#i fixed some things from the first spoken draft obviously but | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daydreaming-in-letters · 3 years ago

Text

Assumptions

10/01/2021

Pairing: Manuel Neuer x fem!reader (3rd person)

Word Count: 6,018

Warnings: rpf, mentions of age gap (not between reader and Manu and nothing illegal) and strong opinions on that, banter, jealousy, infuriation, fluff and cuteness

Summary: The reader finally catches her long time crush Manuel Neuer alone on her uncle's birthday. Things are quickly starting to get heated—sadly it's not the kind of heated she would have liked it to be.

A/N: Most of you probably don't know Manuel Neuer. He is the goalkeeper and captain of Bayern Munich as well as the German National Football Team and every once in a while I find my thoughts drifting towards that adorable and amazingly talented manchild. This story has been sitting in my drafts for far too long and I wasn't sure whether I felt comfortable with publishing it in case it ever got finished. But I found that there is an intolerable lack of Manuel Neuer x reader fics on here, so here it is. I tagged everyone from my general tag list, but I understand if this is not what you signed up for. So sorry in advance and please feel free to ignore this story at your leisure.

Picture found on Pinterest

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

It was only a few minutes to midnight and still the dance floor was as filled as ever, an enchanting mixture of young and old people alike. The bass rolled deep in his stomach, making him even queasier than he already was, and the lights, flickering across the mass of moving bodies in sync to the rhythm of the music, didn’t help either.

Suddenly a figure broke through the outer wall of bodies and made her way over to his table. A small smile crawled over her lips, a little shy but genuine, yet he didn’t feel like returning it. He had hoped that she would change her mind upon the disgruntled look on his face, but much to his dismay, she did nothing of the sort and sat down right next to him, just as a waitress passed the table with a tray of colourful shots. The woman next to him stopped her, before she turned to him.

“Care for a drink?”

Did he care for a drink? He yearned for one.

“No, thanks. I’m not really fond of drinking.”

“Shame,” she shrugged, her smile growing a bit wider when she took two shots from the tray anyway. For a second he thought she might actually force him to drink with her, but then she placed down the two glasses in front of herself. Raising her first glass to him, she gulped it down in one swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand afterwards.

“Do you care for a dance then?” She nodded over to the dance floor, her eyes and body inviting him to take the offer.

He found that he somehow couldn’t hold her gaze when he answered, “I’m afraid I’m also not very fond of dancing.”

Her forearms resting on the table, she leaned closer, obviously not taking the hint that he just wanted to be left in peace and quiet.

“Then what are you fond of?”

“I think you know pretty well what I’m fond of.” To his own surprise he sounded even harsher than he had attempted to, but the last thing he needed right now was an eager fan trying to engage him in a conversation.

“I do,” she retorted undeterred, “but that’s not what I wanted to know. See, you might not have noticed through all your sulking, but I was actually interested in you as a person, not as a footballer.”

He huffed, although he wasn’t sure she had heard him above the music.

“And you might have noticed that I am not interested in talking about private stuff to complete strangers.”

Sure, he was being massively impolite, but at least he hoped that this would do the trick now. But instead of finally leaving him alone, she shot him an amused look.

“Ooooh, grumpy, aren’t we?”

Now it was him who leaned in closer, making sure she could hear him properly. “Look, it’s nothing personal, okay? I just...it wasn’t such a great evening for me.”

Unintentionally his eyes wandered over to the dance floor for a split second, where a very young, very blonde girl was dancing happily among his teammates and their wives and girlfriends. Cursing himself, he looked over to the woman by his side carefully, hoping she hadn’t noticed. But of course she had, her eyes still fixed on the girl.

“Ah, I see.” She turned to him and the glint in her eyes made his stomach turn. “Puberty is a bitch, eh?”

“Excuse me?” he spat, equal parts bewildered and stunned.

“You heard me alright.”

Who did she think she was? Impertinent woman.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” The volume of his voice must have slipped his control a little, as he noticed a group of elderly men standing nearby turn into his direction. Still the woman’s smile never left her face, appeasing the men who turned away again.

“Really? After all I have to sit here with a pissed thirty something man who refuses to acknowledge he let his hormones get the best of him.”

“Whoa! Okay, first of all, it was you who decided to come and sit at this table and second, again, none of your goddamn business.”

Her answer was a simple grin, still not fazed by his anger in the slightest. It almost felt as if she was enjoying to get him riled up.

“You’re right.”

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’?”

He rolled his eyes heavily. Why couldn’t she just leave?

“You know, that phrase usually goes with an apology. Like ‘You’re right. Sorry I assumed you’re having a mid-life crisis and bang a chick that is 15 years your junior to boost your fragile ego.’”

“Do you?”

Inhaling deeply, he tried to calm himself a little. After all, he couldn’t afford to yell at her again, not that he didn’t want to, but causing even more unwanted attention was not in his plans for tonight.

“I didn't say that.”

“Well actually,” she looked at him triumphantly, “you kind of did. I never said you were having a midlife crisis or that you need her to boost your ego. Those were your words. And seeing that my assumptions caused a reaction like that, I’m afraid I can’t really say I’m sorry either.”

All right, that was it. Enough was enough.

“Look, I think I have an assumption for you too, lady. I’m starting to assume that you only came over here to rile me up further. And guess what, mission completed. So why don’t you do us both a favour and head off to pester someone else now?”

She was quiet for a moment and for the first time, the cheeky smile left her beautiful, burgundy lips. He had expected her to be a bit shaken at least, maybe even as pissed as himself, and yet the next words were spoken with such dignity that he couldn’t help but admire her a little for it.

“Oh, I would love to say you’re right again, but I’m afraid I can’t this time. And since we seem to have warmed up to each other quite a bit by now, I feel it’s okay to be completely honest with you.” She paused a second, simply for the effect, he guessed and her warm eyes never left his. “I came to sit with you because you looked miserable. Still do, by the way. And I thought you might need an actual grown up to talk to. But it seems I was wrong. You’re just a pouty manchild, like the rest of them.”

She waved her arm, pointing over at the dancing crowd of his friends and their spouses. His eyes followed her gesture and when he laid eyes on the heart of the matter, a hot flush of rage began to swirl through his veins, making his hands clench into fists. Fully set on giving her a piece of his mind, not caring who might hear him at this point, he turned to her again. But the familiar figure that had somehow entered the picture without his notice made him stop in his tracks.

“Here you are, sweetie.” The man cooed, laying his large hand on her shoulder in a protective gesture. “I almost got the feeling you were hiding from me since I made you promise to dance with me tonight.”

She twisted her slender neck to look up at his gentle face, her attention making him smile sweetly at her.

“You know I’d never do that to you, Uncle Hans, especially not on your birthday. I just thought your no. 1 goalkeeper here was in need of some mature company, but clearly he is perfectly happy with the way things are.”

Bewilderment flickered behind the coach’s gaze as he looked between his niece and one of his best players and Manuel was sure that this might not be the last time they would speak about this matter.

“So then, may I have that dance now, sweetheart?”

“With pleasure.” Manuel watched almost transfixed as she gracefully took her uncle’s hand and stood up. It was only now that he noticed how perfectly her dress showed off her voluptuous curves. He was almost certain that she would leave without another word when once again she proved him wrong. Turning on her heels, she grabbed the remaining shot and gulped it down in one large swig before she looked down at him, almost as regal as a queen.

“Have a pleasant evening, Mister Neuer. I’m sorry I can’t say I enjoyed our conversation more. Oh, and just in case you should ever feel in need to talk to a grown up, don’t call.”

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

She could still feel his piercing look on her back as Hansi led her through the crowd and away from him. They had just begun to dance when the song changed and a much slower tune echoed through the large room. With a smug grin, her uncle pulled her closer, bringing his hand to the small of her back. Cheek to cheek he swayed her to the beat and she could feel that her mind was almost beginning to slow down, when he decided to pick up a conversation.

“Will you tell me what that was all about?”

She bit her lip like a little girl that was about to be scolded. “Do I have to?”

He chuckled deeply, the vibration rumbling against her chest and she could easily imagine the self-satisfied grin on his face.

“I’m certainly not going to force you. It’s just, you know, I always thought you kind of liked him.”

Instantly, she could feel her face heat up. How could he possibly know that?

“True. Liked, as in past tense. And besides, it’s not that I actually know him, personally, I mean. You could perhaps say I admire his talent, at most. And he also may be kind of easy on the eyes.”

She had become more and more quiet while she spoke, merely mumbling the last sentence. But he had heard her nonetheless, her silliness making his lips twitch in amusement.

“Hm. I clearly remember your aunt begging me to invite him over for a barbecue party last summer, telling me that you wouldn’t shut up about his quiet reserve, his amazing performance on the field and his stunning smile. Sadly he didn’t have time.”

She gulped audibly, tensing up a little in his arms, which made him enjoy their little talk even more. “So, what changed your mind?”

“He did,” she said a little too quickly, before she sighed so heavily that her uncle almost regretted bringing this topic up after all. “It’s just, I don’t understand his choice in women. I mean, he could choose literally anyone, so why her? I mean, she clearly doesn’t make him happy.”

“And how do you know that? You have spoken to him for what? Like five minutes?” He turned them around, making her face the gloomy goalie once more, before he went on. “I might be wrong, sweetheart, but I think you’re just jealous.”

Over his shoulder her gaze met Manuel’s for a split second before his eyes shot to his right, where the blonde teenager stepped into the picture, blocking him from view. She sat down on his lap, her arms dragging around his neck possessively, as her lips met his in a feverish kiss. Averting her gaze immediately, her eyes darkened and her heart clenched heavily in her chest.

“If by jealous you mean disenchanted, you’re right.”

Her bitter words made him loosen his grip on her so that he could see her face, and the hurt in her eyes pained him more than he cared for.

“I know you probably won’t believe me, but he really is a good person.”

She scoffed while her incredulous eyes landed on her uncle’s soft, blue orbs. “Well, he certainly hid that pretty well.”

He gave her a tight lipped smile. “I think he’s just lost his way a little at the moment.”

“So you think I’m right then?”

The excited sparkle in her eyes made him regret his honest words a little.

“I didn’t say that.” He protested strongly. In the end it was not for him to judge his players’ private lives. “After all he is a grown man and he can decide for himself.” He could see her face fall again and so he was quick to add, “Nevertheless, I don’t think you’re completely wrong either.”

He was very pleased to see that his words had caused a small smile to crawl back to her pretty lips. He almost felt like a proud father and when she finally leaned back in a bit closer, her forgiving gesture almost made him a bit bold.

“So, uhm, one more question, sweetheart. In the unlikely event that he should after all need a grown woman to talk to, can I give him your number?”

“Certainly not,” she insisted with a steady voice, but when she looked at him, the adorable grin on her face left no doubt that this was the biggest lie she had ever told.

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

Manuel was furious as he watched her leave towards the dance floor with the coach. How could she dare call him out like that and then leave without giving him the chance to set her straight? His eyes fixed on her, he watched as Flick pulled her closer, his eyes following her uncle’s hand to the small of her back. Being the gentleman he was, his hand had found the only spot on her back that was actually covered by the dark red fabric of her dress. And for a second he imagined what it might actually feel like to let his hand wander upwards until it covered her bare skin. Or maybe he could let it slip down a few inches, until his fingers would grasp the soft flesh of her behind. He had just been able to fully picture the exact feeling of her body pressed up to his when he could feel the man who actually held her in his arms catch his indecent look on his niece’s back. Immediately he sat up straight, averting his gaze, completely missing the amused smile on the other man’s face, and when he turned back to face him, he almost lost it when he found her sparkling eyes instead.

He was still trying to figure out what had happened, when he heard a familiar voice calling him.

“Hey, babe.” The high pitched noise made him flinch and instinctively his eyes shot to his right, just in time to pull his arms away before she slumped down onto his lap clumsily. She laid it on thickly as her arms wrapped around his neck.

“I missed you on the dance floor, honey bun. Why don’t you come dance with me?”

