded to know what was going on.
Anakin took the comm-link into a separate room to speak privately.
Upon return, he informed the group (with a visibly red and puffy face) that Kit would be escorting her back from Mount Cala cleanup early, daring anyone to disagree. Windu nodded and the conversation continued on.
Together they rewatched holo-footage of Obi-Wan laughing amongst Ghost company the night before last, and debated reports from psychometric investigators who had scoured the cantina as well as Obi-Wan’s personal quarters for traces of illicit substances. Between that and another drug panel, they were finally forced to conclude that despite the timing, the alcohol at most confused Obi-Wan’s perception of a vision, or possibly simply loosened his tongue.
Bant prodded Cody to repeat every word from the holocar ride to the temple, taking furious notes. Cody was unable to stop the heat that crawled up his face.
Just when the looming horror of Obi-Wan actually preparing to intentionally die started to break over Anakin, Windu interjected.
“You don’t see what I do,” the Harun Kal said grimly. “Something galaxy-sized shattered around Obi-Wan and he didn’t break from it. The closest comparison I have is Master Yaddle’s presence when she meditated on her confinement. He’s chosen to keep going, even when, quite frankly, death would be a release. We’re missing something fundamental.”
“He said there were ‘other dark forces at work.’ Even if the fight was objectively hopeless... there’s no way he would choose to die because of it!” Anakin agreed vehemently, shaking off morbid fears.
“But he did choose to die.” Cody said quietly. And the wind went out of Anakin’s sails.
“Lets go back.”
Anakin gritted his teeth as they picked apart everything ‘unusual’ Obi-Wan had said and done leading up to his visit with Bant.
“What exactly did he...”
“So Plo Koon was able to get a read through his shields?”
“Did he have anything to eat?”
“How did that compare to...”
“When he's mentioned things in the future...did it seem good or bad to you?” Bant asked.
“Bad.” Cody and Anakin said in unison. Remembering the trip to the temple Cody spoke again, “Definitely bad.”
“Right. When we were talking he sometimes used the wrong tenses for things, people. I confronted him on not knowing ‘when’ he was after Knight Skywalker left. He told me that he knew what was real, but he was “enjoying not fully living in the moment” he also said that he intended to “wake up”
“Enjoying? That’s the exact word he used?” Cody asked incredulous.
“He did seem...mostly happy yesterday. Giddy, at points.” Anakin said, slumping in on himself.
Bant looked at her notes once more before addressing the group.
“This isn’t vision psychosis in any manner I’ve heard of before...but I think I might have a theory. He used to have intense visions when we were kids; plenty of us did sometimes, but Obi-Wan would be unable to sleep after. What terrified him more than anything was the uncertainty that he might make the wrong choice- even when the vision was about something good, or neutral. His visions gradually stopped coming around puberty. We just had a conversation about this a few months ago- how relieved he was to only have to manage flashes of precognition. If he had a random, horrifying vision of a terrible future...suicide wouldn’t be his reaction. It’s too final.”
“Even if he blamed himself for what he saw coming?” Mace asked.
“Especially if he blamed himself.” Bant said.
“What’s your theory?” Aerdo prodded.
“What if...what if he was telling the truth when he said he could separate out what was real and what was not? What if there was no distortion or blurring between now and then? What if he was just wrong about which was which?”
“That...would be a very extreme and abnormal manifestation of force-induced psychosis. He has training in distinguishing reality from visions. The continued presence of his mental shielding means that the fabric of his mind can’t be so horrifically collapsed in on itself.”
“What if the vision was actually that realistic?” Bant said, pushing back against the soul healer. “So detailed and vivid that it effectively was a reality in itself, and everything else, all of us...”
“Were just memories” Anakin finished. “It would...actually explain pretty much everything. You said he wanted to wake up and when...when I found him.” He stopped, swallowing. “When I found him, he argued with me...what if he wasn’t trying to hurt himself? If you’re right...that would mean I found him trying to get back to reality.”
“It could explain his behavior in the halls...his desperation to wake...” Sife mused “But it runs counter to every other experience I’ve had with those managing prophetic visions. Master Windu, could that explain the shatterpoints you saw?”
“I’m not certain. It would have to have been extraordinarily real to create the echos of Shattering I witnessed. I don’t know if that depth of vision has occurred before, but then again, many things are possible in the force.”
“You really think he might have been...trying to wake up from dream? By killing himself?!” Cody asked incredulous.
“If that ends up being what happened I am going to give him such shit. That is the worst way to end a vision.” Anakin replied.
“Yes. It is.” Bant said pointedly. “That’s why it’s a last resort, after every other attempt to wake fails.”
They all sat in silence, processing various implications. Cody was unnerved by another terrifying insight into force powers, as well as the idea that the General might vividly remember Cody being inexplicably mind-controlled into trying to kill him. Anakin was trying to understand what this would mean for them, and the conversations he had thought they had had. Did...any of it count, if he thought he was offering it to a hallucination?
“Alright, this is a valuable working idea, but let’s make sure to examine everything with an open mind before we draw any more conclusions. Anakin, what happened after you left the healers office?”
Obi-Wan’s critique of the practicalities of visiting a soul healer could be and was interpreted multiple ways. The incongruity of peacekeepers in war sparked a rehash of earlier discussion. More apologies. Self identifying as ‘crazy’ inspired new debate, especially in the context of the new theory.
“When I saw him enter the fountain room I assumed he had had a brutal run-in with dark force user.” Windu explained. “Based on everything we’ve gone over, I don’t understand when...but some of the more insidious sith compulsions work by taking whatever small anger or hurt you feel and magnifying them until they consume you. If Obi-Wan was already experiencing self loathing...”
Cody sucked in a breath. “Then a Sith mind suggestion would bring him to commit suicide. It...sounds like something he might do, if he was partially in control. Take the blow rather than let himself be used as a weapon against anyone else, even his worst enemy.”
“Hells, it could have been an even vaguer compulsion, driving him to attack the person he hates the most,” Bant added darkly.
Anakin buried his head in his hands, trying to hold it together. He couldn’t afford to lose control or get angry. Hells, getting angry at Obi-Wan for ‘failing him’ when in pain could be the reason Obi-Wan was currently in the healing halls. The man said he loved him unconditionally, then practically had a breakdown over how much Anakin pushed that unconditional love to the breaking point, then killed himself. How was he supposed to-
“Anakin? Are you alright to continue?” someone said.
“Yes. No. There’s more I have to tell you...I don’t know if it will help but - it was hurting Obi-Wan...I...”
“Let’s just take it one step at a time. What happened after you left Mace?”
Apparently even Cody somehow knew more about Bruck Chun than Anakin. Master Windu and Eerin told different sides of the same sad story, which spiraled back into a conversation about Obi-Wan’s inadequacy issues, which somehow devolved into a long rant about Qui-Gon Jinn that Master Windu had apparently been holding back for years.
“My apologies.” He said afterwards, clearing his throat as the group stared, taken aback. “Old grievances. Go on Anakin, what did happened after you got to the ‘secret spot.’”
“He...was skirting around whatever was bothering him...I pushed him...told him I wanted to help...he said I couldn’t...because it was me...because of what I...”
Anakin stood up suddenly, feeling the walls of the room closing in.
“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I-”
He ran out.
He turned around almost immediately, pacing in the small corridor, knowing he couldn’t leave, simply needing a minute to catch his breath.
Master Windu followed him out after a moment, not saying anything, just standing there. Watching him.
“What!” Anakin finally snapped. “What do you have to say that I don’t know already!”
“Knight Skywalker-”
“Don’t call me that! I DON’T DESERVE-”
Anakin let out a frustrated snarl, punching a wall. The crumble of stone beneath this fist briefly made him feel better, but then he remembered Obi-Wan’s heartbroken expression in the light of an underworldly glow, and the tiny, choked sound he heard when the healers moved him and Anakin just...collapsed, falling to his knees.
Master Windu sank down gracefully beside him.
“Anakin. This isn’t about attachment issues, is it.”
“Not really, no. I mean, maybe you’ll blame attachment but it’s more about...”
“Anger.”
Anakin looked up at that, trying to regain the meditative calm he had felt for a glimmering moment yesterday, right in-between making peace in the cave and everything burning to ash.
“You know that I have had my own struggles with anger. It is how and why I came to develop Vaapad.”
“Yes, but you’ve Mastered your anger. And you’ve never...never given in to hate.”
A beat passed and Windu watched some of Skywalker’s familiar breaking points flicker into view.
“You’ve done something. Something you know the Jedi won’t forgive.”
“Obi-Wan forgave me.” Anakin said, whispering. “He said that even though I couldn’t fix what I did he loved me anyway and I just needed to...to honestly regret what I did and not do it again. I told him I’d get rid of my lightsaber and I meant it and...I thought he forgave me. I was ready to go to the Council with him, come clean about everything. And then I left him alone to get dinner and when I came back...he was holding my lightsaber. My lightsaber.”
Anakin buried his face in his hands, shuddering with creeping cold.
“I’m not going to critique your and Obi-Wan’s attachment to each other right now. I’m well aware that much of the order has turned to personal ties to maintain their stability given the ongoing horrors of war. I am, for many reasons, wary of the risks this brings us, yet it is also true that risks do not automatically mean failure. I myself have mastered my emotions in a different manner than conventional wisdom councils.”
Windu spoke carefully. For all that he and Anakin had similar relationships with the force, they rarely saw eye to eye on any given subject. At a certain point, Mace had accepted that the volatile young man was determined to find the worst possible interpretation for anything he said. And Mace was not the order’s most patient diplomat.
“As for your crime, whatever it is, l will tell you this: Unless you choose to renounce the code and leave our number, you will be treated as a Jedi Knight, subject to our protections, as well as our judgement. You will receive appropriate mental counseling. If you are judged to be a danger to those around you, your actions will be curtailed and monitored, possibly through temporary confinement. The Jedi do not believe in punitive measures for their own sake, but you may be required to provide restitution to those you harmed, perhaps indefinitely.
Silence hung perilously between them. Windu watched a tremor run through the unfathomable kaleidoscopic of shatterpoints that had orbited Skywalker since he was a boy. A small one broke inward, and an attached tangle of larger, darker ones fell away, crumbling to dust. The rest faded from view, invisible for the moment. A choice had been made, some decision that closed off at least one path to the darkside.
“There’s no one to make restitutions to.”
“...You’re going to have to elaborate on that.”
“Let’s go back inside- I don’t want to do this twice.”
They returned to the increasingly hated meeting room.
Anakin spoke in an outpouring of words about love and hate, about misplaced revenge and now uncertain forgiveness. When he finally finished, the room was deathly silent.
The three Jedi sat quietly while Cody pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess this is why Jedi have the no attachment rule, huh? I admit I never really got it, but I suppose even if I-”
Bant abruptly lunged up, fumbling to bring her lightsaber to Anakin’s neck. Everyone jumped to their feet, except for Anakin, who stared at Bant with a wretched expression.
“MASTER EERIN! This is not-”
“Did you do it?” she asked, ignoring the Master of the Order.
“Bant!”
“It was my first thought after I saw him. We all rushed in expecting a fight, or a bomb, only to find you, insane, and him with a hole next to his heart. I didn’t want to believe it of course, but you’ve always had a violent streak that Obi-Wan, force help him, couldn’t quite soothe away. A fight gone wrong. Master Windu said it was suicide, and I believed him, and I’ve been trying to make sense of that ever since. But Mace found you after, didn’t he? After you felt guilty? Did you think he was going to turn on you?”
“Bant Eerin, you are dangerously-”
“No.” Anakin whispered.
“Obviously I might be why. But I didn’t- I couldn’t. I know I’m not good but I can’t even imagine- holding a saber against him like that. Kriff, do you not get how much I can’t handle losing people I love? I was insane when you saw me because I saw someone trying to kill Obi-Wan and I couldn’t even fight them.”
Bant held his gaze for several lingering seconds, deactivated her saber and dropping it with a clatter. They stared at each other, breathing heavily and not blinking. She returned to her seat, moving jerkily. “I apologize Knight Skywalker. That was uncalled for.”
“I wish I could say I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your shoes” he responded lowly. Bant made a tiny, unintelligible noise in reply.
Cody collapsed back into his chair, holstering his blaster. “Alright then...so after you finished sitting in the fountain room...what happened next?”
Everyone stared at him.
“What?”
“You’re handling Anakin’s confession somewhat dispassionately. We’re simply surprised.” Mace said slowly, returning to his seat at the same time as Master Aerdo fell into theirs.
Cody shifted uncomfortably. “The vod were trained in a wide range of enemy suppression tactics. While we’re extremely glad the Jedi have never asked us to employ them, I’m not...unfamiliar with this scale of deliberate slaughter. At least in the hypothetical, sir.”
“I see.” Aerdo said. “That is a valuable insight to have, thank you. Knight Skywalker-”
“Just...call me Anakin. Or Skywalker.”
“Anakin. When did this happen?”
“About two years ago, immediately before the First Battle of Geonosis.”
“And have you had any similar experiences with giving into the darkside since?” they asked placidly.
“I don’t think so but...we went to war the next day and....I don’t know if I’ve stopped fighting since it- since I did what I did.”
“Hmm. Anakin, would you mind stepping outside the room and waiting in the corridor for a moment please?”
He bit his tongue, tasting blood, and quietly walked out the door while the Masters decided his fate. He leaned back against a wall, desperately wanting to see Padme.
To his surprise, the door opened barely a few minutes later, and he was politely invited back in.
“Anakin.” Master Windu spoke. “Thank you for telling us this. It’s an important insight into Obi-Wan’s feelings right now, and I recognize that you could have kept it a secret. As Head of the Order, and with the advice of a Senior Soul Healer, I have made a decision. You will be assigned a personal soul healer, who you will start seeing tomorrow. Commander Cody pointed out that over nearly two years of continuous warfare, you have maintained some of the the lowest trooper casualty units of any division, by a significant margin if we evaluate based on mission risk level. Your civilian and enemy casualties will be reviewed, but even considering constant war, since your massacre of the Tuskens, you have clearly managed to at least... direct your violence away from the innocent. We do not consider you a threat to the inhabitants of the world. For the time being, I see no real benefit to limiting or tracking your behavior within the temple or on planet, but you are barred from leaving orbit. I have decided to delay a full reckoning before the council until such time that your former Master is well enough to provide his own opinion. Give me just cause, and I will have you confined to a force-suppressing cell. Do you understand?”
Anakin nodded, bowing in acknowledgment. All things considered, it was...honestly better than he expected.
“Now, as Cody” Windu paused. “My apologies, as the Commander was saying-”
“Cody’s fine, sir” Cody said, wrung out in a way different from anything Kamino had trained him for.
“...I think we can all consider ourselves on a first name basis at this point.” Bant said with a snort. She paused. “That includes you Anakin. I really don’t know how to handle what you did but kark it, I don’t want to hate you. For myself.”
Everyone nodded.
“As Cody was saying, what happened next?”
Peace. Comfort. Hunger. A warning in the force...
-
“I tried to pull the saber back but his finger was already on the igniter...”
“You probably saved his life. Even a second later-”
“I know, that’s almost the worst part.”
-
“-his neck”
“Why would he change weapons?”
“What if-”
-
“He said what to you and Healer Che?”
“That has to support the detailed vision idea, think about-”
“I’m sorry, Emperor?”
-
“I think we’re done.”
Anakin stared blankly at Sife. “But we didn’t figure anything out.”
“Not conclusively, but we’re unlikely to make any more progress, you’ve given me enough information to preform a meaningful meditative scan, or guide a conversation, should Obi-Wan wake, or navigate through his mind, should we decide to make a more decisive attempt at his shields.”
“Master Aerdo... I leave the final judgement up to you, but I strongly urge you to make a more decisive attempt. I am more convinced now than I was...” Mace glanced at the chronometer “five hours ago that this was motivated by a specific, external stimuli, likely dark. Do you disagree?”
“No.” they said with a sigh. “But I don’t want to underestimate how much underlying factors might have contributed to his response to stimuli, including underlying factors that none of you were aware of.”
The Nautolan Soul Healer stood up, tucking their hands into their sleeves to address the room with classical Jedi serenity. It was a little irritating.
“In any case, we all need to sleep, eat, and meditate. Master Eerin, you have the rest of the day off, I've cleared it with Master Che already. Master Windu, I leave the final judgement up to you, and I am aware that your duties as Master of the Order are unceasing, but I urge you to take some time to center yourself before returning to the council. Commander Cody, I would be more than willing to arrange soul healing for you or any of the Vod, please let me know. Anakin, you will receive a comm later today with further details on your future healing sessions.
They bowed low, then glided out the door.
Bant stood next, bowed individually to each soul, and sped walked out.
Commander Cody cleared his throat awkwardly, “Mace- what should I tell the troops? We’re supposed to have command briefings later tonight.”
“If anyone asks about General Kenobi, tell them its classified.” I’ll schedule a briefing on the subject. Now go find Captain Rex and take care of yourself, that’s an order.”
Cody saluted, first to the high General, then to Anakin.
Finally it was just Mace and Anakin.
“Is there anyone who you trust who I can call to stay with you.” Master Windu asked.
“I can manage on my own” Anakin replied, not willing to give the Master of the Order anything else he could use against him, even after everything.
Master Windu held back a sigh.
He continued once more, making a deliberate attempt to soften his tone. “Anakin- I know we’ve had our differences, but this is not a trick, nor a trap. You’ve suffered a series of great shocks in the last 24 hours and handled them with immense maturity. I myself am struggling to deal with the emotional fallout.”
Anakin looked up at that, surprised. He didn’t seem to be struggling, but maybe that was what made him a good Jedi Master...
“As I told you before, I am not going to begrudge you the comfort of attachment. I’m rather convinced it would do you more harm than good at this point. I don’t want you flying right now, and you don’t have to be alone. I hope we have come to a better understanding today, but I doubt my presence is suddenly a comfort, though please correct me if I’m wrong. Now is there someone I can call?”
-
Padme ended her call with Master Windu extremely discomfited. She had barely heard from Anakin since he ran out on her the night before last to take care of an apparently extremely drunk Obi-Wan. He had messaged her a few times that night, promising to make it up to her, but had been comm-silent since. She had been starting to get worried, and now the Master of the Order was asking her to pick him up from the temple. Fortunately, she had already cleared most of her meetings for the week well in advance (Courascant leave usually meant THEM time, not that she was jealous of Obi-Wan, of course).
The speeder ride back from the temple was silent. All Anakin would say was that he would explain everything once they were in ‘a secure location.’
The door to the apartment had scarcely closed behind them when Anakin fell into her arms, shaking.
“Anakin, talk to me love, what’s wrong?” She gently guided him to the couch, arranging him so she could hold him protectively.
“Obi-Wan tried to kill himself.”
She let out a harsh gasp, “No! He can’t have, he would never-”
“I got to him in time, but Padme... he was holding a lightsaber to his heart. It was...really close” He burrowed deeper into the folds of her dress, and she gripped him fiercely.
