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worldsover · 4 years

Text

Judgement to the Desiccated ft. Karina

length ✦ 5573

genres ✧ sm type future; asphyxiation; blackmail; virtual_servant!Karina;

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Air did a poor job of not being polluted so Lee Soo Man flooded the world instead. The man himself certainly must be long gone and could not have been in charge of that decision but the legacy of his company far exceeds the legacy of any other human collective in history. Once on this planet, gas was the fluid of choice for respiration and breathing was an unconscious reflex. Now there’s Aether by SM. How very on-brand of them to have the liquid air you breathe follow perfume naming conventions.

Open your eyes and exit the sleeping chamber. Aether has you work for each inhalation, it desaturates the color of the bedroom—maybe there’s a subtle but uncomfortable tinge of yellow—and it makes your nose itch. Your muscles wield much less force than they used to because of the lack of resistance the fluid provides. Moreover, it smells like hairspray as though the ozone layer is taking sardonic revenge.

Screens impersonating windows track your eyes to ensure realistic parallax, playing the scene of divine blue heavens that could not exist. An azure sky is a reward for those planets that have an atmosphere and a sun for light to scatter. Your walls are either chrome or drywall white and your whole bedroom is plainly decorated just like the day you moved in.

“Etymology of bedroom,” you think out loud, though it falls on no ears.

“Bedroom is a compound noun consisting of bed and room. Bed goes back to Old English bedd ‘sleeping place, plot of ground prepared for plants,’ which goes back to the Germanic-”

Plants and sleep are both strong words to use nowadays. The former doesn’t exist in nature and it seems you’re the only one who bothers with the latter. Faint buzzing distracts you from the AI’s response and signals you to the nano drones that swim throughout the liquid to process carbon dioxide from your lungs. This whole ordeal could’ve been much worse if you didn’t have brain interfaces doing the hard part of controlling your diaphragm. The most you need is a purposeful thought. Still, it gets tiring having to think the same thought every three seconds. In. Out.

Was the metaphorical Soo Man teaching a lesson in perseverance? You love K-pop and imagine it’s how trainees used to practice dancing, singing, being charismatic. Being an idol had to be as natural as breathing air. Inhale and exhale. Right now with any antiquated programming language you clung on to, you could write a single for loop that did the same job. For every three seconds: breathe in, breathe out.

“What’s for breakfast today?” Not loud enough. “What’s for breakfast?” you think it louder.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready for service.” It’s quite a kindness for SM to blur the bland dystopia you live in by augmenting reality through your neural device. A bosomy woman in a gold-lined but otherwise modest maid outfit appears from the corner of your eye and she bows. Ae-Karina is bewitching and almost becoming of her basis as its graphics have gradually upgraded over the rotations but you wouldn’t misconstrue the avatar as human.

“I said, what’s for breakfast!” It feels impolite to scream in your head, there’s other residents there, but finally the fridge lights up.

“Of course master. May I remind you eating is unnecessary?”

In. Out. Every day, she does remind you, yes. How kind of the company to put all your nutritional requirements in the new air. Aether goes in then Aether goes out. You wish the thoughts of breathing could fade into the background but they’re just like your cravings for food. Always hungry but never starving, whole though not once satisfied. Your eyes pause at her gorgeous face and she tells you there’s bacon. Take it from your fridge. Bacon goes in. Well, the drones take care of the out.

Your assigned living space is the entire 207th floor of a tower. Two hundred and seven floors below the surface. The neighbor a few floors upstairs says that he thinks living deeper is a sign of status. What a luxury. That guy should check the status of his facial muscles, maybe improve his code that lets him tell lies while he’s at it. A couple hundred flights of stairs to swim up is a useless skeuomorphism of skyscrapers in the days of the sun. In fact they were more than useless, you would've preferred a single vertical hallway as it would have let you propel upwards unimpeded. Each floor is the exact same, a glass door that affords no privacy for its residence, a false tree on each side. At the upper levels, malls, convenience stores and other gaudy retail, but it’s the gyms that mock you that you mock in return. They’re always empty.

Finally reaching the top is no true break even if it is a change in scenery. Inhale. Aether tastes a little different up here. Exhale. Can’t say you like it.

Countless satellites form a parody of the star from which the planet flew away, the false image refracted by the upper boundary of Aether. They can’t take away your memories of this star. Looking up at the sky once blinded you with ultraviolet radiation, burning your cornea. It was beautiful. Now everyone’s decided that if they’re playing the part of corporate dystopia, they might as well fit the aesthetic. In a way, it’s self-fulfilling. They wouldn’t have chosen a neon pink sun to compliment the blue and metallic gloom of the cityscape if it weren’t so ingrained in popular media already.

Still, you would’ve expected Google or Walmart to become the megacorp responsible for the state of the world, not a Korean entertainment company. Must’ve been quite the red paperclip scenario. Instead of material design or utilitarian architecture, tacky artistic structures line the streets. The same advertisements for albums that they’ve been selling for the past however long. It's all so obvious, the city could've been designed from scratch to accommodate new forms of travel and goddamn liquid air but instead they went with futuristic Tokyo.

Dubstep permeates your inner ear implants. A notification informs your thoughts that it’s “Hip-hop EDM dance pop with a strong jungle house groove and urban influences.” It’s dubstep. Liquid carries barely any sound so SM affords the option for implants if you're nostalgic for one of the senses. Even though it’s a slower form of communication than direct neural transfer, the noise comforts you. Of course the company would choose dubstep as their background music, but maybe they make money off refunds somehow. It switches to Ice Cream Cake. Much better.

You walk the not so busy roads towards a short brick warehouse in the distance and heavy rain soaks your clothes. No such thing as weather without the sun and water but it’s all simulated anyway.

A warm Seulgi adlib and you know it’s Psycho that starts playing. No, none of your senses are real. The most you could trust is your vision but even that’s being lied to. You could be living in a vat and fed all these thoughts, but then why make it so mediocre? Not paradise, nor torture but a lukewarm in-between. Guess that's what happens when SM Entertainment manages the post-apocalypse. Good on them for trying. The alternative would be a frozen hellscape without solar radiation. Can’t deny their work with geothermal and nuclear energy to keep the Aether warm so that you didn’t have to live underground for the rest of human history. It’s quite great PR to save humanity.

“Hey now, we’ll be okay,” repeats a few more times than you remember.

The Idea Factory Alpha White Delta Green says the neon tubes lighting the front of the brick and mortar building. Your ID card bears a name but it’s not yours, not until they approve your name change. Those usually get processed faster with how often people liked changing their names.

Sit at a desk with a sterile white keyboard and slick new monitor. Type and empty words appear on the screen: “Think for the many, not for the one. We need to think ahead.” A thumbs up. The company appreciates the input. That’s probably enough work for one day. Some SNSD live stages help the time pass, SM certainly appreciated the streaming numbers and it would net you some social points.

It’s hard to say what comes to mind when they ask you to envision a world without the sun and air, especially since it’s what you’ve known for... Two hundred years? There’s no frame of reference, that much you can tell from when you counted seconds to see how often the satellites completed their orbit. SM really took time to have them propel at random speeds, they love withholding sensitive information like that from citizens. To be fair, time is sensitive. Guess the meaning of that phrase changes like all parts of language.

Look around. Dozens of employees at identical workspaces all try to answer the same questions. Naturally, there’s no need for manual labor anymore but there will never be a replacement for human ingenuity. Nice slogan but you know you’re only here for data. Can’t see a need for customer retention though—what’s the alternative, skip Earth? See you on another planet?

“Hey bro, you come up with anything new?” Dave says. Two desks away, you see the enthusiastic, surprisingly spry man play around with a Newton’s cradle. The balls at each end bounce back and forth, not slowing down their rhythm any time soon.

“I think I got something,” you say, “Earth is not the answer. It can’t be, long term.”

“Ooh, I like that. Actually, I really like that.”

“What are you gonna do, copy me?”

“Of course not. You know how much SM hates plagiarism.” Click. Clack.

“Ha. As if there’s a single original thought left in the world.” Click. Clack. The imaginary sounds of metal spheres bouncing play in your mind. They got the volume wrong, no way it’d sound that loud from that distance. “You’d think with all their resources, they’d have figured out space travel by now.”

“I don’t think they want to leave, bro. Wouldn’t be great for profits.”

Your mouth opens to laugh and causes laugh8942.mp3 to play in Dave’s head. “I love it. SM probably hates that sass too,” you say.

“Oh no, they’re gonna arrest me for thoughtcrimes. Nah, they love creativity, just when it suits them. Also, if they actually did bust you for wrongthink like rumors say, I wouldn’t have this on me.” Dave twirls a finger and points at you and you thank his absurd flair for the histrionic that keeps you amused with such drab work.

“NewDrug.mp6. Would you like to play it?” the dry system voice notifies you.

“Woah woah there tiger, hold on.” Dave must’ve noticed your intrigued eyes and holds his hands up. “You might wanna experience that at home. But if you’re interested in more, ask for chicken parm at the vegan place. You know the one.”

Dave leaves his desk. He doesn’t return. You finish your work. Inspire. Expire. You’d rather not.

In contrast to your commute to work, the roads fill with others on your way home. You have to know. Take solace in the comfort of a bench where a huge McDonald’s arch bathes the surroundings and its people with a yellow glow. Really shouldn’t watch it now, especially if Dave says it’s a home type of watch but you have to know. A family of five watches you pass out. They, along with every other passerby, ignore your still body draped over the chrome outdoor seating as you look like yet another junkie. The title is correct after a fashion, the simulation is some sort of new drug. The details of the exploits that happen in the immersive replay wash over you but you don’t need them to know that it’s the sort of lewd that SM would not allow—at least not publicly and not without the right exorbitant payment.

Suit pants and underwear go straight to the laundry. That must’ve been an embarrassing sight but no one bothered to stop you, so it doesn’t matter. Look up where this vegan place was that Dave so presumptuously assumed you knew about and you find that it’s about four Avengers’ stores down from work. He must’ve eaten there before.

“Yo Dave, just wanna make sure, what’s the name of the vegan place called?”

“What are you talking about, man? You telling me there’s some secret underground farms that SM wouldn’t know about?”

You can’t tell when you got to work, a lack of standardized timing would help as well the haze of living in a monotonous dark. “Nah, I mean, for the-”

“I have no idea,” Dave emphasizes each word, “what you’re talking about.”

“I see.”

Work flies by, unusually.

“Hey, can I get a chicken-”

“Uh, this is Maron’s Veggies Only, it clearly says on the sign.”

Clear your throat. “Parm.”

The shifty part-time worker looks around and rubs his fingers gesturing for money. “No digital.”

Over the counter, you pass him a gold coin stamped with a holographic 1 and he hands you a USB stick and a laptop in return. How old-fashioned.

“It’ll sync with whoever you have set as your avatar experience aspect,” the worker says.

“Thanks.”

Ever vigilant as the patrol is, the alleys are the last place you want to go to hide with the obvious criminal element within them all but you head to one anyway. Dump the anachronistic technology in your storage pocket dimensions. Looking at its contents, you’d have to clean that mess up later, but the more you look like an average slob the better. The biggest problem with the inventories is all the people squatting in them. Inspectors wouldn’t care about the archaic ruins you left in yours.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready to service.”

“I’d like to go on a date. A special date.” You highlight the key word special and sit on your living room couch. No one’s going to look in your glass door and regardless, you wouldn’t be the pervert for glimpsing into someone’s home.

“Ah yes, master. Ae-Karina is ready to fully service,” she says with a provocative tint in her tone, her sclera disperses to black to match. A pole drops from the ceiling while parts of her maid outfit dissolve which reveals more of the silky skin of her thighs, her lissom arms and most importantly her overflowing breasts. Ae-Karina wraps her legs around the pole and spins around, teasing fingers trace curves on her body to harden you. Her dance is precise but sultry regardless. She pulls up her short skirt to flaunt more of her ass beneath white panties and then pulls down to flourish her cleavage, not trapped by a bra. “Are you enjoying your maid’s show?”

“Very much so, yes,” you say.

Half of a smile forms before a glitch occurs and she teleports next to you, fully nude. It doesn’t pull you out of the illusion however. You just stare and drink in the splendor of her created body.

“You’re not going to touch?” Ae-Karina says.

A feel of her tits and you find it softer than pillows you used to rest on. Soft isn’t much of a character that exists anymore when the whole world is engulfed in liquid. No one has beds, especially with the rarity of sleep. Therefore, her mounds are a consummate dedication to the texture as you squeeze and pinch at her cute nipples.

Her maid outfit rematerializes as she straddles you. It provides more friction to your pants as she begins her lap dance. The weight of her body dragging across your legs and clothed erection induces your carnal impulses further. If only you could fuck the virtual idol. You have to make do with the imprint of her pussy lips on your bulge sliding up and down. Breath in. Breath out.

Ae-Karina pulls down your boxers and spits on your erection. It's not real but her hands so slick on your cock and you let reality slip. Real is for the past, you have desires gratified in the present. There is no real person nibbling at your neck but your nerves activate in sexual desire without discernment for truth. No, she doesn't love you, but when the voracious mass of ones and zeroes says it loves its master, you say it back.

"I love you."

ILOVEYOU infected ten million computers in 2000. An explosion. Calibration engaging. It’s 1:21 PM, Sunday, July 18, 2286 and hypothetically the sun would be out in its full rage. At this latitude and longitude, you’re at what was once the epicenter of all—Seoul, where a fountain caused a chain reaction allowing the hopeful remnant of a world to exist. It lasted a surprisingly long time without the sun and without Aether but the dying planet would succumb inevitably to the ever-increasing contamination so SM of all corporations took charge. A different kind of chain reaction occurred when they acquired a restaurant chain that discovered the recipe for liquid air. The law is on its way and prepared to punish you to its full extent.

You reel while your ears ring. An even sexier version of the woman you already fantasized about appears from your peripheral vision in the crater of your floor. A skimpy cop outfit, striated with reflective material that seems to wane black at different angles, outlines Karina’s curves. She has a tool belt with absurd gadgets, such as a knife baton hybrid, a taser combined with a spray bottle and a Tamagotchi. None of this is necessary. They could just immediately arrest you, impose limitations on your devices. Sure, SM cloned people to deal with underpopulation, but why Karina would be the enforcer is a whole nother issue. Maybe the entertainment company loves their irony?

“Halt. You’re under arrest. Any resistance will be penalized according to the combined Terms of Service of all SM and SM associated products.”

Fucked anyway, you figure you might as well go for it. Escape into your inventory and only seconds later you’re forced out. You manage to get what you need regardless.

“Violation of access rights will be charged to your account.”

It’s so obvious but there’s a reason you kept so much gold in physical storage. As you swim away, the sides of your apartment start to bubble. Bubbles? Already, your limbs feel unsteady. Something’s wrong in the Aether.

“This is standard procedure for escaping suspects that are indoors. Again, this is all agreed to under the Terms of Service.”

“When the fuck did I ever click accept to that shit?”

“When you were born in this world and decided you want to stay in it,” Karina says out loud. You hear her say it. Your physical ears process the vibrations in the air that come from her mouth. Gravity thwarts your desperate escape as your limp body floats on the limit between liquid and air. The atrophy of your muscles becomes apparent within the gaseous atmosphere. She watches you sink down as the room drains of all the false air though her eyebrows crease when she inspects you closer. Your breaths are involuntary. Despite your muscles shorting out, the force of gravity and the pressure of the gas bearing down on you, you’re breathing and you don’t mean to. Her eyes wander farther down. On your pants, a concrete rod stamps the fabric.

“Oh, you like what you see?”

“Shut up, criminal. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Your pussy,” you say and she scoffs.

“Original.” Karina bites her lip as your erection continues to grow behind its prison. You use all effort to put your hands up.

“Please, miss Karina. I’ve been bad.”

“I could punish you even more for sexual assault.”

“Then do it.”

Heat radiates the room in a way you haven’t felt in a while and droplets of sweat form on each of your bodies, especially on the thighs that her revealing outfit parades. Her facial features contort in deliberation and the wait kills you. You bat your eyes at her before Karina takes off her tight shorts and drops herself into your anticipatory face. This makes no sense but none of this life made any sense so you decide to go with the tides.

Centuries of training your respiration has led to this moment, but when you finally have real air to breathe, you spit at the opportunity and choose to suffocate. Then you spit at her pussy and lap it up. Karina’s nectar transfixes your olfactory glands, for once a smell that isn’t the sterile Aether. Your eyes are mesmerized in parallel because of the perfect design of her pussy, a single crease that leads into her hole that your tongue emphatically explores. Karina spreads her thighs wide to reveal a small nub that craves attention. So give it. Suck and swirl and flick your tongue, and the woman provides you the tight clench of her legs as a gift. And the sounds, rediscovered glorious noise. Loud, almost too loud, and clear is how they assault your ears, even surrounded by the flesh of her thighs. Muffled by the weight of her legs, you hear Karina moan in approval but she’s still clearly in charge with how she chokes you with her legs. This is not about your pleasure but hers, and any satisfaction that you derive is not only incidental but probably punishable by SM copyright law.

Karina squirms her hips subtly on your mouth. Her eyes are sharp and she’s just about to stop your hands from moving but she notices them clasp together.

“I’ll do anything to make you cum, please.” you say sloppily as her pussy juices fill your cheeks and drip down your chin.

“God. I can’t.” She takes deep, contemplative breaths. ”That’s more time added on for inappropriate behavior.” Her groaning and brief squeals make her words sound incogent.

You give her a concluding lick and a kiss on her slit. “So what have you been doing right now then?”

Point to a corner of the room and a subtle red light indicates a recording camera. At once, she pulls out a hose from a pocket that could not fit it and the vacuum submerges the room with noise. Her expression shifts quickly to serious.

“We don’t play games here in SMTOWN unless it’s SuperStar so don’t fuck with me.”

“Look who's trying to be a comedian. How about you fuck with me any further and the video gets released.”

“That’s funny, you think you have any sort of power-”

“Yoo Jimin, I suggest you don’t push me more.”