And before he even had the chance to answer, her lips crashed down on his mouth almost painfully, her tongue forcing his lips to open. The stench of alcohol filled his mouth and he pushed her drunken form off of him determinedly. Before she even had the chance to protest, he lifted her up and placed her in his chair.

“I don’t think dancing is a good idea in your condition.” She glared at him, but then she seemed to have forgotten what for and her lips turned up into a sheepish smile.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

“Look, why don’t you just stay here and I get you a nice, big glass of water to sober you up a little?”

She began to nod, but then her eyes lost focus und she stared past him at god knows what.

“All right, I’ll be back in a sec. Don’t go anywhere.”

Quickly he made his way over to the counter and ordered a whole bottle of water, when he felt the slap of a hand on his left shoulder.

“Wow, you look even more frustrated than after our knock out at the World Cup in 2018. What happened?”

“Don’t ask.” He sighed as he turned around to face his friend. Manuel hoped that he would accept his wish, but when he saw the apologetic look on Thomas’ face, he instantly knew that he wouldn’t drop the topic.

“Too late. I just did.”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, the next words were spoken more to himself than to his teammate.

“Great, just what I need. Another pain in my ass.”

“Another? Who was the first then?” Obviously Thomas had taken no offence and sounded a bit too cheerful for Manuel’s liking.

“She.”

He looked over at the dance floor, where the impertinent woman was just sending her uncle the most beautiful, cheeky grin he had ever seen.

“Who? Y/N?” his friend asked incredulously.

Y/N. So that was her name.

“You know that annoying woman?”

“I do, although I can’t really say she’s annoying. Met her at the coach’s home once. She seemed rather sweet and intelligent to me.”

“She certainly hid that pretty well,” Manuel growled under his breath, earning him a surprised frown from Thomas.

“Are you gonna stand here and stare daggers at her or are you gonna tell me what she did to make you throw a fit?”

“She approached me out of nowhere to tell me that I’m dating a teenager to compensate my inability to commit to a partner on eye level.”

Thomas let his words sink in for a while.

“That doesn’t really sound like her. I mean, what reason would she have to come at you like that? She doesn’t even know you.”

Manuel sighed, thinking about the way she had somehow coaxed the statements from him instead of making them herself.

“Well, she might have phrased it differently,” he admitted meekly. That seemed to spark Thomas’ interest even further and he could feel his expectant look on him, pressing him to finally tell the whole truth.

“Actually she didn’t say it like that. She only made an allusion and made me somehow say those things myself.”

“Mhm. And exactly what allusion did she make?”

Manuel rolled his eyes again, his ego still fighting to repeat her words out loud.

”She said puberty was a bitch, clearly hinting at the fact that she thought my girlfriend was too young for me.”

He hadn’t even finished his sentence when Thomas’ roaring laughter filled the air.

“Now that does sound more like her.”

He needed a bit to contain himself when he suddenly looked up at Manuel with an unusually serious expression on his face.

“And I have to admit, Manu, she kind of has a fair point there.”

“What?”

Manuel could not believe his ears.

“Come on, man. It’s what everyone thinks. She just said it out loud.”

“Fuck you.”

But instead of rising to his expletive, Thomas just looked at him sympathetically. Pushing himself off of the counter, he pat his shoulder in an attempt to encourage him a little, ready to leave him to his self-denial.

But then he stopped. “You know, I personally didn’t have a problem with it. You’re an adult, you can make your own choices. As long as you’re happy, right? But the truth is, Manu, I don’t think you are. Not anymore.”

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

“See, I told you he wouldn’t be here. No need for all the panic beforehand.”

She narrowed her eyes at her cousin, shooting her a dirty look.

“Yeah, and I hope it’ll stay that way. Oh, and for the record: I wasn’t panicking at all, it was just you and your sister’s sudden eagerness to lure me here that got me suspicious and nervous in the first place.”

“We didn’t lure you here,” her other cousin piped up a little offendedly. “We simply wanted to spend some time with you. Come on, it’s been what, like 4 months now? Since you moved to Munich three years ago, we hardly get to see you anymore.”

“You and our father,” her sister added quickly. “So it seemed the best option to kill two birds with one stone and bring you along. After all it’s called a family day, right?”

Y/N sighed, not fully convinced, but finally ready to let the topic go.

“Right. Let’s just hope for your sakes that there will be no surprises today that might prove your guilt after all.”

“How are my girls doing?” she heard a familiar voice from behind her back, turning towards her favourite uncle with a beaming smile. What she didn’t see, however, was the brief look that was exchanged between her cousins as soon as she had turned her back, proving exactly what she had suspected all along.

“We’re good, dad. Actually, we’re more than good, we’re excellent,” the older cousin chirped.

“Great.” He paused a moment, but it was clear that he had more to say. Rocking back and forth on his feet, he looked from one woman to the other. “So,” he began carefully, before a huge Cheshire grin spread across his face. “I hope you all reserved a dance for me tonight.”

“Oh, no, daddy, not again.”

“Please, don’t make us do this.”

“There will be dancing here? If you had told me that beforehand, I certainly wouldn’t have come.”

“Of course there will be dancing. I thought that was obvious.” He had to try very hard to look a little slighted, while he actually drew a horrendous amount of amusement from their antics. “Remember, girls, we have a tradition to uphold. Whenever there is some dancing at a party, you have to reserve at least one dance for me. That’s the rule.”

And with that he turned and left them on their own again.

“Ugh, why does he always have to do that to us?” her younger cousin whined.

“Oh stop it, silly. You’re the one who likes it the most and everyone knows.”

⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️

She had been the first to pay tribute to the family tradition and after a very exhausting Discofox dance session, luckily one of her cousins had taken over from her. Kicking off her heels, she welcomed the feel of the cool grass underneath the soles of her feet. Walking over to one of the empty tables, she slumped down heavily into one of the comfortable looking chairs. With a contented smile she let herself fall back against the backrest, closing her eyes and breathing in the mild air of the warm summer night.

“Care for a drink?”

His voice made her jump, sitting up straight immediately, eyes shooting wide open. And there he was, two shot glasses in his large hands and grinning down at her, obviously very satisfied with the slight scare he had just given her. He looked amazing, the smug bastard, in his casual jeans and white shirt, two buttons undone, topped with a sporty black jacket. She highly doubted that she had ever seen a finer man in her entire life. Luckily that didn’t make her lose her sharp tongue.

“And here I am thinking that you weren’t fond of alcohol. What happened?”

He smiled sheepishly, only one corner of his mouth tugged up, when he handed her her drink. He took his time, grabbing a chair and positioning it opposite hers, then sitting down carefully, not wanting to spill the shot all over his chest. She had already come to think that he was trying to avoid her question after all, when he locked eyes with her and finally began to speak.

“Hm. It’s been a while since I last saw you. A lot of things happened, you know. Maybe it was finally time for me to grow up.”

“Hear, hear.” With a mischievous smile she raised her glass. “To your coming of age, then.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “If you insist.”

His magnificent blue eyes never left hers while they chinked glasses, and a second later she could feel the more than welcome liquid moisturising her suddenly very dry mouth.

With a thud, their glasses landed on the table, both of them chuckling like giddy children when their eyes found each other again and then, for a moment, there was nothing but silence. The world seemed to have zoned out, leaving behind nothing but his aquamarine orbs and the wild smile on his face.

Just gradually, the world seemed to set back in again. There was the monotonous clitter of the crickets, overlaid by the muffled sound of the music that was carried over by a soft breeze, and loudest of all she could hear the beating of her own heart against her chest.

“What else has changed now that you are a proper adult?” she heard herself ask, not having the faintest idea where those words came from and how the hell she managed to deliver them so smoothly when her whole body seemed to have gotten out of control.

He took a quick look over his shoulder, his thumb pointing in the same direction.

“If you mean the dancing, I’m still not very fond of that.” Her face must have fallen a little because he was quick to add, “Except...”

“Except what?”

His eyes landed back on hers and she almost choked on her hitching breath.

“Except I think I could make an exception for the right partner.”

From the corner of her eye she registered a movement between their bodies, but she was hesitant to let her view stray from his captivating appearance. At last it was something in his eyes that looked at her expectantly which finally made her snap out of her trance.

Looking down at his hand sheepishly, it took her a while to fathom that he was actually asking her to dance with him.

Slowly her eyes wandered up to his again, asking a silent question, which he answered with an almost imperceptible rise of his eyebrows. And before she knew what she was doing, she laid her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet.

He had just turned towards the source of the music, when she suddenly held him back.

“No, wait.”

With a puzzled look he did what she asked of him and let her twist him back around.

“Why don’t we just stay here? The music is loud enough anyway.”

A gentle smile curved his lips. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

She nodded softly, her teeth biting down on her lip in excitement.

And before she knew what was happening, she found herself secured against his chest by his firm grip. It felt like being pressed up to a hot furnace which she would usually have appreciated any other time, but on a sweltry night like this and in a place she had wanted to be in for so long, it was pure torture. And as if this wasn’t bad enough already, his strong fingers pressed down on her lower back, threatening to scorch her even through the fabric of her blouse as he pulled her an impossible inch further into him. He was so close now that she could sense the heat radiating off his cheek as well, bringing along a whiff of his enticing scent and she couldn’t help but close her eyes as she inhaled deeply and her head began to spin. It was odd, but her mind was completely blank by now, blank except for one thought and her lips spread into a blissful smile as she repeated it in her head again and again, relishing in the feeling that if either of them moved just the tiniest bit, their cheeks would inevitably touch.

Slowly they moved and despite the unhurried shift of their bodies her heart was beating so violently that she thought it pondered jumping out of her chest to meet his. There was no chance he wouldn’t be able to tell from the way he held her, and when he finally drew away a tad to look at her, she fully expected him to call her out for it.

But he didn’t. Instead his sinfully soft lips curled into a reassuring smile before he spoke.

“You were right.”

“I beg your pardon?”

A cute chuckle escaped his mouth, leaving the corners of his eyes crinkled in the most beautiful display of amusement.

“About what you said at your uncle’s birthday party.”

“Oh.” She had said a lot that evening, words that she had come to regret later and remembering them now set her cheeks on fire. “About what exactly?”

“About everything,” he admitted without hesitation, yet he couldn’t hide the spark of misery that flitted across his sea blue orbs. “Didn’t take me very long after that night to finally see things clearly.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” It was true. Although she knew that she probably sounded like a madwoman after everything she had confronted him with back then, at least the frown on his forehead seemed to confirm that. “I truly am. I really would have liked to see you happy.” Even if it was with that girl.

She was glad she had managed to keep that last bit to herself. She had no idea why she had said that she was sorry in the first place, but judging by the wild smile on his face it must have been the right words after all.

“Well, I certainly am happier now than I was that night.” He shrugged. “So, thank you, I guess.”

She huffed. “For what? Making absolutely inappropriate remarks on your relationship? I shouldn’t have done that. I know that now. So it should be me who is sorry here, don’t you think?”

She could feel his fingertips press into the soft flesh of her back.

“Don’t be. I guess you were exactly what I needed.” It took him a second before he realised what he had just said. “I mean it. It was exactly what I needed.”

His eyes snapped to the left and she was thankful that he couldn’t see the grin that decorated her lips as she watched the treacherous colour creep into his cheeks, spreading all the way to his ears. For a while he didn’t say another word, probably still trying feverishly to figure out a way to take back his slip of the tongue. And when he finally spoke, she wished he hadn’t.

“There is one thing though that I have gone over and over in my mind. But no matter how long I think about it, it just won’t make sense.”

She already knew that she wouldn’t like where this conversation was heading now, but she found herself asking nonetheless.

“And what is that?”

His head turned without a warning as his eyes searched her gaze and for the blink of an eye his lips came so close that she couldn’t say if they had actually brushed along hers or if her needy heart had just imagined their brief touch. He didn’t answer her question right away, his breath blending with her own in the narrow space between their faces and suddenly she wasn’t so sure anymore if she had really only dreamed up their fleeting foretaste of a kiss.