“Oh gods, is he-”
“He’s physically healing, but he’s still...not all there. I spent all of today locked in a room, trying to figure out if it was a Sith Attack, or an insane vision, or..or me”
“Anakin! What do you mean ‘me’ - Obi-Wan loves you, you-”
“I know.” Anakin interrupted her again, knowing he was being unfair; he was just too exhausted to be patient.
“He told me loved me. He...he...found out about what I did to the Tusken village, You should have seen his face, Padme, he was horrified, but he still told me he loved me, and he was willing to forgive me, even though he shouldn’t”
“Of course he forgave you,” Padme whispered. “You’re not a monster, Anakin, I know you would never do something like that again.”
"And then after we talked, I left him alone and he-” Anakin choked out into her dress.
Tears ran down her face, heart breaking. “That’s- that’s horrible. Anakin...it must have have been a attack, Obi-Wan wouldn’t do that.” she said urgently.
He pulled away, horrified. “I made you cry. I made Obi-Wan cry too. I’m sorry- Padme please, promise me you won’t-”
She grabbed the sides of his head.
Her nails bit into the soft skin behind his ears as she pulled him down so they were face-to-face, vowing, “Never. I swear by the force itself, I will never choose death over life.”
He let out a relieved sigh, eyes fluttering closed.
“Now you,” she demanded
“As long as I have anyone to live for, I swear by the force, I will never choose death over life.”
She pulled him the rest of the way in for a bruising kiss. He lifted her, and they desperately clung at one another as he carried her to bed. They continued like that, clinging and grasping, until exhaustion carried him to sleep. She pulled the covers over top them both and curled around him defensively as the day slowly faded away.
Part XI
#star wars#my au#suicidal misunderstanding au#prequel trilogy#potentially triggering#discussions of suicide#references to self-harm#star wars au#bonding? between#Mace Windu and Anakin Skywalker#? in my#hurt/comfort fic#? It’s more likely than you’d think#also I struggle with fix it stories that just never address the big tusken elephant in the room? of course i want everyone to#live happily ever but theres a certain scale of atrocity that i feel u gotta address 2 get there#ugh this chapter got reallly long and im just gonna post it ok? ok.#meh#a lot of this fic is just people mentally going What The Fuck at various registers with different inflections#Because that’s not an inappropriate response to time travel in general! and star wars canon in particular.#star wars au no 27
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Sicktember Day 26: Strep Throat/Laryngitis Word Count: 1176 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: G/K Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Jean Havoc, Team Mustang Warning: Summary: Hawkeye has Laryngitis. A general is expecting her to give a demonstration speech, or it will reflect poorly on Mustang. Luckily, Havoc has an idea! Notes: AO3 || ff.net
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Laryngitis
Hawkeye coughed, and then tipped up the glass to drink some more. She made an awful face as she did, but kept drinking it, stopping halfway through. Then she cleared her throat and opened her mouth.
“Hhhhh…”
The men in the room all sat back, frustration and disappointment clear on their faces.
“Well, that’s it, then. We’ve tried every quick fix that we can,” Mustang said. “Hawkeye’s laryngitis isn’t going to clear up.”
“What does that mean about her presentation, sir?” Falman asked.
Mustang frowned. “We’ll have to cancel and reschedule or get someone else to do it.”
Breda shook his head. “That’s not going to work, and you know it. General Wallace has you in his crosshairs. He expects Hawkeye to give this class to the sniper corps and no one else. If she doesn’t, or it has to be rescheduled, he’s going to take it out on you.”
Mustang huffed. “I know, but what else can we do?” He glanced at Hawkeye, who looked apologetic, and shook his head. “No, don’t feel bad, Lieutenant. It isn’t as if you had any control over it. We’ll just have to figure out what to do.”
No one said anything, no solutions to the problem jumping to mind. General Wallace was one of the higher ranked generals. He wasn’t high enough to be on the council, but he was well placed. He happened to be friendly with General Hakuro, which meant that neither of them was especially fond of Mustang. They took any misstep, any slight, and blew it up as high as it would go. He was here in Central, and had decided to throw his weight around a little, bullying a situation into Hawkeye giving a demonstration and talk to the sniper corps. She hadn’t wanted to do it, but she knew when she had no choice, and would do it to maintain Mustang’s position.
An unfortunate bought of laryngitis was putting all of that into jeopardy, though.
“It’s too bad there’s not a way to transmit your thoughts to them,” Fuery said with a sigh.
Havoc sat up straighter. “Wait—actually, that might not be a bad idea.”
All heads swiveled to him.
“Look, one of the key components of working on the field is non-verbal communication, right? You can’t always hear your teammates. We all know the standard codes that they teach us, but once you’re in the field, one of the biggest differences is how well you can read your team, right? What if, instead of Hawkeye speaking, she stays quiet and brings in someone else on the team to translate for her—showing that getting to know your teammates is paramount in doing your job well.”
“That’s… not a bad idea,” Mustang said, rubbing his chin. “Of course, I would be the best—”
He cut off as Hawkeye swung her arm up, pointing at Havoc.
“Hey—what! No way! You know that you and I read each other very we—”
She turned on him, hands on her hips, jaw set, and a glare in her eyes. She tilted her head slightly and sunk her head down just a bit as if emphasizing something. She moved her head around a bit and let out a huff through her nose.
“Yeah, well…” Mustang trailed off, and then he sighed. “Yes… yes, of course, you’re right. It would make things too obvious.” He glanced at Havoc. “Think you can do it?”
Havoc grinned “If I don’t, I’m sure she’ll shoot me to tell me I’ve got it wrong.”
Hawkeye rolled her eyes and spun on her heel go back to her desk.
Havoc didn’t have to be a genius to know an exasperated yes when he saw one.
The day of the presentation dawned a bit cool and cloudy. Havoc and Hawkeye were already waiting on the shooting range, Havoc a bit nervous that he’d agreed to all of this. She smiled at him, though, patting his shoulder for reassurance.
It helped a little.
All too soon, General Wallace and the group with him came pouring onto the training grounds. Havoc and Hawkeye both saluted and, as soon as he allowed them to release their salutes, Havoc started talking.
“Good morning, General Wallace. We’re going to—”
“What is this!” Wallace demanded. “We’re here to be taught by the legendary Hawk’s Eye, not you.”
“Yes, sir,” Havoc said. “But if you’ll just—”
Wallace’s attention switched to Hawkeye. “Lieutenant, I demand that you take over teaching this class immediately, as promised.”
Hawkeye, her gaze, cool, sure, and steely, held up a finger, as if asking the general to wait a moment, the gestured to Havoc. The general looked ready to blow again, but Havoc took over anyway.
“As I was saying,” he said, “Lieutenant Hawkeye decided to take a bit of an unorthodox approached to teaching this class. She’s not only going to talk about the fundamentals of being a sniper, of care for your weapon, of common knowledge that you learn on the field, but she’s going to put an emphasis on how knowing your teammates can help a sniper function better. This will be demonstrated in the way that we have learned to read each other. I will be speaking for Lieutenant Hawkeye, and she’ll let me know if I miss anything or mess anything up.” He glanced at her. “But hopefully not by shooting me.”
The assembled students laughed, and Hawkeye shot him a look.
“Ah, yes… She’s currently reminding me of rule number one: Never aim at a target if you’re not willing to shoot said target. That’s followed by rule two: If you’re willing to shoot a target, accept that you can kill the target.”
Hawkeye nodded, pleased, and then turned around, sniper rifle in hand.
“Alrighty,” Havoc said. “Who’s ready to start with general gun knowledge, care, and safety!”
The lesson took up all of the morning and stretched into the afternoon, Havoc spoke for Hawkeye the entire time, and not once slipped up. Hawkeye, for her part, demonstrated things extraordinarily well. Even their demonstration of being able to read each other in the field went swimmingly. They could tell that General Wallace wasn’t pleased, as it wasn’t what he was expecting, but it was hard to deny that teaching the lesson that way had done good. The students walked away with a new appreciation of reading body language and their team.
By the time it was over, they were both tired and hungry, and more than ready to pack it up.
“You know,” Havoc said as they gathered their things and started walking. “That wasn’t so bad. We’ve got a real rapport going on!”
Hawkeye glanced at him, smiled, and nodded.
“…If you ever wanna leave Mustang, I think you and I could—”
Hawkeye gave him a sharp shove, hard enough to send him stumbling, but Havoc just laughed, knowing that Hawkeye knew that he was teasing.
Sometimes it was nice to know that your team could read you and had your back.
#sicktember2021#riza hawkeye#Jean Havoc#team mustang#fma#Fullmetal Alchemist#fma fanfic#fullmetal alchemist fan fiction
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Canary in a Coal Mine
When Senga Canonach takes the mantle of Baroness, eleven-year-old Catriona receives the first true explanation of what it means to be the oldest of her cousins.
Some notes: Catriona/Astoria uses both she and they pronouns (she throughout this particular fic), while Avery Maollosa is strictly they/them. Both are nonbinary.
Edrine (she/they/he), who is only mentioned in this fic, is genderqueer (referred to with they/them pronouns here) and will make a full appearance in the next fic.
4.3k. I am unsure how to best label this, but for now, Cautionary CW for feelings and imagery of entrapment as a result of particularly controlling parental behavior.
Fic Title: Canary in a Coal Mine by The Crane Wives
One thousand, two hundred and twelve.
It was the number of individual pieces in the stained glass window above the stairwell, the one depicting their ancestor, Cliamon - their blade raised high overhead in a moment of triumph in they and their compatriots claiming of the territory that would become home to the Canonach family and all the relatives in between. Cliamon had been a force to be reckoned with, and for all the reading they’d done in their lessons, Catriona adored the stories of such a massive figure they could find such a connection to.
Catriona also thought Cliamon would laugh at the prospect of one of their descendants waiting like a loyal puppy at the top of the stairs for someone to fetch her.
Ever since Astor’s death, their mother had grown fearful, the leash tightening so much that Catriona felt she could have choked. Even though his death had been somewhat anticipated, it had left a shadow on Senga Canonach, and left Catriona to deal with the fallout.
Which was why she was left alone, at the top of the stairs, waiting for someone to pass by that could escort her down. It was her mother’s rule that she were not to walk up or down the stairs alone, so that someone might catch her if she slipped, and it was her mother’s rule that she could never leave the estate without an approved escort. The group of approved escorts was extraordinarily small, even though the majority of the family had volunteered, which left Catriona within the boundaries of Castle Kintyre and the gardens beyond the doors.
She was pulled out of her reverie with the familiar sound of what she knew was a silver-tipped cane on tile, and beamed down at her grandmother as she approached the bottom of the stairs.
“There you are, granny! Mother said you were coming home for the ceremony, but I was getting worried! When did you get here?"
“Oh, only last night, dear, and I got in late. You were already asleep, or I’d have said hello.” Myrna smiled as she made her way up the steps, surmounting the last and leaning in to press a kiss to Catriona’s brow. “There was some unexpected flooding on the roads through Ardaleith, but they were kind enough to let me stay a few nights at Ironhearth. I actually came with Baronet Avery and the Lady Rima. Little Edrine isn’t feeling well, so they’re home with their governess, but they wanted me to say hello to you. So...hello from Edrine.”
“Oh, I’ll have to ask them to say hi for me, too. Maybe I can write Edie a letter. I’ve always liked them.” Catriona giggled as Myrna straightened her collar, laying it neatly against the soft navy wool of her sweater.
“Well, they seem to like you, too. I think they’d love a letter. You can even borrow my signet ring for the seal.” Myrna reached down to carefully smooth out the hem of her sweater, then smiled, one hand drifting up to cradle Catriona’s cheek in her palm. “Don’t you look dashing? Did you have any trouble with the kilt?”
“A little, but I think I got it. I poked myself with the pin a few times, though. Does it look okay?”
Her grandmother indicated loosely with a finger, and when they turned obediently in a circle, they were met with a broad smile and a nod from the woman in question.
“Perfect. Now all you need…” Myrna tutted softly as she dug in her dress pocket, withdrawing a hair comb and offering it to the child. “I’d love to see that pretty face of yours. May I?”
Eagerly, Catriona turned, tracing her fingertips over the comb’s arch - made up of two hands cradling a crowned heart - and, when Myrna was finished twisting her hair up and off the back of her neck, passed it back to her so she could slide the prongs neatly into her hair.
“There we are. Fit to rub elbows with some nobility, I think.” Myrna offered her hand to the child, which she eagerly took, the other hand resting on the heavy wooden bannister out of habit. “Shall we be off, then? We might be the subject of a search party if your mother doesn’t see us in our seats.”
* * * * *
The late spring breeze gently ruffled a few loose strands of hair framing Catriona’s face, turning their face toward the carefully trimmed hedges and the beds of colorful blooms in the butterfly garden. Bluebells and thistle, honeysuckle and heather, lavender and primrose, all only a small fragment of the sprays that covered this portion of the estate.
Sitting through any sort of formal ceremony was painful for a child her age, but what stuck out to her the most was when her mother - in her crisp, emerald suit with the Canonach tartan pinned at her shoulder - lowered herself to one knee, and then the other in the garden gazebo. It made her Aunt Malvina nearly tower over Senga, even though Aunt Malvina was already tall, and made Catriona’s mother seem so small when Malvina raised the diadem before them all and laid it upon Senga’s brow.
After the ceremony, when the guests followed in Senga’s shadow with raucous cheers and excited chatter toward the banquet hall, Catriona found herself drawn to the gazebo as the garden became comparatively empty. At the center of it was a flat stone, one that they knew had been torn from the earth at Mistwatch, with two indentations right beside one another in the exact place her mother had knelt.
Catriona lowered herself to the ground and smoothed a hand over the stone, her fingers dipping into the imprints and smoothing over the echo of dozens of knees before her mother’s had fallen there.
In the same spot as Barons and Baronesses and Baronets many times over, her mother had knelt upon the stone, a fragment of Rosinmoor, and accepted the crown from Malvina as if it had been made for her head.
And in a way, it had, forged in the fires of Ardaleith and delivered by Clan Maollosa upon their arrival the night prior. No two leaders wore the an identical crown, rather, Malvina had given up her own and allowed it to be reforged as an acknowledgement of the new reign to begin. Cliamon had worn no crown - the tradition began with their son, Donacha Carleigh - but their claymore had been passed down through generations, and it had laid in their mother’s hands as she swore to lead Kintyre with the honor and grace of all who had come before her.
She couldn’t help but wonder how many more would come after her mother.
Footsteps drew them out of their daze and made them look up - very far up, they realized, until they smiled with recognition and waved at the person in question.
“Hello, Baronet Maollosa. Am I in your way?”
They chuckled, smoothing a few stray hairs out of their face and lowering themself to sit on the steps of the gazebo.
“No, you’re alright. And Avery is just fine, remember?” They gently nudged her with their elbow, then extended their hand, cupcake carefully balanced on the small porcelain plate. “Saved you a cupcake. Your grandmother said you might be out here, and they were going fast. You like salted caramel, don’t you?”
Catriona blinked once, twice, hesitantly looking between Avery’s gentle smile and the swirl of frosting adorning the cupcake itself. It looked so unassuming, but...when was the last time she’d eaten something without her mother telling her to wait until someone else could taste her food?
“Granny said it’s okay?” She said after a moment, and Avery nodded, dragging the tip of their pointer finger over their chest twice.
“Cross my heart. I’d swear on my mother’s grave, but my mother is still alive, so that doesn’t hold very much weight in regard to a promise.”
Catriona couldn’t help but giggle, gingerly accepting the cupcake and starting to peel away the paper wrapping on the outside. “Thank you, Baronet - Avery. Thank you, Avery.”
They scooted forward slightly so they could set their feet on the steps and the plate in their lap, humming softly as they peeled away the paper and swept a finger through the frosting. Beside them, Avery leaned back on their hands, sighing softly as they looked up at the rare cloudless sky.
“Edrine was all torn up about not coming today.” They mused, and Catriona nodded, making sure to swallow her bite before answering.
“Granny said they weren’t feeling well, so it’s okay. I don’t mind waiting to see them. Maybe they can visit when they feel better? Granny said next time, she’ll show us how we can set up a fort in the library, so long as we put the books back where they belong if we take them.”
“I think Edrine would like that very much.” Avery ruffled Catriona’s hair lightly, a smile playing at their lips when she huffed and tried to smooth her bangs back out.
There were a few long beats of pause as Avery watched Catriona, the way she carefully picked at her hair and adjusted it so it looked presentable again.
They’d always liked her - she was quiet, certainly, but she wasn’t shy. Avery had realized long ago that she chose simply not to speak if she had nothing to say, and if she did, sometimes what came out of her mouth made them bite their hand so hard it left marks for trying not to laugh.
Really, she’d won Avery over when eight year old Catriona called them a ‘lily-livered arse’ at the dinner table for taking the last sticky toffee pudding. It had made them laugh so hard their chest hurt, and in an attempt to form a truce with the child, offered to split it with her instead.
It had been a fair offering, it seemed, as they’d never been called such a thing again.
“You know, I’ve never thanked you before.” They mused, dropping back onto their elbows before lowering themself to lay on the floor of the gazebo. “Edrine doesn’t have any siblings, and their cousins are all quite younger than them, so making a friend their age means the world to them. They look up to you - bloody better than the Griogal boy, don’t tell anyone I said that - and I am happy that they won’t have to walk this path alone.”
Catriona paused, tilting her head as she used the back of her hand to wipe the frosting away from her mouth. “What do you mean?”
Avery raised a brow, fingers lacing together to rest over their abdomen where they lay. “In regard to the Barony. You and Edrine are in a unique position, being so close in age and both with clear claims to your respective titles. It can be hard to live that life, there’s no doubt about that, but thankfully your mother and I are young enough to give you both plenty of time to find your way before that.”
Catriona stopped mid bite of the treat they had been given, their stomach suddenly heavy and the taste soured in their mouth.
Her mother had said something like that, once, a hand placed on either of her cheeks and her rings - one a heavy opal from Catriona’s stepfather, the other the Canonach family signet - cold against her skin.
You’re in a special place, sweet Catriona. One day Kintyre will be at your feet, but you cannot forget the difficulty you will face when it happens. I only hope I can give you enough time to find the way you need to go.
She swallowed slowly, then set the cupcake aside, half finished and suddenly not as appetizing.
“What are you talking about?”
There were a few beats of pause before Avery sat up straight, a concerned look clear on their face as they turned to look her in the eye.
“Catriona...honey, has your mother not told you?” They asked gently, and slowly, she shook her head. Avery sighed heavily, raking a hand through their hair before letting their elbows fall to rest on their knees. Catriona shifted, resting her hands on one of Avery’s arms and giving them a pleading look that made them suck in a breath through their teeth.
“I don’t know, kiddo, I don’t want to upset Senga if she wants to have that talk -”
“I deserve to know.” The child said firmly, even as their eyes began to prickle with tears, even as their lower lip noticeably began to quiver. “It’s my life, too. It’s not fair to keep things from me.”