“Where do you know that name from? Right now.” She weighs herself down on your neck.

“You think I don’t have contingencies for if I die too? Karina, we can make this a win-win scenario. We both get to cum, we both get to walk away unscathed.”

“Fuck you.”

Your weak arms wander between her thighs. At any moment, a feeble punch towards your face or another ten seconds of asphyxiation and she could call your bluff. Even if you did have the ability to expose her perversions in any way, there would be no permanent recourse, not as long SM was in charge. So it surprises you when Karina takes off her shorts.

“Goddammit. Your cock just looks too good. And your mouth, how are you so good with it?” Put up five fingers when she motions to remove her top as well, and instead she opts to take off your clothes, seizing your pants and throwing them to join the rubble in the room.

A finger slips in, then two and a third dares. Her flawlessly architected pussy lips clings to your digits and Karina shudders in reply. You explore her wetness and find it’s smooth to the point of having no faults, but her juice inside is gloppy and causes your fingers to stick more than the liquids she spills from her slit.

“Who said you’re allowed to have more?”

You lap up the nectar on your fingers. “Then why’d they make you taste so good?”

Your thumb teases her sweet tight asshole and puts just the slightest amount of pressure on it while you finger her with more intensity. The mass of her butt burdens your torso the closer she gets to orgasm. Her eyelids squeeze close and you see her body ripple in anxious pleasure. Karina shows off her pearly whites, teetering on the cliff of hysteria.

“Yes, yes! I’m so close,” she screams.

"Not yet."

“Fuck." Karina sobs, "God. Damn, fuck I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just fuck me.”

“My pleasure,” you say. There’s no need for you to grab her since she brings herself down to your groin, which you’re thankful for as your arms are as good as jelly now. Fortunately, your cock throbs as hard as ever while Karina’s slit rests on it.

“Say you’ll delete it all, all the evidence, promise me.”

“You’re gonna fuck me first or what?” Your breath hitches while she makes a strangled noise as her velvety walls swallow your cock whole to leave no room for comfort. Her tightness is stifling and you have to start counting just to breathe again.

“One two-”

“Be quiet.”

But there is no quiet when pleas for your cooperation intersperse her excessive profanities when she seats herself into your cock and ricochets up and down. Sweat emanates from her creamy skin while her legs widen to find a better angle for her supporting knees in her cowgirl position. Grapefruit and other citrus mingle with the scent of the sweat, fruits you haven’t seen except on billboards in music videos. As much as your mind crackles and your blood roars for every atmosphere of pressure Karina’s walls provide on each thrust in and out, you can’t help but reminisce on sweeter, more innocent times.

The white fluorescent lights in your apartment sputter. For all the advancements in technology, some among many things never change. Light refracts differently in air, less bright, but you can see the pure enjoyment on Karina’s face no matter the luminescence. Karina slows her ride to pull her hips down harder instead and she jolts when your cock finds the most tender spots inside her pussy and it interrupts her babbling.

Karina almost hyperventilates when she gets up to spit on your cock. She pulls out some kind of meter from her tool belt and sighs when there’s no beeping and you recognize it having to do with carbon dioxide. She gets back to dribbling saliva and the filament trailing down to your shaft mesmerizes you. This spit is real, not simulated, and it wettens your erection in a mix with her pussy juices to paralyze you further in your already listless state. Her bare thighs jiggle and you can’t exert much force with your hands but her buttcheeks are firm with just a bit of give.

“Thank you for this cock, thank you for being bad,” Karina says as you watch her ass sink deeper while her pussy holds your dick taut. She’s frenetic when bounces up and down to play an unadulterated orchestra of slick noises between your groins.

“You’re welcome,” you accomplish getting out the words between planned breaths. Your hands cup her buttcheeks but you fear they may break with how she strikes her ass into you.

Karina turns around once more to give you the spectacle of her facial expressions as she fucks herself into you. Knead her calves laying on your torso and they take no energy to spread them though she brings them back together, compressing your hard shaft within her pussy. A new game you play with her, a separate rhythm of loosening and tightening. Her feet press on your chest to help her bounce, but the way they bear down on your lungs against the timing of your breathing causes you to fumble. Your cock bends straight forward as she plunges herself into you and it sends prickles to your entire skin, making the new angle difficult but worth it. Karina takes your hand and starts sucking on your fingers.

“You want my promise that bad?” you say.

“Yes, as bad as I want your cum. I swear, I need it.”

She draws her knees up to her torso and hugs her legs to keep thighs as tight together as possible. Karina couldn’t keep her word, she was trying to kill your cock with constriction.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking tight. God, Karina, fuck. You’re so good.” Even if good isn’t the word you want to use to describe her.

“Do it, please, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. Karina can be a good girl, a good maid, a good cop, whatever you want. Just don’t get me in trouble, please.”

Karina’s mouth stops saying words though her lips writhe, drunk in increasing lust. Her cheeks flush, before the rest of her skin joins in redness while she grapples your chest and whatever spare limb she can find. You still struggle wresting control of your body but nature seems to take over when you drive yourself into her and match her needy cadence. The air in the room is replaced by a new air but it isn’t Aether. Passion, sweat, heat and all fluids that you both exude join squelching sounds, slaps and moans in harmonic bliss when her body tenses and she screams. As her body tightens, her pussy especially holds your cock for dear life and endeavours to wring out all your semen as her wetness throbs and spills. Karina starts counting to three repeatedly and you laugh though your amusement quickly subsides when you feel her juices become more viscous and she continues her ride, even in the dying pulses of her climax.

“Was I good?” Karina asks.

Just a moment goes by before you mentally send her a screenshot of all the recordings being deleted. Karina hasn’t stopped fucking you yet so at least it wasn’t a ploy.

“Thank you, thank you, I love you.” The flexion of her pliant legs brings them all the way back to rest on top of your legs. Karina lays prone above you and finally give you a kiss. The citrusy flavor may be closer to lime than grapefruit but it’s been so long that you can’t remember which scent is which. Lips crash and her tongue lashes out at yours trying to establish dominance. Keep still to let her investigate your mouth while her pussy does the same to your shaft.

You savor the way Karina’s top emphasizes the bouncing of her tits synchronous with the rebounding of her waist on your cock, but your mouth waters when she frees them. Take the shortest moment to relish in the sight before Karina smothers you with her plump globes. You wriggle your face to try to breathe. Inhale, up and exhale, down, but all you inhale is the scent of her orbs’ sweat. Her hips undulate with a pace at least double yours breathing and the echoes of slapping flesh resonate throughout the air-filled chamber. The loudness is unlike any you’ve experienced in a long time. It’s almost a flashbang every time her ass slams into your lap, especially as you start to see white when orgasm threatens to overload you with preludial pulses.

The last words you hear infected ten million computers in 2000. Fade to black. Cut. You’re slammed out of existence back into existence as a sun rebirths both within you, heating your core to a dangerous high, and from your eyes, dazzling you in an unforgiving white light. In the throes of unconsciousness relapsing to consciousness back to tenebrosity, your streaks of semen suspend in the Aether like a dead tree resting from the wind. What flashes your mind in its orgasmic state are two things only you would remember, plants and weather. Your hyperventilation is unconscious but not unwelcome, as it’s the first time in a while your breaths were reflexive even in the liquid air. However, basking in your newfound power, you start to choke. Right. You breathe in and out again. In and out. In. Out. In. Out. Back in.

“Replaying KarinaArrestsYou.mp6.” A hint of vexatious glee in the system’s otherwise dry voice. You don’t stop for it.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

It’s pretty silly but the idea danced around in my head ever since I saw the absolute Black Mirror concept that SM had for aespa and I concur that Karina is insanely hot.

As I’m writing this, this Kurzgesagt video on the idea of a rogue Earth comes out and now I have to rewrite stuff to make it at least a little consistent. I’m obviously already going nuts with all these ridiculous sci-fi concepts but this video almost feels too targeted to me writing this for me to ignore it.

#kpop smut #aespa smut #male reader #reader insert #title tracks

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oddshelbyout · 4 years

Text

A Little Too Fond Of Him // Thomas Shelby X Fem!Reader

Requested by: @accioholland

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy

Summary: You go out for a drink after a bad day and sit down with Tommy to have a conversation but you’re too distracted by his eyes.

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1725

Author’s Notes:

I really love this request because I love writing soft Tommy and also best friends to lovers. I’m sorry if Tommy is a little out of character, I just wanted him to be softer around Y/N.

English is not my first language and I’m not always confident about my work so please let me know if I make any mistakes or anything I can fix in my writing.

You can ask to be added to my taglist. You can be tagged to works on a specific character or just any of my works. Please dm me or send your wish to my ask box if you’d like to be added.

Requests are open. You can request any Peaky Blinders related imagines or prompts for me to write. I’m a minor so I don’t take NSFW requests, please keep that in mind.

———————

It had been a long day. Being a teacher had it perks but you hadn’t come across to any of them that day. The children gave you a really hard time and you were extremely tired. You really needed a drink.

You went home first. You had to change your boring teacher clothes to your usual ones. You always cared if you looked good. You didn’t want to go out for a drink looking like an old lady.

Left home and made your way to the Garrison. You hoped Tommy, your best friend would be there because you hadn’t seen him for a while.

When you stepped into the pub, you noticed it was more crowded than usual. You wondered what was the occasion but also didn’t care enough to ask.

You walked to the bar, asked for a double scotch. Tommy always tried to make you drink irish whiskey and you were now just drinking scotch to annoy him even when he wasn’t around.

“Tommy’s in the booth if you’d like to say hello.” the bartender said as he put the glass in front of you. You smiled, you were happy that you could whine to him about your students. “Thanks.” you grabbed the glass and headed to the booth.

You opened the door seeing Tommy sit there with Finn and John but he wasn’t talking. He was just there watching his two younger brothers discuss something that himself wasn’t clearly interested in.

“So here are the Shelby boys, long time no see.” you said and their eyes turned on you. You closed the door behind you and stepped in.

“Y/N! Good to see you.” John said, he was always happy to see you. Finn just waved at you without saying a word.

“Out on a school night?” Tommy said before he took a drag from his cigarette. You shook your head and giggled.

“I don’t have any restrictions about that, unlike Finn.” your gaze fell on the youngest. He looked so annoyed, “I wouldn’t either if Tommy let me drop out.” he mumbled.

John patted on Finn’s shoulder, “Patience brother, patience.” he said and you saw a slight smile sit on Tommy’s face.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Tommy asked you and pushed the chair beside him so you can sit easily. You put your glass on the table first and then sat on the wooden chair.

“You seem a bit upset.” Tommy said to you, you licked your lips. “It’s okay, just a bad day.” you explained but he didn’t seem to be satisfied with your reply.

John and Finn saw that Tommy’s whole attention was on you so they excused themselves and said goodbye. You were now alone in the booth with Tommy and he seemed to be determined to know what was bothering you.

“I’m not convinced that’s just it.” he mumbled, you didn’t like when he was persuasive to get you talking but this time you actually wanted to tell.

“The kids barely listen to me, maybe it’s because I’m younger and not a bitchy old lady who’s only personality trait is being authoritarian.” you said in one breath and Tommy chuckled. That was rare but it made you smile even though what you were saying was pissing you off.

“You may be a bit too nice.” he said, you rolled your eyes. “Come on Tommy, I just don’t want to traumatise them.” you explained, he knew exactly what you meant.

“I’m not saying you have to be a bitchy old lady, just be a little more strict.” he said, you sighed. “I’m not like you Tom, I’m not good at not being nice.” you took a sip from your drink.

“Thank God for that.” he said and you smiled. He’d always said that his favourite thing about you was that you were too nice for your own good. At times it had bad consequences but being nice wasn’t something bad.

“I see you’re still drinking scotch.” Tommy said with his eyebrows raised. “I can’t believe you can distinguish whisky from the colour.” with your words his arms were up like he was guilty.

He looked tired but not like the usual, he just looked like he was fed up with something otherwise he wouldn’t try to keep the conversation on you if you stated you didn’t want that.

“Now tell me, what’s up with you?” you just had to ask. “Nothing.” he denied and lit up another cigarette. “There’s no way I’ll let you get away with not telling me.” you said directly, he sighed.

“It’s Finn.” he said, your eyes were fixated on his lips, so full and red. You always loved to examine his features while he spoke to you.

“I feel like I know where this is going.” you said and he sighed again. Your gaze drifted to his eyes. Oh his eyes, they were the most beautiful you’ve seen. They were such a light blue that you couldn’t believe how they could be real.

“He’s trying so hard to be like me.” he complained, he clenched his jaw. You didn’t respond, your mind was only working on how beautiful his eyes were at that moment.

“He’s only 16, he should do as I say not as I do.” he continued his rant. You were too distracted by his eyes, your impression went blank but the corners of your lips were still a little curled.

“I told him no guns and he went to steal one from Polly.” you weren’t hearing him. His eyes had mesmerized you once again. His blue eyes were blinding your eyes.

“I only want him to go to school so he doesn’t end up like me.” he said. He wanted his youngest brother to have a better future. You just nodded but not at what he said, you weren’t hearing him. You were nodding to your inside voice saying the shade of his eyes were just like the sky.

“Oi!” Tommy called and now you were back to the real world. “Huh?” you said coming back to realise he was telling you what was bothering you the whole time. You felt like a fool.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?” he asked, he was so annoyed. You licked your lips in shame. “Honestly, no.” you admitted. “You’re gonna make me tell it all again, right?” he asked, so you only sadly nodded.

He told it all once again, you had all your attention on him this time but you were still examining his individual features. How his cheeks blushed when he started to get angry.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, you blinked in surprise. “Just appreciating your eyes.” you blurted out, only to realise what you said afterwards.

Tommy froze, his lips parted. “My eyes?” he asked and you pushed your lips together, you were embarrassed. There was no going back after this.

“Your eyes are just so pretty, they distract me.” you explained hoping he wouldn’t be weirded out by that. “You think my eyes are pretty.” he said softly, his lips curled up a bit.

“Yes.” you simply answered, you were so nervous about what he would say afterwards. “I think your eyes are pretty too.” he said and your jaw dropped. That was definitely not what you expected.

“My eyes are mediocre.” you said, your eyes were nowhere close to how beautiful his eyes were. “I think mine are too.” his voice was still soft, it wasn’t what you were used to.

“No, yours are extraordinary.” he couldn’t hold himself back and chuckled. You hadn’t seen him chuckle like that with a big smile in so long that you couldn’t believe it. He was actually happy that you said that and was definitely not weirded out.

“Extraordinary.” he repeated what you just said, his smile didn’t fade. Your one hand was sitting on the table and he moved his hand to yours. You felt your stomach twirl, it didn’t feel as good as you thought it would.

“Yes.” you were out of words to say. “What does it mean Y/L/N?” him calling you by your last name was nothing new but it felt different at that moment with the tone he said it with.

“You tell me.” you just really didn’t know where this was going and it scared you. “Maybe you’re a little too fond of me.” you held your breath, what he said wasn’t so easy to process. Were you in love with your best friend? No, that couldn’t be it or could it?

“No.” you simply replied, “Then why are you looking at me like that, telling me my eyes are extraordinary.” your wind was working so slowly. You had no idea how to respond to that.

“Okay, I might be a little too fond of you.” you admitted, you had no other choice. “So you finally realised.” he said and your eyes popped out of its place.

“What?” you blurted out, “I’ve been waiting for you to realise so I could ask you out.” he said. You jumped out of your seat, “What the fuck Tommy?” you shouted.

“You’re not as smart as you think.” you said before giving him a chance to speak, “Why did you have to wait for me? You didn’t wait for any other girl!” you weren’t angry but you were just so annoyed.

“You’re not some other girl.” he said and licked his lips. “I needed to be sure our friendship wouldn’t go to waste.” you took a deep breath, “Oh.” you could reply with only that.

“So you liked me all this time and didn’t say a word and also fucked around as much as you could?” you asked, he nodded, he obviously didn’t know how to reply

You sat back down on the chair and put your hand on the table again. This time he didn’t only get his hand closer to yours but held it. His cold hand gave you chills.

You didn’t even realise how much you were attracted to him and just in a blink you were going on a date. It was far from what you expected for the night, all you wanted was a drink after a tough day. You still were happy with the result and Tommy seemed to be too.

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

Text

Yellow Bells

Pairing: Kim Yugyeom x reader

Genre: florist au / fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: this is for the lovely @mrkimyugyeom for her birthday today. Thanks to the anon the other day who mentioned the florist! concept, I realised it fits this present for my dear friend perfectly. Thank you for everything you have done for me over the last year, Nora! I’m so grateful for our friendship Xxx

Word count: 2136

“Are you sure you can manage on your own, Yugyeom?”

He nodded, ushering his parents eagerly to the exit of the store. “Mum, I’ve grown up in this shop. I’m pretty sure I know every type of flower in here from your little songs you sing as you care for them. Go, I can handle it for a week.”

“He’s right, darling. The florist will be here when we return from our vacation,” Yugyeom’s father assured, tugging his wife outside. She turned to look forlornly at Yugyeom.

Or, probably the row of baby azaleas behind him.

“Make sure you water-”

“I will and I’ll feed those in the tropical part and check the temperature for the lilies and honestly Mum, I can handle this.”

She reluctantly nodded, stretching to place a kiss on his cheek as she hugged him. He waved his parents off as they drove away for their first vacation alone since he was born over twenty years ago. And as soon as they were out of sight, he stepped back into the house of flora and slumped visibly.

Sure, he wanted his parents to have a good time. And he wasn’t exactly lying; he had spent more time within this florist growing up than in the apartment above it.

But Yugyeom wasn’t born possessing a green thumb like his parents. He was even somewhat affected by pollen and since his mother was deeply attached to her flower children, he had only minded the store a handful of times.

“I can do this,” he reaffirmed, nodding his head and slipping his hands deep within his pockets, eying the succulents’ table carefully. “We’ll do this together, right guys?”

He then grimaced, wondering how his mother could speak so fondly to everything in here without any problem. So, maybe he wouldn’t be singing the bushes down the back to sleep as he locked up later on.