“Why did you do it?” Panic rose in her chest. She hadn’t done anything. After all it had been him who had turned his head. But as he went on, she realised that he wasn’t referring to that at all and the suffocating distress eased away bit by bit. “I mean, we didn’t even know each other when you decided to come at me like that.”

Now it was her who had to avert her gaze.

“I think I don’t really want to answer that question.”

“Why not?” His voice was so soft and gentle, making it even harder to answer him.

“Because the truth might be kind of ugly.”

“But the outcome wasn’t, so I think I’ll take that risk.”

Her feet stopped their mechanical movements as a violent shiver ran down her spine. So this would be it then. It would be over before it had really begun. Pity. But at least she would have the memory of these few minutes, of his genuine smile and the way he had held her tight against his chest. With a deep sigh she bid their daydream of a dance goodbye.

“I could tell you now that it was for some noble reason, but at the bottom of it all I think it was nothing more than jealousy that drew me to your table that night. I had been unable to ignore you all evening — ignore her. The way she behaved like a spoiled brat, drinking and losing control, not caring in the least that she not only made a fool out of herself but of you as well. God, I hated her in that moment, for having everything I ever wanted and riding roughshod over it. And when I saw you sitting there, looking so utterly crestfallen, somehow I couldn’t help it.”

An undefinable silence settled between them and the only sound that remained was the beat of the music wafting over from the party that went on behind his back. The faint whisper of the melody seemed to push itself up between them and tear them further apart, exactly as she had expected. And just like the bass, her heartbeat slowed until it died away completely.

It was over and everything she wanted to do was let go of his hand so she could do him the favour of leaving, but to her astonishment he refused to set her free. And rather then releasing her from his grip, he squeezed her hand, briefly and just once, but it was enough for her to find the courage and face him. But instead of finding a frown or a scornful pair of eyes, his blinding smile made her forget to breathe for a moment.

“I had hoped you might say that.” And with that he pulled her into his arms again and continued swaying her to the music as if she had not just revealed her repulsive self to him. Her brain still a step behind, she couldn’t do anything but stare up at him stupidly.

“What? Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?�� And when she shook her head like a petrified imbecile, an amused chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Because even though your behaviour was extremely infuriating, I have to admit that I like you. And asking you out on a date will be so much easier now that I know you like me too.”

With a violent jolt, the useless muscle inside her chest started to beat again, its heavy pounding filling her ears with white noise as the world around her started to spin. Unable to stop the motion, she felt herself leaning in, her nails digging into the undoubtedly expensive fabric of his jacket as she desperately tried to gain control over her unruly body.

“So, will you go out with me?”

It seemed like an eternity until she finally mustered the strength for a mechanical nod. Neither had she noticed in her struggle that he had stopped dancing, nor that the priceless look on her face had made his eyes and heart go soft for her.

“Great. That’s settled then. When are you free?”

It was only when he took a step back, taking his warmth with him as his hand slipped out of hers, that she snapped out of her trance.

“Now.”

“Now? Like right now?”

More like now as in before she could screw everything up again.

“Yes, why not? I know you have a busy schedule, so finding a date when we are both free might be tough. And above that, it is a beautiful summer evening.”

Had all those words really fallen from her mouth right now? Embarrassed about her lack of composure, her hand flew up to her mouth, making him smile again.

“I guess you have a fair point there.” And just like that, his hand was there again, fingers entwining slowly with hers like they had never been meant for anyone else. “All right then, let’s get out of here.”

***

Tag List: please let me know if you want to be removed or added by either ask or DM - thank you!

@summersong69 @myloveforhenrycavill @dorothea-hwldr @omgkatinka @ashesofblackroses @amberangel112 @madbaddic7ed @icarusblinders @zealoushound @asuni921 @endofalldays01 @nerra75 @indigosaurus @nowyouseeme098 @cap-just-said-language @miss-rebel-without-applause @wheretheriversrunintothesea @maan24 @mochionly @introvertedmouse @sofiebstar @kebabgirl67 @marytudorbrandon @littleone65

#manuel neuer x reader #manuel neuer x you #manuel neuer fanfiction #manuel neuer #football au #manuel neuer fanfic #manuel neuer fic #manuel neuer imagine #manuel neuer rpf #assumptions

137 notes · View notes

deceitfuldevil · 3 years ago

Text

Cosmic Glitch

Baron Helmut Zemo X Reader

Summary: You always believed your soulmate was somewhere out there and that one day you'd see color, but the day you met him you refused to accept it. (soulmate AU! where you can't see color until you first look into your soulmates eyes)

Warnings: use of y/n, swearing I think?, poorly written, clearly from my drafts, headcannon turned imagine, fluff <3

Word Count: 2.2K

You had always been close with Sam ever since you served in the Air Force together, you were always up for any mission or task he needed help with.

After everyone was blipped back you had lost your job, so when Sam called you up asking you to tag along on a mission and promised compensation you couldn't turn him down.

You met Sam and Bucky in the garage and when the infamous Helmut Zemo walked in you locked eyes with him, and a fit a color exploded before you.

Zemo had stopped mid sentence

“I really don’t think I’m—“

Your heart sank deep into your chest

“Oh no” you said barely above a whisper.

“I uh, I’m not useful to this operation” he finished, stumbling over his words. Which you'd learn later on was very uncharacteristic of him.

You just stared at him as he nodded at you, a quiet hello.

Your luck was just impeccable wasn’t it? Zemo? Helmet fucking Zemo? It had to be him? The man that tore apart the avengers and bombed the UN for Christ sake! He was a fucking criminal!

The plane ride to Madripoor was above all else, awkward.

You barely spoke, not even making eye contact with anyone unless directly spoken to.

“You alright Y/n?” Sam asked, placing his hand on your shoulder.

You only nodded a small yes, feeling your soulmates prying eyes burning holes into the sight of Sam’s hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n, such a pretty name. I love the way it rolls off the tongue. Y/n.” Zemo said, toying with the sound of your name on his lips. Flustering you, but angering Bucky.

“Cool it Zemo, she’s just a kid.” He warned. Causing Zemo to wave Bucky off with his hand as he took a sip of his warm champagne.

But Bucky was right, you were just a kid. Your soulmate, the Baron for Christ sake, had to be at least 20 some years older than you.

Why did fate set you up with a man that was an adult before you were even born? Didn’t he have a wife before the battle of Sokovia? Maybe this was some kind of cosmic glitch.

I mean, it had to be... right?

Of course you wouldn’t be able to shake the Baron so easily, especially not when you needed a secret cover to pose as in Madripoor

There was only one role for you to play being so new on the “superhero” scene that you were unknown and considering you didn’t look like a single high profile criminal out there.

The Barons fiancé. His schatzi.

Obviously, you couldn’t just show up to a bar in low town in your suit either, so Zemo being ostentatious man that he is came prepared in the worst way possible.

You closed the door to first class and zipped open the black dress bag that Zemo handed you, telling you it would fit well with the part you were due to play.

A very short velvety plum dress sat in front of your color bound eyes. Ridiculously tall heels to match.

It was never something you’d wear out, you’d never have the confidence to wear such a short and expensive dress out to a bar of all places. But the material felt so good and with the new blessing of colored sight almost made you satisfied with outfit presented.

But you walked out fully dressed and maintained your attitude.

“Who am I supposed to be? A high-end hooker?” You quipped, trying to pull the hem of the dress down as far as it would go.

“You, schatzi, will be playing the part of my fiancé.” Zemo said simply. Fixing the cufflink on his left arm.

You stood there awestruck at what he had just said to you. It was hard enough for you to try and ignore that he was your soulmate but now you had to play the part?

“Oh, and you’ll be needing this” he said, digging into his pocket and flicking a ring at you. You caught it, examining it and gasping softly. You had never seen a diamond so big.

You slipped it on your finger, it fit perfectly. Which, made you smile to yourself in a way you knew you shouldn’t have.

He’s a criminal, he’s a psychopath. He’s a criminal, he’s a psychopath. You continually repeated to yourself the whole ride to low town, allowing yourself to think for even a second that just because he was your soulmate meant that he was a good person was not in the books. You simply couldn’t do it.

But as you arrived in the deeper part of Madripoor Zemo informed everyone that they must play their role to a T, because their lives depended on it.

As the car stopped Zemo walked around the side and opened the door for you, grabbing your hand and leading you out. Pressing a gentle kiss to your hand as you stood upright.

You eyes trailed up to his as a blush became evident on your face, when you locked eyes, boom, another shockwave of color screamed into your eyes. You saw the detailing in his fur collar, the bright neon signage all around, the gold detailing in Bucky’s vibraium arm, all of it.

You wanted to see color forever, you hated knowing that if you went without seeing Zemo for too long, the color would fade out.

In ordeal at the bar came and went, the business with Selby is where things got interesting and simultaneously made you nervous.

For some reason it’s almost as if Zemo could sense this because he squeezed your hand tightly and you both sat down on the couch across from Selby.

After everyone else had either been introduced or acknowledged, all that was left was you.

“And who’s this pretty little thing you’ve got yourself here Zemo?” Selby asked, clearing prodding knowing he’d been married before.

“This...” he trailed off, grabbing your left hand to show off the ring “is my beautiful fiancé” he finished

“Oh, got yourself a little trophy wife after the other one kicked the can huh?" She added, staring down the large rock sitting on your finger.

“That’s very sweet of you to think, but this one here is my soulmate. The first woman to ever make me see in color.” Zemo said, his words so sweet honey might as well as been dripping off his tongue. His gaze turned to you, boom, another bright flash of color that made a shiver run down your spine.

“Oh how sweet, but I don’t believe it.” Selby said with a grin, Sam and Bucky tensed up slightly. Siding with Selby because they too didn’t believe Zemo when he referred to you as his soulmate.

“Test me.” You challenged, stupidly if I may add.

“Excuse me?” Selby asked, quirking an eyebrow up at you

“If you don’t believe we’re soulmates, test me. I can name any color you’d like.” You continued, a part of you always looking for a challenge, the other part also wanting to test yourself see if maybe this whole color thing was faulty or one-ended.

“Fine, we’ll start easy. What’s the color of that slutty dress you’ve got on?” She asked, angry that you challenged her

“Easy, the same color as my soulmates turtle neck. A deep purple, plum if you will.” You said carefully caressing the material of Zemo’s shirt

“You could’ve been told that before you arrived, what about my lipstick?” She pressed as she pursed her lips out

“A cheap magenta” you deadpanned, done with her games. She scoffed at you.

“And this couch?” She asked grinning, patting the cushion beside her.

“Trick question. It’s a old a dirty worn out pattern, it has no specific color” you said with a fake smile, Zemo’s hand snaking around your waist as he pulled you a little closer.

The room fell silent just long enough for things to feel awkward before Selby started laughing uncontrollably.

“Well Baron, the universe certainly has picked you a handful! Now what business did you want to do with me again?” And just like that, it was over and you were suddenly running from bounty hunters on the streets.

When Sharon rescued the four of you the ride up to her place in high town was painfully silent. Zemo kept a firm hand on your thigh. Bucky stared off into space ashamed of how easily he fell back into form, and Sam sat on his thoughts wondering if you and Zemo were really soulmates.

No one really spoke to each other, just different conversations with Sharon. After what went down at the Bar and then with Selby... a mood was set, things had changed.

When Zemo stood up and announced he wanted to go join the party and made his way towards the exit you told Bucky you’d keep on eye on him. Sam wanted to protest but at that point you both were already out the door.

You sat from afar watching Zemo on the floor of the club horribly attempting to dance along with the rest of the party-goers. When you laughed a little to yourself he looked up at you, boom, that beautiful shock of color again. It never got old.

But you quickly averted your eyes and disappeared from his gaze as you went to the bar for a drink. When the bartender slid your drink over suddenly Zemo was at your side announcing he’d pay for it.

Zemo started to snake his hand around your waist once more but this time you smacked his hand away

“We’re not playing house anymore, Baron.” You told him, using his formal title.