A part of her knew any child in Rosinmoor would have been delighted to have a life at any of the seven estates, and Catriona wasn’t oblivious to the privilege she had been given. But even if it were gilded in gold, a cage was still a cage, and Castle Kintyre had become hers. She envied her cousins, free to go where they want and do what they please, envied the stories of Rosafearn and longed to explore on her own, but it hadn’t been a part of the hand she had been dealt.
But maybe...maybe if they knew what frightened their mother so much, they could try and ease her worries, and get a little more freedom in turn.
At her desperate yet hopeful expression, Avery let out a frustrated sigh, propping their chin in their hands.
“Your mother should have absolutely told you by now, but that’s a grievance I’ll take up with her. You’re eleven, you’re long since capable of at least understanding.” They grumbled, clearly irate, then straightened, tone softening as they addressed her again. “Catty, what do you know about the line of succession?”
“I know everyone’s names. There were a lot of people before Auntie Malvina.”
“Everyone?”
Catriona nodded eagerly. “Yes, from the family tree book in the library. There’s Cliamon, of course, and then Donacha Carleigh, Muiri Lùtair, Juliet Lùtair, and then -”
“Okay, everyone, I believe you.” Avery held up a hand, an amused look on their face. “Stars, my uncle would have loved you. I couldn’t remember what I had for breakfast when I was your age, let alone the whole family tree. But what I meant was if you know how each leader is chosen?”
She had to pause at that, brows furrowing, trying to recall back to that book - they knew it well, the carefully bound leather and the tattered navy ribbon tucked between the pages - but couldn’t remember anything like that from what they’d read. It was always simply passed from family member to family member, but minimal explanation as to why.
“I don’t know.” She said eventually, and that sinking feeling grew somewhat heavier. “I thought it was because she just got married, I guess. I know when Aunt Malvina became Baroness, she had just gotten married to Aunt Lorraine, and mother just got married to James, but now that I think about it, I don’t remember if that was the same for great grandma Sorcha…”
Avery nodded slowly, setting a reassuring hand on Catriona’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “It makes sense. Don’t stress, Catty, it’s a reasonable conclusion. Would you like me to explain how it works?”
When Catriona nodded, they continued, eyes fixed on a vibrantly colored butterfly bush just beyond where their feet rested.
“I’m the oldest of three, so the Barony was going to pass to me no matter how many siblings I had. But my uncle, the last Baron, was older than my father, so he was the heir. And before him it was my grandmother, the Baroness, who was the oldest, and then her aunt, and so on and so forth. But the one thing they had in common was that they were each the oldest of their generation of the family, and thus, the crown passed to them.”
Catriona felt as if they could have been sick.
“Because they were the oldest.” She echoed, oblivious to Avery’s nod, as the realization dawned on them.
She was the oldest of all their cousins. Sachairi was the same age - eleven - but was a few months younger, born in November to Catriona’s September. That distinction was made clear to Catriona at a young age by their mother, but they never understood why, nor did they particularly care for that exact reason.
Their chest squeezed, and it felt as if they couldn’t breathe, thinking back to all the changes they had witnessed since her mother had been announced as the next Baroness. She had a handful of ladies in waiting, like Malvina, and advisors and guards and never being alone and never leaving the palace without an escort just in case, because it was ‘better to be safe than sorry”.
Catriona hated that phrase. It was the reminder she received every time she complained about any of her mother’s rules, because mother only wanted her to be as safe as possible, and she would rather be overprotective than risk something happen to her because she wasn’t safe enough.
But knowing this, now? They felt as if they had no chance of leaving the cage at all. When she was old enough to choose to leave, she’d have to stay, because being the oldest meant you were supposed to be the Baronet.
“But I know everyone’s name. Malvina wasn’t the oldest, Uncle Ualan was. And Aunt Grace and Cameron are both older than mother, so maybe our family is different? Maybe it doesn’t have to be the oldest, maybe I don’t - I don’t -” Catriona’s chest heaved, and she let out something between a wail and a whimper, making Avery jump as she began to cry. “I don’t want this, Avery, I don’t…”
Quickly, Avery scooped them up, pulling them into a tight embrace and gently rubbing her back to try and soothe her as she sobbed into the starched white collar of their shirt.
“Okay, okay...Catty, breathe, honey, I need you to breathe for me. Deep breath in, deep breath out, okay?” Look at me.”
Slowly, Catriona looked up, and Avery dug a kerchief from their pocket, offering it to her when she dragged the back of her hand across her cheek.
“You like your words, right? I have one I want you to remember. Can you do that for me?”
When she nodded, Avery gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Abdicate. It means to renounce, or give something up. I want you to remember that word, because you have a long time before you need to make the choice, but I want you to know that you have the choice - but abdicate is the word we use for saying we don’t want the title. It means you give it up to the next person, and they get to decide what to do. Your uncle Ualan probably abdicated - you’d have to check, but if he's older, it’s what makes sense - and I know your Aunt Grace and Cameron did. And I’m sorry that I had to be the one to tell you this, but you’re right, it is your life, and you deserved to know. I know it’s a lot to take in, but I hope that knowing all the options means you can make the right decision later, when the time comes, because you deserve that much. Okay?”
She sniffled quietly, rolling her lip between her teeth, the simple white kerchief twisting between her hands as Avery leaned back to get a better look at her face.
“Do you want to go find your mother?”
“No.” Catriona murmured, their grip almost white knuckled on the kerchief in question. “I don’t want to ruin her day. She’ll get upset.”
The ‘with me’ was unspoken, but Avery seemed to notice, brow creasing as their gaze fell to her tight hands and gently laid a hand over hers to try and ease the tension there.
“What about your grandmother? I saw Myrna just before I came out, she was speaking with the Lord Consort Griogal, so she shouldn’t be hard to find given he’s wearing something of a peacock blue today -”
“I don’t want to go inside.” Catriona blurted out. “I...I’m sorry, Baronet, I shouldn’t ask you to -”
“Avery.” They squeezed her hand again, this time a little more firmly - not harshly, or painfully, but enough to make her look them in the eye as they gave her a comforting smile. “You’re not asking the Baronet to do anything. You’re asking your friend’s parent for help, and that’s a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Would you like me to ask your grandmother to come outside?”
The child nodded, and Avery stood up, ruffling her hair gently before they stepped down onto the path again.
“Stay here, sweetheart, it’ll be easier for her to find you that way. Shouldn’t be long.”
As Avery began the trek back to the great hall, they couldn’t help but glance back, watching Catriona slump against the rails along the gazebo steps and picking up the pace to cross the stones a little quicker.
* * * * *
Once Myrna had slipped from the great hall, Avery couldn’t help but drift toward the broad windows overlooking the garden, following the small shape of the older woman until she came within sight of the gazebo and Catriona’s even smaller form leapt up and raced to meet her halfway. Myrna scooped her up and carried her further into the garden - and Avery found themself staring at the point where they disappeared, away from the gazebo and away from the castle to somewhere unknown. They were only broken from their reverie when arms wrapped around their waist, and had it not been such a familiar
“Hello, darling.” Rima murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of their shoulder and lacing her fingers together over Avery’s abdomen. “You were gone for a while. Did you get lost in the gardens?”
“No, I was talking to Senga’s bairn. She wants Edrine to visit when they feel better.”
“Well, hopefully it’s soon.” Rima hummed softly, pressing her cheek to Avery’s back and giving them a squeeze as the music in the hall shifted to a new melody. “We should probably stop in Rosafearn before we travel home. They’ve got the candies Edie likes in one of the shops down there, it might cheer them up about missing the party.”
When Avery didn’t reply, Rima frowned, slipping around their side and tucking herself under her partner’s arm to get a better look at their face.
“What’s wrong, Ave? You have that...face.”
Avery chuckled, turning their head to kiss Rima’s temple. “What face? You like my face.”
“I do like your face, but this is the ‘I’m having a crisis and maybe my dear wife can help’ face, and I am the dear wife.” She smiled cheekily as she pinched their side, glancing out the window briefly to see if she could find what they were fixated on and coming up with nothing. “Spill, spouse.”
After a few beats of pause, Avery sighed, leaning their cheek against Rima’s forehead and closing their eyes. “How much do you know about Senga?”
“Not much, she’s a little more than simply closed off. New Baroness, obviously. If you want to know about her, you might have better luck with Myrna or her husband. Or maybe Malvina, if you’re wondering about politics.”
“Mm. I thought so. Perhaps we should invite Myrna to stay with us again. I have questions, but...I’m not sure I should ask Senga, or I might make something worse.”
Rima pulled back slightly, brows furrowing and earrings tinkling as she tilted her head in curiosity. The wordless question made her spouse nod, glancing around to make sure they had no eavesdroppers before they continued.
“Earlier, when I was talking to Catty...I mentioned that Edrine looks up to them because they’re in the same position. And she had absolutely no idea what I meant, but essentially I explained that I meant because they were both heirs, and she just...completely panicked. I think if I’d gone much further than I did she’d have a full panic attack right there in the garden.”
“She had no idea? We started talking to Edrine about it when they were eight for just that reason, so they weren’t blindsided by it.”
“Not a clue. And the way she reacted when I asked if she wanted her mother, it just…” Avery blew out a frustrated sigh. “Something doesn’t feel right, Rima, and I know it’s not my business, but -”
“If it were Edrine, you’d want someone to look out for them, too. I know.” Rising up on her toes, Rima kissed Avery’s cheek. “Myrna already asked to travel back through Ardaleith with us. Let’s get through the night, and tomorrow, we’ll figure out the next step.”
“Alright…alright.” Avery was quiet for a few moments before they spoke again, warm smile on their face. “What would I do without you?”
“Suffer, more than likely.” Rima lifted a hand as if to inspect her nails, her wedding bands flashing in the low light. “Or at the very least be bored out of your mind at formal functions. Admit it, I’m the life of the party no matter where I go.”
With a laugh, Avery pulled Rima into a tight embrace, ignoring her playful protests and peppering the top of her head with kisses before they set their chin on her head. Their gaze eventually drifted out the window again to the spot where Myrna and Catriona had disappeared, thinking of that white-knuckled grip she had had on the kerchief.
But she’d be okay. She had Myrna, now, and Avery couldn’t think of anyone the child would want more for comfort considering how close they were.
Avery just hoped Catriona would be okay long enough for them to do something.
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Beyond The Veil: Chapter 10
The Bakugo family dynamic was one of the most unusual Eras has ever seen.
Mrs.Bakugo was an aggressive woman with a confident set to her shoulders and a mouth that puts sailors to shame. Mr.Bakugo, Masaru, was calm and serene. He only stepped in when Mitsuki, Mrs.Bakugo, either didn’t get her point across or was getting riled up. The two complimented each other well and Eras would have been amused if they weren’t currently grating on the last of her nerves.
The word “conditioned” came to mind when she remembered Muska’s parting words from the nurse’s office.
She really hopes these people didn’t help create whatever mental state the ‘Bakugo’ responsible had. She was also starting to realize how confusing referring to people by last names was. You’d think she’d be used to it after all these years. God, she wished she wasn’t here.
During this thought process, the glare she pinned All Might with from earlier never let up. The man was shivering.
“Ah, Welcome! I see You’ve already met Midoriya-san?” Nedzu asked.
The three newest members of the meeting room all nodded as they sat down. The Bakugo’s spared more than a few glances at the newly inflated All Might and Eras herself. She could understand on some base level that seeing someone glare at the number 1 hero was probably rare.
“We’ve been best fucking friends since highschool. Also, I already know it’ll be fuckin confusing so just call Me Mistuki and Masa here Masaru.” She said head held high yet Eras noted the slight defensiveness in her posture.
That was expected, they were here for a training accident after all. One caused by her son but Eras had a feeling she didn't know that yet.
“You can call me Inko as well,” Inko shifted with nerves as she wrung her hands together in an effort to still them, “Is my son alright?”
Nedzu nodded and went to speak, however Eras spoke up first, finally tearing her gaze away from All Might. The man let out a barely audible sigh of relief as she did so.
“You son is doing fine Inko-san. He was quizzing my ward when I went to the infirmary earlier. Sorry to cut you off, Nedzu, however I believe a first hand account would be better than one given by a principal, even if she doesn't know me personally.” Eras saw the tension ease a bit in Inko’s shoulders in response.
“Ah thank you, You're right about that. Your ward? Ah sorry I never caught your name either.” Inko asked, a nervous but nonetheless bright smile on her face.
“My name is Viridis Eras, You can call me Eras considering we’ll be speaking of my ward during this meeting, and I say ward because though she is not my child she is under my care. I was good friends with her parents and so after they passed she came under my guardianship.” Holding up a hand to preemptively silence the condolences, she continued. “It happened years ago so no need for the sorrys.”
The newest occupants of the room all nodded as they redirected their attention to Nedzu, confusion evident on their faces. Nedzu, seemingly able to sense the need for an explanation, cleared his throat and replaced the polite smile on his face with a serious look.
“Thank you for that, Eras-san, though I believe I need to specify why I have called you all here today." Well that confirmed her suspicions from earlier, " As Eras-san already knows, considering her circumstances she was given a summary before getting here, there was a training accident during class 1-A’s heroics class. The injured participants were Viridis Muska and Midoriya Izuku. Though both are completely healed now, except for some aggravated skin where burns were healed.”
Inko looked to be on the verge of crying and the Bakugo’s looked to be edging on realization to why they were called. The word ‘burns’ probably clued them in. They kept shooting glances between Inko and herself.
“The cause of these burns was a gauntlet used as support equipment for Bakugo Katsuki. He was warned beforehand that at close range and indoors, his equipment could be lethal and was ordered by the present instructor, All Might, to stop. He didn’t listen.”
Nedzu paused and let reality seep in. Inko was now actually crying, though not as much as Midoriya was in the infirmary, and the Bakugo pair were now pale. Eras sighed and it dragged the attention back to her. Confusion starting to invade previously horrified faces. Eras allowed her gaze to remain neutral as she turned it onto the Bakugo pair.
“Before I speak my mind on the matter, I would like to ask whether or not this behavior present in your son was encouraged,” once again raising a hand to silence the onslaught she continued, “not that I expect you to encourage violence in him, but did you ever notice previously that his schooling may have intentionally avoided discouraging his tendencies?”
Mitsuki opened and closed her mouth, obviously wanting to retaliate but she sat back and shut her mouth with a scrunched expression. Probably searching for any moments her son’s schooling did in fact do such a thing, after all the person who asked had a child under her care that was just fucking maimed so, small mercies. Surprisingly, it was Masaru who spoke up for the first time since he entered the meeting.
“I believe they did encourage his more… aggressive... ways. It was subtle at first glance but as he grew older I noticed that he stopped speaking about his schooling and instead focused only on himself. As if there was nothing else but his aptitude.” He said with a grimace.
Mitsuki looked appalled for a good second before something may have clicked. Wide eyes of disbelief followed shortly by a sigh of resignation. Eras watched it all, evaluating, analyzing. Once she determined that the parents were, disappointingly, unaware of their son’s habits, she spoke up.
“Muska had warned me before coming here that she believes Bakugo was conditioned into what he is now. Seeing your confirmation, sadly, only proves her right. I have a feeling that his previous schooling was sub par when it came to actively punishing or at least telling him no. This means that he doesn’t even realize that what he did was wrong.” Eras sighed, once again, as she thought about how much of a mess this all was.
“I agree,” Nedzu stated, he had his computer out and seemed to find something on it that prompted his involvement, “I pulled up his middle school records and some concerning things have been made apparent. His record is squeaky clean, even described as a pleasure to have in class and works well with others.”
A snort came from Aizawa who was still leaning against the wall, drawing attention to himself. He sighed as he realized that attention was now on him. Ah, what a mood.
“First day of school he called a student an ‘extra’. I sincerely doubt he was a pleasure in class. Also, considering during the exercise today he immediately left his partner to hunt down the glory for himself, I don’t believe he works well with others either.”
Dry sarcasm is the bane of Eras’s continued intimidation tactic. Seriously, if this man keeps up she may just actually snort. That would ruin the image she was trying to convey damnit.
The group of people sat in silence for a minute. Nedzu sat silently watching the group though, by his tail movement, Eras could tell he had settled on something already. Eras turned back towards All Might with an unimpressed face. Time to wrap this meeting up.
“I recommend giving Bakugo a second chance. Not suspension, but something else. Muska recommended therapy and I recommend anger management. Both may be the best option. As for All Might, I’ll let Aizawa-san rip into you himself regarding your, frankly, stupid idea to set teenagers with little to no training loose in a battle exercise.” Eras glanced at said gruff teacher who gave her a subtle nod and an impish grin. Satisfied that he would take care of it (and he will enjoy the hell out of it), she continued, “Now I will excuse myself to the infirmary once more. Hopefully, I don’t need to come back for a reason like this one again.” The ‘you won’t like what happens’ went unsaid but by the looks on their faces, it was understood.
Standing up, Eras walked over to the door and cracked it open, turning her head to Aizawa, she smiled a fanged smile.
“Keep me updated. I’ll trust your judgement for his punishment.”
With that, she left.
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He was confused.
Scared.
Lost.
Constricted.
It's been years now hasn’t it? When was the last time he could control his own body? Could he even remember his name?
oboKurogiri
No that’s not it…
He was OboroKurogiri.
Why can't he remember???
An insistent pulling kept tugging at his mind. Trying to do… something, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what. Vaguely he knew that the pull came from something or someone else. Something unnatural was crying out in desperation and hurt. To find...what? What did he need to find?
Sighing, Kurogiri turned to Tomura. The young adult had been extraordinarily calm as he stared at the T.V. The game he was playing early was currently paused. As he continued to clean the bar’s glass, Kurogiri allowed himself to keep an eye on the man. The last time he was so still, his bar’s stools disintegrated.
“Kurogiri.”
Snapping to attention (he begs for his body to stay still, to run, to get away he doesn’t want to be here-) Kurogiri turns to the T.V that sat ominously in the bar.
“Yes, sir?” Kurogiri asked.
“Tomorrow morning, take Tomura to UA, the coordinates will be given in the morning. I think it's time we paid them a visit and gathered some material.”
Nodding his acceptance, Kurokumo can’t help but despair. He doesn’t know why. Can’t figure out who or what was at UA that he didn’t want to see. Or was the word he didn’t want to use harm? He really just couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell and it tore him apart inside.
The metal on his neck burned, he wanted to rip it off. To be free.
Instead, he polished the glasses in the bar once more.
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Tags:
@baguettehead
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we were wild and fluorescent, come home to my heart
Flower shop AU | My contribution to @b99fandomevents 2019 Summer Fic Exchange, for the lovely @benwvatt!
Amy has always been a planner.
She received her first calendar when she was six years-old to keep track of her extracurricular activities, and her scheduling addiction arrived soon after. She needed organization to feel sane, normal, like her whole world wouldn’t crumble beneath her feet. Growing up in a house full of rowdy brothers, and now working in a job that is more unpredictable than not, the only thing she’s ever felt any semblance of control over is her calendar.
But as she furiously clicks through page after page on Yelp in a haze of escalating panic, Amy curses her calendar for the very first time in her life.
She forgot about Mother’s Day.