But he’d at least be able to keep the store running for the next five days.

Hopefully.

The first day started well. Yugyeom followed the pages of instructions his mother left behind for him to follow, the step by step guide foolproof. He managed to serve a couple of customers and take an order for next week for an event when his mother would be back to make new intricate arrangements.

But that was where he was failing the most. Staring down at the stack of cut-offs lying on the decorative paper he had chosen, Yugyeom groaned out loud. There was no charm to the arrangement he had made. They all clashed and he knew even he wouldn’t buy this to give to anyone.

“You need a different colour palette to balance out all this pink,” you called and he glanced up, his breath getting caught in his throat.

You smiled politely and pointed to the flowers. “You have pink roses, pink tulips and pink carnations. Monochrome is nice but I think if you changed the carnations for a white, it would make the arrangement more interesting.”

“I can do white,” he slowly replied, soon grinning at you. “Thanks!”

“Anytime. I have an order to pick up under the name Y/N,” you stated and Yugyeom nodded, turning to the computer to look up the details, keeping you in his peripheral as he did so.

You glanced around mindlessly. “Mrs Kim isn’t around?”

“Nope, she’s on vacation this week.”

“Oh so you’re Yugyeom then,” you commented and he stopped looking up your order details, blinking rapidly at the fact that you knew his name. You chuckled. “Your Mum talks about you a lot.”

“Really? Are you sure you didn’t hear her say Yellow bells instead?”

You grinned. “I sense some jealousy here. The plants will be offended.”

“You really do know my mother,” he retorted with a breathy chuckle, hiking his thumb in the direction of the storeroom. “I’ll just get your order.”

He returned with a bag of fertiliser and some seeds, sliding them up onto the top of the free counter space. After ringing up your order and accepting your card, Yugyeom then held onto it a little longer than he should. You eyed his lack of action curiously.

“So white?”

You nodded. “White. Don’t stress too much, someone will buy them.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one jealous of flowers,” he teased when he handed back your card.

“Who knows, if it’s still here tomorrow, I might buy it.”

“You’ll be back tomorrow?”

Shrugging, you reached for your purchases. “Perhaps.”

Yugyeom waited for your return the following day. He had managed to empty out the clearance table to a kind elderly couple, stacked the new batch of supplies that arrived just before lunch and even got a start on another mediocre bouquet of flowers when the jingle of the bell over the door made him look up and find you walking inside. He dropped the roll of ribbon he had been fumbling with and then yelped when it landed on his foot.

You laughed. “And a hello to you as well, Yellow bells.”

“I’m going to regret saying that to you yesterday, aren’t I?” he grumbled, bending down to retrieve the ribbon. When he stood back up, you were holding his first arrangement. Yugyeom sighed. “You don’t have to.”

“Why not? I want to be the first person to have one of Yellow-”

“I swear, Y/N if you keep it up!” he cut in with a hearty laugh, your own soon joining his. When the moment was over, Yugyeom then waved you off. “You can have it.”

“Well, I plan on that.”

“No, I mean, for free.”

You grew curious. “Don’t businesses require financial backing?”

“They also require creativity and some sense of pride in their work. That sad bunch has neither. I can’t expect you to buy it.”

“I will. And I will continue to keep buying them until you have just that!”

“What did you say?”

“Ring it up for me, Yellow bells.”

By the fourth day of your regular appearances to the florist, Yugyeom was certain of two things. One, he really liked you. There was just something about you that captivated him and he wanted to talk to you endlessly. Even if it was all about the species of one plant family, he was certain he would listen to every word you said.

Secondly, he knew his mother was behind all this.

“She told you to come and check on her babies, didn’t she?” he asked pointedly when you appeared, looking rather inconspicuously at the indoor houseplants section.

“Who?”

“My mother,” he said and you smiled. “I knew she didn’t trust me!”

“She does actually, like I said, all she talks about is you, Yellow bells.”

He clamped his eyes closed momentarily to clear out the nickname that he was growing rather attached to and then rounded the counter, coming over to your side. “Then why are you turning up every day?”

“Have you made another arrangement yet?” you wondered and Yugyeom rubbed the back of his neck, nodding shyly. “Where is it?”

“It uh, it sold.”

You almost looked upset. “You’re kidding me! Then you’ve done it!”

“I think the old lady felt sorry for me. Something about going home to pretty it up in one of her fine vases.”

“Well, your colour choices are improving so you never know.”

“What’s the deal about you anyway? You always talk about colour.”

You grinned. “I study colour theory at the local university.”

“Huh.” Yugyeom moved over to look at a baby fern, inspecting its leaves. “You’re majoring in art?”

“Business management. I just take it as an extra paper.”

“What’s the end goal for you then?”

“Really?” you asked, biting at your bottom lip as you grinned. “Is Yellow bells interested in where I end up?”

“I’d laugh if it was a florist.” Your eyes sparkled as your lips twitched and Yugyeom gaped at you. “A florist?!”

“I’ve been helping your mother make changes to the business marketing part of the shop for three months now. So it would be this florist.”

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“You moved out, remember.”

“You know too much,” he breathed and you nudged him.

“Not everything.”

“Enough,” he lamented and moved back to the counter in a slump. “You’ll come and work for the family and then you’ll not see me for anything more than Yellow bells then.”

“Were you hoping I’d see you for more than that?” you questioned, unable to hide your intrigue.

“I’m glad the old lady bought the bouquet now.”

“You’ll just have to make me another one,” you concluded, heading towards the door. You stepped out, only to stick your head back around the corner. “Make sure it doesn’t sell before I get here again tomorrow.”

Yugyeom was discouraged. With the knowledge that you were being primed to join the family business, he couldn’t see how this would separate him enough from the son of your future employer. He barely said a word to any of the plants as he locked up that night and grunted in greeting the following morning. He only had to get through today. Tomorrow, his parents would be back and he would be able to return to his apartment downtown and forget all about the way you smiled whenever you called him your preferred nickname.

The day felt like it was dragging. He completed all the morning chores, ensuring the plants that needed watering or fed an enrichment mixture had been checked off his list before he approached the arrangement station. Yugyeom had gathered an assorted bunch of flowers earlier in the morning. There was nothing special to them, just cut-offs that didn’t seem to fit in with others. Together, however, they seemed aesthetically pleasing. Choosing to wrap them in simple brown paper to enhance their beauty, he placed the bouquet into the front stand, going back to working on some multi-coloured roses.

The doorbell jingled and he didn’t even look up. He knew it was you.

“Afternoon flower babies,” you called out, sounding just like his mother. He huffed petulantly, trimming off the excess stem of the rose he was readying for the arrangement. You were soon in front of him. But instead of greeting him with his nickname, you didn’t say anything.

Yugyeom looked up to see what was wrong, his eyes narrowing when he found you staring at something in awe. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You made this?”

“Oh them? Yeah, I felt sorry for them since they didn’t match with their other batches so I put them all together. It’s a bit wild, huh?”

“I love it,” you confessed shakily, blinking a few times. You then glanced up at him and he could see how moved you were. “It’s beautiful, Yugyeom.”

He was overwhelmed. He hadn’t expected this reaction to the bouquet, or within himself. Your words bounced around his insides, shooting off spikes of warmth. He was certain he was madly blushing and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Oh uh, well.”

“I can’t buy this,” you murmured, still clutching the bouquet despite your statement. Your eyes searched his and Yugyeom eventually grinned bashfully.

“Good, I can finally gift you some flowers, Y/N.”

“One of many bunches, I hope.”

“You forget, today’s my last day here.”

You faltered. “You don’t plan to visit?”

“Well, yeah I come and see my parents most weekends.”

“Then you can make me some flowers then.”

“You won’t be here every day, will you?” he wondered, trying not to stare at you too much. He felt there was more to what you were expressing and his palms started to sweat as he thought over what next to say. “You… you wouldn’t come here looking for me, would you?”

“I have every day this week, haven’t I?”

Yugyeom frowned. “That’s because of my mother’s-”

“Actually, she just asked me to come in on Wednesday. I was curious and couldn’t wait until then.”

“Curious about what?”

“You,” you confessed, burying your face into the flowers you held to hide your expression. You then gazed up at him once more at ease. “You’re kind of handsome, Yellow bells.”

He sighed heavily. “It was going so well.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t like it,” you mused and Yugyeom laughed.

“I’ll need to come up with a nickname for you then too,” he announced and you tilted your head to the side.

“You seemed so sure we wouldn’t be crossing paths after today.”

He grinned. “Didn’t you say I needed to make more flower arrangements?”

“I did.”

“Well, I’ve got some new ideas. I need to try them out when I come by. Since you’ll be here, after all.”

You seemed to bloom then, brightening up entirely. “Well Yellow bells, I can’t wait to see what you come up with next.”

_________________

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let-this-ship-sink-already · 3 years

Note

I’m sorry but your response to that anon who spoke to you about prejudice proved their point. You cannot tell a person of color who is frustrated with actions of yours that have come off as prejudice to multiple people that they are being childish, and that their points are falling flat. Their points spoke loud and clear to me, and I’m kind of glad someone had the nerve to say it, because it’s what I’ve been thinking as well. I do not say this with any malice; I’m merely sending you this message to help you learn that those things are not okay. If anything, you need to learn where that anon is coming from and shed any pride. Again, telling a person of color who has been affected somehow by your words that they are wrong and need to ‘grow up’ is extremely disrespectful. Please go about this differently in the future.

“A person of color”. Can we NOT bring race into everything?

This person has accused me of being racist. And that’s where I drew the line, because me saying that Zendaya has no talent, is NOT racist. And that is all I have been saying. Whatever the other person decided to bring in: Zendaya having industry friends, etc. etc. were THEIR words, not mine, I just merely replied to them, and once again I did not bring race into that either.

I don’t have any idea, if the person talking to me is a person of color or not, because that does not matter to me. I do not see my actions or words as racist, people just try to MAKE them racist. I have stated so many times before, that I do NOT reduce people to their skin color, I look past that, whether people believe me or not.

This is a situation, that has gotten bigger than it actually is. It has started with “Zendaya is a mediocre actress, who has little to no talent in acting.” which is and will always be my opinion about her. Someone explain to me why THAT is racist? Because Zendaya is biracial? So? That does not matter to me, get that through your head and don’t make the situation more than it is.

I stand behind every word, that I have said to this anon, because they could have handled the situation better, than sending me anons over and over again, accusing me of stuff that isn’t true. I am fed up with that, I’m done being nice.

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potteryclaylover · 3 years

Text

Life Lessons I Learnt From Seagulls

Seagulls are the most inspirational creatures in my opinion. If I owned a sporting team of any sort, a seagull would be my mascot. Why? They’re the perfect combination of beauty, strong-will, friendliness and confidence. Though i personally never watched any seagull bird from close , but i love to watch bird from distance because i dont want to disturb their peace. But it always feel me with positive when i see group of birds eating , flying and all their activity. It is best therapy for me and its from very earlier .

Who of us has not wondered, at some point in life, if we really are living to our fullest potential? That we are really experiencing all that we are capable of experiencing?Every human being has been given the capacity to live abundantly, without boundaries. But the scope of this freedom is too large for most of us. We cringe from the vastness of all that is possible. We prefer to hide behind artificial limitations instead.

We hear of the frog in the pond that steadfastly refuses to believe that there were limitless oceans out there. For him, his pond is all that there is in the world. We also hear of the worm in the apple who believes that the whole world is its apple, nothing more.

Some of you may be familiar with the famous book Jonathon Livingston Seagull written by Richard Bach. A tale about a seagull who has dreams of being a better version of himself and flying higher and faster than any gull has ever dared before. Cast out by the flock for being different he goes off on his spiritual quest to discover his full potential. Does any of this resonate with you by any chance?

In real life many people hate seagulls. Maybe you do too. Are they the thugs of the bird world? Pests to be poisoned and driven out? Let’s be honest they have a terrible reputation because they are noisy and fearless they can appear aggressive and given the chance they will steal your food.

This little ode to seagulls may seem peculiar to you but as a result of long hours of observing them for days, I realized that inspiration can come from the simplest of things.

Have you ever heard of the expression ‘thinking out of the box?’ It means going beyond the accepted limits of imagination and daring to explore new possibilities. Jonathan Livingston Seagull was such an out-of-the-box thinker.

He discovered that for those who dare to dream, even the sky is not the limit. Jonathan lived as all seagulls do – in a flock. This flock was quite unremarkable. Seagulls are basically scavengers that inhabit the seashore, feeding off the debris that the sea throws out. Like all other seagulls, the members of this flock fed, bred and flew south in the cold winter months.

My love for these tiny birdies increased many folds when they actually taught me some valuable life lessons.

1. Don’t be afraid to stand against the wind

Look at this little fellow. He’s tiny and the wind that day was so strong even I was having trouble standing. He could just turn around and fly in the direction of the wind. But he stood his ground accepting the challenge.

Lesson: No matter how much friction you’re facing in being different or being yourself, don’t let it make you turn around in the direction of the wind.

2. Sometimes it’s good to go with the flow

If someone knows how to chill and take it easy, its the seagulls. They’ve taught me to not ALWAYS take life so seriously. That we can’t control each and every aspect of it. Sometimes you just have to let life unfold itself. See where the current takes you.

After all what’s the fun in knowing it all?

3. Evolve with your life situations

Seagulls are the masters of improvising and adapting to their circumstances. They can swim, fly or walk around depending on their need. We as humans have to realize that we are more equipped than a seagull. We have better means, internal and external, to adhere to our circumstances. We just need to be as strong-willed and easy going as a seagull.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull is a simple story with a profound message.

The message is that we can all be so much more than we believe, or are given to believe. That God – or fortune, if you wish – is on the side of the bold, the adventurous and the free in spirit.

But Jonathan sensed, in the core of his being, that there could be more to life. Much more.

4. Never be afraid to ask for your right

Anyone who has had a meal by the beach knows that the seagulls will come flocking around for their share. They are not afraid to ask for it. They’ll stand by staring at you persistently until you go, ‘oh well alright, have a chip.’

Deep in its communal heart, the flock knew that it was living below its full potential. It consoled itself with a vaguely remembered Promise, passed down various generations of seagulls. That Promise spoke of a Great Seagull – a supernaturally gifted bird that would come and deliver it from the chains of self-imposed mediocrity.

The Great Seagull was supposed to have secrets of limitless flight and a superior existence.

That discovering the Great Seagull’s secrets could have been the result of diligent effort and seeking did not occur to these seagulls. They preferred to put the responsibility of their future on a Being which they did not understand and did not try to emulate. The Great Seagull, however, did not come.

But maybe – just maybe – every seagull in that flock sometimes wondered if it was they were missing the point of this legend …

Jonathan had heard of the Great Seagull, of course. It meant nothing to him, but there was a question that did haunt him – the question that haunts us all when we have nothing to distract ourselves with. The question we ask ourselves when, for some reason or the other, we find ourselves sleepless at night.

Can I fly higher? Can I fly farther? Is there more?

The flock asked itself no such questions. The mundane preoccupations of life had them too much in thrall to consider deeper questions. But Jonathan knew that he could drink deeper of life than they did.

One day, he announced that he intended to fly higher and further than any seagull before him. The effect of his words on the flock was interesting, to say the least:

“Seagulls are not meant to fly higher than this,” is what they said. “What makes you think you’re different from us?”

That is the persistence and determination you and I need in your daily life. Ask for that promotion at work. Ask for the love and attention in a relationship. You deserve it.

5. It’s your character that makes you beautiful

Seagulls are not camera shy and are always ready to strike a pose. The poker face is their favourite. There are thousands of exquisite birds in the world but what made me fall in love with seagulls is their character. Sure they are nice to look at but it’s their confidence, strength and playful persona that makes them beautiful.

Jonathan’s answer was that he was not content with mediocrity, especially if he knew that he could attain greater heights. The rest of the flock became very angry with him – they called him a dreamer who did not know the realities of life. When he insisted on pursuing his vision, they cast him out of the flock.

Doesn’t this ring a bell in most of our minds? Doesn’t it remind us of times when we have been told – or even told ourselves – that we should realize our limits? Well, who sets those limits?

The human being has limited capabilities – but then, we only think of the capabilities we have actually demonstrated. We never think of the possibility of hidden capabilities that never see the light of day because they are not called upon.

Have you never heard of the true-life stories of people who overcame impossible odds – achieved impossible tasks – when they stopped relying solely on what they knew about themselves?

Jonathan Livingston Seagull, that anonymous bird in an anonymous flock, decided that he wanted to claim the Promise now. He wanted the power to fly higher than he had ever flown, to see sights he had never seen.

He decided that if the Great Seagull was real enough and powerful enough, it would help him achieve these goals in the Here and Now. Not in some vaguely conceived Hereafter, but in real time. In this present lifetime.

Did he turn to the Great Seagull in prayer? Or did he just draw inspiration from the fact that such a Seagull could and did exist? Richard Bach’s book remains silent on this issue. But from the moment Jonathan decided to claim the Promise, his life changed drastically.

Are you now waiting for the part where Jonathan was suddenly given miraculous spiritual and physical powers to make his dreams of impossible flight come true? Sorry, that is not what happened…

Instead, Jonathan’s belief in the Promise convinced him that the power to achieve his dream would be given to him if he put in diligent effort. He was a changed bird – he suddenly felt that he was no longer alone. And so he practiced flying higher. It was a painstaking process, but something had changed.

He no longer despaired when he considered his feeble seagull wings. He no longer doubted when he considered the fact that no seagull had ever flown as high as he wanted to fly.

This new-found assurance was not what is commonly known as ‘self-confidence’. It was confidence in something beyond him – a Higher Power, if you will. He called it the Great Seagull. Some call it God. But whatever we call it, it is a Power outside of ourselves. We cannot generate it, but we can still claim it.

And guess what? Jonathan Livingston Seagull soared. He eventually flew higher than any seagull ever had. And he finally met the Great Seagull.