“But you see what I see, do you not?” He asked, tentatively reaching for your hand.

“See what?” You asked, avoiding his burning gaze. You knew damn well what he was taking about but refused to admit to even yourself. He was a horrible man, a criminal, a rich psychopath! It ached your heart that someone with such a shitty past was who you were meant to be with for the rest of your life.

“The beautiful colors. I see your bright eyes, your sleek hair, those sweet pink lips. Now color is all around me too, I can see the colors of the club. I see the blue radiating off that light, the red in this drink you ordered, the green that lady’s hair! You love opened my eyes, Y/n. With you, I can see.” Zemo pressed on, smiling as he looked in awe at all the colors around him. He placed his hand gently over yours. You flinched but didn’t move away from his touch

“But this has to be wrong. I can’t be the person for you. You had a wife and kids right? Didn’t they bring any color into your life?” You asked, feeling a warm heat rise to your cheeks from the small contact you two were now sharing

“I loved my wife and son sure, but they were always grey to me. Remember that I’m a Baron, when you’re royalty your marriage options aren’t as wide as the universe has set for you.” He pointed out, taking your hand and slowly rubbing your knuckles.

“Still surely this has to be some kind of universal glitch! I mean you’re what? 20 some years older than me? What about all the horrible shit you’ve done? You’re a criminal! I was made to be a hero! We don’t mix, let alone fall in love!” You babbled on

“Listen, y/n. I am not proud of my past, I was a grief stricken man who had just lost his wife and child along with his entire country. I was only doing what I believed to be right at the moment, is that not what you try to do as well?” He asked, trying to find similarities between the two of you. Some common ground.

“Zemo I—“ you started, turning to face him and looking into his hazel brown eyes again and feeling that boom of color that would never get old, but did make you lose your train of thought.

“Zemo I’m scared” you finished off, your planned statement turning into a confession. You didn’t take your eyes off his this time as he stared back down at you. Bring his free hand to your cheek he smiled softly.

“I’m scared too, schatzi. But the feeling you give me makes me feel like everything is going to be alright. Stay with me, ride this out and see where it goes. I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Designer clothes, expensive jewelry, sport cars, you name it and I’ll buy it for you. I’ll fly you any place you’ve ever wanted to go, show you every sight you’ll ever need to see.” He tools breathe, a single tear slipping down his face.

“Please, let’s give this a shot.” He ended. Nine years with losing your wife, child, country, and being imprisoned for a few years really changed a man; and made him that much more desperate for someone like you, his soulmate, to stay.

And stay you did. The first year was rocky wrapping things up with the super soldiers on the loose and clearing Zemo’s name in the eyes of the Power Broker and the UN. Based on his efforts to take down the last of the super soldiers and good words from Sam and Bucky his sentence was reduced to one year under house arrest, which made for a great way to get to know each other better.

The years after that were far beyond smooth sailing, they were dare you even say perfect. You traveled the world with Zemo, lived the most lavish life, saw the most amazing things.

All in color.

174 notes · View notes

christ0pher-evans · 4 years ago

Text

Shattered Heart

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader Warnings: Angst / Cheating / Mentions of Sex Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I never usually write RPF angst fics, only fluff or smut, but I was drowning in many of my drafted smutty stories (not a bad thing) and I felt like I needed to clear my head with something different. I had this idea and Chris was the best fit. If you don’t feel comfortable reading RPF then please don’t! Based on ��I love you’ by Billie Eilish. Please reblog and like🖤

♡

PRESENT DAY Laying in bed, wrapped tightly in Chris’ arms and listening to his soft snores over your shoulder was your confirmation that it was the weekend. Any other day you would be waking up alone, Chris already long gone and busy working. You shifted carefully before sliding out of his gentle grip, putting on your oversized jumper which was discarded on the floor from last night.

Once you were downstairs and waiting for the pot of coffee to finish, your gaze lingered on the big garden to your home; the hammock that held a blanket from summer evening cuddles, Dodger’s toys flung carelessly from energetic play dates and the makeshift bar that you had built together for the parties you always hosted. All things that highlight the life that you and Chris had started together seven years ago. Smiling to yourself and caught in your memories, you didn’t even hear Chris coming down the stairs. You only realised his presence across the kitchen once you turned around. Taking him in quickly, you noticed a look of anguish fixed on his face.

“It’s not true, tell me I’ve been lied to”

“Babe, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Upon trying to approach him, to check he was alright, he hastily stepped away as if he was frightened from your touch. Looking away from you, he stayed silent.

“Chris?”

Now, you were airing on the edge of nervous, genuinely worried something bad had happened but something was also telling you to stay put, to not move closer to him. You kept your distance, leaning against the breakfast bar for support against the unknown.

“Y/N, I… I have to tell you something.”

Sick rushed to your throat at the tone of his voice; coarse and frightened. You stayed quiet, too scared to ask him to continue.

“Last night..” he took a deep breath, “last night, at the work dinner, before I came home; I kissed someone else.”

Chris took another deep breath before he looked up. You were already looking at him, tears building in your eyes. Gripping the edge of the counter, you bit your lip and took a shaky breath, too afraid to do anything else incase you collapsed from the utter heartbreak washing over you.

“Y/N, please say something.”

The sound of Chris speaking startled you, suddenly conscious of how long you’d been frozen, practically in suspended animation. Your ethereal bubble of love and adoration abruptly shattered, even the sound of his voice was making you shudder.

Deep down, you were burning with rage, but your voice only came out as a whisper, “Tell me it’s not true, tell me you’re lying.”

You pleaded, praying and begging that this was some horrible practical joke that he wanted to play on you.

“I - I’m not lying..”

“So, just to be clear, you went to a work dinner when you knew that I would be spending the fifth night in a row, in our home, eating alone-?”

Chris went to interrupt but you weren’t finished. You were determined to get your point across before you crumbled.

“-You went out and kissed someone that wasn’t me and then came home to me, sat and had wine with me and then made love to me but didn’t have the respect for me to tell me the truth the second you walked in the door last night?!” Staring at Chris, you felt the first tears drop onto your flushed cheeks. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh but when everything was fracturing around you, your emotions were the last thing you were trying to control.

“Up all night on another red eye, I wish we never learned to fly”

THREE YEARS AGO “Chris, I thought you said you were going to be home this week? It’s our four year anniversary!” You sighed into your wine as you sat eating dinner with him one Sunday evening.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry but they want to squeeze in a week of location shooting, it was a last minute decision.”

You flicked the contents of your dinner round your plate, sad at the thought of another week at home alone. As an editor for a fashion magazine, you could do a lot of work from your home office therefore you’d already told your boss that you were working at home all week to spend time with Chris. In these situations you were so grateful to have an understanding and flexible job but frustrated to have such an in-demand and famous boyfriend. Sitting in silence with Chris, you couldn’t help but feel like this was another nail in the proverbial coffin that was your relationship.

“Come with me!” Chris blurted out nervously. “You were working from home this week anyway, why not just work from London?”

Your heart felt warm suddenly. The idea of spending a week in London with Chris was exciting and the sense of feeling wanted squashed your previous anxiety.

“Of course I’ll come with you, if you want me there?”

Chris leaned forward, reaching out and pulling your face to his, lips gently brushing against yours as he whispered, “There is nowhere that I could be in this world where I wouldn’t want you by my side, ever.” With that, he caught your lips in a bruising kiss.

SIX MONTHS AGO “Chris..” you sigh, holding your phone away from your ear so he doesn’t hear the sob that escapes your lips. “I just don’t think that flying me halfway across the country will fix these problems!”

You were exhausted with fighting a losing battle. You played with the loose tendrils of hair that had fallen around your face, waiting for his reply, wondering if he understood your hidden rejection of his offer.

“Y/N, you can’t tell me that you want to see me and sort our problems out in person but moan when I offer a perfectly valid solution! I know I’m away a lot at the moment, but your job is so flexible, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just come with me in the first place!”

You involuntarily groan, irked by what Chris had thought was a perfectly acceptable compromise. He had missed the point completely. Flying from state to state, hell even country to country for the past six months just to get an iota of time with your husband was taxing, it was also forcing you to surrender your own life to follow his. All you wanted was for Chris to understand the sacrifice you’d been making.

“Okay Chris, I’ll book my flights now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You sighed, disconnecting the phone call and slamming your phone on the sofa in frustration.

Reflecting back on the past few years, you felt ashamed at your naivety with Chris. You had taken everything with a pinch of salt because you could only imagine how difficult it was for Chris to uphold a relationship, let alone a marriage, with his career, so you were happy to make a small sacrifice if it resulted in spending time with Chris but now you realised, you were sacrificing everything for his happiness, not yours.

“Cryin' isn’t like you”

PRESENT DAY The words you had spoken hung over the room like a dark cloud. You knew you were being heinous before you’d given him a chance to explain but you were heartbroken. Your fingers skimmed your lips, disgusted that they’d entwined with Chris’s after he had kissed another woman, disgusted that they had begged him for release as you made love after he had kissed another woman.

As you wiped your own tears from your eyes, you noticed tears spilling from Chris’s eyes. Your body went rigid - you had only seen Chris cry a handful of times. The feeling of sympathy and guilt should have been foreign to you in this situation but you felt pain from his misery. You could see the torment in his eyes, and you knew that he was angry with himself for hurting you; maybe, just maybe you could sort this out and salvage your marriage.

“Shouldn’t I be the one that’s crying?” You tried to make light of the problem but recoiled at the distastefulness of your question.

Moving to the now well-brewed pot of coffee, you poured two mugs before placing one at the other side of the breakfast bar for Chris, a symbolic waving of the white flag. You sat down, anxiously waiting to see if Chris would follow, hoping that you could sort this out like adults and maybe try to recover your trust and your marriage. That’s what you wanted, right?

“Maybe we should just try, to tell ourselves a good lie”

You took the first sip of your second cup of coffee, still sitting in silence. You had been pondering with how to start the conversation but was admittedly hoping Chris would instigate it. Looking like that wasn’t going to happen, you tore off the bandaid and asked the question you had been dreading finding out the answer to.

“So, can you start from the beginning and tell me what happened? I think I need to understand what transpired before we move forward.” You spoke calmly, channelling your nerves into picking at your nail varnish. Distracted by the chipped pattern on your nails, you were startled when Chris spoke up.

“So, um, obviously you and me, we’ve been dealing with what feels like a long distance relationship; even though we live in the same house.” Chris paused from a moment, and you thought he was going to start crying again. You had to look down into your coffee, scared that if you started crying also, you wouldn’t stop.

“Not that we haven’t handled that before, but this time it felt different, it felt worse. I know it’s not your fault Y/N and it’s not mine either, our jobs are so demanding but I was just feeling so alone.”

Your heart was shattered at Chris’ confession. Knowing that you were both hurting from the same issue but keeping it to yourselves, it seemed absurd.

“She was always there. I saw her every day at work, definitely for many more hours than I was seeing you each day, and she is nice. She became my friend and my comfort.”

Now you felt like you’d been stabbed through the heart. Hearing Chris talk about another woman being everything you thought you were to him crushed you. How could you ever trust him again when he chose another woman to confide in?

“We get on really well, and um, whilst we were waiting outside the restaurant for our taxis, it just sort of.. happened.”

The rest of the conversation passed by like a bad dream. Remembering snippets of trying to stay calm as Chris told you he made the first move, screaming at Chris when he told you he would still see her at work every day and crying into his shoulder when you admitted you wasn’t sure if this marriage had a future.

Chris had left hours ago to stay at a friends house to give you some space. You glanced at the tissues surrounding you - reminders of the tortuous day - as if you were looking for the answers among them. Wiping your puffy eyes for the final time, you waited for something, or someone, to make the decision for you.

Now, it felt like the quiet at the end of a storm. Like your nightmare had come full circle. You sat in the same spot, alone.