It’s not a total surprise, she supposes. She’d spent the last two weeks working to solve a high-profile kidnapping and there hadn’t been any room in her life for restful sleep or food that didn���t come from a vending machine, let alone time to buy her extraordinarily picky mother the perfect Mother’s Day present.
It wasn’t until David (stupid David!) sent a reminder in the Santiago siblings’ text chain that Amy realized what a colossal mistake she had made in forgetting about the annual Santiago Mother’s Day brunch. Her heart began to palpitate faster than it did that time in college when she consumed an entire pot of coffee the night before her calculus final. That hadn’t ended well at all, but Amy refuses to let this day be a complete disaster. Not showing up to her parents’ house empty-handed is a good place to start.
Now, an hour after receiving David’s text, she’s frantically trying to find an acceptably rated flower shop somewhere in Brooklyn that is both open and taking new orders on such a busy day for the industry. Calls to three had so far dashed all of Amy’s hopes and dreams of one day seeing her photo proudly displayed on the family mantel, knocking David’s out of its place of honor.
She continues to scroll through Yelp until her cursor lands on one called Rachel’s Flowers with a promising four-star rating. Amy painstakingly scans through each review and the only negative one she can find is from a woman who two years previously said the cashier was “annoying beyond belief.”
Glancing at the clock, Amy decides she would take a chatty cashier over a withering glare from Camila Santiago any day. Running out of time, she foregoes calling ahead and hopes that Rachel is the florist of her dreams.
The shop is on a quaint, quiet block in Amy’s precinct. ‘Rachel’s Flowers’ is written in neat, green cursive above the brick facade. Its old-school charm is in sharp contrast to the hipster record store and vegan restaurant it’s sandwiched between, and Amy immediately loves it for its simplicity. Standing here is like stepping back in time. She wonders why she’s never come across it before, even in her days as a beat cop.
She parks her car across the street and walks in, practically running into the line of last-minute shoppers, so long it’s practically out the door. Amy feels her blood pressure spike on the spot.
She walks quickly around the showroom to assess the ready-made bouquets so she can make a quick exit. They’re mostly made up of multi-colored carnations or pink roses, and they’re so beautifully arranged, but Amy can just picture her mother’s face if she were to gift her with any of these. Amy’s grandmother loved gardenias and white hydrangeas, a love Camila inherited; vases of them were always scattered around the Santiago home when Amy was growing up. Bringing her mother any other kind of flower won’t have the desired effect Amy’s going for.
She waits in line for almost fifteen minutes, tapping her low heels on the ground with every passing second. Being late to brunch would almost be worse than showing up empty-handed, in Amy’s opinion.
When Amy finally reaches the front of the line, she is greeted by a man she assumes is the chatty cashier from the Yelp review she read earlier. He’s handsome, with kind-looking eyes and a cute, lopsided grin, but his wrinkled flannel and sloppy curls don’t instill much confidence in her.
“What can I do for you?” he smiles, big and warm.
“I’m looking for a bouquet for my mom,” she says, trying valiantly to keep her growing anxiety at bay. “She’s really difficult to shop for. Do you have any white hydrangeas and gardenias?”
“No, I’m sorry, we used most of our supply for custom orders. What you see out here is pretty much what we have left.” He just keeps smiling. Amy wants nothing more than to wipe the stupid smirk off his face.
“You don’t have anything else in the back?” she asks desperately.
“Sorry, it’s a busy day.” To his credit, he looks apologetic. She can see the sympathy swimming in his eyes. Unfortunately for him, Santiagos never admit defeat.
“Can I please speak with your manager or the florist?” she asks politely.
He has the nerve to laugh. “Uh, I’m both.”
Amy fights the urge to do a double-take. Her finely-honed observational skills spot a large, mysterious red stain on the sleeve of his flannel and she’s fairly certain he’s responsible for the Carly Rae Jepsen songs pumping through the shop’s speakers. How could this man be the one responsible for the delicate flower arrangements by the door?
Amy sighs deeply. “Look, I know this is probably one of the worst days of the year for you, but I forgot it was Mother’s Day and I don’t want my picture to move any further from the mantel than it already is. Can you please help me out and put something together that will at least moderately impress my picky and terrifying mother? I’m willing to pay whatever.”
He looks thoughtful for a moment, crossing his arms and bringing his pointer finger up to stroke his chin. Amy figures he’s probably trying to figure out what she meant about the family mantel.
“Do 100 jumping jacks.”
She’s completely caught off-guard. “Excuse me?”
“You said you would pay whatever,” he smirks, looking entirely too proud of himself.
She squints at his name tag, pinned to the collar of his haphazard shirt. “Look, Jake, I’m really not in the mood today.” She rummages through her bag to find her phone and look for another flower shop nearby. She’ll take a bouquet from a bodega at this point.
In the chaos, her badge flies out and lands face-up on the cashier’s desk. Amy sees Jake’s eyes widen, and she can’t help but feel slightly vindicated.
“You’re a cop?” he asks.
“I am,” she says carefully. She can’t tell if he’s afraid or if another snarky comment is headed her way.
“That’s so cool,” he says reverently, picking up her badge to inspect it with the utmost care. “I always wanted to be a cop.”
Amy eyebrow lifts involuntarily. It’s hard for her to imagine this goofy, messy-haired man as one of New York’s finest, but she can tell he’s being genuine by the pure excitement emanating from every part of him.
“It’s a pretty cool job,” she smiles as she takes it back from him.
“What’s your favorite cop movie? It’s Die Hard, right? It has to be Die Hard!” His flailing hands punctuate every word. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen someone so worked up about Bruce Willis.
“It’s Training Day, actually, but I suppose you’re entitled to your wrong opinion.” She’s not sure why she’s bantering with the florist, but there’s something so undeniably charming about him.
“Denzel wishes,” he scoffs. Amy laughs, earning a surprised smile from Jake.
He takes a second to look around the shop. There are a few stragglers milling around but it’s fairly empty.
“What’s your name?” he asks as he turns back to her.
“Amy,” she says, confused.
He grins brightly. “Well, Amy, it looks like we’re in a bit of a lull. Let me take a look in the back and see what I can do for you.”
Relief hits her like a swift punch to the stomach. “Thank you so much, Jake.”
He nods, beaming, and heads to the back room.
Amy takes the opportunity to look around now that the panic has died down somewhat. The black-and-white tile floor is covered in just enough scuffs to let Amy know it’s seen some things, as does the chipped green paint on the walls. The bouquets are so thoughtfully arranged and she can tell they were made with such care. Amy briefly wonders how a guy like Jake ended up here.
“Aha!” she hears him exclaim from the back.
Amy turns around as he walks back into the shop, sneakers squeaking against the tile as he brandishes a beautiful bouquet over his head.
She hurries over to take a closer look. Jake had grouped gardenias and hydrangeas together in a clear, modern vase, and he had tied the whole thing together with a single silver ribbon. It’s simple and elegant, and very Camila Santiago.
“They’re beautiful,” she breathes. “I thought you didn’t have any gardenias and hydrangeas left?”
He moves to scratch the back of his neck. Amy swears she sees a hint of a blush spread across his cheeks but she quickly writes it off as a trick of the light. “I managed to find some leftover gardenias and then I remembered that this custom order of white hydrangeas was never picked up yesterday, so I just, you know, threw it together for you.”
Amy has a sneaking feeling that he isn’t telling her the whole truth, but she appreciates it nonetheless.
“Thank you, Jake,” she says genuinely. “You’re a lifesaver. My mom will love these.”
“Eh, it’s no problem,” he says. “You just owe me a huge favor now.”
She barks out a laugh. “You’ve got it.”
As he rings her up, Amy can’t help herself. “How did you become a florist? You wanted to be a cop, right?”
He chuckles. “I was in the academy when my nana got sick. This was her shop. I used to come here every day after school to help her with orders and I got pretty good at it. When she passed away, I couldn’t let them sell it, so I just kind of stayed and kept it running.”
He shrugs it off. Amy is dumbfounded.
“That’s really incredible, Jake.”
“Surprisingly, being good with flowers does not help with the ladies,” he jokes, handing over her receipt.
She takes it with a small smile. “Maybe it will one day.”
He smiles softly back at her. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Thanks again, Jake.”
“No problem, Amy. I hope your thing with the mantel works out, whatever that is.”
He waves as she walks out the door and she feels her stomach bottom out. Well, that’s new.
Brunch goes better than Amy could have hoped. Camila doesn’t say much, but she purses her lips and places them on top of the grand piano in the living room - prime real estate in the Santiago household, even if no one in the family plays piano. Amy’s photo moves one spot closer to the center of the mantel.
She knows she owes most of her success to Jake, so when she gets home she decides to thank him in the most sincere way she knows: a handwritten note. She pulls out the floral stationary she had custom-made with her new title when she made detective at the Nine-Nine and gets to writing.
Jake,
Thank you for all of your help today. My mom loved the flowers, and I owe it all to you. You really saved me. John McClane has nothing on you.
Amy
She reads it over and over until she decides to have mercy on herself and shoves it in the outgoing mail slot before she can drive herself any crazier.
A few days go by and Amy’s nearly forgotten about the note when a man walks into the precinct holding a giant bouquet of red tulips. The splash of color isn’t something one tends to see in a Brooklyn police precinct, so he catches almost everyone’s eye right away - except Amy’s.
She’s nearing the end of a large stack of paperwork, which she’s determined to get through before the morning briefing. She sees feet moving towards her out of the corner of her eye but she doesn’t think much of it until she hears someone clear their throat.
It’s Jake, the florist.
“Hi,” he says, clearing his throat again. This time, she can detect his nerves.
“Hi,” she says, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
He smiles easily. “I got your note. Very nice touch, by the way. I’m here to, uh, ask you to dinner.”
She raises her eyebrows, caught off-guard.
He quickly deflates. “You have a boyfriend, don’t you? I knew it. I’m so sorry, Amy. I won’t bother you again.”
It’s this grace in the face of defeat that makes Amy’s heart swell with sudden affection. He’s a complete stranger, but she instinctively knows he’s someone she can trust. “Jake, I’d love to go to dinner with you.”
He smiles slowly. “You would? You’re single? Really?”
She nods, grinning. “Yes, really.”
The tips of his ears turn bright pink. “Okay, great. When should I pick you up?”
Amy grabs a neon post-it note and scribbles her phone number and address. “Seven?” she asks, handing it back to him.
He takes it, looking somewhat dazed, like he can’t quite believe his good luck. He gently sets the tulips down on her desk, careful not to disrupt her files. “Seven, it is. I’ll see you later, Amy.”
“Bye, Jake,” she says, waving shyly as he heads for the elevator.
Once he’s gone and she’s able to pull herself back down to earth, she steals a glance at the bouquet he’d brought her. The tulips are vibrant and beautiful, and full of promise.
Later, when she kisses him for the first time, she takes in the floral scent that seems to follow him around and it feels like home.
#b99 2019 summer fic exchange#b99fandomevents#jake x amy#b99 fic#peraltiago#peraltiago fic#b99#brooklyn nine nine#i love writing AUs so much ahhh!
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WHAT NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ABOUT FORCE
So let me tell you a little about Jessica. But maybe if we were investing millions we would think differently. By accepting the term sheet, the startup agrees to turn away other VCs for some set amount of time while this firm does the due diligence required for the deal. A typical startup goes through several rounds of funding, regardless of whatever obstacles are in the way. Overall only about 10% of startups succeed, but if I had to add a new application to my list of known time sinks: Firefox. Ten years ago VCs used to insist that founders step down as CEO and hand the job over to a business guy they supplied. Bush seemed old and tired. To get a complete picture, just add in every possible disaster. I stopped watching it. Odds are it will be a junior person; they scour the web looking for startups their bosses could invest in. What are we going to do if one of the founders in a startup can stay in grad school, but at YC culture wasn't just how we behaved when we built the product.
Indeed, food is an excellent metaphor to explain what's wrong with the usual sort of job is a consulting project in which you can move into a big one or from which you can move into a big one or from which you can build whatever software you wanted to sell as a startup. We could hire employees, but we want to be able to convince; they just won't be able to brag that he was an investor. I didn't enjoy the short stories we had to read in English classes; I didn't use expert systems myself. But most founders, because it takes most of the ideas in an essay to happen after you start writing it, they had some new ideas. Television, for example, about how to approach VCs. So on demo day I told the assembled angels and VCs in that they're actual companies, but they pay more attention to deals recommended by someone they respect. In a startup, managing them is one of the most difficult problems for startup founders is deciding when to approach VCs, which VCs obviously don't need to write it again. They may if they are, we have a remarkable coincidence to explain. They also spend a little money on a freelance graphic designer. Y Combinator doesn't require vesting, because a they ask who else you've talked to and when and b they talk among themselves.
As for how to write well than most people realize, because they know it's true. You can't just sit there. And what's especially dangerous is that many happen at your computer. I'm not saying that issues don't matter to voters. And microcomputers turned out to vary a great deal of profanity. Fear of failure is an extraordinarily powerful force. Some we helped with strategy questions, like what to patent, and what to charge for and what to charge for and what to give away. Needless to say, you should be nice to and who you can get. I think of it, we were surprised how frightened most of them were of competitors. If someone pays $20,000 for 10% of a company, the company is still just an idea.
That might be worth exploring. Many investors explicitly use that as a test, reasoning correctly that if you let people in their early twenties get into debt, because their expenses grow even faster than the salary that seemed so high when they left school. Is anyone able to develop software faster than you? People this age are commonly seen as lazy. So just do what you'd do in any complex, unfamiliar situation: proceed deliberately, and question anything that seems odd. Control of a company is only two months old, every day you wait gives you 1. There are millions of small businesses in America, but only for a small one, and if not, they say they want to be forced to figure out what you like is to look at what you enjoy as guilty pleasures. Microcomputers turned out to be very disciplined if you take the latter route that the lawyer is representing you rather than merely advising you, or his only duty is to the investor. There was an authenticity that everyone who walked in could sense. And you can't approach some and save others for later, because a we invest such small amounts, and b it means that Y Combinator, and it seems to me the increasing cheapness of web startups. If the Democrats had been running a candidate as charismatic as Clinton in the 2004 election, he'd have won. If people have to choose between something that's cheap, heavily marketed, and appealing in the short term, and something that's expensive, obscure, and appealing in the long term the right answer for dealing with Internet distractions will be software that watches and controls them.
Both now compete directly with VCs. I decided one night to start it, and 50% of those you start with to be wrong; be confident enough to cut; have friends you trust read your stuff and tell you which bits are boring the paragraphs you dread reading; try to tell the reader something new and useful; work in fairly big quanta of time; when you restart, begin by rereading what you have so far; when you finish, leave yourself something easy to start with; accumulate notes for topics you plan to write about, then write down what you said; expect 80% of the ideas writing would have generated. I was a kid, computers were big, expensive machines built one at a time. There are few large, private technology companies. Inexperienced founders make the same mistake when trying to convince investors to let you do it. To convince yourself that your startup is worth investing in, and then only in a vague sense of malaise. The company may do additional funding rounds, presumably at higher valuations.
In a startup you have lots of worries, but you don't have this protection, as we found to our dismay in our own startup. Bush seemed old and tired. And since success in a startup: to be a time when one failed to do something they'd promised to, even by being late for an appointment. If you walk around a museum trying this experiment, you'll find you get some truly startling results. Something that used to be safe, using the Internet. In fact, nice is not the brand name or perhaps even the classes so much as the people you meet. A group of 10 managers is not merely a group of 10 people working together in the usual way. So if you hear someone saying we don't need to write it again. That's a known danger sign, like drinking alone. We often tell startups to release a minimal version one quickly, then let the needs of the users determine what to do next. And that required very different skills from actually doing the startup. Startups often pay investors who will help the company in restricted stock, vesting over four years, and the terms end up being whatever the lawyer considers vanilla.
You get to work on juicy kinds of work, like designing software. This way, they were going to be hearing in the press about what Jessica has achieved. Financially, vesting has little effect, but in startups the curve is startlingly steep. This essay is derived from a keynote at FOWA in October 2007. Sales people make much the same way that living in the future big companies will have both a VP of Engineering responsible for technology developed in-house, and a CAO responsible for bringing technology in from outside. VCs will own a third of the company 2/4 2. Of course the odds of any given startup doing an IPO are small. A quarter of their life. The fact that seed firms are companies also means the investment process is more standardized.
Excite did, for example, because no one said anything definite enough to refute. If Jessica was so important to YC, why don't more people realize it? The traditional series A board consisted of two founders, two VCs, and we make a point of exerting less. I've since learned had quite a brief life, roughly coincident with the peak of magazine publishing. So working for yourself makes your brain more powerful in the same portfolio-optimizing way as investors. And getting rejected will put you in a slightly awkward position, because as you'll see when you start fundraising, the most common question you'll get from investors will be who else is investing? So if some friends want you to come work for their startup. Procrastination feeds on distractions. I now leave wifi turned off on my main computer except when I need to transfer a file or edit a web page, and I can't think of one.
#automatically generated text#Markov chains#Paul Graham#Python#Patrick Mooney#A#firm#investors#school#people#computer#anything#coincident#effect#founders#lawyer#question#protection#computers#time#October#amounts#test#Clinton#Bush#startups#notes#VP
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Unstable (A Fe Sides Fic)
Word Count: 2171
TW: It’s another vent fic babyyy swearing, yelling, insults, threats (sort of), an excess of anxiety, there’s an intrusive thought from one of them about jumping off of a building but its one line that she gets scolded for. I think that’s it but if there’s more let me know!
Notes: I had a really rough week last week and now that I’m done with school I have time to write fun things again and I needed a vent. It also is part of rebuilding my personal mind palace! I plan on making more with these guys, they are really easy to write honestly, it was like an out of body experience.
Pairings: Lol nope, not even a little bit no.
Summary: The mind palace was usually quiet. The facets did not all get along, and everyone is high strung during Quaranfinals. Someone needs to step in and get this train moving again.
The mind palace was usually rather quiet. All facets left each other alone for the most part, hoping to stay functional and avoid unnecessary fusions but the last few weeks had been out of the norm. Inge was high strung as ever and was snapping at the smallest inconveniences and that wasn’t even addressing the others.
“Listen here you unstable mother fucker! We don't have time for your whiny depressed bullshit right now! She has two huge finals and your fucking cahoots with Barbie is the opposite of helpful! She needs to WORK and you guys are actively working against that! Don't either of you care about her future?!”
“How about you shut your trap for 5 seconds and drop your high and mighty act? The only reason me and Izzy have been working against you is because you have been failing at your job ever since this quarantine started. If you actually did your fucking job maybe me and Iz wouldn’t be falling down a hole ourselves. For someone who needs to have so much control all the time it's surprising how little you’re ever able to keep. You act like you're the ringleader around here when it's obviously Izzy and Lia. I may not like Lia but at least she can work with me. You on the other hand-”
Lia and Isadora were nervous. They were onlookers in the argument and couldn't get a word in edgewise to stop them. Izzy was trying to hide in her Roman Sanders sweater and Lia was hidden in her hoodie that was too big on her, biting her thumb as her eyes darted everywhere but the fight. In the real world Fe was closing her laptop with a sigh, desperate to go and take a nap. She looked quickly to Izzy with all she had to say, communicated in the glance. Suddenly the palace shook and Inge snapped her head at Lia who was very interested at her chewed up Crocs and not the anger filled gazes directed at her.