Yes, he actually met the legendary Being. He basked in its approval and was given the power and privilege to lead others from the barren, empty path of self-effort to a mind-bogglingly rewarding partnership with Something Better.

I have a feeling that the human version of seagulls would have an amazing sense of humour as well.

Lesson learnt: Put your self out there. Have enough self-confidence to know and exhibit your good qualities and know that you’re beautiful just the way you are.

#Seagull Seagullbird Seagulllifeinspiration Life Lifeinspiration Thinkoutofbox selfconfidence achivement Success Happy Soulfullife

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writing-whimsical-worlds · 4 years

Text

Lab Rat

Eventual Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Summary: English enthusiast and art-minded y/n feels like she is disappointing her father, and Peter Parker’s newfound presence in Tony’s heart does nothing to quell her fears.

A/N: This is basically a set up for a series if there is any interest. Let me know!

“I just don’t understand how you can have such a gifted brain in sciences and mathematics and yet you refuse to utilize it. Make it make sense!”

“Dad, come on. Is it so hard to believe that maybe I want to pursue my actual interests instead of doing what is expected of me? I’m a good writer and I just want to see where I can go with that.”

This whole “what is y/n’s future?” conversation has been going on for months because Tony, for some reason, thinks he can change my mind about my future endeavors. Yes, I do have over a 98% average in all of my honors and advanced placement science and math classes, but that does not mean I enjoy it. I loathe every second of them but I’ll be damned if I get a less-than-outstanding grade in ANY course. He raised a perfectionist, what can I say?

“I just need you to recognize your potential, y/n. You’re a Stark! You have so many opportunities right at you fingertips! Write as a hobby, I don’t care. But I will not allow you to waste the talent and intelligence that you clearly have,” Tony continues.

“I don’t want to. I will be miserable! And my intelligence is not being wasted; I want to pursue further education in English, maybe some foreign languages. I can and will be successful doing so.” I stand up from the kitchen bar-stool ready to leave the room. This conversation never ends until one of us gives up and leaves, so I guess I’ll be the one to call it.

“No no no, you aren’t leaving right now, y/n. This is important-”

I keep walking towards the door but he doesn’t quit.

“You know I just want what’s best for you. I’m thinking of your future!” He has to shout that last part a little since I’m already halfway down the hall.

I know it seems a little bitchy to walk away from a parent like that, but sometimes it’s necessary to stay sane in this household. And by household, I mean the Avengers compound - since nothing in my life can ever be simple.

I slow from a fast stride to a stroll, nearing my quarters where I can finally get away from my dad and our endless bickering. I love him to death, but I need a break.

To my dismay, I happen to pass by the last person I want to see right now, Peter Parker. He’s my dad’s newest addition around here and all I ever do is hear about it. “Peter is so smart, y/n, you should really learn from him. Peter is so great, y/n, why can’t you be more like him?” God, I have nothing against the guy, but after hearing his name come out of my fathers mouth so much, I was just about fed up.

“Hey y/n, you coming down to the lab later to help work on my suit? Your dad and I are making a ton of progress,” he says, practically buzzing with excitement. I do admit that his boyish charm is a little hard to resist. I still have no interest in his proposal, however.

“No thanks, definitely don’t want any part in that,” I roll my eyes.

“Is everything okay? Your dad told me you you haven’t been... working as hard lately...” I can tell he’s nervous saying that, and he sure as hell should be.

“Excuse me? Just because I don’t spend my entire life in the lab doesn’t mean I’m not ‘working hard.’ I can do other things! Other valid things with my life that don’t involve astrophysics or whatever the hell he wants me to be doing.” Maybe it’s unfair to take this out on Peter, but he’s the one who brought it up.

He holds his hands up in placating surrender. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. But you really shouldn’t take this stuff for granted, y/n. You’re a Stark.”

You’re a Stark.

Yeah, no shit.

I ignore him and head to my room to change into workout clothes rather than the lounge wear I was planning on wearing. I’m too worked up to finish the editorial I was working on. I may not be into the science part of my legacy, but I loved my affinity for kicking ass. I could train for hours in the gym and, hopefully, my favorite sparring partner would be down there.

Luckily, he was.

“Hey Buck.” I can tell he already knows what’s coming. My recent blowouts with my father have not been very subtle around here.

“Here to blow off some steam, y/n/n? Bet Tony never knew what hit him.”

“Actually, I’m sure he thinks he won this one,” I grimaced. “It’s like running in circles with that man.”

“No comment,” he laughs. It’s no secret that he and my father don’t really have the best relationship either. However, we don’t have to dwell on it. One thing I love about him is he doesn’t pry, and he can tell when I’m not here to talk things out. He can also tell, though, when I want to beat the shit out of something. What better than a super soldier?

Of course, this is said loosely considering I am merely a teenage girl with mediocre fighting skills. I have been getting a lot better, though, with Bucky as my teacher. He’s hard on me, but I learn a lot.

Between hits and dodges, I huff my most recent grievances through labored breathing.

“He.... never... listens to me! I see him... with... that spider kid... and it’s like... just adopt him already!” We come to a standstill and I can tell Bucky doesn’t really know what to say to that. “I’m sorry, Buck. I just feel like if I’m such a disappointment, at least he has Peter, ya know? He already acts more like a dad to him than he ever has to me.”

It was harsh, but wasn’t entirely false. My father, while caring for me deeply, was really hard on me throughout my life. He’s always been so judgmental, and I can’t help but feel like he’s unhappy with me constantly.

Bucky gives me a look that tells me he thinks I’m being a little over dramatic. “Come on, kid. You know how important you are to him. Peter is just... a lot less stubborn,” he adds with a grin.

I roll my eyes and punch him in the shoulder playfully. He continues, “Oh, come on. You know you don’t exactly make things easy on him. It also doesn’t help that you guys are so different. I mean, aside from the mutual bull-headedness, you guys are like day and night. Go easy on him, doll.”

He’s right, and it pisses me off. I do really care for my father and feel a little guilty about how I stormed off earlier. It’s probably due to my strenuous workout, but I felt a lot less inclined to argue and sought to make peace with my dad. I guess I’ll head over to my room to shower and get changed. After that, reluctantly, I’ll go apologize to Tony.

Walking into the lab did nothing to brighten my mood as I see Peter and my dad working together amicably. It differed greatly than the way my dad and I worked together - it usually ended up with various items flung across the room as frustrations rose and I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Hey, he raised me.

“Hey, uh. Can I talk to you, dad?”

Tony raised his head from his work, surprised to see me standing there. Mostly because he hadn’t expected me to come back and talk to him for the rest of the day, and also because he didn’t hear me walk up to him, too engrossed in whatever he was working on.

“Hey, princess.” He’s hesitant. I know he doesn’t enjoy arguing with me, and the truth is, I don’t enjoy it either. Lately, it’s just been inevitable. “Uh, I really want to get this done as soon as possible and Peter can’t make it over tomorrow, so it has to be tonight. I’ll probably be up late, too, so... maybe we can talk tomorrow?”

I could see he really was busy, and knew for a fact that Peter had academic decathlon meetings every Wednesday afternoon, but I couldn’t help but take offense at his dismissive tone. For once, I took the high road, and he can’t even tear his eyes away from Peter’s stupid spider suit long enough to hear me out.

It all comes back to Peter, doesn’t it? We’ll see about that...

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #mcu spiderman #peter parker imagine #peter parker x stark!reader #stark!reader #stark!daughter #tony stark

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friendlyunclej · 4 years

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A King’s Depravity

Prologue

My citizen’s have never respected me. I worked as a carpenter, sharing my desire to compete for the crown with those who hired me to fix their homes or refurbish their shops. They all scoffed at the possibility of a “mediocre handyman” being intelligent enough to become king. As I climbed the ranks in the competition, they then accused me of cheating, saying that a man who could “barely replace floorboards” shouldn’t have made it out of the preliminary rounds. When my competition began to drop out of the proceedings, my fellow citizens then accused me of bribery, claiming that a man who they barely paid would have the funds to pay off people. Soon after, some of my toughest competitors would mysteriously disappear after facing me and, just as before, the other citizens accused me of foul play. They weren’t wrong, but I made certain that any proof of such accusations would never be found. When I did become king, I made sure that those who accused me of such devious activities had their suspicions confirmed as I left them in the sewers to rot like the others. The previous king died the night after I won the crown. I, at least, gave King Sigfried a proper burial. He was, after all, the only person who never questioned my intentions. On the other hand, the queen he left behind would prove herself to be more curious than useful. She joined him in the ground not too long after. Officially, it was due to espionage from visiting officials from another city on the continent. That truth was better for the citizens, anyway.

In Need of Warmth

As king of the City of Tyriok, I’ve spent the past few decades caring for people who would rather see me dead. I believed that they would finally respect me once I had become their ruler, but it didn’t matter. I expanded the city’s control to half of the Verdant Green, including the nearby town of C’Moira, yet the citizens didn’t understand the importance of expansion. I kept Draturi City and its Elven leaders from encroaching on our beliefs, keeping their control out of our walls. They claimed to offer good tidings, such as silk and gems, for our cooperation. I saw through their deceit, though, and made the correct decision for this city, much to the ire of my constituents. Not a single High Elven heel will ever set foot in my city while I’m still alive, even if my new queen works against me. I had gone nearly a decade before I had a proper queen by my side after the previous one found her way to an early grave. There was one interim queen after King Sigfried’s queen perished, but she proved herself unfit for the job and soon vacated the crown. For the years that followed, a number of women piqued my interest, but none proved themselves a proper ruler. To obtain the crown in Tyriok, one must compete against others vying for the position in many competitions of intelligence. For years after my coming to power, no one attempted to replace the previous queen, undoubtedly discouraged due to the fear caused by rumors about what happened to the previous ones. Out of desperation, I sought future rulers at the local orphanage. It was their that I met my future queen. The queen I have now, a woman by the name of Beatrice, is the only thing in this entire city that I’ve been able to stomach. She’s intelligent and easy on the eyes. When I first met her years ago, she was the most cunning in the building. She was far too young to actually obtain the crown at that point, but she showed enough promise and prose that I knew she must be my queen when she came of age. I opened my library to her, leaving her with proper teachers far superior to the ones in care of the orphanage. As the years continued, her promise grew but so did my hesitation. She had grown wise beyond her years and, I must admit, swiftly surpassed me in intellect. It worried me even further once I considered the company she kept. There were two boys she always spent her time with, Sebastian and Freud. They weren’t “born” orphans, like Beatrice was. They had the great misfortune of actually having a relatively happy number of years with loving parents before being left as orphans. Their parents were emissaries for Tyriok City, whom I would often send out to parley with C’Moira and other nearby towns. They were loyal citizens when I first came to power. Well, they were loyal to the city more than they were to me. Many times I would send them to C’Moira to demand tax and recompense for being allowed to operate as a separate entity from my city in our territory. Every time, they would return with compromises and counsel meetings to speak in the town’s favor. They were proper emissaries whom I trusted, but their good hearts clouded their judgement. They served the city well so I saved their children from sharing their fate, but I had to prevent them from poisoning the city any further once I found out that they were trying to find favor with Draturi. It broke their hearts to leave their children at the orphanage. I didn’t pay the children of traitors any mind until it was obvious that the older son, Sebastian, was far too familiar with Beatrice. They grew up together, so I should have known that they would take a shine to each other. However, what’s an orphan to a king? After all, I could have Sebastian and his slow brother, Freud, fed to a Gelatinous Cube at a moment’s notice if I so desired. The only reason why I never did was because I knew that it would dishearten Beatrice. But once Sebastian showed interest in becoming a knight for the city, I made sure to encourage him towards a life self-sacrifice in the hopes of him dying a “hero’s death”. Unfortunately, he proved more competent in battle than I had anticipated as he joined the ranks. He even showed himself to be a man of the people, reminiscent of his parents. If he wasn’t my queen’s best friend, I would have had him sent on a mission to never return years ago. Sadly, I was lovesick when Beatrice became my queen. It had been nearly a decade and a half until she became my better half but she proved far worth the wait. Even in my ailing years, she more than proved herself capable without me. My age swiftly deteriorated only a few years after she became my queen, but she took care of the entire city as both ruler and expecting mother. Those first few years were nearly a dream for me, but the child’s birth soon proved it to be a nightmare instead. I should have known that making the man she grew up with, Sebastian, our most trusted bodyguard was too kind. I, King Garland, the ruler of Tyriok who brought the city to its shining stature that it is today, was proven to be nothing more than a cuckold when their daughter was born. I should have known that the man she truly held affection for, the man who truly had her heart long before she stole mine, was working behind my back since the very beginning. From the moment that child was born, I had a constant reminder of how asinine and foolish I truly was. In retaliation, I sought ways to ensure that Sebastian’s life would be a worse Hell than he was already damned for. It took a number of years until I could send him off. However, as much as I wanted to give him a similar fate to his parents, I knew that Queen Beatrice wouldn’t leave the disappearance of her lover alone. When his contract was up for renewal, I found the strength to attend the signing myself. My queen pleaded for me to return him to her side, and I looked him in the eyes as I stripped him of his status and pension. I knew that his parents were a deep scar in his heart, having been old enough to remember the pain of them leaving unlike his younger brother. So when my whore queen begged me to leave him something to live off of, I chuckled at the only property I offered him. I told her that I would take him there myself the next day. Allowing him to keep his armor and possessions, I brought Sebastian on to my favorite cart on the way to his new home. He tried to ask me why he had been fired, but we stayed in silence as we made our way to the bar.

As we approached the lower end of the city, I asked, “Do you remember anything about your parents, Sebastian?”

Caught off guard, the fool took a deep sigh before replying, “No, I was too young when they left me and my brother at the orphanage. The only parent I know is Miss Frau.”

“Come now, Sebastian,” I insisted, knowing he was lying, “We both know that you were plenty old enough to remember the sting of them leaving.”

I hear the wood of his chest carrying his belongings creak as his grip tightens in annoyance before saying, “My king, I can assure you-”

“You can assure me of what? My new status of ‘Cuckold’,” I say, angrily gripping my walking cane, “I believe your daughter is assurance enough, thank you.”

I watch as he fills with rage, like a geyser nearly bursting through the earth, before he calms leans forward to say, “My liege, she is your daughter. You must believe me.”

Laughing aloud, Sebastian slumps back into his seat as I retort, “Really? My daughter? That is what you and my queen would have me believe but we both know the truth. To be frank, the entire city knows the truth. You’re lucky I don’t have her tossed out into the ocean.”

Upon hearing that, I see the geyser burst from stone as he drops his crate and nearly lunges at me. One of my guards pulls his sword and places it against Sebastian’s throat, forcing him to retake his seat.

“Thank you, Roland,” I remark with a grin, as Sebastian forces himself to calm down, “Now, we should be at your new home soon.”

“If you harm Olivia or Bea, I will hang you from the guard towers,” Sebastian spits, trying to intimidate me.

Wiping a drop of spittle from my eye, I reply, “Don’t worry. They’ll be safe in their homes, just as you will be in yours.”

The cart comes to a halt as we arrive outside of the only bar in the entire city, the same one his parents ran before they disappeared. I handed him the deed and watched his face go white as he read the names of his deceased parents. I soaked in the sight like warm rays of sunlight after a night of rain.

“If you’re ever seen on castle grounds again, I’ve given the guards orders to kill you on sight,” I tell him, as I step out of the cart with my cane.

As Roland tosses his possessions out of the cart, Sebastian just stares daggers at me as he replies, “You know that none of the guards will listen to that.”

“Oh, I know and I’m betting on it. That means that they’ll capture you, instead,” I spout, a weak smile forming on my face, “Which means further use of the tools under the western guard tower. You remember those, don’t you?”

Sebastian didn’t respond. He simply placed the deed in his cracked chest of belongings and snatched the keys from my hand. I bid him one last farewell before my cart left to return me to my home. Proud with myself, I feel the last bit of warmth from the sun hit my face just before the clouds steal it from me.

Epilogue

In the weeks that followed, I did my best to ensure that my rule would continue in my absence. For the initial years of my queen’s daughter’s life, I was constantly there to take care of her. I tried to teach her as much as possible, but it’s difficult to implant anything useful in a toddler’s mind. I left the child to be dealt with for a different time. Aside from that, I left my control of the city to my Tribunal instead, just before I locked myself away. My health had deteriorated so swiftly that I was no longer fit to be seen by the public so I instead set a plan in motion to ensure that however my health would turn, I wouldn’t be leaving so indefinitely. As I was helped up the many tower steps to my room, I looked to the new hire who was helping me. He was a dragonborn of black scales, no older than the age of twenty-two. He attempted to tell me his name, but I simply shooed him away as I told him to fetch me my council. I had to specify that I meant my Tribunal so that the idiot wouldn’t bring me the queen. After a few moments, Roland, Yaromir, and Valentia arrived in my room.

“So, do you remember what I need?” I ask, resting on my bed.

Cutting and eating an apple, Roland replies, “Honestly, all I remember is being told to kill Sebastian if we find him close enough to the castle. Everything else fell on deaf ears.”

Valentia pulled out a small piece of parchment as she recited, “The heart of a newt, the eyes of a recently deceased child, poison oak leaves, a large cast iron urn, incense infused with nightshade, and poison derived from the blood of an Elf. Anything else, Garland?”

Smiling as I turn to Valentia, I say, “Well, at least one of you have proven that Doppelgangers are worth keeping around.”

Returning my smile with a wink, Valentia is nudged by Yaromir before he says, “Flirting aside, we need to better know who we’re contacting in Draturi. A name would better help us know who is the actual target.”

“My contact in the city is not a target. They are a contact. Repeat it back to me,” I demand as I turn to stare at them.

Giving a disgruntled sigh, Yaromir corrects himself by saying, “Your ‘contact’ in Draturi would be easier to locate if we had a name to go with the portrait you provided us.”

“The portrait is enough, I assure you.”

“Really? Because they all look the same to me,” Roland mocks, his body transforming into the person from the portrait I provided them, “I mean, honestly, can you at least tell us if it’s a man or a woman?”

Valentia snorts, “He’s clearly a man. Look at the jawline.”