Part Two: Troubled Heart

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans angst #fanfiction #rpf

382 notes · View notes

damienthepious · 2 years ago

Note

Mayhaps some TBIOHC commentary? From He does not notice the attention of one of the trophies upon him as he speaks to the monster spasms (from arums perspective)

god yes honestly i was pretty excited about the new chapter :3c

cw the usual gamut for this fic but most of it only obliquely, though this deals a bit with captivity and lack of autonomy, and the implication of something along the lines of torture.

[He does not notice the attention of one of the trophies upon him as he speaks, not until he hears the creature growling in its corner again on the fourth day after he began bringing his drafts along.]

Arum's outward response is honestly only a fraction of what's going on in his head at the moment. He's been stewing since Damien's first day. Or- well, he's been stewing for a LOT longer than that, obviously, but on this SPECIFIC front, Arum has been, for lack of a better term, biting his tongue.

[Damien blinks as the words die on his tongue, his gaze fixing on the incongruous vivid purple glaring out from the storm-gray monster crouching on his little platform.]

Damien wobbles precariously between thinking of Arum as an it and a he throughout this whole section. It was just kind of a thing that happened, and i had to maneuver around it lol

also it's entirely possible that Arum wasn't completely planning to actually give Damien a verbal smackdown, here. He mostly just wanted Damien to shut. the. fuck. UP. for FIVE SECONDS. GODDDD. and he was hoping, I think, that just snarling at him would work. It distracted Damien from his patrol that first day, so? maybe??? but then Damien looks at him, like that, and-

[His first instinct, oddly, is to feel embarrassed. Which is foolish in the extreme. He clutches his papers close against his stomach, careful not to drag the charcoal over the page as he does, and the monster growls all the louder as Damien meets its eyes.]

Damien looks at Arum. I don't think Damien has really let himself look too closely at the swamp lord since that first day, but this throws him off. And in turn, actually meeting Damien's eye throws Arum off in turn. He gets angry. Not just annoyed, not exhausted and frustrated. Angry. Arum hasn't been properly furious in a long time, now. He hasn't had the energy.

[The creature bares its teeth, when it sees that it has his attention, and then it rolls itself slowly to stand, taller than Damien expected even with his horns shorn down,]

The fact that they took Arum's horns does really absolutely fuck me up. a lot. Also, Damien switches to he when thinking about something that was forcibly taken from Arum. which is interesting.

[the entire weight of its body pressed against the chain at its neck and the ones on its wrists. It uses its own weight to help keep it upright, Damien realizes, hanging forward against the chains pulling it back.]

Arum forces himself upright to be more intimidating, which sort of works. But. It also is super obvious to Damien super quickly that this monster is barely holding himself upright. He is barely able to stand, at this point. Arum is also actively causing himself more pain already with this move, before he even starts talking, just pulling against the restraints that way.

[And then it- it opens its mouth, and coughs harshly, and then-

He speaks.]

And all that entails. That phrase applied both to the moment (Arum is speak right now), and also the general (the monster is capable of communication). And also it's fairly telling that he has to clear his throat before he manages to make any words come out. He probably has not spoken in an absurdly long time.

["Do you," the monster grates, face screwed up with effort, a hand curling against his collar, "ever… shut… up?"]

And the fucking first thing he says to Damien is THAT. He's grasping at this anger and trying to keep it, because at least if he's angry he is feeling something. And also, the irony of pushing through a silencing magic to tell someone ELSE to shut the fuck up is not lost on Arum at all. He's reveling in it, a little. It's kind of a power move and he knows it, on some level.

[Damien- Damien stares, lifting one hand to cover his mouth and watching the creature glare at him, panting with a vicious sort of effort.]

Damien stares, actually accidentally doing as told, for a second! Arum is both wondering if he'll actually be listened to (he does not hold much hope) and also recovering strength even after so few words.

["You…" Damien swallows. "You can speak," he says, the emptiness of his tone turning the question into a statement, and the monster bares his teeth again, snapping them together and growling as he turns his head away.]

An incredibly inane statement, but also.... it's the whole thing, isn't it? In the world of the Second Citadel, it seems like (/ I've taken and run with the idea that) "monster" is more of a category of Type Of Extant Life Based On Magic than an easily defined species or set of species. There are "monsters" that are literally just magic PLANTS (the moonlit hermit), some that are weird-magic animals (the rattlepanther and the frozen king of flame), and some that are.. literally non-human people, with some magic inherent or with some magic involved in their creation.

Damien had, i think, been assuming that this Swamp Lord fit into category two. Discovering that he's in category three requires some reframing.

And Arum is busy thinking something along the lines of OW. but also YES TECHNICALLY I CAN FUCKING SPEAK BUT OBVIOUSLY NOT IN PRACTICE, REALLY, YOU FUCKING IDIOT.

["This whole time? You could speak this whole time, you could understand me, and-"]

Understanding is also a sticking point, with Damien. He'd been assuming some level of privacy, here. For some idiot reason. Instead, he'd been airing his extremely raw poetry drafts and his extremely personal prayers in front of another sentient creature, and the end of his sentence is "and you didn't say anything?" Which is a very typical thoughtlessly self-centered early!Damien sort of thing to say. He isn't entirely conscious of the fact that Arum is clearly in pain, just yet. Or why Arum is in pain.

and this section is pretty LONG and clearly i've taken days to get THIS far in the commentary so i will come back to this and finish the rest soon! but i wanted to throw out what i got so far before i pack up for vacation :3c

#elle's fanfic meta #the beast in on his chain #asks #amphibiayan

3 notes · View notes

fanfic-mind · 3 years ago

Text

Blood on my hands (all that i've gained and all that i've lost)

pairing: merthur

warnings: non

status: fanfic draft, Part 1/? (~ 2300)

It’s yet again an hour of need for Camelot. But the weapon they need to safe kingdom and people comes with a price. Only those who prove that they are powerful and wicked can receive it. The knights of Camelot don’t have enough evil deeds to be worthy of the sword. They think everything is lost - until Merlin speaks up...

A magic reveal story in which Merlin makes good use of being a morally grey character. Because, yea, Merlin-is-the-victim-reveals are swell and all but he is capable of making his own decisions and some of them are pretty shady. There is still a good amount of Uther bashing included.

Somehow they get into a situation that requires someone with blood on their hands - figuratively (otherwise it wouldn't be a problem because seeing how often Arthur and Merlin and also Gwaine get wounded by just existing they probably wouldn't even have to injure anyone)

Maybe a god of the Old Religion guards a weapon they need to kill the magic beast of the week or to destroy a cursed item.

In any case: they are really desperate. People are dying and this is their last hope, their last resort.

To their misfortune, this weapon is guarded by a very cunning and wicked god and they will only give their weapon to someone who has the power and the will to use it for evil deeds

There is a test that must be passed by the one who wants to receive the weapon. They must prove that they did enough evil deeds to be worthy of it.

Arthur quickly fails his test because despite some wrongs he's done he is way too just and noble to be wicked

The only knight that seems to get at least a few moments more of consideration is Leon who has done some terrible things - however under Uther's orders which isn't quite powerful enough

"Ahh, Uther Pendragon," the god muses, "Him i would have given the weapon. Such rage and blind hatred and, oh yes, so much blood."

Arthur grits his teeth and sets his jar. he wonders if his father would be disappointed in him for not living up to this legacy of his. he wonders - not for the first time - why he wanted to be like his father once and how he managed to end up being so different.

The knights discuss their strategy. non of them is wicked enough to pass the test. they have wicked people in Camelot's dungeons. But Camelot is three day rides off and their quest is really urgent.

They could separate and seek for wicked folk, but the chances seem slim and the risk of them keeping the weapon as they receive it seems too big

People are dying and they need to do something now.

"there must be another way to destroy it," Lancelot suggests, though they've been over this. His eyes stray to Merlin, but Merlin seems caught up in thought.

If there was an easier way to do this, Merlin and Gaius would have come up with it by now. asking the god had been their idea in the first place.

"What if there isn't?" Gwaine argues heatedly. "We can't have waisted six days for nothing. This is probably our last chance."

"so what do you suggest?" Lancelot interrupts somewhat irritated. They temperaments are heated at this point. And suddenly knowing each other’s worst deeds doesn’t exactly lighten the mood. "All of us failed the test. i wouldn't have thought that I'd ever be angry about being found too good and noble."

Gwaine shrugs with a grimace. He hadn't thought that he'd ever be deemed good and noble in the first place.

"maybe there's a way out of that," Arthur says. He hasn’t spoken in a while and all heads turn towards him.

"what do you mean, Sire?" Leon asks, looking uneasy as if he already knows and doesn't like it.

"If you're not noble enough, you proof your nobility by doing good deeds," Arthur starts matter of fact. "so, logically, if I'm not wicked enough, i prove my wickedness by doing an evil deed."

The god smiles a toothy smile.

"To murder just anyone obviously isn't evil enough" Arthur says, looking at the god with disgust. "so it must be somthing worse. murdering a friend, for example."

"My king, with all due respect, this is madness," Leon say carefully.

"sir Leon, that's the point." Arthur says sourly.

"is that really it?" Gwaine shouts at the god who watches his outburst unimpressed. "You want us to slaughter each other?"

the god laughs, distant and hollow and the earth seems to vibrate with it. "The weapon can only be taken by those of power who are wicked and cunning enough to wield it." the god repeats his earlier words.

"So there's not even a guarantee," Gwaine says, throwing up his arms. "Arthur, let's just leave and see if we can find something else."

"there is nothing else, Gwaine, you said so yourself!" Arthur returns. His expression is incredibly pained but determined in a way that makes them all shudder. Leon, Percival and Lancelot unconsciously get into fighting stance.

Gwaine takes a few steps to put himself between the king and Merlin who is the most vulnerable

Arthur nods to himself, seemingly coming to a decision in his head. Tehn he draws his sword . "If either of you kills me while i try to kill you, that might be enough too" he muses

They all stare at him in horror, unable to believe that he will go through with this.

"My people are dying," Arthur says, his tone pleading, "if i have to sacrifice my good conscience to help them - well, it is a price i must be willing to pay. I'm sorry. But all of you swore to protect Camelot at all costs too."

Arthur halts for am moment then nods grimly. "Don't try to sacrifice yourself. I'm sure that's not what he's looking for" Arthur nods towards the stony god who smiles.

"you can't be serious" Mordred whispers.

"I'm afraid i am. Now, it's been an honour. truely. and i hope - i hope I'll still have your respect afterwards. Though, i can understand if you can't trust me again."

"that's enough."

They all turn around. Partly, because they had forgotten about Merlin who has been uncharacteristically quiet the whole time. and partly because they have rarely heard this sort of tone from him. harsh and demanding. a voice more fit for a king than his manservant.

They stare at him and he makes short eye contact with Arthur before he steps forward, in front of the statue that the god is using as a vessel.

"test me." Merlin says. his voice is determined and his shoulders are set.

Arthur let's out a short laugh, because clearly this is absurd, right? Merlin is the best and kindest of all of them. Actually, coming to think of it, if he's really honest, Merlin probably is the reason Arthur is not like his father. Merlin makes him better. Merlin makes him want to be better.

A few of the knights share his sentiments, laughing slightly hysterical with tension but still perplexed over this development.

Only Lancelot steps forward with a frown as if to pull him back, but merlin raises a hand without looking at him and he stops in his tracks.

Arthur who was about to say something stops too.

The god looks more alive than before he seems to stretch himself to his full height as if he has waited for this

"welcome" he starts as he has with all of them. "young warlock, tell me your deeds."

lancelot tenses, casting a worried glance back at the king who stands there, sword still drawn, eyes fixed in Merlin as if he doesn't understand any of this

Lancelot doesn't either. Even if Merlin is a sorcerer - what evil deeds can he possibly have done? Saving Arthur's life over and over without ever seeking credit doesn't have a ring of evil to him.

"I am Merlin, and they call my Emrys." Merlin starts.

Some of the Knights gasp. Emrys is a name they know by now.

Lancelot wonders whether Merlin considers his identity an evil deed in itself. The possibility breaks his heart a bit.

"I was born with magic. I am the most powerful sorcerer there is."