“LIA WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
“She's too stressed. If you keep at this you're gonna wake up T and that wont help you in getting her to do her work. If T gets up right now she's gonna fail and we all know it. Let Izzy calm her down for a bit. See, she's only taking a half an hour long nap, like her dad told her to. We all just need to chill for a bit.”
Lia was scratching at her face and Inge finally let the anger and annoyance leave her. She gently swatted at Lia’s hand, placing a quickly conjured sheet of bubble wrap in it. Lia smiled at the floor, still not meeting her eyes, vaguely worried at the signs of T waking up, hoping beyond hope that she was just still channeling the hyperactivity that Fe was plagued with. Izzy was meanwhile glassy eyed, placing herself on the floor blindly, waving her hands about in a way that all three recognized as her weaving a dream. It was wonderful to watch, extremely relaxing to see her go off on an adventure of her own design. It was almost meditative to watch her methodical movements, the simple twists of her wrists as she moved the story along. Lia busied herself with popping the bubbles, as Carli and Inge both left to busy themselves in their own wings of the palace. Lia sat across from Isadora, glancing up at her every once in a while. She muttered quietly to herself and maybe Izzy as well.
“She's waking up. I don't know what we’re gonna do, we really gotta get Fe through this last week, but Isa will stop us, I know she will, but how are we supposed to still get things done”
“We’ll figure it out”
Lia’s head snapped up at Izzy whose eyes were still unseeing as she spoke.
“Talisa works with us. We just need to convince her to use her strengths to support us in this. I know she can. Besides, dreams are so much more fun with her around. Who knows, maybe daydream mode will help her write her essay”
Lia smiled softly as she felt comfortable enough to look Izzy in the eyes that couldn't see her. She nodded and went back to her bubble wrap, far more content with the slow draining of anxiety from her body. At least until the palace shook again.
“AAAAAH!!! Well what a wonderful time to be alive eh? Heh, that's a joke, gods, she's asleep and she's still exuding panic like no one's business!”
Out of a darkened corridor walks Talisa in all her glory and self deprecation. There was yet another shake as Fe awoke. Isadora’s eyes cleared in an instant as she rose to her feet.
“Oh boy, Pops woke her up? Ooooh that's not great. I'm sure she's gonna be off all day huh Iz? Oh that's just fuel for this, gosh what have I missed?”
“Quarantine you lucky bitch”
Izzy walks to her with a cocky grin and does a simple handshake with the crazy eyed side. Talisa’s eyes glance around the room. She grins wider, scratching at her scalp.
“All this panic and mania and I wasn't invited? I feel like I should be insulted!”
Lia rose as well, abandoning the bubble wrap as the need to stim left her, and walked over. She smiled small and avoided her face.
“She's got homework. Its, it's all homework now, everything's homework. I haven't been helpful much, but I knew you would probably make it all harder for her, I've been enough of a hindrance for her, I imagined she probably wouldn't do well being overly mentally compromised AND lazy as all get out”
“Oh Lia! I'm wounded! I'm not all bad! Plus-”
There was a sudden shift of the palace again as Fe sat down and started furiously writing her essay, anxiety as her fuel, aided by a giant cup of soda from the gas station.
“A little blood pumping’s good for the brain, ain't it? She just needs a little push! Maybe off of a building eh? Sounds like a ball!”
“Yo, you've been up for less than 5 minutes, stop with that shit, give her a week maybe? So we can properly talk her down?”
“Oh fine, I guess my premium service can wait to activate!”
Her hands moved from her scalp to her arms, scratching without conviction. Isadora softly took her hand off, stopping the scratching and handing her a fidget cube to replace the destructive stim.
“Ohhhh! This is neato mojito Dora!!! Where'd you think this un up? It's pretty! It's my colors too! Ain't that sweeter than molasses! Why I've been so rude, how've you been doing Dora? And you Lia?”
The two smiled. They genuinely liked her, she was nice to be around, while she had her problems, she didn't get mean and angry like Inge and Carli do. She was just… manic. A little odd, maybe crazy, but she wasn’t mean. She didn't yell, and it calmed the two. And they got along well anyways, Lia because she often was a placeholder for her when Fe wasn’t extra out of it and knew how to deal with her quirks, and Dora because divergence fed her like nothing else, made her imagination run wild.
“Whoo! Well ladies, looks like I've got my work cut out for me eh? She invited that boy over last week and that was the first time she saw him in weeks? Oh and her other school friend left her group chat? Yikes, she's a right mess!”
“Yup. she… hasn't been adjusting well to all of this well”
“I’ll say!”
Talisa fidgeted absently with the cube in her hand as she walked around the palace commons, looking around at the scenery. The walls, usually a light lavender were dark violet and the paint was peeling in spots, revealing a gooey black underside. The TV was stuck on a looping image of the most recent Sanders Sides episode. She grinned wide enough to look uncanny, bending her back to crack her spine, almost splitting in half and did a spin as she rose again. She interlocked her fingers and cracked the lot of them and twisted her neck to pop that as well.
“What are you about to do?”
“Why, what I do best dear Lia!”
She jumped in the air snapping her fingers twice. Her appearance changed, her extraordinarily unruly hair was tied back in a ponytail, tucked through the hole in the back of her baseball cap with the Slytherin logo across the front of it. Her shirt that had been well worn from being worried between her fingers as well as used as pajamas, changed to a tangent hoodie, her shorts with frayed strings switched to a flower patterned pair of leggings, and a skateboard appeared under her feet. She spun around on the board with her wild smile never leaving her face.
“WE’RE ON THE HIGHWAY TO HYPERFOCUS BABES!!! And a little smidge of depression but hey it’ll add to its effectiveness”
It was then that Inge and Carli came running and screamed simultaneously.
“LIA YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KEEP HER ASLEEP!!!”
“Couldn't you for once just do something that was helpful for Fe?”
Talisa stopped in mid spin, turning slowly to look at Carli and Inge. She was no longer smiling. She was glaring and she stepped off of her board and took slow methodical steps towards the two.
“Now now girls, there's no need to scream!”
She was completely in Inge’s face when she said her next words.
“Isn't that right brainiac?”
Inge nodded instantly, fear filling her instantly. Talisa then turned to Carli and grabbed her by the collar of her dress. She glared hard into her eyes and began to grin as Carli’s eyes filled with panic and she avoided her gaze.
“And just for your information, Lia is more helpful than you could ever hope to be, you coward. For someone whose supposed to be confidence you’d think you might be able to share some of that with our host instead of sitting in your room at 3 in the morning and crying into Ramen over the fact that she still isn't in a relationship”
She released Carli, who fell to the ground and scrambled as far away from her as possible and sobbed quietly in the corner she curled up in. and then a moment later, her entire demeanor changed and she smiled happily.
“Oh hi there gals! I was just starting to get Fe to get working!”
Inge blinked owlishly. Her head tilted, as if the whole interaction before held no merit over what Talisa had just said.
“What? But I thought?”
She walked to the TV screen, changing the screen to be a first person view of Fe working away on her essay. Inge made a noise of confusion as she looked back at Talisa yet again.
“But, but you’re a hindrance! You, you make her life a living hell, how is she still doing her work?”
“You know what I do right? Like, you know what my job is? Come on pinky and the pain, I do ADHD yeah, but I also do anxiety and depression. If she doesn't get this stuff done she’ll fail, doncha think that'd drive her to be anxious enough to get it done? If she doesn't she’ll be depressed as all hell, there's no chance she can do law school if she can't even pass an English course. And the bonus of ADHD is that sticky hyperfocus! She’ll be done with that essay before Thursday, and that test for math?”
The palace shook again as the TV showed her turning in her math test. Talisa grinned.
“I’d say it was a walk in the park, wouldn't you? But you know, on an unrelated note, we should really fix that shaking affect, makes me dizzy”
Inge stared in shock and Carli did the same. Talisa stuffed her hands into her front pocket on her jacket and went over to the beanbag across from the TV and plopped down onto it. She pulled her right hand out and chewed on her thumb as she watched the screen. Her job was done for the moment so she let herself relax as she felt the others do the same. Inge rushed back to her room to help aid Fe with the memories needed for writing her essay, but the others placed themselves somewhere in the common room. Carli sat on her love seat and watched the screen intently. Izzy fell asleep quickly, not being needed for the moment, same for Lia, the both of them curling up with Talisa. She let her left hand leave her pocket to pat Lia's head. The only noise was coming from the soft snoring of the sleeping sides and the TV projecting the real world. Finally, finally, the mind palace was quiet again.
Taglist: @fivebyfive-finebyfive @tacohippy56900 @analogical-mess @crookedlyoptimisticdestiny @angels-and-dreams @fandomloverangel
Let me know if you want to be tagged in my writing or taken off my list!
Thank you for reading I will see you later ladies lords and nonbinary royalty!
#my ocs#my sides#lia fe#isadora fe#talisa fe#inge fe#carli fe#tw swearing#tw cursing#my writing#original story
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Congratulations, PARKER! You’ve been accepted for the role of LAERTES. Admin Minnie: It’s absolutely not a secret that we’ve been waiting for Lawrence for a long time, and boy did you deliver. Your characterization was distinct, your voice was so clear and your plots — Parker, your plots had me so excited and literally vibrating in my seat to see it all unfold. And trust me, I just came back from a long day of meetings and hours of driving and a flight; it took a lot for me to feel energized this evening. The way you brought Lawrence to life was so vivid and unforgettable in your application, and I have no doubt you’re going to do the same on our dash. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.
WELCOME TO THE MOB.
OUT OF CHARACTER
Alias | Parker
Age | 19
Preferred Pronouns | He/him
Activity Level | So here’s the tea, right? I’m a college student who never learned how to set up a schedule that doesn’t suck and am highly involved in student government because I am poor and it pays for my housing and meals. So when it comes to the school year, I’m busy. I’m hella busy, so I’ll probably do replies on the weekends and at ungodly hours in the morning for the vast majority of the year. However, this semester is coming to a close and as long as I survive finals, I’ll have five weeks where I can be on every single day!
Timezone | Mountain Standard Time (MST)
How did you find the rp? | My cousin showed it to me during Thanksgiving, of all the wacky things! She’s big into RP and she knows how much I love Shakespeare, and she thought I’d like this group. I thought I’d try and enter her world and see if I also like RP’ing/actually writing consistently with a set goal in mind.
IN CHARACTER
Character | Laertes - Lawrence Alvise Vernon. I absolutely adore Kendrick Sampson as Lawrence, so no faceclaim changes from me!
What drew you to this character? | So, I have a gut feeling this is going to get pretty long, so please bear with me. I think the first part that attracted me to Lawrence was the character he’s based off of. Hamlet was the first Shakespeare play I read, liked, and understood (though not in that order I don’t think). It was really awesome to see a character from something that had such a huge impact on me and what I want to do with my life still open and available! And Laertes is so important to that original story, even if the tragic Danish boyfriends overshadow him in the general story and in the fandom. The OG story doesn’t function as a tragedy without Laertes and the emotional impact of that last act and a half is only tear-inducing, to me, if Laertes was there. The story just needs him there, you know? One of the reasons I picked him to apply with is because I hoped the same could be said about the story of Diverona and I wanted to play that kind of role in a group filled with characters I think are awesome.
But it isn’t all source material that lead me to pick Lawrence, oh no! Lawrence is, as his bio shows, driven by a near all-consuming need for approval. He’s willing to keep pushing towards and striving for goals that would be completely out of reach if it wasn’t for his absolute, burning need to prove that he is capable of meeting those goals and surpassing them. For Lawrence, he expects that one receives love only if its been earned. He was never told that he was enough on his own merit and so the idea that he, as a person, is worthy has never crossed his mind, which is an absolutely tragedy! However, it’s something I understand and looking at that aspect of his character, I felt I’d be able to do it justice because I deal with a very similar thing far too often for it to be healthy.
However, there was one part of the bio that convinced be Lawrence was the character I had to try and get into this group with. Lawrence is a genuinely good person that has had to push that goodness aside to become someone his father prefers and someone his father would give the underboss title too. He isn’t, as you stated, cruel, but he has learned that in order to advance, he has to step on people, he must control every little itsy thing, and he must, above all, be perfect. But! Despite all these lessons, he is still a good egg! A good bean! I really appreciated you all making sure that was evident in his bio and it was really the thing that convinced me to apply for him!
What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |
Plot One - Little Sister, You’re All That I Know: So, we’re starting off with the most important plot of all, said from the perspective of another older brother to a younger sister. From what I can tell, the Vernon siblings are both extraordinarily in love with people, but not because of any other reason than the fact that they’re people. Or, at least, they were, up until Lawrence got so angry at Verona for daring to kill his father that he single-handedly took up the pitchforks and torches to make those responsible for that death pay. In the meantime, he’s managed to completely smother and override his sister’s opinion and free will which is so incredibly not good, even if it is well-intentioned. I want Lawrence to learn to back off, to trust his sister, and to learn that as strong as he is alone, he’s much stronger with his sister at his back. I imagine the jumpstart for this would be Odessa doing something really awesome, maybe even saving Lawrence’s life. By proving in a very direct way that she would be able to look after herself, that would allow Lawrence to begin backing off, to release the reigns of control, and trusting her to take care of herself in a way their father never imagined. Unfortunately, Lawrence is stubborn. He won’t change unless someone else kickstarts that change by being extremely impressive. Which is… Not ideal but it is, however, the only way I see that change happening.
Plot Two - Throw Me in the Delorean and it Never Happened: The thing about anger is that it is all-consuming. The thing about vengeance is that it is blinding. And the thing is: when you’re running on both and only on both, you are going to make a mistake. Lawrence is so desperate to be perfect that realizing he made a mistake would be devastating. So you know what I want? I want him to make an absolutely disastrous mistake and I want him to kill the wrong person that he was convinced was involved in the plot to kill his father. Think of it as his own blind stabbing through a curtain without checking to see who was on the other side. I want it because there is nothing like realizing your oopsie resulted in the loss of someone that should have seen the next sunrise to shake the foundations of your conviction. It would be perfect as it would show Lawrence he isn’t infallible and he isn’t perfect, no matter how hard he tries to be Personally, I’d love if he makes a go at a Montague and is forced to also check is loyalty and conviction to the family he’s worked with since he was a little boy. This could easily evolve from him keeping an eye on someone and completely misinterpreting what they’ve been up to and acting rashly. I feel like his failure of judgement would leave the Montagues shaken and reeling and it would further destabilize the city, which is frankly a big yes please from me. I also want Lawrence to try and cover his failure up and fail miserably. That’s really just because I feel like it would be a very interesting character study to see how Lawrence deals with trying to hide the evidence of his imperfection and doesn’t have a lot to do with Verona as a city, but alas, I am just a humble writer too focused on the golden boy and recognize that aspect of this may not come to play at all.
Plot Three: The Beauty of a Broken Bust: In the biography, you wrote that “he was put on a pedestal so high that a fall might’ve shattered him”. That foundation he’s on isn’t the sturdiest of things at the moment, considering the person that made that base is now dead. So, I want him to shatter and break apart. I want the pieces that had made him up, the pieces that he has forced to make him up to go flying to who knows where, leaving Lawrence with nothing else to do but to rebuild himself entirely without his father’s influence. This would change his perspective on the war as well as his relationships with nearly every character in this RP. It would also force him to confront the actions and choices he made while trying to become someone his father would be proud of. I truly believe this is something he must eventually go through because the person he is trying to be for a dead man isn’t sustainable nor is it healthy! Something has got to change and that something is code for Lawrence. I can see this happening because of the death of his sister, a very personal betrayal from inside the Montague family, or from the plot I mentioned directly above. If Lawrence stays the way he is, however, he’s going to burn himself out before he can give the Vernon name any sort of justice and he has to accept that. The issue with this plot is that he’s so stubborn and this happening would require a push so strong I’m not entirely sure I want to see it. (That’s a lie, I absolutely do want to see it, but my internal dramatics insisted that I state it that way.)
Plot Four - Now Would You Kindly: Now, I know y’all said three plots and I hear you, but I have more ideas and I want to share them! The first of these extra ideas is that it is a truth universally acknowledged by Montagues, Capulets, and Vernons alike that Alvise was not a good man. Lawrence knows this, Roman knows this, the pigeons that litter the city know this. I want evidence of his wrongdoings to come swinging back and to slap Lawrence so hard that he’s forced to question if the footsteps of his father are ones worth following. Maybe it’s in the form of letters of blackmail or an investigation into how many innocent people he helped kill, but I want it to happen and I want the evidence to be so overwhelming it almost drowns Lawrence. He’s spent a very long time pushing down what he wants to be for what his father wants him to be and I want Lawrence to question if it’s really been worth it, if that kind of person has been worth the outrageous effort he’s put in to make it happen. And maybe that person isn’t someone Odessa wants to be related to, which is something I think would absolutely impact Lawrence’s decision. She is his last living blood relative, after all.
Plot Five - I’m the King of the Castle: In Lawrence’s mind, I have no doubt that he believes he should be the Montague underboss now that he is back in town. He has, after all, fought for it, cried for it, and killed for it. However! He is not the underboss and that has no doubt rubbed him the wrong way. So, I want him, in his crusade to avenge his father, to also do his best to prove how perfect he is for the underboss role. I want him to leap into impossible jobs and to push down his morals yet again and brush on a mask of cruelty because he wants it, he deserves it, and it his in his name and therefore his legacy that he has the blasted title of underboss! He needs to fight for it and I want that fight to be obvious and also just flat-out brutal to observe. I don’t know if I actually want him to get it, if I’m being completely honest. Him having the title also raises some issues about what he did to get there, issues I want to explore, however I feel that such a role would push Lawrence too far in one direction on that vague scale of morality and loyalty he currently exists on and I kinda want him to keep waffling on it for as long as possible. This could change however! Especially with plotting. And I recognize that, so I will say that the core of this plot is his fight for the role of underboss and less about what would happen if he got it.
Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yeah, I’m ok with that! It would really suck, especially given how the Vernon family has been absolutely just. Destroyed. Uprooted. Left unmoored and drifting in the wind like last week’s laundry. But that same instinct that tells me that killing Lawrence would a) sprinkle in some awesomeness that is the original source material in a very satisfying way and b) would upend Verona even more than its already been, giving and taking motivations from people and maybe driving the rest of the Montague family just absolutely over the deep-end, which I would pay actual, real-life money to see. The slow destruction of the Vernon family is the slow destruction of Verona herself which means there is some drama to be had in Lawrence’s death! And I do love drama.
IN DEPTH
In-Character Interview (I only did two, please let me know if you want more!):
“What has been your biggest mistake thus far?”