“No, she’s a woman,” Yaromir bickers, motioning with his fingers, “Can you not see the more feminine cheekbones?”

As they continue to bicker amongst each other, I angrily close my eyes before shouting, “It doesn’t fucking matter what gender my contact is. What matters is what I need them for. You do remember what I need them for, correct?”

“Yeah, we do,” they reply in unison.

“And you understand that if you don’t find them soon enough, I won’t be able to pay you what I promised you, correct?”

“Yeah, we understand,” they echo again.

“Good, now, before you all leave, show me the disguises you’ve chosen so that I make sure nothing is too jarring.”

As I say so, the three of them transform before me. There clothes skin and hair all writhing into themselves. Their flesh turning a soft blue and their eyes becoming a pale yellow with no pupils before morphing into proper disguises. Valentia chose a more buxom female form with sharper features and long, dagger-like ear. Yaromir transformed into a shorter male Elven form with a stronger jaw than he usually preferred. Roland, much to my surprise, presented a more Wood Elven form with a gentle smile. I nodded in approval of their disguises as they returned to their normal visage.

“Good,” I sigh, “Very good. Now, as for the last bit of business before you leave, I simply need you to tell some guards to bring my old personal throne into the room.”

With a dumbfounded glare, Roland says, “ ‘Throne’ as in your toilet or...”

Valentia rolls her eyes as she says, “No, you fool. His actual throne.”

They continued to trade insults until I grew too tired to listen, shouting, “Yes, my actual throne! The stone one that I’ve always sat in. Take your bickering out of my tower and get it all done posthaste!”

Stopping their childish bickering for a moment, they all salute and bow to me before leaving my room. As they do, I struggle to my feet and shuffle over to a window. I pry it open as I stare out over my city from the top of a 300 foot tall tower. The rain is heavily falling, washing the streets. Unfortunately, there’s not enough rain to wash the stench of betrayal that covers my home. I look out to the fields and see Queen Beatrice sneaking out with her daughter in tow. They’re dressed in clothes reminiscent of the orphanage. I slam the window shut as I return to my room.

“All I’ve ever been surround by is snakes,” I say to myself, “From the ones I’ve put in the ground to the ones still in the sky, all they’ve ever proven to be are conniving traitors. All they’ve ever done is use me like a rag then tossed me aside like a pitiful copper piece. Soon, however. Soon, they’ll be begging me for mercy again. They’ll all fear me again. As they all should. As everyone should.”

I stare at my hand and feel a familiar warmth coalesce around my hand. I hold my eyes closed and breathe hot air into my hand. As I open them, I see a ghastly blue flame escape my mouth and form in my hand. I let the embers turn red and dance in my fingers before clutching my fist to extinguish it. I toss the window open with a new vigor as I stare out over the city bathed in flame and devils. I smile as the hallucination shows my whore queen and her affair hanging on pikes, burning on pyres as the rest of the citizens are running for their lives.

A soft voice whispers, “And you will find yourself as the ruler of a new kingdom as long as your end of the bargain is kept.”

Twisting around as fast as I can, I nearly twist my ankle only to find no one behind me. I feel a spark of fire in my heart fill me with determination, just before I fall unconscious to the floor.

#d&d #short story #king garland #villain #tales of baicia

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kaigogo · 4 years

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hoo boy here we go.

Original Text

魔道祖师

作者: 墨香铜臭

第一章：重生

“魏无羡死了。大快人心！”

乱葬岗大围剿刚刚结束，未及第二日，这个消息便插翅一般飞遍了整个修真界，比之当初战火蔓延的速度有过之而无不及。

一时之间，无论是世家名门，还是山野散修，人人都在议论此次由四大玄门世家联率、大小百家参与混战的围剿行动。

“好好好，果然是大快人心！手刃这夷陵老祖的是哪位名士英豪？”

“还能是谁。他师弟小江宗主江澄呗，云梦江氏、兰陵金氏、姑苏蓝氏、清河聂氏四大家族打头阵，大义灭亲，把魏无羡那老巢‘乱葬岗’一锅端了。”

“我得说句公道话：杀得好。”

立即有人抚掌亮声应和：“不错，杀得好！要不是云梦江氏收养他栽培他，他魏婴这辈子就是个混迹乡野市井的庸徒……还谈什么别的。原先的江宗主可是把他当亲儿子在养，他倒好，公然叛逃，与百家为敌，丢尽了云梦江氏的脸，还害得江家几乎满门惨死。什么叫忘恩负义白眼狼？这就是！”

“江澄居然就让这厮嚣张了这么久，换了是我，当初魏某人叛逃时就不是只捅他一刀，而是直接清理门户，否则他也没机会做出后来那些丧心病狂之事。对这种人，还讲什么同门同修青梅竹马的情面。”

“可我听到的不是这样的啊？魏婴不是因为自己修炼邪术遭受反噬、受手下鬼将撕咬蚕食而死的吗？听说活活被咬碎成了齑粉呢。”

“哈哈哈哈……这就叫现世报。我早就想说了，他养的那批鬼将就像一群没拴好的疯狗到处咬人，最后咬死自己，活该！”

“话虽如此，可此次围剿乱葬岗，若不是小江宗主依夷陵老祖的弱点拟定计划，成功与否还难说呢。你们可别忘了魏无羡手上有什么东西，当初一晚上三千多个成名修士是怎么全军覆没的。”

“不是五千吗？”

“三千五千都差不多。我觉得五千更有可能。”

“果真丧心病狂……”

“他死之前毁掉了阴虎符，倒也算积了点阴德，否则留下那鬼东西继续贻害人间，更加罪孽深重喽。”

“阴虎符”三字一出，忽然一阵静默，似乎都在顾忌着什么。

片刻之后，一人慨叹道：

“哎……要说这魏无羡，当年也是仙门之中极富盛名的世家公子，并非不曾有过佳迹。年少成名，何等风光恣意……究竟他是怎么走到这一步的……”

话题转移，议论声又纷纷然起来。

“由此可见，修炼终归是非走正统路子不可。邪魔歪道，一时风光无限，好像很嚣张很了不起？嘿，最后是什么下场？”

掷地有声：“死无全尸！”

“也不全是修炼之道害的，归根结底还是魏无羡此人人品太差，天怒人怨啊。所谓善恶终有报，天道好轮回……”

……

身死之后，盖棺定论。所论内容大同小异，偶有微弱的异声，也会立刻被压了下去。

只是每个人的心头都还有一缕阴霾挥之不去。

虽说夷陵老祖魏无羡已身死乱葬岗，但事成之后，却无法召唤他的残魂。

他的魂魄，也许是在被万鬼吞噬之时一同被分食了，又也许是逃逸了。

若是前者，自然皆大欢喜普天同庆。然而，夷陵老祖有翻天灭地、移山倒海之能——至少传闻中是这样的，他若要抗拒召魂，也不是什么难事。一旦他来日元神复位，夺舍重生，届时，玄门百家甚至整个人间必将迎来更加丧心病狂的报复和诅咒，陷入暗无天日和腥风血雨之中。

因此，将一百二十座镇山石兽压在乱葬岗顶后，各大家族开始进行频繁的召魂仪式，同时严查夺舍，搜集各地异象，全力警戒。

第一年，风平浪静。

第二年，风平浪静。

第三年，风平浪静。

……

第十三年，依然风平浪静。

至此，终于越来越多的人相信，也许魏无羡也没那么了不起，也许他真的神魂俱灭了。

纵使曾经翻手为云覆手雨，也终归有一日成为被翻覆的那一个。

没有人会被永远奉在神坛之上，传说也仅仅只是传说而已。

-------------------

作者有话要说：

夶夶们久等了！

这篇文实在是卡的很厉害，也因为三次元的各种情况拖了很久……总之接受殴打（抱头）

魏无羡是主，主受，不要站逆_(:з)∠)_

看上去人品非常糟糕对不对，请相信我不会让主角人品太差劲的。

是跟渣反不太一样的一篇文。

总之，希望大家喜欢 ^_^

当然，不喜欢也不要勉强啊哈哈哈哈……

Translation

The Founder of Demon Cultivation

Author: Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

Chapter 1: Rebirth

“Wei Wu Xian is dead! Everyone rejoice!”

The siege at Luanzang Hill (The Burial Mounds) had recently come to an end and in less than two days, the news had flew around the entire cultivation world as if it had wings, spreading faster than that of war.

For a while, regardless if one was from a prestigious clan or an independent cultivator, everyone talked about the time the four great clans united to lead hundreds to participate in the siege.

“Well, well, well! This is indeed something to celebrate! Which worthy Master was the hero that killed the Yiling Patriarch?

“Who else could it have been? His younger brother Jiang Cheng of the Yunmeng Clan, along with the Jin Clan of Lanling, the Lan Clan of Gusu, and the Nie Clan of Qinghe. The four great families were the ones to justly wipe out Wei Wu Xian’s old lair.

“Fairly speaking, I must say it’s poetic justice.”

Someone immediately clapped their hands in agreement. “Yes, it is indeed! If it weren’t for the Jiang clan of Yunmeng adopting and educating him, that Wei Ying would have just been a mediocre cultivator....that’s all there is to say. The former head of the Jiang Clan raised Wei Ying as if he were his own son, yet he publicly betrayed them, became an enemy to all cultivators, brought shame upon the Jiang name, and was even the reason nearly all the family members died tragically. He’s the epitome of an ingrate that bit the hand that fed him!

“I’m surprised Jiang Cheng allowed this guy to act so arrogantly for such a long time. If it were me, as soon as that Wei defected, I would not have only stabbed him; I would have immediately disposed of his clan so that he wouldn’t have had an opportunity to do the insane things he did later. Growing up together as friends and fellow cultivators of the same clan wouldn’t matter when dealing with a sort of person like him.”

“But that’s not what I heard? Didn’t practicing demonic cultivation backfire on Wei Ying, causing him to be devoured by his Ghost General and demons? I heard that he was completely torn to pieces.”

“Hahahaha...that’s what I call karma. Earlier I was saying that those ghosts of his were like a pack of unleashed wild dogs biting people everywhere. And, ultimately, he was bitten to death himself. Serves him right!”

“Be that as it may, the siege on Luan Zang Hill (The Burial Mounds) was successful because it depended on Jiang Cheng’s plan which focused on the Yiling Patriarch’s weakness. Don’t forget about the object Wei Wu Xian possessed or how he slaughtered three thousand accomplished cultivators in one night.”

“Wasn’t it five thousand?”

“Three thousand, five thousand, it’s practically the same. I think it’s more likely five thousand.”

“He really was deranged....”

“Well it’s good that the Yin Tiger Amulet (Stygian Tiger Amulet) was destroyed before he died. Otherwise, had that evil thing been left behind to continue harming mankind, he would have even more sins to answer for.”

“The Yin Tiger Amulet (Stygian Tiger Amulet).” As soon as those words were uttered, there was a sudden silence and everyone seemed apprehensive as if something worried them.

After a moment, there was a reluctant sigh from someone who said, “Well… Back then, Wei Wu Xian was a gifted cultivator from a highly respectable clan who made a name for himself when he was young. How did he end up walking down this path…”

At this change of topic, voices rang out with numerous comments.

“This just shows that, in the end, cultivators must not stray from the correct, traditional path. Using evil, crafty tricks briefly give one boundless possibilities and it would seem great, right? But what ends up happening?”

“There wasn’t even a corpse left!”

“You know, the path he chose isn’t the only reason for all the trouble he caused. Ultimately, Wei Wu Xian thought he was better than everyone else. But everyone pays the price for their actions, good or evil, and it follows into the next life.”

......

After his death, there was not much to say about Wei Wu Xian. Most discussions were the same, though not without a few unusual theories that when thrown out were promptly shut down.

Still, the thought of him lingered in the back of everyone’s mind. Although Wei Wu Xian died at Luan Zang Hill (The Burial Mounds), the issue remained that his soul could not be summoned. His soul may have been consumed by ten thousand demons.

Or it may have escaped.

If it were the former, then naturally everything was fine. However, the Yiling Patriarch was capable of shaking the heavens and moving mountains—— Or at least that was the rumor. Therefore, if it were the latter, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to resist being summoned. And if his soul ever returned to his body or was reborn in the near future, then one could be sure of mysterious evils and even worse vengeful curses plaguing mankind, plunging the world into complete darkness and terror.

And so, as a result, after placing one hundred and twenty mountain stone beasts at Luan Zang Hill (The Burial Mounds), each and every clan began conducting frequent soul-summoning rituals all while remaining alert to and investigating any unusual activity within the various regions.

In the first year, nothing happened.

In the second year, nothing happened.

In the third year, nothing happened.

....

Thirteen years passed and still nothing had happened.

At this point, more and more people had become convinced that, perhaps, Wei Wu Xian wasn’t that extraordinary and that maybe his soul really was gone. Because even though Wei Wu Xian had upended the sky itself, the day had finally come for him to be flipped upside down.

But of course, no one can stay on a pedestal forever. Legends are just legends.

-----------------

Author’s Note:

You’ve all been waiting for so long! This story has been delayed due to writer’s block and because of real life problems.... still, I’m ready to be hit (covers head with hands)

Wei Wu Xian is the main protagonist and someone you don’t want to mess with. _(:з)∠)_

It seems like this character is very terrible, right? Please believe that I won’t make him be too horrible. This story isn’t too similar to Zha Fan (Scum Villain).

Still, I hope you all like it ^_^ Of course, if you don’t like it I don’t want you to force yourself hahahaha....

#mdzs * translation #the good thing is i already know some of the backstory #since i watched the untamed #but translating a story i have never read? HA HA #i can't wait to die but at least it'll be the gays that take me outta this world

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argyrocratie · 4 years

Text

Les lascars du LEP électronique

France, 1986, during a periode of wide contestation by students and highschoolers against an education reform: a bunch of stundent of a technical highschool shared a number of tract signed “Les lascars du LEP électronique” making their own radical critic of society and the student movement

(text translated by me from here, more info in french in this video):

___________________________________________________

THEY WANTED TO MAKE US STUPID …… IT FAILLED.

We started to walk out when the noise of the student movement reached us. First of all, we didn't quite get it. What were the students fighting against? We didn't know it. But they were fighting against… .something and we liked it.

We took to the streets to break the monotony of school and because we too were violently against… something! But what ?

When we took to the streets we took everything we liked from the school, our friends, our pals, the fun, the joy and the friendship.

We talked whith each other as we had never talked before, and we really liked it. So high school wasn't the walls, wasn't that the program? IT WAS US! ALL TOGETHER !

Talking, running, thinking, talking quickly, very quickly, we understood a lot.

The students are fighting against the Devaquet law which worsens the selection at the University where we will never go! But the selection we know! We have already given! very early on, “intelligent” people directed us towards short subsidiaries, LEP. making us feel that we weren't able to do anything else and that after school it would be (if we could find a job) even worse. It seems that us, it is the Monory Law that "concerns" us and that it too will be worse.

Worse than what? How? We can't see it very well!

Anyway, we don't need to know this Law to refuse it!

Because we no longer want what we have that is miserable, and it is not to ask for more, nor less. More of what, less of what! What does it change ? Be more profitable for those who will make us work? Thank you !

THAT'S OF NO INTEREST TO US. FIND SOMETHING ELSE!

Our teachers kept us (half-heartedly) under the illusion that our diplomas, provided we were hardworking, punctual, attentive, conscientious, would give us a place, oh not wonderful one, but still a place all the same; that our studies would condition our place in the world of work.

"Rather, it seems to us that this is our future job which already conditions our studies ”.

PROMISING !

We thought we would get away with it, through music, travel, theater, friendship, all that…. ; that we would manage, without really knowing how, to escape it, in the meantime we would keep silent so as not to vex them, upset them ... but also because we could see, deep down, that we were stuck, alone, isolated.

Now we know: it wasn't a personal, individual problem.

This is everyone's problem!

By passively refusing yesterday, actively today, school; it is the work and the stupid life that we have been kindly prepared that we refuse!

We discuss, we reflect, we have a good laugh, BUT WE ARE VERY SERIOUS!

You almost got us, you failed! We saw something else. We're going for it. It’s going down!

(FROM THE LASCARS OF LEP ELECTRONIQUE 1986)

___________________________________________________

Everything that is questionable must be criticized

WE CRITICIZE!

STUDENTS, yesterday we were in the street with you but we might as well tell you right away, the Devaquet reform, we don’t give a fuck? For us the selection has already played out. The University is closed to us, and our diplomas take us straight to the factory after a short trip to the dole.

For us, the Devaquet law is not needed:

We criticize the University.

We criticize the students.

We criticize school.

We criticize work.

School gives us the bad places. The University gives you mediocre ones. Together let's criticize them! But don't tell us: we will always need sweepers, workers, or so go ahead guys, these places we will abandoned them to you with a good heart, go ahead!

WE ARE NOT MORE STUPID THAN YOU, WE WILL NOT GO TO THE FACTORY

If you criticize the Devaquet law which only makes a bad situation worse, you haven't got it!

Besides, your situation is not much better than ours. A good part of you (60% it seems) will give up your studies before the second; and these bad students will be entitled to the same menial and poorly paid jobs that are our lot. And as for the good students, let them know that the average places they will have (the good ones it’s not at the university that one finds them) have lost a lot of their prestige and their power. Today a doctor is no longer a SIR, he is a welfare employee. And what is a teacher, a lawyer? There are so many…!

STUDENTS, if you only criticize the Devaquet Law and not the University, you will fight alone and the law will pass suddenly or in little bits, you WILL GET IT IN YOUR ASS! And, if by any chance it didn't pass then everything would be as before and half of you would end up in offices, your sanitized factories.

STUDENTS it is you who are called to manage this company and we to produceit.

IF YOU MOVE, IF WE MOVE, ANYTHING CAN MOVE.

But if you only want to play the Tapie apprentice, if you only want to manage this society loyally and become inexpensively educators, social workers, animators, labor inspectors, executives, sociologists, psychologists, journalists, personnel directors; to tomorrow educateus, assist us, animate us, inspect us, inform us, direct us, make us work ...