Merlin takes a deep breath.

"i lied to all my friends. I let them think they can trust me, that they know me. But they never will. I could kill them just by looking at them. I am magic and i killed many behind friends backs and before their eyes, but never revealed myself to them"

"I am a slayer of my own people," he continues, his voice hard, "I killed many creatures and men of magic to protect their murderers - the king and his son. I did it out of self-righteousness and out of selfishness because...” for a moment, Merlin halts, but then he continuous with the same hard tone as before, as if something is forced out of him, but he wants to stand for it.

“I loved Arthur more than my own people. i let many of them die even though i could have helped them if i had revealed myself. But i couldn't bear the thought to be separated from him so i stayed quiet and watched them burn."

The god nods Merlin on. They all stand in shock. They know from before that Merlin won't be able to stop telling his deeds before the god thinks he is done.

"I killed the witch Nimueh even though she told me i have to pay with a life to save Arthur's. Instead of giving my life as i promised, i killed her."

"I killed Mary Collins, Afanc, Aulfric, Sophia, Cornelius Sigan, Myror and many more. "

Merlin's voice falters a bit, but he seems to pull himself together visibly, because his voice is clearer again when he keeps speaking.

"My betrayal to my people is so great, my wickedness so deep, i considered to kill a child on the mere possibility that he could threaten what was mine in the future."

Mordred makes a quiet stricken noise.

No one dares take their eyes off Merlin, but Merlin himself turns his head slowly.

There is a gasp of horror when they all see that his eyes are glowing yellow with magic.

Up until now, no one except Mordred and Lancelot had truly believed it.

"I tried to kill Mordred when he was a child and i wish his death even now though he is kind and serves Arthur."

Lancelot looks at Merlin with complete bewilderment as Mordred sobs.

Merlin doesn't answer Lancelot's gaze, he just turns around again.

They can hear him take in another breath and it sounds more halting than before.

"I knew that my friend had magic and i saw her turmoil and her fear of being killed. of being burned by her own kin like all of the others. but instead of helping her, i left her in the dark. I told her to trust me - she trusted my - and then i poisoned her."

Merlin stops for a moment, his voice sounds rough as if speaking becomes quickly more difficult.

"I gave Morgana poison in full intend and watched her as she died and i regretted when she was healed."

"Only i had the power and knowledge to save her, but i turned my head from her suffering, i killed her when she didn't know better than to turn to her sister, it was me that made her what she is today."

There is another short pause. Lancelot is desperate to see Merlin's face. To demand how this all really went. Because though he knows that Merlin is bound to say the truth by the power of the god, he still thinks there must be a mistake or a trick. This is not Merlin. Merlin would never...would he?

"I conspired with and freed the dragon that attacked Camelot which led to the death of many innocent people. I attempted to kill Arthur on multiple occasions."

Lancelot frowns. This one he knows to be untrue. Merlin didn't want to kill Arthur. it was Morgana's doing that he went after him.

"i saved Uther Pendragon's life - more than once. I let him live even though he slaughtered my people. I saved his life even though i didn't have to. I never killed him even though i had many opportunities."

Merlin pauses then, looking up at the god.

"Do i really need to go on?" he asks and it sounds almost indifferent. except they know Merlin and they know how his face looks when he sounds this way.

The god leans their head to one side slowly. the stone his vessel is made of groans.

"You are worthy, young warlock. More than you know. Into your hands i command my sword."

Suddenly, there is noise and light and they cover their eyes, everyone except for Merlin and Mordred.

They can't be sure but they think they can hear Merlin's voice through it all, speaking a foreign tongue. Then, it's over.

When the air clears, Merlin stands alone, the stone vessel of the god has crumbled to pieces, a big sword in his hand. For just a moment, when he turns around to face them, he looks nothing like Merlin at all. His eyes are golden, and his face is grim, lips pressed into a thin line. His posture is straight and majestic and he holds the sword like a warrior. His appearance strikes them with fear. He looks like power incarnate.

The others notice from the corners of their eyes that Mordred kneels before him. and even as they are completely bewildered, they have an urge to do the same.

The next moment though, it's all gone, and Merlin looks like he's never handled a sword before. His eyes are blue and his cheeks messy with dust and tears. He sinks to his knees and the weapon falls from his hands - is pushed from his fingers as if through magic, landing on the ground with a strange sound.

Merlin looks after the sword with disgust clear on his face. Then he looks up and suddenly he looks afraid.