Lawrence swallowed, face kept carefully still to give nothing away. Answers sprung to the tip of his tongue, eager to leap forward like hounds released from their kennel, but opening that door would destroy a lot more than just Lawrence’s reputation. Indeed, the perfect tool should not have so many answers to that question, but perhaps, Lawrence mused, his time away had done something to his obedience.
He stalled for time by taking a sip of the drink he had been neglecting in the warm Italian air. It was now unpleasantly lukewarm as the golden heat of the day made its way into the glass but it was better than nothing. It was only as he took a small sip that an answer sprung to mind, one that was both truthful and good for the image he was attempting to maintain.
“I have to say it was leaving the city,” he commented, returning the glass to the table. “I… left for reasons I am proud of, especially because there’s nothing wrong with being educated in this world. But if I had stayed, I could have done something!” Lawrence’s fist hit the table, making the glass and girl across from him jump. The sudden burst of temper was gone as quickly as it had arrived as his hand opened and his shoulders relaxed. “If I had stayed, this all wouldn’t have happened and a great man would still be with us. But I didn’t and now my father is dead.” He shrugged, meeting the girl’s eyes and hoping she wouldn’t see the emotion carried in them. “If I had come back earlier, Verona would be a very different place.”
“What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”
His jaw clenched so tightly, a particularly attentive listener could hear his teeth protest the treatment. Lawrence’s hand held the chair like it was the only thing keeping him from leaping across the room to punch the smugly smirking man in the nose. “Just because I’ve only recently returned,” he gritted out, “does not mean I have gone turncoat. There is nothing,” he spat out, “nothing in this city more justified or honorable.”
His body eased the tension that it had so rapidly adopted as he noticed the nervous twitches and aborted movements to concealed weapons that had begun filling the room. As he eased, the rest of the room did too. “But you’re wrong,” Lawrence continued quietly, though there was no mistaking the vehmance leaking from his mouth like poison. “This isn’t a war. This is justice long overdue and more than earned. To call it a war is to imply the Montagues are not fully in the right.”
Lawrence took a deep breath, exhaling some of the passion he had been speaking with not long before. “I wish it wasn’t the loss of my fath–” His voice cracked and Lawrence swallowed, once, before continuing. “Alvise that had caused it, but it is only makes this city all that more dangerous for the Capulets. Because now I am back in Verona and I am coming for every single one with Vernon blood on their hands.” Perhaps it was dramatic, but the ice-cold certainty that hung in Lawrence’s voice stole any humor from the proclamation.
In-Character Para Sample:
He was eight years old, holding a pistol in shaking hands barely large enough to operate the thing. A slowly expanding puddle of red licked at his new shoes, staining them from cream to what would, by tomorrow, be an ugly brown. The shoes were what Lawrence focused on, the shoes and their new color. Because if he didn’t, if he looked up, he’d see the man slumped against the wall like a marionette without strings. If he looked up, he’d see the evidence of his actions.
Larger hands took the gun from Lawrence, trying and failing to be gentle. He wasn’t large enough to stop Alvise, though he wouldn’t even if he could. If his father took the gun, he could also take the body and the unbearable weight of its existence. Lawrence knew his father could fix anything, make any problem go away, and so he let the gun go. Maybe his father would fix this too. The two said nothing to each other as large men quietly entered the room, cleaning it, restoring it under the watchful eye of a king of Verona. Lawrence kept his eyes on his shoes.
Before long, Lawrence had been bundled into a car. The gun and body were gone as were his shoes. The next morning, there would be a new pair of shoes, cream and pristine, sitting at the foot of his bed. They stayed there, untouched, until Lawrence outgrew them.
He was thirteen at a new school, all restless energy that danced under his skin because, for the first time in his life, he was allowed to play a sport. He chose football, of course, but the black and white ball came with strings he never anticipated. Fitness was never the problem, it was balancing practice with everything else. Which bruise came from cleats and which came from fists during sparring was never an easy distinction, but as he got better at the sport, he began to look more and more like a poster child for the American Child Services.
It was a lack of sleep that ultimately did him in, made him sloppy. Alvise pulled him aside one Sunday morning before the sun graced the tops of Verona’s rooftops and told him to choose, choose between the sport and his last name. It was presented as a choice freely given, but the look in Alvise’s eyes made it clear it was anything but.
Lawrence quit the football team the next day, despite thinking that if he just kept with it, he could have made the national team. Somewhere, in a shoebox in the back of a closet, are a barely-used pair of cleats.
He was sixteen, armored inside a jacket of patches and studs, the handmade messages stitched to the outside screaming his fury at the world. There was a funeral scheduled that afternoon and Lawrence wasn’t going to be able to make it. The jacket weighed heavy on his back as he cursed Verona and the Montague name for letting his friend, the only one not tied to his father’s world, die because of it anyway.
But Lawrence was needed elsewhere that afternoon, Alvise’s steady gaze still hanging heavy across his back though the man had left some time ago. That coffin was going to go into the ground and with it, the boy affectionately nicknamed “Ray” by the body in that coffin was going to be buried too. The patches that the two had spent so long on, the quiet acts of teenage rebellion and freedom would join the nickname, and Lawrence would once again become the son of Alvise.
No one among the Montague family was going to mourn the dead civilian from two weeks before. No one but Lawrence, and he screamed it from the rooftop. It was only when his throat ached and the fire inside him was less of an inferno that he left the roof and changed into a suit. Alvise needed him elsewhere, and he was never one to disappoint. Lawrence pretends he lost the jacket, even though he knows exactly which trunk it’s collecting dust in.
He was twenty-two when he took the role of captain, the final stepping stone before Alvise’s throne, it seemed. It struck him like a plank of wood across the face when he realized being a Vernon wasn’t enough. His soldiers would listen, and yes, they’d do what he’d ask, but they lacked the respect they gave his father. For the first time, he needed to be more than a Vernon and he rose to the challenge with relish.
He never learned to address them like his father, a man who had perfected the harsh bark that made every muscle in a body snap to immediate attention. That seemed to be a skill reserved exclusively for the man Lawrence knew he needed to become. He never perfected it, but he did learn how to get close enough to command respect and the focus of a room. Then the Vernon name dripped from those around him, praising him for how like his father he was. But that wasn’t enough anymore.
He was twenty-four when he left Verona, determined to outshine his father. It wasn’t enough to just be a Vernon, he had to be better than that. He doesn’t talk about that time with Veronans, the free laughter and the hours spent in a library, writing essays on things he only cared about because they were things to outdo his father. But even as Alvise hung like a ghost over his shoulder, he was still thousands of miles away. His weight that had hung over Lawrence was lifted, and it was only when it was gone he realized it had been there at all.
He would never say it, but his time out of Verona was possibly the happiest times he’d ever had.
He was twenty-eight when Lawrence got the phone call that his father was dead. He is twenty-eight still, but his hands still shake when he fires a gun. He is twenty-eight, and he sneers when someone on the national team fails to score a goal. He is twenty-eight, but anger towards the Montague family still overtakes him at times, clawing at his throat and heart, begging to be released. He is twenty-eight and he has still not learned how to deliver orders like Alvise. He is twenty-eight and despite it all, Lawrence Vernon is his father’s son. He carries a torch alongside his father’s name and even though he is not Alvise, he has never let him down and he has returned to Verona with a bag of clothes and the Vernon name. Wars have been fought with far less and Lawrence has been fighting every day of his life for his father. He just never thought he’d have to fight Verona.There was a time for goodness, but now is the time for success.
Extras:
This app was submitted through Lawrence’s mock blog, so feel free to peruse it!
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A Whole New Ballgame
Pairing: Drake x MC
Word Count: 2,150
Summary: Drake experiences his first Major League Baseball game with a very enthusiastic wife at his side.
Note: Ever since the topic of a sports field came up during the tour of Valtoria, I’ve had this burning need for Drake Walker to attend a baseball game in America. This silly story has been a WIP for more than a year, but I got distracted writing other things and never finished it. Since PB has decided to send the crew to the US again in TRH, it seemed like the perfect time to dust it off and boot it out of my drafts folder.
This story also fulfills a request that I received for a kiss on the back of the hand.
“Do I really have to wear the hat, Wittman?”
His wife assessed him quietly, grey eyes barely visible from under the bill of her own cap. “I’m not going to make you, but it would help make sure that no one recognizes us,” she considered with a shrug. “We want to blend in with the fans here. And dressing up is part of the baseball experience…”
Drake yanked the bright red cap over his hair and considered his appearance in their rearview mirror. The brim of the hat smacked the edge of the sun visor as he turned to get a look at the strands of hair shooting out from underneath the sweatband. “I look like an American.”
“You’re half American…”
“That doesn’t mean I have to dress like one.”
“Here,” she motioned for him to turn toward her. Jena pulled the cap back off his head, smoothing over the hair that fell to his forehead. His eyes closed involuntarily at the feeling of her nails dragging lightly against his scalp. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Too soon, she tugged the cap forward again before making some final adjustments to brush the hair away from his ears.
Drake had to admit that she’d done a better job than he had, but he still felt a bit silly brandishing a big white T across the crown of his head. The light in his wife’s eyes made it worthwhile, however. “Let’s go before you find something else for me to put on. I think the jersey and the hat are enough.”
“Drake, I promise you’ll be in good company. There are going to be a ton of people wearing Beltre jerseys. The man just retired after playing since the ‘90s.”
“I suppose it’s better than,” he leaned back in the seat to read her shirt, “better than Odor.”
“It’s pronounced Oh-door.”
“And you chose him because...?”
She colored vibrantly, mumbling, “Because he has a mean right hook.”
Drake gaped at his wife in disbelief. “This from the woman who doesn’t condone violence and nearly lost her mind when I agreed to fight a stuck-up nobleman?”
“Bautista kind of deserved it…” she offered, smiling as she made an exaggerated show of checking her face in the mirror. “And baseball players are always getting into fights. Haven’t you ever heard of bench-clearing brawls?”
“Sure, Wittman. I think you’ve got a thing for men who can throw punches.”
“Nope, just you.” She angled her face up to kiss his stubbled jaw, careful to avoid stabbing him with the end of her hat. “Let’s go, Walker.”
_____
As it happened, Drake felt a lot less ridiculous once they’d made it into the stadium. By the time they’d found their way to their seats and settled in, he was little more than a drop in the ocean of red, white, and blue.
Jena sat beside him, completely enthralled. It was only the bottom of the first, but Drake found himself wondering if she could keep up this level of concentration for the entire game. He thought back to the other sporting events he’d seen with her, but couldn’t ever remember her being so fully engrossed in what was happening.
Before the trip, she'd warned him that baseball was her weakness. Drake supposed he’d soon find out just what she’d meant by the expression.
His eyes flicked to the scoreboard. If the numbers there were any indication, the third man in the Rangers’ lineup was likely to meet the same hitless fate as his the other two.
Sure enough, the first pitch was a swing and a miss.
Strike one!
Jena clapped for the pitcher enthusiastically, ponytail bobbing with the force of her movements. “C’mon! Three up, three down. Let’s go!”
Drake shook his head with amusement. “I thought we were supposed to be cheering for Texas?”
Her eyes still on the pitcher, Jena stretched a hand out toward him. “Today, I’m just cheering for good baseball.”
Squeezing her fingers, he lifted their hands to his lips and kissed just beneath the hinge of her wrist. “Then I hope you get it.”
Far as he was from understanding her obsession, he couldn’t complain at the opportunity it provided for just the two of them to get away from the ranch. After spending so many hours packed into Liam’s rental car, a full afternoon and evening with just his wife for company felt like a luxury.
A young boy in the row before theirs teetered, his sudden movement drawing Drake from his thoughts. The child stood on one leg, holding a baseball in one hand while the other was swallowed by a stiff leather glove. He couldn’t be more than four or five years old, tongue between his teeth as he mimicked the stance that was being demonstrated on the field. With expert control, the boy threw his leg forward and swung his arm, hand never releasing its grip on the ball.
Drake forced his eyes away, but not before his lips had curved into a grin.
Strike two!
“This certainly isn’t his first game,” Jena observed, having followed her husband’s gaze.
“Heh, I guess not. Looks like he knows what he’s doing.”
“He just needs somebody to catch for him.” Her grey eyes darted from the field to her husband.
Drake observed the group of people, trying to discern the relationship dynamics. “Doesn’t look like his sister is interested in playing.” Indeed, in the matter of minutes he’d been aware of the family sitting before them, he didn’t think she’d looked up from her book once.
Strike three!
The inning over, Jena leaned back in the hard plastic seat and gave Drake her full attention. “You’re going to be a great catcher someday.”
His heart stuttered as he took the full meaning of her words. “I can’t wait to teach our kids all of that stuff. Come to think of it, I’ll probably have to teach Bartie those things too. Can’t see Bertrand taking him outside with a ball and glove.”
Jena’s brow wrinkled in thought. “You never know. I think he’s done better with the whole fatherhood thing than either of us would have expected. He may just surprise us.”
Drake grunted, feigning interest in watching the mascot dance across home-team’s dugout. It was going to be a long time before the elder Beaumont actually felt like a member of family.
“But our kids will always have the advantage when it comes to sports, Walker.”
Smirking, he remembered his own childhood. “I used to be a catcher, you know. A long time ago.”
“I know,” she chimed in. From under the shadow of her hat brim, he could see her eyes crinkle in the corners as she smirked back. Her fingers drifted to his leg -- higher than his knee, but not high enough to get them thrown out of the park. “I think that’s why you have such great thighs,” she whispered behind his ear.
He shivered against her words, incredulous for more than one reason. Quietly clearing his throat, he covered her hand with his own, daring her to keep them there as he spoke. “It’s been almost fifteen years since I’ve played, Wittman. There’s no way that experience has anything to do with the state of my thighs today.”
“Just take the compliment, Walker.”
He breathed a heavy sigh and slid both of their hands toward his knee. At this rate, it was going to be an extraordinarily long day.
_____
Baseball was proving more time consuming than Drake remembered. More than an hour into the game, they still hadn’t come to the end of the third inning, nor had the action on the field been particularly noteworthy. Sucking a deep breath and reaching for his drink, he scanned crowd around them. The boy he’d noticed before had traded his glove and ball for a cup of frozen lemonade. His sister remained just as intent on her novel.
Drake tried to imagine a much-younger version of his wife coming to games with her grandpa, her mitt poised and hair sticking out in pigtails under her hat. The mental image made him smile.
More than that, it made him wonder for the thousandth time what it would be like for them to have children of their own. That was the whole purpose of leaving early for this trip, wasn’t it? Somewhat glumly, he tried to work out how much time remained of not only this game, but the one that followed.
Damn doubleheader...
Out of nowhere, Jena’s palm made sharp contact with his knee, jolting him from his sundry musings.
"Ow!” he winced instinctively.
"Did you see that? Did you see that double play? It was...” she paused for a moment to evaluate the field. “I think it was a 1-3-2-5-3-4...″
"It’s a little late for you to be giving me your number, don’t you think?”
The comment earned him an exasperated sigh.
"You missed it!" she accused, reading the uncertainty in his eyes. The flecks of silver shone brilliantly, even though her frustration was feigned. “What a way to end an inning.”
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Wittman?” he inquired, taking advantage of having her undivided attention while the teams switched places. “I thought the whole purpose of coming out here early was to get some peace and quiet. You don’t seem very calm.”
Jena tapped one long nail to her lip, drawing his eyes to that feature in a way that he knew was calculated to distract him from further critiques. “I will be very calm when we get back to the ranch. I promise.”
“Still, I bet the press would have a field day if they knew we were spending nine hours watching baseball when we could be ensuring Cordonia’s future.”
She scoffed and straightened in her chair. “Watching baseball is a very effective form of stress relief, which makes this an extremely tactical approach,” she explained, allowing her calf to brush the side of his.
“It’s not a great strategy if it stresses me in the process,” he argued, ignoring the contact.
Jena’s lips kinked up in a mischievous smile. “I’ll help you calm down later.”
_____
By the time the first game had drawn to a close, Drake was running with a theory that this sport had been invented as a form of torture -- especially for men with beautiful, baseball-loving wives. It had been days since they’d had this much time to spend alone together, but the most he’d gotten out of her was a quick series of kisses after the first and only home run.
During their time in the States, Jena’s freckles had come out in the sun, and his eyes kept drifting over the feature with curiosity. For the better part of the last hour, he’d been fantasizing over the thought of kissing each and every one...
A pair of fingers hooked through the crook of his elbow, gliding softly against the sensitive flesh in the crease. The hairs on Drake’s neck stood tall as he felt his wife’s proximity.
“We can leave if you want to. I’m not going to make you sit through another game if you’re miserable.”
Drake recognized the olive branch she’d extended, but he wasn’t about to take away from something she so clearly loved. “I’m not miserable.”
She regarded him dubiously.
“I mean, it gives me time with you, doesn’t it? And you’re obviously loving every minute of this. I’ve gotta say, Wittman, watching how much you’re getting into this is actually kinda fun.”
Jena scratched the side of her nose a bit sheepishly. “I can tone it down if it’s too much.”
“Nope. Don’t you dare.”
Her fingers tightened at his arm, and he covered them with a hand. “I won’t. Though I will try not to smack you again.”
“I appreciate it.”
“And I really will make it up to you later,” she purred, the words designed for his ears alone. “But for now,” she told him, voice growing lighter, “I’m going to stretch my legs for a while. I’ll be back in a few minutes. ”
Jena rose and stretched her entire body upward, popping up on her toes before she arched her back into a tantalizing curve. Eyes following her every move, he felt his resolve of just a minute before was quickly slipping away.
Drake tried to maintain an innocent tone as he asked, "How long before I can take you home?" And get you back in bed? He didn't state the destination, but the sparkle in her eye told him she’d taken the hint.
"I'm guessing at least another four hours. Get comfy, Walker."
“Will do. But Wittman?”
She leaned down toward him, fingertips brushing his knees.
“Any chance baseball games in Valtoria could have a time limit?”
#i don't love how this turned out#but i need it out of my draft folder#playchoices#playchoices fanfiction#the royal romance#the royal heir#drake walker#drake x mc
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Moirae - Part 10
Episode: “Irresistible” PREVIOUS CHAPTERS | AO3
Scully knows too well what it feels like to be waiting to die. Hands bound, mouth silenced, the monster waits for her outside of the trunk while the lights in the sky approach. He waits in the house with a hot bath running and little shampoo bottles lined up in tidy rows.
She knows the taste of blood, the metallic bitter of iron and sweat, knows the drowning feeling of slipping into an unconsciousness and losing control over yourself. She knows all of those final prayers by heart, had the slideshow of her life play out in her head several times. She knows how it feels to almost die. But she also knows what it's like to be a survivor. She won't make it easy for them. She will fight with every fiber of her being for her life. She refuses to let them win. God never lets the Devil steal the show, she had told Mulder once, and she's fairly certain that Pfaster may actually be the devil.