SCREW YOU !!!

But if you want, to begin with, to criticize the school system which excludes and demeans us, if you want to fight, with us, against social segregation, against poverty, yours and ours, then ... BROTHERS (SISTERS) WITH US, WE LOVE YOU!

DES LASCARS DU LEP ELECTRONIQUE December 1986

___________________________________________________

Teachers, you are making us old!

Since the time you wanted us to talk and we kept silent, this time we're going to talk. We know that for most of you, you just want to help us. Each in your own way, you've tried everything. You have been stern, lax, patient, impatient, considerate or distant; you have reflected, discussed among yourselves, with us, with the administration.

You told us so many things, we said nothing or so little, we were silent, we smiled. You said to us:”here we don't laugh , we work,” or “here we laugh but we work”, or “if you do nothing do not disturb your comrades who themselves ...” or “make an effort!” or “Mr. So-and-so, do you think you might be late when you will have to work?” or “ah it's you go sit down”, or “answer? nobody knows ?” or “in ten years of career I have never seen that!” or “if you have a problem come see me at the end of the course”, or “ask questions!” and also “I have a daughter of your age”, “silence when I speak”, “Gentlemen, take a sheet”, “repeat what I just said”, “go get me a ticket”, “I warn you with me it will not be like with Mr. Thing”.

Well yes! It's the same, you've tried everything it hasn't changed anything. You supported us in the council, you saw our parents, you said to yourself: "what if he was my son", you worked, started again, prepared lessons, visits, internships, presentations, outings, we drank coffee together, you went on strike, you yelled, maybe cried, it didn't change anything.

Year after year, we were swallowed up by the social rolling mill, the students you saved, you wear them like decorations, they are deserved, what a job for each of them! But it's not possible for everyone!

The problem was not us, it was not you, it’s all the rest!

You knew it, of course, but you believed it was inevitable. It is not the academic failure that we reproache you, it is to have accepted too long and tried to make us accept an unacceptable state of affairs, people and relations between people.

We are the problematic guys for you; you pity us in advance as if your life were wonderful! We can see, when you sulk, that you too are bored.

You say: and what have you yourselves done for yourself? Precisely by our current activity we criticize our passivity of yesterday. You say "you are unjust, our lives are not sad, we are not submissive, we want to help you!" Prove it ! Want to talk to us? We do not hear you very well, we are already far away, come closer, otherwise in a week you will not understand anything. Before, our passivity was your excuse. Not anymore.

YOU CAN'T LIKE US: WE TELL THE TRUTH. The one that is at the bottom of your heart, that there are fed up with hierarchical, separate relationships, fed up with narrow lives. You don't dare believe it, you don't dare say it. Yet it is there. Professors, this is the place to jump. If you let go, if you falter, if you betray ... we won't say anything. Our eyes will speak for us. They are relentless, you know that! You will be judged by yourself, you will not get up from it. Come discuss with us on an equal footing.

YOU CAN'T DO NOTHING AGAINST US, WE PREVENT YOU FROM AGING

Des lascars du LEP électronique

#long post #my translation #school #university #anti capitalism

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digitalbounce-digitalsound · 4 years

Text

I’m Tired

I’m tired.

Not tired in a physical sense but so mentally tired that I’m struggling to see a point in everything.

My whole life I have spent it being mediocre.

I get straight C’s in school, I get to the mid-level of playing instruments and speaking languages and my brain automatically caps the knowledge so I have to struggle through scrambling to remember everything with a brain that likes to forget things on a whim, making me look like an idiot constantly.

I see the world through my eyes and just feel exhausted. We fought for so many things that are now being taken away from us. We are being forced back into an age of born, work, die and it is not acceptable.

I desperately want to make a change. I try so hard to make a change. Working on myself by prepping myself in public speaking so that I can confidently voice my opinion, in social interaction with my social battery at 0 so that I know how to mask my pain easier. I go to protests against racial prejudice, against police brutality, I voice out my hate and sign petitions, I donate to worthy causes to freedom and understanding.

But what do I get in return? Such a harsh slap from a thing called the universe that I don’t know what to do to carry on.

I’m basically the mediocre ghost of the 21st century. I may not be dirt poor but I’m struggling. I may not be confined to a hospital but I’m ill.

I say ghost because during school I was ignored on the constant. If I was struggling I would ask for help but get none. If I was being bullied I would report it but get brushed off and then shouted at for blaming other people.

At home I am always told things last. With a family as large as mine you would have thought it easy to get everyone on the same page. My family says it’s my memory but I am rather good at remembering random things people tell me. I am never told. I always get the news last. The pregnancies, the deaths, the moving houses, everything. I get told last.

Currently I’m at university. I’m studying to become a translator. I’m studying to better myself. I thought that communication would be a lot easier in university there are only 6 people on my specific course, not that many to ignore. A lot easier for lecturers to concentrate on.

I am a ghost here too. In a county where no one knows me, in a town where everything is new for me, I’ve managed to get forgotten again. In first year it was the teachers forgetting to communicate with each other about me. Forgetting to give me deadlines, forgetting to give me grades and not able to talk to each other about trips for my course.

In second year it was the lack of connection about deadlines for important forms for my period abroad and the last minute cancellation because they’d forgotten to tell me.

Between second year and now, it has been the complete lack of communication, everyone forgetting that I still have a module to complete, forgetting I’m a special case for my lectures, forgetting to CC me into important emails about my own course. Just forgetting.

Something I could probably compare myself to would be the Silence from Doctor Who. You see me and you know, you know I’m there and can speak to me, can see me.

As soon as you look away you forget. Forget that I’m even there, forget who I am.

I’ve been on this earth 24 years and counting. Realistically I didn’t think I would have been here for the past 6 and I feel that because I am here, I’ve broken something. I’ve fucked with the timeline and it makes me feel like this is entirely my fault.

For every single year, I’ve been alive, only a handful of people have gotten my name right, remembered my nickname. My own father has forgotten my birthday before and only remembers because it is his friends birthday also.

If I’d have died back then I feel that none of this would have happened. 2020 wouldn’t be the mess it is now. The universe wouldn’t be clambering to hold me back.

Trying to think into the future is difficult for me. I see nothing. Literally nothing. Most people think into the future and imagine a dog and a house with their partner. A job. That sort of thing. I look into the future and it’s just black. I didn’t plan to be here this long but here I am.

I imagine myself with a partner and I have no idea who they are, what they look like, if it will even happen so it goes. I imagine myself with a pet, no clue what animal, what breed so it fades.

I try to imagine my house but nothing appears. The country I will live in but again, nothing.

Even seen as far as to the end of my degree, to my graduation, I can imagine nothing.

Clinging onto the tiny strands of the universe is taxing on me and I’m clambering desperately to make something good of my life.

I’m running on spite and anger alone. Carrying on despite my aching need to vanish from the universe. Forcing myself to work as hard as I can to spite my teachers who thought since school that I couldn’t make anything of myself. Pushing myself because I’m fed up of being called useless, a disappointment, boring, reckless.

I have nothing to live for except to protect my friends from loss during a difficult time.

#personal #depression #mediocre #ghost #Silence #My life #help #I can't

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peace-coast-island · 4 years

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Diary of a Junebug

Collecting starfish and trying to make a difference

Years ago I read a story about starfish. Basically, a woman comes across hundreds of starfish that were washed into the sand. So one by one, she begins throwing them back in the sea. While doing that, someone walks by and questions why she’s trying to save the starfish if they’re gonna get washed up again at some point.

What difference does it make?, the passerby asks.

For that one starfish I just threw in the sea, it means everything, says the woman.

I don’t know why but that story always stuck to me. When people ask what I want to do in life, I say that I want to help people. When I think about helping people, I think about the starfish story. A little goes a long way. I won’t be able to save the world or make a huge impact on a community but at least I can do something for one person. And for that one person, it makes a difference.

I don’t want to be a hero, I just want to be there for someone who needs a shoulder to lean on. I won’t make waves, but at least I can create ripples.

Pearl, Marianne, Fran, and Mike are visiting the camp for a much needed break after everything going on at Hollywood University. Coincidentally, the beach is full of starfish seashells so Isabelle and I arranged a seashell event. Since the universe tends to work in strange ways - at least according to the way I see it - I think it’s a sign.

For almost five years Jamie had been building an entourage of actors, writers, musicians, and other media professionals who are affiliated with the Hollywood University - Peace Coast campus. A bunch of friends like Ally-Nicole Sinead, Celinda Sharma, Vincent Yang, Lenie Langbrook, Quentin Toledo, Arabeth Liao, the Kayode triplets, the Sala cousins, Pearl, Marianne, Fran, and Mike - and tons of others - were part of that group.

What makes Jamie’s entourage stick out from other entourages in the university is how diverse it was. The other entourages are predominantly white, straight, and able bodied, which says a lot about the culture of the campus. The university as a whole prides itself for being inclusive, but is it really?

Don’t get me wrong, the university did make some strides in terms of diversity and inclusion when it first started out - particularly in terms of the LGBT community. But as it began to grow, it began following the money and sidelined the voices that they once aimed to amplify. That, along with various missteps involving the treatment of various POC figures is what caused people like Jamie and Pearl to become disillusioned with the university.

It’s such a shame, especially when you’ve got a bunch of talented people who are constantly ignored in favor of someone mediocre because of their ethnicity/background/sexual orientation, etc. There’s also blatant favoritism, which sucks as well.

Technically Jamie’s entourage isn’t really an established thing anymore as it hasn’t been active in over a year. But others still refer to it as such because everyone still hangs out together, even after they’ve moved on. So even though the entourage has disbanded, it doesn’t seem like it. That says a lot about the community Jamie built with her entourage.

Pearl and the others joined the entourage about three years ago. That was shortly before things really started to change so their experiences have been a mixed bag. On one hand, they got to meet a bunch of cool people and experience great opportunities but at the same time have to deal with the university’s bullshit regarding their performative activism.

While criticism of how the university pats itself on the back for being so diverse has been going on for years, shutting down the Hollywood U/Starlight Theatre program is what caused things to blow up. Starlight Theatre is run and owned by a black Asian woman and most of the performers happen to be POC and/or LGBT as well as most of the people in the program.

The university claims that budget issues is what prompted them to shut down the program as they felt they could use that money for other resources that better fit the university’s vision. Enrollment in the program has reportedly dropped, which Pearl says is not entirely true. While the cohort has gotten smaller, it’s important to note that in recent years, most of the staff and students are white.

So it’s no surprise that most of the entourage has left the university over the past two years. Considering how many of our friends have been screwed over, I don’t blame them for leaving.

The amount of bullshit from the university is far too long to list off so I’ll only mention a few big ones. Shutting down the theatre program’s a big thing as Pearl and Marianne are part of the faculty. And before that they were severely underpaid and under credited as well as ignored over their white colleagues. Marianne had resigned last semester on a sour note after getting fed up with the higher ups. Pearl was tired of their shit too but chose to stick around because she wanted to make a difference and the students loved her.

Three West End and Starlight actors who were in Jamie’s entourage - Mariah Huang, Killian Bhandari, and Hayden Pettinelli - have been outspoken about their mixed experiences with the university and the theatre program. You have three professional actors being underpaid and ignored as well as being told flat out that they were hired so the faculty looked more diverse. They also had to deal with microaggressions from colleagues as well as poor communication with the higher ups. With the entourage being disbanded, they left the program shortly after.

Jenny, Clarry, and Lyndi have said that their college experience has been mixed. While all three have received great opportunities for their futures, they feel like they have to work at least three times harder than their white peers. Lenie and Rika feel the same, and as both are half white, they have their own issues with how they’re treated. Quentin Toledo, Tiffani Monaco, Adrie Castalucci, and Vincent Yang have issues about accessibility accommodations as the university has been less than accommodating to those who need it. Ally-Nicole Sinead, Beatrice Sala, Arabeth Liao, Celinda Sharma - and many other WOC - have criticized the misogyny that runs rampant in the university. Steven Fischer and Mike Shafir are among many who have spoken out about antisemitism. Fran Raleigh, Elliott Marchand, Maura Zeigler, Colleen Anantha, and countless others called out the university for homophobia and transphobia. And the list goes on and on.

At some point these people have been called ungrateful for criticizing the university and equate it to biting the hand that feeds you. Well, most of these people are already successful on their own and the reason why they came was to make a difference. While the university initially had good intentions, it’s clear where they stand in the long run. While they have made strides in terms of diversity and representation, the last few years feels like a backwards slide.

They say that attendance has gone down in certain groups and I wonder why. Could it be that a lot of people don’t want to be involved in a place that underpays them, treats them like shit, force them to deal with those who only want to work with them for woke points, and not be given the credit they rightfully deserve?

So what’s the big deal?, some may ask. Why is representation and diversity so important? Well, to answer in the most simplest terms, it’s because we exist. We deserve to be heard and for our stories to be told. We are not stereotypes or caricatures, we are people. And just giving more roles to POC, LGBT, and/or disabled actors isn’t going to solve everything. The whole entertainment industry has its issues so giving people jobs for the sake of diversity won’t fix things, especially if we continue to be undermined and fucked over.

The reason why people like Jamie, Pearl, Marianne, Fran, and Mike stuck around for so long - because they wanted to help others, to provide opportunities for them to shine. In a way, it’s kinda like trying to singlehandedly throw hundreds of starfish back in the sea with their own hands.

Some may say it’s futile and there’s no point because it is what it is. But why does it have to be that way? If the current system is bullshit, why not take it apart and build a much better one? You don’t have to put on a grand gesture to make a difference. You might not be able to save the world, but you can save someone’s world. And that will cause a ripple effect that will spread into small victories.

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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ain-t-bovvered · 5 years

Text

Epiphany 1

read first ACT 1

EDIT: @waywardbaby

Summary: Less than two years later, you finally passed the men of letters' initiation and, finally,you now set foot in America eager to be reunited with the Winchesters. But if Dean thought that you spent your days only with your nose in books and hands in monster's guts, he was dead wrong.

Your mission? Something that the British branch tried and failed miserably, or at least that's what they told you anyway.

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel and Jack

Warnings: slow burn guys…slow burn. Also, some fluff, humor, feels and angst.

Kiss it and make it better

Stepping outside the airport you were finally able to breathe real, unfiltered air, after so many hours of being closed up in an aluminum tube, sharing it with too many people. You stretched, feeling the uncomfortable tingling in your legs and a couple of bones popping here and there. Dragging your feet and luggage, you squinted against the sun that, according to your internal clock, shouldn’t be up and about. Rubbing your eyes, you looked down at your phone, sending a quick group text telling everyone at home you were okay and that you'd call them soon so they wouldn’t bother you later when you'd have other priorities.

During the time you had said your goodbyes and up until now, you had kept in contact with the Winchesters via some random texts and even some late night skype calls with the brothers. They had wanted to know how things were and especially the thing with your search for the men of letters.

Dean was always the same, old Dean. He always prodded and pried to know if you were hunting or not. And yes you had so you had lied about that, obviously, but he didn’t really need to know that, anyway. You bit your lip, drumming your fingers on the linoleum counter, suddenly feeling that old, guilty feeling creeping up your chest, as you waited for the rental car papers to get sorted out. To their best of their knowledge, you were still in training and mostly locked in a lab dissecting monsters and helping with the weapons.

Initially, your plan had been simple: Leave right after graduation.

The change of heart had been bitter but necessary. You knew all too well that if you had to crash in the Winchesters’ hunting life, you had to be prepared. The last thing you wanted was playing the damsel in distress. Therefore yes, you were locked in the lab, elbows deep in monster's guts and DNA, but at the same time, you had trained in whatever could be useful during a hunt. Basic combat, basic knife knowledge, witchcraft, and spells, refreshed your Latin which was still painfully mediocre, and let’s not talk about the guns skills. Honestly, things could be better, but considering how you started, things could’ve been far worse.

The bunker was only a three-hour drive which, for where you were from, was a lot, but things here were different. A country this big? Almost thirty times bigger than yours?

Yeah, days of driving were waiting in the future, and anyway, a couple of hours more and some leg cramps were nothing compared to how eager you were to see them.

Lebanon wasn’t that far away and you had managed to get the bunker’s outer description so you knew what to look for. You’d figure out the rest on the road.

You were not prepared for the boredom. The roads were almost completely straight.

“Damn, this place is literally a slab of dirt, some trees, and a sea of crops”.

Beautiful yes, but the road seemed to have no end. It just kept going on and on and on. Thank God for technology that at least showed that you were indeed moving closer to the destination.

The power plant hadn’t been difficult to find. Fiddling with your personal key, that the office had given you, you hesitated, hoping that they were home. As you were about to slip the key in the hole, your hand halted.

“I shouldn’t barge in like I own the place.”

It was a Men of Letters' bunker and it belonged to all of you but that one was Sam and Dean’s home. You retreated the key, slipping it in the back pocket of your jeans and you tried to knock, feeling silly.

No one answered. Were they on a hunt? Should you have called them? Should you call them right now?

Before your mind decided on what to do, you started texting Sam.

-Hey guys, just checking in. How are things?

Nothing.

Should you wait for them? But for how long? They could be days away or hours. You had no way of knowing. You decided to wait at least for a couple of hours. Maybe you could even take a nap to gain some sleep since jet lag was already being a bitch.

Relaxing in your seat, you started to doze off, in a light dream state.

Your phone chimed startling you awake. Confused, you squinted at the blurry screen. You’ve been asleep for hours.

“Shit”

You looked around but nothing had changed, no cars and no sign of them. You looked back at your phone

It was a message from Sam.

-Nothing much, same as always. -Are you guys on a hunt? -No, research

Oh great, already with the lies.

Moving the car to a more secluded spot between the sparse trees you looked at the time again.

Not that you had anywhere else to go anyway. “I guess I can still wait a bit and test my luck.” which sucks, by the way, a little voice told you.

After some time, a loud roaring noise woke you up. You straighten up, rubbing the drool from your cheek. From the muddy road, you saw this sleek black car rolling in and you fell instantly in love. That must be Baby.