To be continued

#merthur #magic reveal #merlin fanfic #merlin x arthur #merlin

7 notes · View notes

schrijverr · 4 years ago

Text

Authentic

While writing HNOC, Jonny suddenly puts on an accent, when it isn’t well recieved at first, he gets weird. He is withdrawn and agreeble, concerned the others corner him and find out it is his original accent. He storms off and is comforted by Brian.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none really, but tell me if I missed one or if you want me to tag something!

~~~~~~~~~~

Brian had not been pleased when he had finally been freed from the core of the sun around which Fort Galfridean had orbited, but he’d cheered up a bit after the Mechs had agreed this tale was good enough to be told.

They’d started writing it. First getting a feel for the songs to see, which voice fitted where, shots had been fired, First Mates had died, nothing important. An outline had been made as well, giving a broad idea of the spoken parts and the songs.

Now they were sitting in a circle with their instruments, ready to try some melodies and tweak the lyrics. They had agreed on the beginning, mostly, the first part was written down and Ashes said: “I think we should have Lavinia Stone explain why they’re going to shoot.”

“You mean when she told them they could run the town if they killed her and took her sheriff star?” Brian asked.

“Yeah, that.” Ashes replied, “You know what she told them exactly?”

Brian thought for a second, then unsure said: “I think she used son of a bitch? Maybe tin star and rightwise sheriff of the town or something in that direction? Does that help?”

“Yeah, that might work.” Jonny agreed, “Uhm, what about something like this: Any sonnabitch can pull this tin star from me, makes ‘em rightwise sheriff o’ this town.”

He scratched his nose and shook his head as he whispered to himself: “No, needs a few more words.”

Clicking his tongue he thought for a second, then his face lit up and he proudly said: “Any sumbitch can pull this tin star from my stone cold hands, makes ‘em rightwise sheriff o’ this here town. ‘Cause she’s Lavinia STONE.”

The smirk turned into a frown when he looked at the others. All had a confused expression on their face, eyes filled with question marks. Jonny had no clue what that was about and muttered: “We don’t have to use that part, geez. Just tell me if it sucks.”

That snapped most out of it and Tim said: “No, it’s not that, just wow, that was weird.”

“What?” now it was Jonnys turn to be confused.

“Did you not hear what you just did?” Ashes asked.

“I suggested something for the song and you all got weird about it.” Jonny frowned, not comprehending what they were getting at.

Ashes facepalmed and Tim exclaimed: “The fucking accent, Jonny, where the fuck did that come from?”

Understanding appeared on Jonnys face and lightly embarrassed he shrugged: “Thought it might be fun. Brian said some of them talked funny and from his horrible impersonation, I gathered it sounded something like this. Besides, it adds a bit to the atmosphere, right?”

The others found that explanation enough and agreed that it did sound fun, before they moved on to the next part, squabbling like normal until Brian came in and Galahad was introduced.

Lyrics was as easy as it had ever been, which is to say not that easy but with years of practice they managed, and it was only when they did a quick test run that it went wrong. Jonny was in the middle of his part when Tim interrupted: “Do you have to give him the accent too?”

Jonny stopped mid sentence and indignantly asked: “What’s wrong with the accent?”

“It’s inconsistent.” Tim told him.

“What! My accent is not inconsistent, what are you on about?” Jonny exclaimed, getting offended and a bit of fear, that no one could place, creeping into his voice.

Brian tried to keep the peace and said: “I think what Tim means is that none of us are using an accent, so although it is accurate it might be weird that only some of the characters have it, you know?”

“Well, why don’t y’all do the accent too then?” Jonny pouted.

“Oh, really, letting it bleed over now are you. What are you trying to prove?” Tim snapped.

If anyone had been paying close attention they would have seen that Jonny flinched back slightly at that, but no one did.

“I think none of us can keep that up, Jonny.” Brian tried to placate him, “You already said I did a horrible job at it.”

Jonny sighed and moped: “Okay, fine, but I personally think it sounds better with the accent.”

“Sure, lets just start from the top again.” Ashes said.

They all got in position again and started again. This time when they got to Galahads part, Jonny played up his normal British accent as much as possible. He was stopped again, this time by Marius: “Really, Jonny? Just because you don’t like it, doesn’t mean you don’t get to take it seriously.”

“I am taking it seriously, I did exactly what you wanted. Nothing is good enough around here.” Jonny pouted earnestly.

“Why are you so insistent on using the accent?” Marius asked him.

Jonny opened his mouth, but closed it before a sound could come out and bit his lip. He swallowed and shrugged: “I’m not, just sang like normal. But also it’s accurate? And it sounds better?”

He grabbed some notes for the next part and explained: “I mean what sounds better out of the two of these: ‘Don’t recall asking for your opinion, son.’ or ‘I don’t think I asked for you input, my friend’?”

“If you exaggerate it like that, of course it will sound dumb, but the accent you’re doing is even dumber.” Tim said, not willing to abandon his side and say Jonny was right.

Some of the others agreed and something shut behind Jonnys eyes as he relented.

The others were glad this wouldn’t end as a big fight, which would be a mess to clean up, but Jonny wasn’t the same afterwards. He kept his mouth shut most of the time, no banter and no unnecessary commentary.

They tried to go on, but with Jonnys mood it was almost impossible, so they decided to leave finishing and cultivating the first draft for later and take a break.

The moment it was decided Jonny was out of the room, yelling something over his shoulder about a smoke, despite the fact that smoking was allowed everywhere on the Aurora. No one stopped him, however, just watching him go. Tim commented: “The asshole.”

Ashes smirked and Marius rolled his eyes, but Brian was a bit concerned about their First Mates reaction. Still, he knew following him and asking if he was alright, wouldn't be appreciated, so he left him to himself, but he resolved to keep an eye on him.

It seemed to be over the next day, Jonny had shut up about the accent and everything went on as normal, he did sound more British than normal, though, but not enough to be truly notable.

There did seem to be less fighting, though. Every time it seemed a fight would’ve normally broken out between Jonny and someone else (Jonny was usually the one fighting the most), Jonny would relent and let the other do their thing.

At first, no one was questioning this sudden change of character since it made the process go a whole lot smoother. Brian had frowned at the start, but Jonny didn’t seem to mind still just grinning like normal, so he hadn’t said anything about it.

Then that changed.

They’d finished the first draft and although no one member was more important than the other, it was the collective group that made it the best. And while Jonny wasn’t always prominent in the writing of the notes you could see him reflected in the lyrics, but his presence was now obviously missing.

This became even more apparent when they played it for the first time, stopping from time to time to make notes and suggestions.

Everyone had picked up on it, everyone except Jonny apparently. He was either playing oblivious or really hadn’t noticed the others silences that he hadn’t filled when they were taking suggestions on parts he hadn’t had a say in yet.

They were a bit sick of it. Was he still mad at them for yesterday? He seemed fine, but they all had masks. Was he deliberately being an asshole in the hope they would apologize or something? No, he wouldn’t do that, well he would be a deliberate asshole, but not over this. Unless this wasn’t like normal?

“What do you think, Jonny?” Brian asked.

“Hm?” Jonny looked up, “Oh, uhm, seems fine.”

He smiled at them, but they weren’t really sure he knew what it was about with the way his eyes were a bit distant.

“What were we talking about?” Tim asked, getting a bit frustrated.

Jonny blinked and uncertainly said: “The lyrics for the song about Mordred returning to the Saxons?”

“No,” Tim sighed, “about the love song between the three Pendragons. Are you even paying attention?”

He winced and replied: “Yes, just got a tad distracted. What was the original question?”

Tim was about to get angry, so Brian intervened: “I was wondering what you thought. This part here doesn’t flow so well.”

Brain pointed at the sheet in Jonnys hand and Jonny read it out loud to himself: “Guinevere you’re my stars, Arthur you’re my night. I know we have to ride at the dawns first light. And I’m not saying that this crusade isn’t right. But first we fuel a few more sins with whiskey.”

Jonny was quiet as he thought. He seemed to come up with something, because his eyes did the light up thing they always got when he had an idea, but then they dulled and he didn’t say a thing.

After a while he shrugged and said: “I don’t know.”

Now everyone was getting worried. If there was one thing Jonny loved, it was stealing the show by coming up with something and fixing a problem. It could be annoying if it wasn’t helpful.

He did not stay silent.

“Are you sure?” Brian asked, “It seemed like you thought of something.”

Jonny bit his lip, before carefully saying: “I thought- uhm, maybe? I think I could fix it, but I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Why do you think that? We won’t know unless we’ve heard it, so just tell us and we’ll decide ourselves.” Brian encouraged him.

Nodding slightly, Jonny started to sing: “Guinevere you’re my stars, Arthur you’re my night. I know we’ve got to ride at the dawns first light. And I ain’t saying this preacher man’s crusade ain’t right. But first we fuel a few more sins with whiskey.”

Jonny tried to gauge their reactions and quickly said: “I know y’all don’t like the accent and think it’s dumb, but the words make it fit better. Of course, we don’t have to do it. It was just a suggestion, you know.”

“No, no, that fits.” Ashes told him.

His shoulder sagged a bit with relief and he smiled at them before he wrote the new lyrics down. He did not notice he was the only one changing the lyrics.

While he was doing that, Brain and Marius shared a concerned look that the others caught on to and made them look at Jonny again and think. Then Marius said: “Hey, Jonny?”

“Yes?” Jonny asked looking up.

“Why do you know so much about this one accent and use of language?” Marius replied, immediately adding: “Not that that’s a bad thing of course, just curious.”

“I don’t know that much about it.” Jonny dodged the question.

“Yes, you do.” Tim inserted himself into the conversation as well.

Jonny huffed and crossed his arms as he said: “It doesn’t matter, why do you care so much anyway. I thought you found it dumb.”

“Because you’re suddenly acting weird after we brought it up.” Tim exclaimed.

That startled Jonny a bit, but he yelled back: “I do not.”

“Yes, you are.” Tim frowned angrily and began to list, “You’re not making useless comments, no banter, exaggerating your British accent, you’re not giving your own opinions, you’re fucking agreeable, Jonny. You’re never agreeable, so excuse us for wanting to know what the fuck is going on with you.”

“There’s nothing going on with me, I tried something and it failed, so I shut up.” Jonny spat, “I’m fine.”

“What did you try? What on earth did you try to make you act like this when it failed.” Tim had stood up now to continue their fighting match, properly.

Brian, however, wasn’t having it and pushed him back down in his seat as he shouted: “Lets all just calm down for one second, okay.”

Both took a deep breath and just glared at each other.

Gently Marius broke the silence: “Jonny, you try a lot of things that don’t succeed, why does this one bother you so much. I know Tim wasn’t the best at telling you this, but we’re just worried about you.”

Jonny swallowed heavily and blinked heavily a few times. He tried to start a few times, but then just stopped, choosing to dismiss it: “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“The more you dodge it, the more it seems like a big deal and we’re not continuing until you tell us.” Ashes told him. From where they were resting on the couch, all sprawled out, they looked like how they’d been when they were Hades. The royal feeling rolled off of them and Jonny couldn’t help, but listen.

“It’s, uhm, I’m from New Texas.” he finally settled on saying.

When that didn’t clear anything up he explained: “It’s not the same system as orbited around Avalon, but it’s close.”

The realization dawned on everyone that the accent they’d thought he’d been putting on was his original accent and the way he spoke now could be considered him putting on an accent. They’d never realized that he could have a different accent since the rest of them, except for Nastya, had the same one.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Jonny. We hadn’t realized.” Brian said.

Jonny squirmed in his place uncomfortably and shrugged: “It’s no big deal.”

“Seems like it is though, I know you don’t like me psychoanalyzing you, but this made you more upset than anything else I’ve seen.” Marius told him.

That earned him a scowl from Jonny, who replied: “Stay away from my brain, Marius. It’s none of your business.”

Meanwhile, Tim was still thinking about Jonnys change of accent without really paying attention to what the others were saying, so he blurted out: “So where did your accent go then? Nastya still had hers, despite being on this ship for quite a long time.”

The scowl deepened and Jonny said: “That’s also none of your fucking business.”

“Does it have anything to do with why you’re so upset?” Marius asked.

Completely fed up, Jonny roared: “Yes.” and stomped off.

As they watched him go, Ashes commented: “That could’ve gone a lot smoother.”

Beside them Brian pinched his nose and sighed: “Yes. Yes, it could have.”

“Should we go check on him?” Tim asked,a bit taken aback by the reaction and feeling guilty a bit too.

“No, I think we’ve done enough for today. I’ll check up on him in a few hours.” Brian told him.

The rest of the day came and went and soon it was time for Brian to see how their First Mate was fairing. He hesitated outside his room for a second, then he knocked.

It was quiet for a beat, then he hear Jonnys voice: “What do you want?”

“It’s me, Brian. I came to check up on you. I know you don’t want me to, but just open the door so I can see you’re at least a bit okay and I’ll leave you alone.” Brian answered.

He heard grumbling, but also movement, so he smiled at his little victory.

The door slid open and Jonny looked at the ground and said: “See, I’m fine. Now go away.”

Brian raised a brow and rolled his eyes, before he squatted down a bit and gently put a finger under Jonnys chin to raise his face to make eye contact. Jonnys eyes were shining with the wetness of tears not yet fallen, but his makeup hadn’t been smudged, which Brian counted as a win.

What he didn’t count as a win, however, was that Jonny wasn’t even fighting him about this treatment. He just stood there silently and stared at Brian, all fight drained out of his body with the opening of his door.

Brian broke the silence softly: “If you want I can leave now, but I’m happy to stay. You don’t have to talk, just company.”

Jonny worried his lip between his teeth as a mental battle waged behind his eyes. Then he quietly said: “Don’t tell the others?”

“Of course not.” Brian replied with a kind smile, closing the door behind him as he lead Jonny to his bed.

Brian leaned against the wall and allowed Jonny to crawl up beside him, before pulling the blanket over the two of them. He gently rubbed Jonnys back and sat quietly with his eyes closed and his mind calm.

He knew Jonny was more tactile than he’d have you believe. All the crew was familiar with the ways he would brush up against people, accidentally bump into them or started a fistfights when he was feeling lonely.

No one ever said anything about it, but they tried their best to pander to it. Everyone had something after all.

After nearly thirty minutes of comfortable silence Jonny said: “I know it’s stupid to be upset about. I just- never mind.”

“It isn’t stupid at all.” Brian told him.

“Yes, it is.” Jonny moped, “Just because she beat it out of me doesn’t mean that it isn’t just an accent.”

He didn’t even seem to realize what he had just confessed, instead angrily staring at Brians thigh and plucking on a lose thread of Brians pants, Brian knew he would probably offer to fix it later as a thank you or apology, unable to voice it.

Brian carded a hand through Jonnys hair and said: “You know, I don’t even speak this language.”

“What?” Jonny asked, not looking up, but leaning into the touch.

“I borrowed a book from Ivy about my own planet, it talked about the language and how it’s one of the few places that hasn’t switched to Basic yet. There was a passage in the language, but I couldn't understand a word, not programmed for it, I guess.” Brian explained.

“Oh, I’m- I’m sorry, that sucks.” Jonny mumbled.

Brian shrugged and said: “Yeah, kind of. I know I’m not that Brain, never really was, but it still hurt. I locked myself at the helm for two months to process. Isn’t that stupid?”

“No. No, it’s not.” Jonny frowned, plucking harder, “That’s upsetting to learn, you just reacted like anyone else would.”

“You’re right.” Brian agreed, for a moment Jonny was confused, but then Brian cleared it up: “So, why is it stupid when you’re upset?”

“I don’t know.” Jonny pouted.

“You don’t have to know. Sometimes a brain is just stupid, but that has nothing to do with you. You’re allowed to just be upset.” Brian told him.

Jonny huffed: “You sound like Marius.”

“Marius isn’t always wrong, even when he is an idiot from time to time.” Brian said.

They fell into a comfortable silence again after that. The rhythmic motion of Brian petting Jonnys hair soothing them both.

Then after a while, Brian said: “For the record, I liked the accent you gave Galahad, you really sounded like him. Tim probably did too, he just wanted a fight I think.”

“Really?” Jonny asked after a beat of silence.