Until Mulder delicately lifted her chin with his fingertips and all of her emotions came flooding out, she hadn't realized how much she had been bottling up. Her life lately had been a never-ending coaster of highs and lows and the punches kept coming. She became good at grinding her teeth through them, never one to easily allow what she was feeling to bleed through. Growing up, that was Melissa. She was the one with plunging, never-ending emotions. Crying that her life was over when Bobby Jacobs dumped her at the sophomore year homecoming dance. Threatening to run away when their father grounded her for a month when he found cigarettes in her backpack. She started studying the color of people's auras when she befriended a group of girls who were known as "witches." Of course, their father disapproved and that spurred her interest further, but it seemed to Dana that that was when Melissa finally became content in her life. Among her crystals, she was infused with nature and the elements and it brought a sense of inner peace to her that Dana wholeheartedly envied. She wished that she could be that sure with her own life. Melissa always said Dana's aura were shades of blues, which are very strong and calm individuals, interlaced with some brown and tan shades, which indicate people that tend to overthink normal conundrums, and can often be perceived by others as uptight and elusive. She couldn't argue with her sister. As much as she wanted to be a free spirit, she just never could let go and allow that of herself. She always kept within these lines that she had drawn at an early age. You must do A before you can do B and then work towards C. Precise and exact measurements. Go to bed by 10 pm and wake up at 6 am. Do all of the homework and then as much extra credit as you can muster in. Be the best, and then be a little bit more...
Melissa had informed Dana over wine and some vegan take-out one night recently that Mulder's aura was magenta and red. She explained how rare of a combination that was. People with dominant magenta are a bit eccentric and constantly have the compulsion to go against the status quo. Magenta is a color symbolizing struggle but isn’t necessarily negative. It is often an indicator of artistic abilities that have yet to be realized. When it's mixed with red, it means these people are extraordinarily passionate and make the very best kind of lovers. She couldn't hide the blush in her cheeks and that's when Melissa Scully became acutely aware of just how much her sister could validate that statement.
"Dana Katherine! Why haven't you told me? I want ALL the details. Spill!"
Scully had shaken her head and buried her face into her wine glass, forcing several large gulps down.
"You've been sleeping with that hot partner of yours and I'm just now finding out about it?"
"It's not like we're a couple, Missy. It was just one time at first. It just happened. And then I almost lost him again and..."
"And what?"
Scully's face dropped. "I didn't know what I would do without him."
Melissa, ever the intuitive one to her younger sister's emotions, became serious. "You're in love with him."
"I haven't really thought about it, Melissa. I've been through a lot lately."
"You are! I can see it in your face." Her sister was too damn perceptive.
"It's not like that. We rely on each other."
"Dana, you should have seen him when you were in the hospital. He was circling the drain. He was ready to kill everyone in his path to avenge what they did to you. He's in deep."
She thinks about the time before she was taken. They were spending more time together outside of the FBI since they were no longer partners. It started innocently enough, him stopping by in the evenings to get her medical opinion on some findings as a guise for just wanting to see her. It usually ended up with mind-blowing sex and falling asleep in each other's arms. They never talked about the shift in their relationship, but they both felt the drive to be together, missing the other's presence in their life.
Being with Mulder was easy. He didn't place the expectations on her that Ethan always had. They understood each other and were two like minds on opposite sides of the spectrum. The physical side of their relationship was just a bonus- a way to expel all of the energy that sparked continuously between them. She didn't overthink it. She was still on the pill from her relationship with Ethan, but with the stress of the work she had slipped and forgotten to take it a few times. Her period was weeks late before Duane Barry abducted her. If only she had been able to take the pregnancy test. It was probably for the best that she didn't because it would have just been another devastation from the unknown horrors that were done to her without her consent during those missing weeks of her life that she can't get back. To live with a question mark over your head is a terrible burden. To have to fight the devil with your bare hands and have your newly healed body battered and bruised only compounds it all.
And now, here she was, another night from hell and Mulder is the one putting her back together. Melissa's words from weeks earlier rang in her head. 'You're in love with him.' He is the brick wall with which she puts her back up against. He is the roof keeping her dry from the downpour. He is magenta with a hint of red. Fine, long bones with swimmer's muscle and brilliance encapsulated. He is a full bottom lip, strong angular nose, and pupils that reflect the dark storm of his past. He is hands on her hips, tongue spreading lips, and a thick cock filling her to the brim. He is passion and lust and sarcasm and truth. And maybe Missy isn't so off base, after all. Maybe she is in love with him.
He brings her to his motel room for the night and regulations be damned. He helps dress her in her satin pajamas, careful over her bruises, and kisses the rope burns of her wrists. He tucks her in with tenderness and climbs into bed behind her, willing her demons away with the pressure and weight of his body wrapped tightly around her. When she closes her eyes, she sees the devil's vile stare in between flashes of white light and anonymous faces with surgical masks.
"Mulder, tell me a story."
He nuzzles his nose into the back of her hair. "Hmmm?" his baritone vibrates into her body, the ripples of it sending warm comfort where she is cold all the way through. He's quiet for a moment. She knows he is considering what to tell her, searching his mind for something that doesn't fall into the dark realm of his morning slideshow stories. Finally, a low chuckle rumbles into her neck and he places a single kiss there before clearing his throat.
"So did I ever tell you about the time that Langly tried to make waffles on a CPU?"
She doesn't hear the story, instead focusing on the even rumble of his voice, the comforting drabble reminiscent of late night phone calls that she's been drifting off to since their first case. Blanketed in the sound of his voice surrounding her like a shroud, the devil retreats back to hell, and Dana Scully falls asleep in the arms of her lover.
Tagging @today-in-fic and my writing motivators @pickingoutchinapatterns @alabama-metal-man @baronessblixen @frangipanidownunder @scully-eats-sushi @shyromanticfreak @spookydarlablack @observeroftheuniverse @i-gaze-at-scully @peacenik0 @tumblessuckthis and @tshining
A/N: I am always open for prompts if you have anything you’d love to see with this story moving forward! Things will probably be slower in the next few weeks with the busy holiday upon us, but hopefully will have one more chapter out before the end of the year! Thank you!
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Hey love! I’m thinking about making a Magnus blog. Do you have any advice on writing him?
✧・゚:* GOT A QUESTION? ╱ OPEN.
HI ANON !! I’M NOT SURE IF I’M THE BEST PERSON to be asking about this , but i have admittedly been writing magnus for a while so i would be happy to give you some tips !! first of all , this isn’t exactly writing advice but i have an obligation to remind you to please try and avoid whitewashing your icons !! i’ve seen a lot of magnus rpers do it over the years and still see it from time to time . there are a ton of free psds that are poc friendly out there and if you’re having trouble finding them , please feel free to come to me and i’ll help you out with that !!
secondly , know your languages . magnus was born in java , but the main spoken language among locals in jakarta / batavia has never been javanese . the ethnic group in the area is the betawi people , who are descended from the people who inhabited batavia from the 17th century onwards , and their main language is malay / bahasa malaysia . bahasa indonesia / indonesian is actually a standardised register of malay !! so you’re totally allowed to write magnus without any mention of his mother tongue but if you would like to explore it then your best bet would be bahasa indonesia or bahasa malaysia ( the novels establish indonesian as the language of the maternal side of his family , but i think the show has a little more breathing room ) . i actually mentioned it in a post i made a while back , but malay , ‘ the italian of the east , ’ was deemed easy to learn by the dutch settlers and very useful as an intermediary for trade and communication with the local people . learning malay was also a necessity given their small numbers in the indonesian archipelago : by 1795 there were no more than 543 dutchmen living in batavia . so , you know . there’s a big chance magnus’ stepfather spoke at least some bahasa malaysia too !!
other than that , i really just encourage you to explore his character the way you see fit . don’t let any lingering show / book divide dictate how you portray him !! magnus bane is an exceptionally multi - dimensional character with centuries of untapped adventures and formative experiences , and you shouldn’t be afraid to allow that to shape the way you write him . by the time he was sixteen years old , he was lying about his age to impress clients . can you imagine how hard he must have worked to get where he was in that amount of time ?? there was never a safety net for him , no second chances . he was pushing himself to no end while other kids were having regular childhoods that he should have been experiencing , too . reading , learning , working at controlling his volatile magic , and being desperate to get his hands on as much knowledge as possible .
we’re all familiar with the flamboyant , decadent high warlock of brooklyn , but you can’t forget that he also has a completely different person in him . the one who is angry , the one who is intense , the one who will claw his way to success && refuse to let anyone stop him . he’s brave and charming and cunning and has a tendency to be a rather morally grey person , swayed only by a pretty face or the end of the world ( let’s not forget the fact that the only reason he agreed to help smuggle marie antoinette was because of axel von fersen’s pretty blue eyes && black hair , or that he was entirely unwilling to help clary , a girl he’d known for years , until she helped his people in the television series ) … and of course , somewhere deep down , he can also be extraordinarily selfless . every magnus i’ve seen and spoken to has a wonderfully original take on him , whether they are show , book , or headcanon influenced ( or even a blend of everything !! ) , and i can’t wait to see where you take him .
↪ ANONYMOUS.
#THIS TURNED INTO AN ESSAY SORRY I'M JUST SO PASSIONATe#Anonymous#ʜɪ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʜɪʟɪ's ☆ ⏤〘 ooc ask. 〙
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What is it about Hannibal (the show + person) and his relationship with will that you absolutely love about? They do seem like an interesting couple (I haven’t seen the movie so I cannot relate much) but what about them? I genuinely curious and am interested with your thoughts and opinions.
Hi Anon!! This is a really big question, but I’ll do my best to answer it. I’m definitely gonna put most of this under a cut, because it got really, really long.
First of all, the relationship that I love in regards to the Will//Hannibal dynamic comes from the TV show Hannibal, which was written by Bryan Fuller and ran on NBC from 2013-2015. It was an extraordinarily unique and in-depth take on the Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham friendship that was based on the books, insofar that Will Graham was one of the few who deeply understood Hannibal Lecter prior to the revelation that he was a cannibal. Of course, Bryan took that concept several steps further.
My first suggestion? If you can stomach any kind of horror or gore, watch Hannibal. It is without a doubt the best television show I’ve ever seen, if only because it is visually beautiful, every character is complex and has clearly outlined motivations of their own, and is a really deeply intellectual piece of media. It’s not an easy watch, and I don’t mean that because of content. The story itself, the character drives, even the dialogue will challenge you. It’s not something you just sit down and understand, it really did take a lot of work for me to grasp the full spectrum of what was going on at any given time during my first watch. I’d never encountered something that pushed me that hard before, and even with a week between episodes or more (since I watched when it was originally airing), I was often left like ?????. Think of it like Black Mirror, except every episode is tied together. It’s gonna screw with you a little, so you’ll want to be prepared.
The thing other than the fantastic writing that brings this show and these characters to life: the actors. Mads Mikkelsen as Hannibal Lecter presents a character that you better not take your eyes off even once. Hannibal says things so smoothly and with such conviction, but it’s only if you watch his face at all times that you will see the micro-expressions of what he is actually thinking and feeling. There’s a reason he’s often referred to as the Devil, as smoke.
Hugh Dancy as Will Graham presents a man who is haunted by his own desires from empathizing too closely with killers. He can feel what murderers feel, and that gives him a unique perspective. He puts himself inside their minds to recreate their thought processes as they kill, and that gets to him. It haunts him, and sticks with him. It puts him in the position of needing someone to help him find his way back to himself when he gets in too deep.
It’s such a unique dynamic. I really couldn’t tear myself away. And that’s only where their story begins.
It starts as a sense of curiosity. Hannibal by nature and necessity is a solitary creature, and he has been pretty damn happy that way. When Jack Crawford asks him to profile Will Graham and clear him for field work, it is a unique opportunity for him as an already-established killer to see inside the workings of the FBI. That’s advantageous for him, of course. He can then keep tabs on the investigation against him. But in the process, he discovers Will, who thinks like a killer. Will, who has forcibly shoved his own personality into a very safe box of isolation and rescued dogs and fly fishing, things that require control and perfection. Will uses these constructs as shields to keep the darkness inside him at bay. He absorbs killers to gain their insights, but once they are inside, he has a really hard time getting rid of them.
It may seem backwards, but despite Hannibal meeting other killers who are very much like him, he ultimately rejects them because he doesn’t want someone exactly like himself. He wants Will because he is so incredibly human, but trying so hard to restrain his own darkness. What Hannibal wants above all is to set him free, come hell or high water. And fundamental transformations can be exquisitely painful, even in their beauty. Hannibal wants to see what will happen.
The Hannibal/Will relationship doesn’t stay stagnant, ever. There is a constantly shifting dynamic of power once we reach S2 and Will is aware of Hannibal’s nature. Will puts himself in a position to learn more about Hannibal, and in doing so, finds himself feeling the pull that Hannibal described, discovering the ways in which they are so alike. And the tension in these scenes is indescribable. If you’ve seen any of the gifsets I’ve reblogged, you’ll know what I’m talking about. Every molecule of space between them is charged with intent. Every word is carefully weighted. Every glance is measured to not be too soon or too late, hoping to glimpse beneath the other’s veneer of civility and see the creature inside. They are so cruel to each other as they learn one another, but in their cruelty, they push each other to higher heights, and the friendship never quite fractures.
In a word, they get close. There are moments standing in firelight and shadow, genuine smiles shared, tension that builds and grows until every inch of darkness between them is thick with it. Flirtatious glances. Familiar, intimate touches that hold such rich subtext. They understand each other like no one else does. They stand on the very edge of becoming something more, becoming family, when everything collapses, and they are both devastated by it.
Their relationship is the very definition of “can’t live with him, can’t live without him”. They are described by others as being “identically different”, as being “nakama [friends, but more like… family. like a group of people tied together by life and circumstance who would not easily be broken apart]”.
Hannibal’s revelation of love for Will Graham comes in their separation. It hits him like a train, to be honest. It’s the first time the viewer realizes that underneath the very polite and elegant and put-together man that covers the vicious killer, he really does crave companionship. Even in his solitary life, Hannibal has never been actually solitary. He fills the gaps in with friends and acquaintances, people he cares for to an extent, but mostly people he uses for their advantageous nature. Will is the first person who really sees Hannibal down to his bones, and the loss of him, and the loss of their mutual potential, deeply wounds him.
Like. I can’t even fully explain all the things about these characters that get to me. I think the thing I like most is that, even as a serial killer, Hannibal is still so very human. He finds pleasure in art and architecture. He enjoys history and philosophy and educational pursuits. He’s a talented artist and musician and chef. He gets annoyed by rude people the same as the rest of us. The main difference is that he eats them.
This show is visceral. It’s a game of cat and mouse, a chessboard of intellectual bad decisions, but every choice is born from emotional need. And the best thing about it is that Bryan Fuller fully accepts, welcomes, and acknowledges the love between Hannibal and Will canonically in the show. Not just “haha that’s gay” jokes. Everyone else can see it. Everyone has some sort of parting shot about it. But in the end, even Will is faced with the point-blank realization that, yes, Hannibal is in love with him, and has the question turned back on him: but do you ache for him?
By the end, there is no doubt that the call has been heard, and the draw between them culminates in what Hannibal has really desired all along: he and Will hunting together, fighting together. Achilles and Patroclus, as they have been described by Hannibal himself.
This show is a masterpiece, honestly. It unfolds the confines of civility and sees predators set free. It sees them together, reunited. It sees them in love. It sees them from beginning to end, where even the end is not really the end.
I dearly, desperately hope for a season four of this show. I’m comforted by the fact that all the writers, producers, and actors have voiced their support of doing so, if they can find a production company to pick them up and get the rights of the other Hannibal characters [re: SotL] the way Bryan desires.
The fandom is incredible. Everyone is a little bit older than my prior fandoms, and people tend to be well-seasoned to the concept of reading what they enjoy and silently passing over things that are not to their tastes. There’s… not really any fighting the way there is in other fandoms. Those who disagree have civilized discussions, because the first and foremost rule of the fandom is the first and foremost rule of understanding Hannibal Lecter: “Whenever possible, one should always try to eat the rude.”
And the fandom is alive!! It’s actively creating new art and new gifsets and new fics and new everything every day, and not on a small scale, either. There are thousands of people still out here eagerly awaiting the revival of a truly groundbreaking show that showcased LGBT relationships (not just Hannibal and Will, mind you. Margot/Alana is real and alive and nourishes my soul to this day), a diverse cast, riveting and powerful female characters, and the kind of plotline and visual storytelling that the ancients would weep if they could see.
TLDR: I love this fandom. I love these characters. I love these monsters, and I see myself inside them in ways that is absolutely concerning to polite society. I love the imagery, the depth of morality. I love that it’s feasible for me to write a fic in which the characters can love each other and are constantly working around one another to achieve their own ends, and that every fic I read by everyone else has a different insight to their relationship. That every fic I read is a fucking masterpiece, seriously, oh my god, the quality of fiction in this fandom is so high, it’s amazing.
Join us, Anon. The Atlantic is a little chilly this time of year, but you’ll get used to it, I promise.
#hannibal nbc#hannibal#hannigram#luc replies#Anonymous#long post#meta#i hope this helps anon i just. really love them. i cannot even fully describe but i tried!!!
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List Christmas Letter 2015
Hello Family & Friends,
If you’re reading this letter, congratulations! You’ve made our “B” group! Nice work! The people who made our “A” group have a much nicer letter in my opinion, but this one is OK too. If you’re curious as to how to qualify for the “A” group next year, it’s simple. We select a name and then ask Sophie to choose a number between 1 and 10. Jayden will answer for her which will make her upset so she’ll start to cry. Cadence will try to comfort her, and then some other stuff will happen. Then some more stuff and it usually ends up with everyone hitting daddy. At this point I’m grumpy so you’re in the “B” group, so deal with it.
Again, it’s been an eventful year and we are again in good health and spirits. Lucy is still working at Telus as part of the Koodo team and enjoying herself. She was working as a contractor, and was recently offered Full Time which apparently is pretty rare since most Telus workers are contractors. Working with a younger team is really good training for better understanding of words and slang that our kids will probably start using in a few years. She seems to be having fun which is great. Having her job for almost 2 years, she’s now the “steady” one.
I on the other hand, have a new job… again :) I left Sysomos in November to work for a start up company called VarageSale as a Product Manager. Same job, different place. They develop a product (website & app) similar to Kijiji or Craigslist that you can buy and sell items. Their advantage is that they focus on creating a sense of community and safety. Users need to be “accepted” into the community through an approval process and they have community administrators who monitor those communities. The office is still downtown. A little further commute than the Telus building, but it has it’s perks. We have a large metal bull, a pool table, ping pong table, lots of free food, beer fridge and some really amazing people that create a truly fantastic culture. I’m pretty happy to be a part of that.
On the side, I’m also developing a product in my spare time called Me in a Nutshell (meinanutshell.com is where it will live soon). The idea is that you hook up all of your social media accounts to it, move stuff around and choose colours etc to your liking. We’re looking to do a BETA launch early next year. If you’re interested in taking a look please let me know (I’d love to get more feedback).