The beauty on wheels stopped and from the driver seat, a frantic Sam jumped out, running to the passenger’s side and helping a bloody Dean out.

“What the hell?!” you called out, running out the car to them.

You saw Sam freeze and then with inhuman speed, he spun around, gun lifted toward the source of the voice. You stopped and slowly stepped into the headlights, arms raised, smiling reassuringly.

“Hi Sam”

“Y/N?” he squinted, “ what- ….how-” you both looked at Dean as he groaned in pain, starting to slide off his brother’s grip.

“Later,” Sam said quickly and moved to the entrance, Dean’s weight mostly on him. You watched as he struggled to open the door, so you stepped in, pushing him aside, and opened the bunker’s door with your key. Sam’s eyes widened, but once the door was wide open, he stepped inside. The lights switched on by themselves and he dragged Dean down the metal stairs. Following Sam through two large rooms and corridors, you watched as he lay Dean down on a bed in one of the rooms.

“Research uh?”

You gasped when he started to remove Dean’s coat, revealing an extended, deep blood stain on his shoulder.

“Vampire nest, one got a jump on him”.

You helped to roll up the sleeve while Sam brought in the first aid kit. You prodded the wound with your fingers to better understand the edges of the bite.

“It’s not that bad, looks worse than it is with all this blood”

Shrugging off your jacket you extended your hand to Sam who just stared at it.

“ …would you pass me the hydrogen peroxide so I can clean, sterilize and maybe stitch your brother up?”

“Ah yes, here”

When you sprayed the liquid on the wound to clean it, it fizzled and foamed, making you wince just as Dean’s eyes flew open and he sat up cursing.

“Son of a bitch, Sam can you be a bit more delicate”

“Not if you want to keep your arm”

His head snapped to you and once again you lost yourself in those eyes, memory couldn’t really do them justice

“Y-Y/N?”

“Hey, stranger”

“How… why… what?”

He flinched when you sprayed the wound again. “What the hell?” he grunted, his shoulders and neck tensing and trembling as he fought the pain. “Shouldn’t you be all ‘there there Dean, I’ll kiss it and make it better?’” he joked flinching when you used gauze to wipe around the bite, cleaning dirt and blood.

“Mmm, that’s cute” you mused, biting your lip to conceal your smile.

Oh, how have you missed him!!

“Wait here a moment, I need to go grab a few things”

You got up and touching Sam’s arm, “Don’t let him move an inch” you ordered.

“Yes ma’am”

“Hey, I’m the older brother!” he called as you disappeared outside the room, “what is she doing here, man?” Dean hissed once you were out of the room and they heard the bunker door close.

“Dude, I don’t know. She was just standing there, outside, waiting for us I think. She has a key for this place. A key of her own.”

Sam threw a look at the corridor outside the room and walked to his brother, lowering his voice, “You saw her ink, right?”

“Of course I saw the fucking ink. It’s right there on her arm” Dean stood up and swayed a little, Sam helped him be steady.

“Real question is, why she needs it.''

“Shouldn’t you be sitting down?” you said out of breath from the door, a big bag under your arm.

“Shouldn’t you have stayed in the lab being a nerd?” he said, his voice harsh.

“I do that, and occasionally…” you said unfazed, dropping the case on the bed, “... if the team is understaffed, I’ll go with them and kick some ass. Now, sit!”

Dean sat down on the bed again with a grunt as you opened the black military backpack.

Sam’s brows shot up when he saw its content.

“This is for missions…” you started to answer his silent question, “... we have an infirmary at HQ but when we are on the field we use this.” you went on, laying down a sterile, surgical, blue towel. When you fished out a syringe, Dean stood up, shaking his head.

“Uuh, nope!”

“Dean, sit down,” you said unfazed while rummaging into the pockets.

“Hell no. I don’t need any of that crap. Whiskey and dental floss will do just fine”. Your hands stopped and you slowly lifted your eyes to him, smiling sickly.

“Dude ...what she said” Sam chuckled, curious about the rest of the equipment. Dean muttered something and sat down again, far from you.

“Now, Dean, what kind of vamp attacked you ?”

“The blood-sucking kind? What are you talking about?”

“No, I mean, was he well fed? Looked clean and tidy? How were the conditions of the nest?”

The brothers looked at you funny and you sighed, “Was it a dumpster vamp or a house vamp?” your voice a clear testament of how thin your patience was running.

“…a barn one?” Dean’s patience running thinner...

“Does it matter?” Sam asked, interested.

“Umm, we know they can carry a different kind of bacteria depending on the type of environment they live…well, we are still working on the classifications but we have synthesized some antibiotics that can cover most of them, for now”

“AntiVamp-biotics?” Dean grinned as you chuckled.

“Still, we never needed that before,” Dean said smugly but his eyes twitched when you inserted the syringe into the little bottle with the clear yellow liquid. Your eyes followed as his tongue nervously licked his lips.

“Yeah? If they passed you something it could be dormant. This…” you said squirting the liquid out the needle, “... will get rid of it. Better safe than sorry, right?”

You reached as Dean drew his arm back.

You cocked an eyebrow at Sam and he chuckled, walking up to Dean and keeping him still.

“Don’t worry, I’ll kiss it better.” you cooed and slammed the needle in his flesh.

Once Dean was all patched up and real grumpy about it, Sam left the two of you alone going for the overused excuse of dinner. Cleaning up the mess on the bed and the rolls of gauzes that rolled off on the floor, you felt Dean’s eyes on you. With a sigh, you turned to face him, ‘here we go’.

“Yes Dean, what is it?”, still rolling up a stubborn gauze that kept slipping.

“What’s that?” he nodded at your arm and you followed his eyes.

“An anti-possession mark...?”

“Yeah, thanks. I know that, kid” he passed a hand over his face tired. “Why is it on you, is what I’d like to know. I thought I told you not to do anything stupid”

“And I promised you that. But, shit Dean, life happens.”

He stared at you and you squirmed under his hard gaze.

“Look…I did everything I was supposed to do, ok? We talked about this-”.

“-Apparently you forgot to mention some significant parts”. He grumbled over your rehearsed excuse.

“-recruited me as a science and tech assistant.” Your voice louder, “ I juggle between dissecting monsters, designing new weapons, upgrading old ones, and sometimes… sometimes I have field duty”

“That…” he stood up slowly and, son of a bitch you wanted out the room right fucking now, “... that right there is where I stop you,” he said pointing a finger. “You couldn't just stay in the lab, right? No, you had to go all gun blazing…”

“Actually, I use a-”

“I DON’T CARE!”

You flinched and he looked startled at his own outburst, blinking before clearing his throat and combing a hand through his hair, which was longer than you remembered, combed very nicely... No, focus!.

“You’ve never mentioned that in your calls or texts, so you definitely knew you were doing something stupid”

“No no no, this…” you waved a hand in the space between you two, “... this is why I didn’t say anything; you are overreacting just like Cass said you wou-”.

Ah shit.

“Oh …” a tight cold smile, “Cass knew?” his jaw clenched.

“Dean-” suddenly feeling very tired, you sat heavily on the bed, “you don’t know the big picture here, ok? ”

“you sound awfully a lot like a Cass of some years ago right now,” he whispered, his eyes roaming over you and then stopping at your bare legs.

Oh, fuck. Gaze turning hard, he looked up to you again.

“The fuck is that?” he said, dropping on his knees, between your legs.

Awkward.

“What's what? ” you tried to get up.

His hand traveling up your leg, stopped you cold. Reaching under your knee and lifting it to take a better look. Right there, in your inner thigh run a long, silvery scar that he traced until it disappeared under your shorts.

“Oh that…” your tone trying to sound amused, “It’s actually quite a funny story, I-“

“Whoops, sorry! “Sam, still with his amazing timing, appeared on the door and misunderstanding, obviously, he quickly turned around. Dean didn’t let go of your leg, still staring at you all jaw tensed and fuming, and all hot rage, and you shouldn’t feel this turned on, but here we are.

“Nope, Sam, it’s fine, nothing to see here, so what’s up?”

Sam cast a glance at you from above his shoulder, “Dinner’s ready…if you...you know... want it”

“Oh thank god, I’m starving” you chirped as you shook your leg out of his grip. Dean snapped out of his daze, stood up and walked out the room in silence.

“What happened?” Sam asked while accompanying you to the main room.

“Occupational hazards”

“That was amazing Sam, thank you," you said leaning back on your chair, satisfied and trying to stifle a burp.

“It’s just take-out and cholesterol, but you are welcome,” he smiled rubbing his hands clean from the greasy food with a paper napkin.

“For my first meal on American soil, I couldn’t have asked for anything better”

“Then we should celebrate.” Sam chuckled using his beer to nod at you. Grinning back you reciprocated and did the same in Dean’s direction but he was still brooding, picking at his food. Well, that’s definitely bad. You looked at Sam as he shrugged at you. Clicking your tongue, you put down your bottle.

‘Well, time to face one Dean Winchester. I got this’

“Enough of that Dean. I told you I was going to do what I wanted. I’m not your responsibility. I choos- “

“You didn’t. You just had the misfortune of meeting me, by chance, while you were living your life…”

“Yeah, what a life! Sure...” you scoffed, his shoulder visibly tensing.

‘Aw, shit that came out wrong’.

“You know what?” he snarled at you, “I told you about our lives, I told you how we didn’t have it easy. I told you we were forced into this shit, but you…,” he pointed angrily, “... you just dived in it like it’s no big deal, leaving your goddamn, normal life behind ”

“Actually that life found me, you found me ….”

“Yeah, and look what good that did “.

Sam was fidgeting uncomfortably, though he didn’t want to intervene because he would have taken your side, and besides, Dean was not in the let’s be rational mood, right now.

“Everything I touc-”

“OH, SHUT UP!” you slammed your hands on the table, toppling your bottle, spilling beer on you and the floor. You didn’t flinch, eyes steady on him. Sam choked on his beer, startled at your outburst which was still echoing in the empty corridors. Dean stiffened, even more shocked, mouth hanging open.

“You…” began, lowering your voice, the anger still in it “... you want to know what I’d be if I hadn’t met you?” You lifted your head to look at him. You could feel your eyes, hot, and shit you really, really did not want to fucking cry in front of them.

“Dead” you paused, letting the weight of the word sink, “I would be dead.. in my car... that same night, like all the others.”

He opened his mouth but you made a gesture to zip it, “I wouldn’t have graduated, I wouldn’t have made my parents proud, I wouldn’t be useful, and wouldn’t be doing a job I love. You saved my life and I’m proud of what I’m doing with it.”

You pushed the chair back with your leg and stepped away from the table, tearing your eyes from his.

“So please… do not fucking spit your fucking judgment on it.”

Stuffing your backpack, angrily drying the few tears that had escaped you heard the door opens.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Sam”

“What are you doing?” Dean’s low voice made your heart clench.

“What does it look like I'm doing?” You snapped and you winced at it, but fuck that. You resumed packing, “I don’t want to stay where people seem to second guess and judge my decisions, don’t need that shit.”

His hand stopped your arm and you drew a deep breath, his touch already soothing part of the storm you had inside.

“I’m sorry,” he simply said, and it was already enough. Hell, you forgave him the exact moment he followed you in the room.

“I-It’s okay,” you said relaxing.

“I don’t know your life and I shouldn’t have, you know…I’m just worried about what you’ve been doing without m-us, without us.”

You let out a breathy chuckle and sat on the bed, looking up at him, patting the space beside you, “then let me tell you…”

He sat down and looked at you, eyes softening.

“Hello Y/N “

You jumped startled and squealed when you saw the angel.

“Cass!" You quickly engulfed him in a hug, which he returned awkwardly, though he was getting better at it.

“How was the journey? “

“Neverending,” you said stepping back.

“I could have brought you here directly “

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but I wanted to surprise the boys”

“Cass…” Dean’s grave voice brought you back and you shot an apologetic look at the angel, mouthing ‘sorry’. “You knew what she was doing and you didn’t say anything.”

The angel eyed Dean nervously “I gave her my wor-“

“We’ll deal with that later” Dean interrupted, “where’s the other kid?” you gave him an offended look.

“War room with Sam”

“Oh, do I get to meet Jack, finally?” you asked, suddenly giddy.

Following Dean and Cass to the main room again, you saw this scrawny figure from behind.

“Jack…” Sam cautiously began, looking at you,“... um-this is Y/N…remember? We’ve talked about her“

He turned around.

What? That’s the antichrist?.

“What the hell?... how old are you?”

He tilted his head at you and you snorted by how similar he looked to Castiel, “I’m…a year, 7 months and 4 days ..old .“

“Oh, my God!” you shut your mouth, extending a hand to him.

“Hello, I’m Y/N” you smiled. He looked at your hand and then at Dean and back at you. Starting to feel awkward having your hand hovering mid-air, you started to lower it, but Jack finally grabbed your hand and squeezed back, giving you a beaming smile.

“I’m Jack”

“Nice to meet you, Jack”

“You are ...not afraid of me?” he asked tentatively, sounding more like a statement than a question.

“Do I have reasons to?”

He smiled, blushing, lowering his eyes, ‘oh no, he’s cute’

“Ok, now that we are all here… ” Dean clamped his hand on your shoulder, startling you, “... Y/N, care to tell us what you’ve been up to?”

“And that’s how I found out the two families who were still active. I went to the one that was closer to me and knocked at their door. A real-life Cluedo like butler opened. Mind you, I almost laughed in his face and flashed the Men of Letters sigil. Next thing I know I’m being led to the poolside. There was this gorgeous woman sunbathing as the rich people do, you know?”

You looked at Castiel and Jack, “...Like…one piece bathing suit, pearl necklace, big floppy hat, huge sunglasses. I swear I looked around for cameras because, I mean, you must be shitting me, and she was probably drinking vodka at 10 am but, hey I don’t judge. Anyway, I tell her who am I and all that jazz; she introduced me to her daughters. I ended up in some kind of Amazon utopia and I was all for that. I talked about you. Well, not about you-you, but American hunters. They seemed awfully interested in ‘your kind’ which does sound a bit racist, I guess”

“Hear that, Sammy? Women of Letters' den just for you”

Sam gestured for you to continue as he rolled his eyes, clearing his throat.

“Short story short they took me in, taught me everything I needed to know and introduced me to the HQ. They hired me to do what I do and that’s all. I completed the initiation and they gave me my key.” you said slipping out your bunker key from your pocket and stroking it affectionately.

“AH!” you slapped the back of your hand on Dean’s chest,

“…that, I didn’t miss,” he said blinking down at his chest.

“-I brought gifts for everyone!” you ran up the stairs and out the bunker to retrieve the little, silver trolley.

When you went back in, you stopped at the top of the stairs, taking your time observing the room below. You had missed them; you had missed them all so much. How could you have missed someone you’ve known for less than a week? They represented your new life, a life no one knew about. Your parents thought you were abroad to join a research team and so did all your friends.

Then, there was Dean. That really wasn’t the reunion you had in mind but you also didn’t know where you two were standing now.

“Hey, you need a hand there?” his voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Coming, coming”

With a pleased smile and a loud groan, you put down the trolley on the table. That thing was heavy.

“Jack, you first, since it’s my first time meeting you.”

The boy lit up like a Christmas tree. “I don’t really know you but they told me you like these very much”. You threw him a bag full of different kinds of nougat. “It artisan, really expensive, really traditional, really good.”

He looked like he was about to cry. You stared as he stood up and came over to you. He seemed scared to touch you so you opened your arms, giving him permission. He smiled and hugged you, and then he drew his head back and kissed you quickly and what the fuck.

You let out a whimper and froze, not knowing what to do.

“Jack! The hell you think you’re doing?” Jack let you go and looked at Dean in confusion.

“I’m just doing what you do with girls. They seem very happy when you do that. I wanted the same for Y/N”

Dean spluttered, Sam laughed and Cass just rolled his eyes.

You touched your lips blushing, “T- that’s a nice thought Jack and I appreciate the sentiment, but you usually want to do these things with something special, ya know?”

“No, I don’t. Are you mad?”

The puppy eyes, he did the puppy eyes. Not the puppy eyes!

You ruffled his hair, Dean’s eye visibly twitching.

“Of course I’m not mad. Just…just ...guys a little help here?”

“Why don’t you give us the rest?” Sam took mercy on you.

“S-sure ...here, Cass I – I hope this is the right color” you tossed a bunch of ties, silk cobalt ties, like his eyes.

“Thank you Y/N, you remembered.” he smiled warmly rubbing the fabric between his fingers.

One of the times Cass had visited you, was because you were choosing a tie and very intensely trying to find one to match the color of his eyes. It must have felt like you were calling to him. You had then spent hours trying to find the perfect match and you recalled that he seemed to particularly like the feeling of the cool silk.

“And now, Sam!”

He straightened, hearing his name. “Man, these were the heaviest things I brought back. I had to give up a couple of pairs of shoes for them, you better appreciate.” One after another you piled up four big old, dusty books. “This is part of the lore of my branch; I hope they’ll be useful, maybe. They also look pretty so...”

Sam stood up quickly and snatched one of the books from your grasp, gave you a quick hug and dived right in.

“Nerd!” Dean whispered.

“Dean!” you called.

His head snapped up to you as you searched through the luggage, “Don’t think you got what I want in there," he said like the little shit he was, but you could see how his eyes tried to look inside the suitcase.

“Oh, really? Guess I’ll keep this for myself if I get homesick”

You picked up packages of ground coffee, “... and this too!” you said lifting up a Moka by the handle, swaying it.

“Oh, hell yeah!”

You spent the rest of the evening filling them with a description of the way the Men of Letters worked back in your country and listened to what they had been doing since the last time you had spoken.

“Guys, I think I’m gonna hit the hay” Sam announced getting up, a book under his arm, patting Dean’s knee “Y/N feel free to crash here for how long you want”

“Oh, but I don’t want to –”

“You heard Sammy. Besides, you are a Woman of Letters now. This is your home too,” Dean added, watching you while taking a sip of his beer.

#Epiphany 1 #epiphany #finally edited #reader insert #reader fanfiction #reader x character #reader x dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction

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colitisandme · 5 years

Text

It’s no coincidence that ‘stressed’ is ‘desserts’ spelt backwards. That’s what I typically dived towards when I was stressed or sad. Desserts equaled gluttonous happiness. Whenever I was anxious, I ripped into packets, tubs and cake shaped items with joy and frenzy. Desserts and stress were my bed fellows. They were brilliant friends, hogging all the blankets under the duvet of my life, leaving me cold, plump, hyperactive, covered in sugar and shivering, with no cover on me, cursing the fact I didn’t wear fluffy socks to bed. my mind would whirl away like a washing machine. And so, cold and shivering with my hair on end, looking like a deranged Womble, I would end up seeking something sweet to eat. Instantly after the first mouthful, my hair would become less wild, my thoughts would be less chaotic and I would sink into a pile of sugary blissfulness. So when I had to give up sugar, I was, well stressed irronically.

Stress and worry have followed me around my whole life, from when I was in Primary school right up until present day. It has become such a huge part of my existence, I didn’t feel right unless I was worrying about something or constantly going over things in my brain. Not just tangible thoughts. Nope. My worries consisted about serious things that are going on in the world, my finances, my families happiness, the house, husband wellbeing, friends, have I upset anyone? Am I being a good wife? To other thoughts and worries like; Have I locked the door? Have I turned off the tap? To really helpful thoughts and worries like; ‘I am pretty sure I heard a crunch under my foot when I put out the rubbish? ... Why didn’t I turn the light on? Oh my god was that a snail? What if his family are waiting for him to come home. What if, because he never appears, the mum snail becomes an alcoholic, becomes hooked on nettle wine, and the children forgo their education to look after her. Eventually they leave because she’s just too much to handle, and so, alone and drunk, she sings songs about her lost love, while hiccuping and wailing in a nettle wine stupor ... And it will be all my fault.’ So round and round my thoughts and worries went, until I felt like a hamster on a wheel, running and running and going nowhere. I didn’t vocalise these worries. They were all internal. I just couldn’t switch off.

I beat myself up for anything that goes wrong. Nobody need punish me, I do a great job of that myself. Once when I was very young, I decided that the cat simply had too many whiskers that she didn’t need. Even at aged 5, I reasoned I was doing her a favour and she was probably absolutely fed up with having an even number of whiskers on each side. I was sure that if she could speak she would beg me to reduce her grooming time, as she was taking simply ages to preen her whiskers, tell me stories about when she would get laughed at by all the other cats for having rediculous symmetrically numbered and placed whiskers, and longed to remove herself from mediocrity and boredom. Well I certainly didn’t want her to be a laughing stock. Happy to oblige.... *snip* (I probably should have stopped when the cat tried to scrabble away from me, eyes wide with fright as I confidently strode over to her, gleefully, with arms outstretched looking like Edward Scissor Hands, but never the less I was convinced I was doing her a favour.)

I came downstairs clutching a traumatised, angry cat in one hand, and a pair of scissors and newly trimmed whiskers in another. I proudly showed off the new look to my parents. They were not as open to the new aerodynamic moggy as I had hoped, and freaked. I immediately lost it. I sobbed. I apologised over and over to the cat, I tried glueing her whiskers back on, I stroked her, cuddled her, I was convinced I had ruined her life. I was inconsolable. I spent many days after that setting up a makeshift counselling clinic for my cat, where I would stroke her and make sure she knew what a beautiful cat she was and I told her I was sorry that was going to be lob-sided, and struggle getting in to tiny gaps, and try and make up for what I did by taking extra special care of her. My parents didn’t chastise me, because nothing they could do could make me feel any worse than I did. Even at age 5, I worried a lot.

So you can imagine that as adulthood embraced me, just how easily worrying had become a part of me. As natural as breathing. Stressing about everything became normal. Overthinking was critical to my daily life. I lived each day on high alert, in case I needed to jump into action and fix whatever needed fixing, just like I tried to do with the cats whiskers. I am at my best in a crisis, and god knows I have had many to deal with in my life. I love being Superwoman. I love saving the day. But being in this hyper-alert state was not fun and certainly not healthy.

I became ill after a BIG burnout. I had been playing Superwoman for too long. I had been living on the edge for months, I was always stressed, I wasn’t sleeping, I was in pain, I was withdrawing, I was experiencing horrendous brain fog which was really sodding useful as I had just started an incredibly stressful job, where I would drill myself to be perfect and chastise myself for processing information incorrectly. On top of this I was dealing with a managerie of outside issues. Very quickly and surprisingly, (to me as everyone closest to me would describe me as the strongest person they knew,) my health and mental health imploded like a double whammy firework. I did not know it was coming, but oh my god when it did, I was floored. I had never been so ill. I was scared. I knew that I could not continue doing what I was doing. I needed to change my behaviours. I needed to spring clean my brain. I couldn’t turn to sweet treats anymore to relieve that anxiety because cake or sugar would make my bum explode. I needed to find another less ‘caboom, fire in the hole type way’ to manage my anxieties and stress.

IBD forces me to think purely in the present because I have to spend a huge amount of energy simply functioning. I have to stay in the moment. If I worry or think further past a day/ week it becomes impossible, as I am never sure what one day will look like from the other. Stress hugely exacerbates my IBD symptoms. I learnt this very quickly. The more I worried about why the hell my body was being so unco-operative, the worse my body felt and the more angry it got. And with IBD there is a lot to stress over. Finances, health, stigma of having an invisible illness, work, isolation, diet, questions over future plans etc. It’s a big thing to deal with. It’s enormous. So I worried and got worse and worried and got worse. And so eventually, feeling like I had been kicked by a horse, totally hungry, weak, prone to explode, sugar deprived and looking like a bum with eyes, with my wonderful Mum’s encouragement and support, I came across meditation and mindfulness.

Meditation and mindfulness have helped me manage my stress. After phone calls chasing mental health appointments, referrals and cursing the incompetence of Drs, mental health professionals and admin teams, I turn to mindfulness and meditation as a way of calming my mind. It has taught me to accept things, the way they are during the moment because that may change in the next moment, And be in the moment with it. For example, the pain I get with IBD can feel like your belly is being sawn in half. It feels like a group of can can dancers, jig about on my groin, back and stomach wearing high heels, and using exquisite timing and excellent rhythm, stomp on my intestines, causing me to chew my fist in distress. If I use mindfulness and meditation during painful episodes like this (sometimes whilst crossing my eyes, grinding my teeth and chewing the carpet) it helps me not to fight the pain, but to breathe through it and accept it in the present. When I am anxious, Meditation takes my mind away to another focus in a gentle way, and if my mind wonders off like a hyperactive butterfly, it gently brings it back again. It’s not easy. Sometimes it definitely does not work, but sometimes it does. I have learnt to focus on my breathing, I have trained my brain to change each thought. From a time where the thoughts on a day to day basis felt like they were running around my brain on fire, screaming fire engine noises, wearing a bucket on their head, careering into other thoughts who fanned the flames with a manual citing ‘50 ways to put out a fire’ and can’t work the hose, to a calmer place. One where my thoughts can pick flowers, float in a babbling brook, frolic with fluffy animals and where the fire extinguisher is readily available. Because IBD has forced me to strip everything back in my life, there is no room for extreme stress. No room for high anxiety, because it just hurts me. Physically and mentally. Where as before, I would keep my worries to myself because I didn’t like bothering people with them, now I talk about them, accept the things I cannot change, appreciate things in the moment and change the things I can change. So strangely in that way, IBD has probably saved my life. It’s very strange how things work. I am the most ill I have ever been and should be the most stressed I have ever been, but I can’t be, because that would make me even more ill. Don’t get me wrong it’s still a battle. But I try. I try to appreciate every moment. I appreciate every mouthful of food, and take ages eating it, where as before I would thoughtlessly shovel it in.

I start each day with a mantra and meditation, and even though sometimes Its not effective, I can honestly say that practicing Mindfullness and meditation, are the best stress relievers and stress deterrence I have ever had. They are also the best dessert substitute I have ever had, because meditation doesn’t make my jeans bulge, make me act like an over excited toddler at a birthday party or attract an enthusiastic colony of ants who desire to lick my sugary face. So if like me you are a natural worrier, I urge you to not get so stressed out, you end up gnawing on yourself like an Octopus and try it. Doing a little a day may just take the edge off and sometimes just doing that will help deal with things a little more positively. And when we are living with a long term chronic disease like IBD, being positive, even in the face of a huge challenge like this, is everything.

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cleverflowerperson-blog · 6 years

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The Flash: Screenwriters X Public (part V) Why and how, Iris West became The Flash.

* Flash Flashpoint

I said earlier that Flashpoint is not an episode of the series but three seasons (3rd, 4th and 5th). Now I'll show you how it works. Flashpoint was developed to solve problems, because of this, it has a very precise structure so that the fluidity of the narrative is not broken. During Flashpoint the solutions will be applied in three acts:

Season 3, plant.

Season 4, Germina.

Season 5, Harvest.

Notice how they executed this strategy with Caitlin.

1º Act (In the third season they planted) - turned Caitlin into Frost so that the source of their ice power was unknown.

2º Act (In the fourth season they germinated) - took away their ice power to force an investigation.

3º Act (In Season 5 They Catch) - Investigation into the source of their ice power leads Caitlin to locate his father, a villain who manipulates the ice. The one who in my deduction will be the new leader of the Rougues. Goal achieved. Remember the lists of goals they made in the middle of Season Two? This is how you will achieve them.

With that explained, I'll split the reviews from here for seasons, and I'll answer the questions within them.

The Flash Season 3: The writers start planting.

This is my second favorite season, the best one for me is the fourth. Do not be shocked, through my perspective you will see how incredible she is and there is nothing mediocre.

Flash is deprecated and for the public the Flash Team is very important. Flash is seen as a collective superhero, dependent on the team. So how do you solve a problem like this? Simple, you create a new Flash without what you do not want. How is it? I know! You just saw Barry, right? But they created a new Flash. And for this new Flash they gave the most important mission of Flashpoint; Kill the Flash Team and thus free Barry Allen. Whom am I talking about? Of none other than Iris West.

Why was Iris chosen to be the new Flash? Because it was the only one of the narrative that really was part of the Flash mythology. She was the only one who could touch Barry without worsening the situation, since their whole history was mythological and Iris had connection with all the other Flashes. And the best part, with the problems that arose in the first season they handled it with care so that it also was not mischaracterized. So their narrative was very slow, any glide they would miss. How did they do it?

The writers have created an equation: Barry + Iris = Flash or if you prefer, Westallen = Flash. Well, when writers put together an equation they need to find a way to validate it. This validation will occur during the given narrative period. In this case they have two people who need to become one. How you do it? Impossible. Not really, it just depends on the reference and the imagination. They found all the ways that could validate this equation. The third season was the concept of Light and Shadow.

How it worked …

The concept of Light and Shadow says that an individual has two sides; a light and a shadow. Your light side is your good, positive side. The shadow side is the bad side, the negative side. Both sides are influenced by the middle, which causes the sides to alternate. There are times when good people will be dark and dark people will be good. It depends on the events in which they are living. Ready. This is the summary summary, but it does. Now let's go to Flash

According to this concept, Barry Allen has two sides. The exercise the writers did was to define what Barry's two sides were and what fed them. In a simpler narrative they would have put Barry into a coma and made all the duels on his sides in a psychological way, but instead chose to create the concept of the remainder of the time (thanks the second season!) And create the fight externally. So the exercise is now to travel to the future, create an event that activates the shadow side and causes the dismemberment, that done, just bring the shadow side to the past to face your version that has its light side activated. Beautiful! Simply gorgeous!

With this, we have; Flash is the Light side and the Savatar is the Shadow side. Because they are opposites, what feeds one, destroys the other. So for Savatar, that is, for the shadow to exist, the light must be eliminated. Obviously, when we are in the dark we turn on the light and it disappears, so that it comes back we have to turn off the light. However, there was a peculiarity in this simple concept: Savatar did not want to kill Barry Allen, he was Barry Allen, it was suicide. What he wanted to kill was his light side. Who Savatar needed to kill to exist? Was it not Iris West? So it is safe to say that Savatar, the darkness, wanted to kill Iris, because she was the light, correct? But we are talking about Barry and we already know that he has two sides; his shadow side is Savatar and his light side is Flash, so the question is: who is Flash? Exactly, Iris West was the light to be erased, Iris is the Flash.

That's philosophy, folks. The whole third season is philosophical. Why did Savatar wear armor? It was a reference to Pandora's Box, is not that where we keep all the bad we have?

Why was Savatar arrested in the Speed Force? Do not we hide our Pandora's Box in the depths of our being? How was the battle outside, real world, where Barry would hide his Pandora's Box ?!

Why did not Iris fight for her life? Because the third season was a Barry fight against himself. Save Iris, it was Barry's fight to save Flash, because it is within his love for Iris that Flash lives. If she dies, Flash dies with her. No one can fight against our shadow side, only ourselves. So the exercise was his, not hers. There are only three ways to kill our shadow side:

Suicide. We have eliminated both sides. At the first meeting of Barry and Savatar after the discovery of who the villain was, Barry threatens to kill himself .

Erase what feeds our dark side, traumatic events. When they erased Barry's memory. But this brings a problem, we stop being who we are, we become another person. In Barry's case, he turned Bart. Ah! He was cute! But it was not Barry.

Keep the light on. Because only she can eliminate the Shadow without loss, of life or of identity. It was for this reason that the one who killed Savatar was Iris, because only the Light can kill the Dark.

Very well! Now how Flash Iris kills the Flash Team:

Easy! I said that the equation needs to be validated. It is in the validation process that the Flash Team is being killed. How is done…

Barry + Iris = Flash so that (validation): There is no Flash without Iris West.

If Iris dies (cease to exist) Flash dies with it. So it is Savatar who comes into being. Savatar is not Flash, it's Barry, but not Flash. With this, the equation was validated; Barry + Iris = Flash => because there is no Flash without Iris West.

So, if for Flash to exist it just needs Iris West, Flash needs the Flash Team for what? Ready. This is how Iris (Flash) kills the Team, it will reduce its relevance, it will assume the autonomy of Flash and it will redirect Flash (Barry) for individualization. For this, all that essential for Flash's greatness, writers place on Iris. It has to be the reference. This exercise is crucial, because when Flashpoint is gone, the Flash Team will be dead, Barry will be able to be an individual superhero, bound only to Flash Iris. Except that turning off this Flash Iris is the easiest part to solve. As Iris is Barry's love, it is already integrated into his essence and his powers, the Flash Iris need not disappear. She will give support to Barry without team, as inspiration and to lightning, other functions he assumes alone. This transition is imperceptible to the public.

That's extraordinary, people! This narrative engineering shows the technical quality of these writers. They are not good, they are fantastic. The amount of detail they handle is scary. Did people notice that Reverse Flash does not appear in the third season, only in the episode Flashpoint? Do you know why? Because if Iris dies, Flash does not exist, who exists is Savatar and in the world of Savatar the Reverse Flash can not exist because it was the greatness of the Flash that inspired Eobard Tawnie to become the Reverse Flash, so his absence. Attention to detail, even with the audience losing so many things, they go the extra mile. The inattentiveness of the audience is so great, that they play with the audience and he does not see. You want an example of these jokes ?! In this third season, when they erased Barry's memory, he and Iris were talking about their past and Iris told him that their favorite anime was Dragon Ball Z. Where's the joke? For those who are not familiar with anime, Dragon Ball Z is an anime where the characters merge. That is, two characters saw one. Exactly what they were doing in the series. To this day I do not know if the idea of fusion of Barry and Iris came from the Chinese philosophy of Ing and Iang or Dragon Ball. A very well done nerd joke that even the nerds did not see.

Well, as I said in season three the writers are planting, so a lot is happening in her, like the arrival of Cecilia.

Cecilia is a very important character, make no mistake she is. It makes things indispensable. Your relationship with Joe is crucial. I will advance it a little just for you to visualize your functions in the narrative. I'll quote a complete one. Cecilia enters the narrative with a daughter. In the fourth season she impregnates of a girl. In the fifth season Nora West Allen. What does that mean? It means that the show had only 2 women - Iris and Caitlin - with Cecilia getting 3, with her eldest daughter 4 (no matter if she is not active, she has to be counted because she has a bond with an active character in this if she can be exploited at any time), with her youngest daughter, 5 and with Nora form 6.

Yeah, so what? And so, that series has tripled the number of women from 2 to 6, in this situation they can eliminate one without being attacked by the public, the one that contextualizes Caitlin. And that, certainly, they would say that the show only had two women, who were never written as friends or partners and to complete the anti-feminist agenda they killed one of them. The death of Caitlin demanded some care, the public that does not like Iris will create problems, Cecilia neutralizes some of them.

Through Cecilia, they increased the number of women, for the purpose of eliminating one. If now five women were left, much more than they had before, why are they complaining? And the brightest of this strategy, they have increased the number of women in the show, so as not to allow the creation of a replacement snowbarry ship. Who's going to send Barry to Cecilia? With any of Cecilia's daughters? Jesus!! Or with your own daughter? Creed!! That would be insipid. And there's more, with this setting the narrative allows for the inclusion of two more women - the love interest of Cisco and Ralph - featuring four active and two inactive women. And none of them can be used by the public to replace Caitlin. As I said, Flashpoint in three acts.

1º Act (Season 3) - they started Cecília's relationship with Joe. 2º Acts (season 4) - they get her pregnant with a girl. 3º (season 5) - they already have enough women to eliminate one.

This is one of the functions of Cecilia the others will speak during the posts.

If I find that Iris is the Flash and Cecilia is helping to kill Caitlin was surprising, do not forget that we are only at the beginning of the third season, there is much more.

To be continued…

Original source: https://omundonarrativa.tumblr.com/

#the flash #iris west #westallen #anti iris west #anti westallen #snowbarry #anti snowbarry #the flash cw #caitlin snow #cecilia horton #anti candice patton

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