What’s up with the kids you ask? Oh right… them…
Well, Sophie turned 3 this year and is still a little nutcase. She was terrible at 2 and SURPRISE! She’s still terrible and I still blame Lucy. She learned to push the pedals on her tricycle this past summer which made me really proud. She loves playing with her dolls and is very particular about what she wears. Sophie has also earned the title of champion grunter and generally making angry sounds when she’s grumpy (which is most mornings). These sounds are typically directed toward me, especially when I have any form of physical contact with her mother. Hugging Lucy = high severity grunt and usually a few bruises while she acts as a human crowbar to wedge us apart. If any of you are interested in a brand new, mostly natural form of birth control please come see me.
Cadence is our little gymnast. She’s constantly doing cartwheels or handstands and generally flipping one way or the other all over the house. A few months back she started in the competitive program, so she’s spending some more time in class. The only major drawback is that sometimes Lucy sees her doing something and thinks she should try. No Lucy, it’s really not a good idea. Cadence is our little superstar when it comes to school. She loves going to school, and is quite the girly girl. Hard to believe she’s turning 7 in a couple of days! She’s still very much into crafts and loves to draw just like mom and dad.
Jayden is doing really well. He’s doing much better at school this year and has made Lucy and I even more proud. He loves gym, music, math and science and it’s been really great seeing him come back with excellent test scores. Jayden has continued to take piano lessons. Lucy is still amazed at how quick he’s able to pick it up and hear the notes. He had his first recital this year, which he was pretty proud of. He played a few songs he’s learned and even one he made up himself. Jayden had a great summer riding his scooter and being a 9 year old boy (attacking anything and everything with anything and everything that remotely resembles a sword/knife/bow & arrow or pick axe).
Last year we got Jayden tested. As it turns out he has ADHD and a learning disability. We learned that he’s been working at a 30% level because of his disability, when his potential is in the mid 90s. This school year has been much better. Now that he’s diagnosed, the school is able to be a little more supportive and we are more equipped to better understand his needs. He’s a visual person and learns through seeing and doing. His struggles are focusing on a task that he doesn’t understand or relate to. He’s not so good with words, but better with numbers and shapes. Much like me.
Lucy and I are very blessed to have three truly amazing little Lists.
(that’s Sophie’s grunting face :)
We also got a new nanny this year. Cathy. She has been amazing. She actually helps out other families in the neighbourhood and is also the lunch monitor at the kid’s school. She picks up the kids at school, supervises homework and gets dinner ready for them. Since she’s come into our lives, the kids are now able to get back into their after school programs (karate and gymnastics) Cathy has been a real help with Jayden. We owe his great test scores to her. She’s extremely patient with the kids, and definitely helps us in many ways. Kids are usually fed, with their chores and homework done before we get home. Which relieves a lot of stress from us since Lucy and I are still both working downtown.
For Lucy and I, life still goes on. I managed to stay healthy this year but didn’t have as many personal bests this year as last. I might run a half marathon next year and I’ll probably bike a little more, but nothing too out of the ordinary. I find that between work, side work, and the kids, I don’t have a lot of time to do much else :) I’m not complaining tho! Ok, maybe just a little.
Lucy had a big year running. She signed up for her first 10K race in March through her work and had 2 months to train for it. Having never run a 5K before she was a little apprehensive, but she did it. After that she signed up for a 15K in June and then this fall she ran her first half marathon in San Francisco and did it in a great time (2’07”). I think her true motivation was the Tiffany necklace they got at the finish line. All in all a great running year for someone who tells me constantly that she hates running. I would point out the conflict to her, but I often fear for my own personal safety so prefer not to talk to her or look her directly in the eyes.
This summer we had new neighbours move in right next door who also have 3 kids around a similar age. SCORE! Jayden and Cadence can often be found hanging around with Ethan and Melody. The neighbour's house is also pretty extraordinarily large, so hide and go seek is amazing over there. A great addition to our already amazing street!
We attended one of our first Canada day street celebrations this year which was a lot of fun. They closed down our street and held a street party on Canada Day. Lots of food, fun and friends. We say this every year, but we are extremely fortunate to be living in a neighbourhood where we can feel safe about our kids running in and out of houses and up and down the streets. This is where I would normally talk about our great neighbours and friends but I don’t think I can top what we said last year. So instead, I will quote it.
It’s hard to believe that 8 9 years ago, we moved into this new town. We’ve made so many great friends. Some have come and gone, but we are always very thankful for the friends we’ve made here, and have come to love. Our neighbourhood, and neighbours are one of a kind. Always willing to lend a helping hand at the drop of a hat. The kind of people you’d want to surround your life with, and that you’d want to raise your family around. For this we are grateful.
…end quote.
It’s been another great year filled with love, laughs, excitement and new beginnings. I hope this letter has given you a little chuckle and filled you up with cheer.
much love & holiday wishes.
word.
The Lists
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How Blockchain Technology Is Useful For Mobile App Development?
With the quick acceptance and effect of new technological advancements, for example, IoT, AI, AR, VR, Robotics-a a significant number of us actually misconstrue the idea of Blockchain. Particularly in regards to the Mobile application development process.
Let me ask you, what do you mean by Blockchain? Digital currency, Ethereum, or cryptocurrency … all that? However, it worth searching the blockchain has an extension beyond reach.
First Understand the idea of Blockchain
A blockchain is fundamentally a result of unchangeable data which is governed by a decentralized structure i.e. informational data isn't constrained by a solitary entity. The decentralization of informational data guarantees data security at all stages and at all platforms, and every data block is bound to one another by cryptographic standards.
"According to Statista reports, the blockchain market is required to climb a revenue development rate of over 23.3 billion US dollars in size constantly 2023"
How Blockchain can help the Mobile App Development Industry?
The fundamental fragments of the business are presently utilizing Blockchain Technology for Healthcare IT Solutions, Automotive, finance; for what reason should the mobile application development market fall behind?
In case you're into the mobile app development industry, you would have an idea that stays updated with the most recent innovation trends to remain ahead of the competition.
Mobile app development is as yet in its beginning phase with the appropriation of blockchain, and industry influencers are reluctant about this idea. In any case, Blockchain innovation can lend some assistance by offering various secret advantages like performance, efficiency, and productivity, which also elevates the client experience.
Blockchain innovation would permit designers to make smoothed out eCommerce applications that empower purchasers and providers to trade online with no intervention or to pay outsider expenses.
Benefits of Blockchain Technology in App Development
This, but on the other hand there's significantly more blockchain can accomplish for the mobile application development industry. We should jump further and get familiar with the top advantages:
Advantage 1: Increases Transparency
Security enhances transparency. Blockchain technology tracks each move of assets so that clients can just track them at whatever point they need. The blockchain avoided the chance of any deceitful exchange or fabricated data. The blockchain makes the application and the whole framework sealed and versatile to any false action.
Blockchain innovation can likewise help business visionaries acquire the trust of the buyer. The clients can securely execute through such applications and stay guaranteed the protection of their important information. Additionally, the idea is versatile to deal with different clients without a moment's delay.
Advantage 2: Increases Reliability
As well as further developing data assurance, technology can extraordinarily upgrade the productivity of a mobile application. It is for the most part in light of the fact that the blockchain's construction itself is vigorous and solid blockchain design delivers the organization complete against any disappointment or crash. Blockchain Technology likewise has a few squares that own the information in more than one spot, making blockchain safer.
The distributed plan of the blockchain servers and other related equipment forestalls any attempt at any unapproved modification of informational data. Millions are regularly accessible, because of various data centers at various areas, a tiny bit of warning. These highlights make the blockchain strategy viable and reliable for a mobile application development answer for the undertakings.
Advantage 3: Security is the foremost
The underlying advantage of progressive blockchain technology is that it makes the applications more secure. The technology can utilize the most exceptional cryptography. This innovative idea is one way that it can offer the most significant level of security with fortified encryption.
The technology gives a standard series succession or other interconnected block string. Each square has the information and timestamp for another square of exchanges. The information is put away and encoded in a cryptographic hash, which changes each inconceivable block. Presently, for every block, each area has a cryptographic route.
Advantage 4: Block Chain set you liberated from Passwords
Regardless of how amazing a secret key you're setting for your PCs, there's still some worry that it could get spilled. Blockchain innovation assists us with disposing of this dread. For Blockchain, the secret key to check any exchange or framework is not really required. The two parties included for bargains ordinarily make the installments through an SSL authentication. What's more, the blockchain network audits everything while at the same time making it noticeable and available to all, consequently taking out the potential outcomes of being phony.
Advantage 5: Protection of Identity
Security is a fundamental prerequisite of blockchain technology. It is practically incomprehensible for any programmer or hacker to close down the whole framework in light of the fact that the information isn't in a server, yet it is in each square. Blockchain offers secret key encryption with cryptography on the client's work. The working of the blockchain guarantees that nobody can misuse any information.
Advantage 6: Blockchain has a digital laser framework
This is a clear method to see how Blockchain Development functions when you consider it. Blockchain is basically a digital ledger controlled by some broad corporate organization, supporting all parsing and information transmission. At the point when some data is changed, the change is communicated to the remainder of the machines in a similar machine and simultaneously to change the worth
Advantage 7: Provides Simplicity
Another significant benefit of blockchain innovation is its effortlessness i.e. simplicity. The blockchain has an extremely high ground over the overall models performing identical undertakings with regard to effortlessness.
On the off chance that the technology is refined, it needs more exertion, time, and money to incorporate, keep up with, and modify. In simple words, complex strategies add to expanding application development and maintenance-related expenses. The blockchain will help organizations free themselves of greater expenses by offering them an element-rich mobile application.
Advantage 8: Keep Blockchain Apps updated
Blockchain innovation is developing at an alarming speed. The cycle by which this day is developing, we can anticipate that it should bring an ever-increasing number of updates soon. The outcome will be a finished enterprise mobile app intended to address the issues of things to come, lastly, you can further develop client service with a particularly up-to-date mobile app.
The innovation behind the blockchain is additionally accessible as an open-source technological innovation. Blockchain application developers can undoubtedly share and utilize the advancement to make the application all the more impressive and secure. As it were, blockchain technology can assist with creating mobile application solutions while making application time and cost.
Advantage 9: Safeguard Digital Information That Is required by numerous clients
Encryption is a Blockchain Technology with extensive intricacy. It is perplexing to such an extent that it makes it outlandish for anybody to trick any decryption key. It fits any framework that should be introduced to various clients and yet requires verification of the data that is coordinated.
In the financial and legal circles, for instance, various marks on a single report or understanding are normal. Through blockchain, this data can be gotten to and altered all the while by various groups to speak with one another. You should simply check the Blockchain and arrange it.
Take away
Since Blockchain technology has grown tremendously in recent years, it has been explored the requirements of the actual market. We can expect a significant number of its advancements and applications to be introduced free of charge over the years as mobile application developers make it part of the worldwide application development cycle.
If in any case, you are seeking blockchain development solutions or a blockchain developer who have the art of incorporating the specialty of Blockchain. CDN Solutions Group is one of the award-winning organizations offering the best blockchain development services. We at CDN are bind to deliver quality solutions and help our customers in meeting their requirements on a pocket-friendly budget.
#Blockchain development solutions#Blockchain application developers#eCommerce applications#blockchain technology#Healthcare IT Solutions#Mobile Application Development Company
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How To Pick A Great DJ Name
Amusingly, the vast majority of us pick our DJ name on a lark before thinking anything will actually happen to it, and then after are left with to a great extent accidental outcomes. Regardless of whether you are picking your DJ personality for the first time, or re-branding a more established moniker, this article aims to assist you with settling on a significant choice simpler. In regular DJ Name Generator, we get into the study of DJ names, branding, and give realities; not simply soft recommendations.
REAL NAME VS. NOM DE PLUME
For what reason would it be advisable for you to pick a fake DJ stage name or moniker in any case, why not a real name? It's an interesting balance – a "fake" DJ name permits you to make a character around the real word itself. Skrillex, for instance, has an edgy sense about his name – and it nearly puts on a show of being sound to word imitation of the sound of his music.
In the business world, concocting an company name regularly has a similar situation: do you name your company something descriptive "Mike's Racing Tires" or something more conceptual and suggestive like "Racerz"? In a 2008 piece on Mashable about naming startups, Nina Beckhardt, leader of The Naming Group, an organization whose employees have crafted names for Walmart, Target and Puma, notes:
As DJs, remember that you have similar options. Three, to be exact:
Descriptive: Suggests or depicts the type of DJ you are
Factual: Your real name
Abstract: Non-English words and hybrids are normal
Abstract offers the most potential from a branding and adaptability standpoint, which we will cover all the more later.
In the DJ Mag 2011 list of the best 100 most popular DJs, we see a lot of the both types of DJ names. 42 of the DJs on the list utilize their real birth names (or an abbreviated form), while 58 of them utilize a one of a unique name. In the best 10, only three DJs utilize their real names: David Guetta, Armin van Buuren, and Markus Schulz.
There is no hard science that we've discovered that discloses to us which style is additionally appealing to expected fans, so you may need to go with your gut here.
DJ SEO
The main thing (as far as promotion and securing your personality) to consider when picking a name is the means by which it will appear on a search engine. Is it unique? Will you really own it? Will individuals hear it and then effectively have the option to Google it? As discussed in our recent article on the present status of online DJ promotion, you would in a perfect world have control of the entirety of the significant DJ sources with your DJ name as your username. Has any other person taken them? Here is a decent checklist to follow while considering a name:
Is the .com domain accessible?
Is the Facebook custom URL accessible?
Is the Twitter handle accessible?
What are the top organic search results for that name?
Are there some other DJs listed under that name?
That last point is significant. If another person is utilizing a similar DJ name and you become successful with it, quite possibly's they could return and try to sue you for confusing the general population. Their argument would resemble this:
The most surefire approach to stay away from this issue is by leading a basic Google search, and afterward if you are truly serious, a brand name search.
Trademarking your DJ name is going the additional mile from a legitimate viewpoint. This isn't generally simple, and the process that you'll have to continue in the US with the United States Patent and Trademark Office can be dubious. While each circumstance is unique, and we're not legal advisors nor would we be able to offer legitimate guidance, we discovered this supportive comment from Pamela Koslyn, a Hollywood Business Attorney, in an Avvo conversation on artist trademarks:
You may have seen that finding a memorable simple, single word DJ name that is not taken may be a challenge. That leads most DJs to begin utilizing longer names and different words – but will this hurt you?
Taking a look at the DJ Mag list to check whether the famous players have any trends in name length, the information tips a smidgen all the more intensely towards names with at least two words in them, with 68 of the names on the list being more than single word.
A couple of the names on the list have less than three syllables – Deadmau5, Skrillex, Felguk, Arty and Axwell are snappy names to state, yet it doesn't appear to offer a specific advantage over the other longer to articulate names that make up a large portion of the whole list.
THE SOUND OF A NAME
Is there a connection between what names sound like and how well they perform? Is there a social predisposition against specific names? In his notorious book "Freakanomics", economist Steven Levitt recommended that individuals subconsciously get on prompts in the sound of a name and form inclination for that individual. Could similar be true for DJ names?
We looked into this a couple of years back and discovered a few patterns in the best 10 DJs list of 2010.
All the more as of late, Steven Levitte brought up a fascinating study on his Freakanomics blog that recommends individuals with simple to pronounce names will in general ascend higher in associations.
"Studies 1–3 exhibit that individuals form more positive impressions of simple to-pronounce names than of hard to-articulate names."
Indeed, even with all the marketing trends throughout the most recent 100 years, one strategy for communication is by all accounts reliably in a way that is better than some other type of advertisement: verbal. At the point when a fan loves your music and educates another person regarding it, the chances of your sound turning into a viral is solid. Help things along by making it truly simple for fans to remember your name and tell others concerning you.
Would it be a good idea for you to call yourself DJ So And So? Numerous individuals do – and this surely is a strong method of distinguishing what you do. Unfortunately, that could in all likelihood be a bad thing.
Just a single individual in the top 100 has "DJ" in their official name (DJ Feel). Sure, we are for the most part doing whatever it takes not to land top 100 spaces yet that is a strong indicator that it is certainly not needed. Branding yourself as exclusively a DJ could likewise be a really childish move.
THE BRAND IDENTITY
I know you simply care about the music, but we should confront facts: if you succeed, your DJ name will turn into a brand, and it will have a ton of value. Brands can be substantially more valuable if they are flexible and very well crafted, so here are a couple of things to consider:
1. Name Flexibility: Don't categorize yourself!
2. Brand Fit: Does your name fit the style and vibe?
3. Visual Appeal: People will see your name, in all likelihood in written form (ideally in lights) – so in what capacity will it look as a logo? What will that convey?
The main thing to remember here is brand flexibility. If you start off as "DJ AfroRhythm" and afterward three years in choose to move into turning into a techno maker, your choices will be exceptionally limited. I was as of late perusing Richard Branson's biography and he put it best:
Brand fit is somewhat more subjective, and here and there repudiates flexibility yet it's as yet significant. Certain names will fit in a Genre and scene, giving a superior opportunity for success. Skratchcr8zy, for instance is most likely not the best name for negligible techno craftsman – or any artist so far as that is concerned. The flier trick is a decent one once again.
VARIATIONS ON A THEME
Coming up with something from scratch is tough – so start with something you like or definitely know, and take a stab at modifying it.
Alter your own name: This is a typical road for some DJs that feel incredible about their name, but tweak it a little for a more original look.
Alter a famous name or brand: We've seen a great deal of this as of late in the electronic music scene, utilizing a familiar name and exchanging it around. Two effective examples of this are Mord Fustang and Com Truise, yet there are a lot of other astute approaches to get back to a name that individuals as of now have relationship with.
FOCUS GROUPS: FRIEND-SOURCING A NAME
Generally, our self image isn't generally predictable with the way the rest of the world sees us. In a perfect world your name would be predictable and authentic to the way your fans (and possible fans) see you and your music. Authenticity is extraordinarily significant in a world crowded by counterfeit organizations selling over-hyped products that contain no real worth. If your self image is a rockstar batboy yet your real character is a geeky thoughtful person then "BillySlash!" likely won't keep going long.
Ask your friends what they'd call you, and remember nicknames (only the great ones) that those nearby presented on you in earlier days. After the alternatives are trimmed down to the most ideal decisions, run them past your dearest friends and ask them things like:
How can this name cause you to feel?
Does this name fit me?
What kind of music do you consider when you hear this name?
How might you spell my DJ name?
If any alternative scores high on all marks, chances are that it's a strong candidate. Return a couple of days after the fact and check whether they remember the name you let them know. If it sticks, you may have a winner.
DIG DEEP
The absolute best names come from significant references or personal points in absolutely unrelated spots. For example,"The Doors" comes from "The Doors Of Perception", a well known book by Aldous Huxley that inspired Jim Morrison (and myself!)
Don't be afraid to get abstract. Forget what you anticipate that a DJ should be called and go towards things that inspire you and added to who you are today. By the day's end, there still is nobody single equation for an extraordinary melody, and we're confident that similar remains true for an incredible DJ name. with DJ Name Generator.
#DJNameGenerator#DJNames#Username#FantasyDJNameGenerator#RandomDJNameGenerator#RandomNameGenerator#FantasyNameGenerator
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