Brian smiled: “Yeah, really. I think that if you bring it up again, the others are probably a lot more receptive. You know how they love dramatics and what is more dramatic then an album with authentic vocabulary and accents just for accuracy?”

Jonny grinned: “Not much.”

“Exactly.” Brian nodded, then he stayed silent until Jonny had fallen asleep.

The next morning the two of them made their way to breakfast. Jonny was his chipper self again and bounced around Brian as he excitedly told him about the dream he had in which it had been him against an entire army, pretty violent over all, but Jonny had won and found himself quite the badass, despite the fact that it was a dream and he had not actually done that.

He didn’t even notice how the others lost their tenseness when he’d come in. All had been afraid that he would still be upset, but it seemed Brian had been a good influence.

They all ate, before going back to the practice room. The plan was to start going over everything again, just the next draft until everything was perfect, but before they could start Jonny nervously asked: “Hey, uhm, I was just wondering if y’all’d be okay if I tried the accent again with Galahad. I think it would enrich the album and if all y’all don’t like it, we can scrap it again.”

“I think that would be a great idea, Jonny.” Marius smiled at him.

Relief washed over Jonnys face and he smiled back.

In the end they kept the accent in there and watching Jonny go apeshit every single time he got to perform Hellfire was completely worth it.

#RR writing #The Mechanisms #the mechs #Jonny d'Ville #drumbot brian #Ashes O'Reilly #gunpowder tim #marius von raum #hnoc

22 notes · View notes

sagemoderocklee · 4 years ago

Note

Writer ask meme - everything divisible by 3

Sorry this took so long to reply to! I was writing out my responses today, but while watching Rosewell New Mexico with my roommate and that show is SO good. anyways this is really, really long so I will put part of it under a read more however if you are reading TAoL and want a sneak peak at an upcoming chapter, my answer to 36 is the entire first scene for that chapter

3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing? Other than the obvious writer's block, I think that my least favorite part is feeling insecure/wanting validation via comments and such. Writing is something I really enjoy doing and take great pride in trying to grow as a writer, but it's impossible to completely shake off that feeling of insecurity and sadness over something that doesn't get comments. There's this common thing in fandom where like you can pour a lot of heart and energy into something, be really skilled, only for it to get overlooked. There's obviously a lot of reasons for that, but some of those reasons are kind of annoying—like god forbid something not have sex in it, ya know?

6. Favorite character you’ve written?

So, that's hard.... If we're talking the canon Naruto characters, it can really vary from story to story. I obviously enjoy writing Gaara and Lee, but I was surprised to find that I really enjoy writing Shikamaru, Kankurou, Temari, Neji, and Tenten as well. I think all of them are really interested, have a lot of potential, and are fun in very different ways. Kankurou is definitely just flat out fun to write, and I think Tenten is very similar in the way she's fun to write. I think this like handful of characters are all faves for very different reasons so it's hard to say who my absolute fave is, but I really enjoy writing all of them. Definitely my fave thing is being able to write all of them interacting together, however.

9. Favorite/least favorite tropes?

Least: Soulmates. I hate that shit with a passion—it's boring, it's artificial, it's easy. There was a post I just saw recently that said “soulmates are stupid. I love you on purpose” and that just sums up so much of my issue with soulmates. If something is predetermined by some fucking cosmic power, do you really ever love that person? Do you really ever know that person? Soulmate AUs will always be something that bore me and also insight anger. It's just not for me, and I wish that fandom spaces would just get over it, in all honesty. Fave: uh. I don’t really know about like trope-wise. I just really like anything with good world building and politics.

12. Which story of yours do you like best? Why? Oh gosh.... um. That's really hard to answer because every story I write has a special place in my heart for different reasons. Alliance is my baby; TAoL is a huge emotional investment and has allowed me to grow even more as a writer; Absolution is something I've always wanted to explore; Flyweight Love is super fun and cute; IEYH is a new experiment in writing for me; GoD was also an experiment... and on and on. It's hard to pick like a favorite story because like they're all my faves in different ways. There are certainly things I like more or prefer, like I'm not that into modern Aus as much so it's easier for me to say that like Find Me isn't a one of my best—it isn't, there's a lot of things I want to fix on it, and while it is a decent fic, it's not like groundbreaking imo. But like for all of the things that need fixing with Alliance, that fic is my baby and really grounded me as a writer in a way no other writing project had before it. So like I could never not love it. Anyways, I'm babbling at this point, but basically I love all my fics so I can't choose.

15. How do you deal with self-doubt when writing? Rereading my writing tends to help and hoarding some of my favorite comments I've been left by readers. I know I'm a good writer, self-doubt and insecurities aside, so re-reading stuff is really a good confidence booster—but when that's not enough, it is really helpful to look back at old comments.

18. Tell us about that one book you’ll never let anyone read

Of mine??? Well, obviously by 'book' we're going with fanfiction because none of my original content is at a point where I'd really even consider it for this question. Um. Honestly, I don't think there's much if anything. Maybe some HP fics but not because I'm not like... proud of the writing or premise. Like I'd say my ideas are really good, it's just a matter of like my own time management and shit.

21. What aspect of your writing are you most proud of?

My world building. I'm also generally proud of the premises I come up with, and the themes I explore with my writing. Like I think I'm a good writer in terms of the like technical writing aspect—pros and such—and also characters, but I think I excel at world building and overall plot.

24. Do you remember the moment you decided to become a writer/author? The first time I ever wrote anything I was seven years old. I was at a party for my mom's boss? I think it was a birthday party? Anyway, I was the only kid there—which was fine because I was used to being the only kid in gatherings—but I was sitting alone by like a window and I just like started writing a poem about the night. That was like the first time that writing really became a part of me. When I was thirteen, when my mom got sick, I started writing poetry more. And when I was fourteen, I started writing fanficiton and that's kinda just... never stopped. I've been writing stories ever since.

27. Every writer’s least favorite question - where does your inspiration come from? Do you do certain things to make yourself more inspired? Is it easy for you to come up with story ideas?

My inspiration comes from everywhere, not to like be cliched. But inspiration really is in everything and everyone. I tend to find inspiration really easily in music, but it's also in just like the day-to-day; it's in other writers; it's in washing dishes; it's in a day trip to the ocean; it's in a quote or a touch or a word. Like genuinely, it's in big things and little things and things that shouldn't even be things. I don't feel like I really struggle with inspiration so much as motivation, really. And that is... a much harder thing to find sometimes (especially when you're mentally ill)

30. Do you like to read books similar to your project while you’re drafting or do you stick to non-fiction/un-similar works?

Um. I like to read fantasy mostly, but I don't look for something similar or different from my projects intentionally. I just.... look for things that I like? But I don't really know how to explain that lol

33. What’s your revision/rewriting process like? Since I'm writing mostly fanfiction and the culture of having a beta reader has dwindled significantly, making it hard to find one, I do a lot of self-editing. I'm usually re-reading a lot as I'm writing. So until a chapter is done, I'm always going back and reading/editing before moving on to the next scene. And then once I'm done writing a chapter I'll usually edit it about two or three times in full in the document, then I put it in draft on Ao3 for another edit before posting.

36. Post a snippet All right a snippet..... Let's go with something from: The Art of Love, Chapter 13 (not the next chapter, but the one after). Since I left everyone hanging for so long with that last scene of Gaara and Lee, this is the entire first scene to ch13: It was all his fault. If he hadn't let himself get so carried away in the dream of Gyokukakushin, in the dream of Gaara, in the dream of safety they didn't have this wouldn't be happening. Their belongings had been stuffed haphazardly into their various bags. Despite how many times he'd checked and double checked, Lee felt sure that he'd overlooked something—some wayward item that had rolled beneath the bed or fallen behind the desk that would give them away. Gaara had watched him silently, his thoughts kept to himself as Lee dashed about their room like a mad man.

“I think that is everything,” Lee managed over the mantra of 'My fault, my fault' cycling through his mind. His voice trembled as he spoke. Every inch of him trembled. Every breath he took rattled in his chest. Every beat of his heart was a stutter against his rib cage. Every ounce of blood pumping through his veins burned with the need to run.

“This is useless,” Gaara said, the first words he'd spoken since the beach.

Lee snapped his head up, meeting Gaara's enigmatic gaze. “But—”

“They don't set sail until the end of the month,” he reminded Lee. “What use is being packed? Besides, it will look suspicious if we leave now.”

Tears burned at the corners of Lee's eyes. “But if they are coming—”

“They're coming,” Gaara murmured. “But even if they arrive before we've departed, we have our disguises. You have to trust that we'll be fine.”

Lee's head spun. How could Gaara be so calm? How could he sit there, quiet and unshakable, when Lee felt as though the world were falling apart around them? How could he be so sure that eleven days from now, they'd set sail, free and undiscovered? How was he not furious with Lee for his complacency?

Gaara was at Lee's side before Lee could shake the spinning in his head, a gentle hand at Lee's elbow and a surety in his eyes.

“I know you won't let anything happen to me,” he told Lee, as soft and insistent as the thumb he'd once pressed against the corner of Lee's mouth.

“No. Never.” Lee's stomach twisted, guilt rising like the tide. He'd let his feelings jeopardize everything.

“Then what do you have to fear?”

A trembling laugh escaped Lee, soft and unsteady. He had everything to fear, yet Gaara's gaze implored him to forget those fears. He managed to speak, his tongue heavy with the lie, “I do not know.”

“Then do not know fear. It will make this harder for us, especially if the Daimyo's soldiers arrive before we've left.”

“If they do—”

“If they do, we will be as unknown to them as any other traveler. And if not, I trust your speed to carry us to safety.”

“We would miss our ship.”

“If it comes to that, so be it. We can find other ways of traveling to Tea Country.”

Lee allowed himself to believe all would be well because he couldn't believe anything else when looking into the depths of Gaara's eyes, but there was no escaping his gnawing guilt or the knowledge that his heart had led them to ruin.

39. Do you spend a lot of time analyzing and studying the work of authors you admire? I wouldn't say a lot of time per say, certainly not as much as I should, but I definitely do like to analyze other works and learn new skills, etc.

42. How many drafts do you usually write before you feel satisfied? I don't really write “drafts” per say. Since I'm just writing fanfiction, I'm usually just writing and then heavily editing. Sometimes editing does mean taking out and entirely rewriting entire scenes. And sometimes in writing fics, I do jump ahead—though very rarely—and write a rough draft of a future scene so I don't lose the idea/beats/etc, and then that will be re-written fully when I do get to it. But on average, I'm just doing a lot of editing.

45. First or third person? Third, definitely. I'll never be able to write first person cause it just doesn't really suit me and, overall, I think that it's a very hard point of view to write from. For me, it takes a special

48. Do you prefer to write skimpy drafts and flesh them out later, or write too much and cut it back? So before I write something, depending on what it is I will write an outline that can vary from a few sentences to like pages.

51. Are you a secretive writer or do you talk with your friends about your books? A bit of both really. I love talking about the things I'm working on, but I also love to keep things a surprise so I can see what people's genuine reactions are to like plot twists or whatever. Of course, my problem is that I have to like—talk about my projects to stay motivated. It's a hard balance. I usually end up talking with my roommate since they also write fanfic for Naruto but not GaaLee. We can bounce ideas off each other, when we're stuck, etc.

54. Favorite first line/opening you’ve written? Ugh this is another hard one... I think im gonna go with the opening from IEYH right now as one of my fave becuase I think I did a decent job of setting the tone of my very first horror project: Too often, ghost stories begin with dark nights or horrible, gruesome death. Real ghosts don't follow the patterns of a novel; there are no beginnings, middles, and ends; no rising action and falling action; no denouement. Ghosts do not achieve resolution; ghost do not experience the climax of their own tale. There are no happy—or even sad—endings. There are no endings at all.

Ghost stories go on and on and on, rambling endlessly towards nothing and no where, only stopping for the finite amount of words one can speak or write in one's lifetime.

That is the true horror of death: ceaseless, unending nothingness.

4 notes · View notes

kentonwrites · 3 years ago

Text

Hiemal and “Anamnesis” Update

Welcome back to another update!

“Anamnesis”

I finished writing and developmentally-editing this story, and it actually ended up being over 7k words. I sent it to @breefrankelwriting for critiquing and we agreed that after another few line-edits and a couple other fixes it’ll be in a good place! I have no idea what to do with it after that though!

The writing process went surprisingly smoothly, even when editing. I think since it was such a short piece it was easy to build motivation to work on, since my creativity burns out after a good 20 seconds. This was the first piece that I’d actually finished for a long time, besides random poems that I’ve been submitting to magazines and getting rejections for the past couple months!

Hiemal

This is my newest project. I know, I know, I should just SHUT UP and actually work on my other projects for once in my life and obviously this shiny new idea is just a distraction and as soon as it starts to get difficult I’ll switch to something else BUT! Buckle up because this project has history.

Hiemal all started, actually, when I was in TENTH GRADE. During English class I’d literally just write stories on my iPad and it was great. One of the stories was about a woman who flew to northern Russia and lived off the boreal land for a few years before being mauled by a bear at the very end. It was the first piece of mine where I really started to put imagery at the forefront of my stylistic devices. I actually finished it! The story was titled “Fish Ribs.”

Then, over the next few months I wanted desperately to turn it into a novel. I made up a few characters, played with setting and worldbuilding, and had numerous stops-and-starts. It just wasn’t happening.

Finally in 2018 I had a full outline and began to work on it. I called in Pine Marrow. I got to around 40k words (which was about 3/4 through the book, it was severely underwritten) before shelving it. I don’t know why, but reading it back now it wasn’t...terrible, but it wasn’t good.

A year later I was having a crisis because my writing productivity was at an all-time low and I was disenchanted with the craft altogether. So I spontaneously bought a screenwriting software and started translating it into a screenplay even through I had no prior experience! It actually went quite well, and I LOVED working on it, but as soon as I got 3/4 through (when things actually start getting really exciting no less?) I quit AGAIN.

So, what makes me think I can actually pull it off this time?

1) I’ve restructured the story to occur in much smaller, bite-sized, vignette-esque chapters. This helps monumentally with maintaining motivation and really dedicating time to each individual piece of the story, instead of getting overwrought with like an 8k word mess of a chapter.

2) I’m giving myself more creative freedom to experiment with the characters, voice, and form.

3) I have a general outline on where things are heading, but I wanted to sort of discovery write this draft. I’ve been writing scenes and concepts that were never originally in the plan, and they’re turning out to be some of my favorites! Giving the writing a sense of mystery to me is helping combat the fatigue of translating prose from outline bullet-points.

What is it about?

Hiemal takes place from 1996-2002, and follows a girl named Victoria and her friends as they try to escape the remote outpost/cult they were raised in since birth. The only problem is, they’re located in the boreal regions of northern Canada with thousands of miles of subzero forests separating them from other civilization.

TITLE: The word “Hiemal” means “relating to the cold or winter.” It’s also the name of the village/cult that Torr lives in.

CWs: Theocracy and authoritarian rule, violence, domestic abuse, gore, suicidal thoughts

CHARACTERS:

1) To save time, I’m only going to talk about Torr, the protagonist. She’s 17-18 for the majority of the story. The story is narrated retrospectively from her POV. On the outside she’s reticent and distant, but her narrative is full of chaotic, unhinged thoughts. At the beginning of the book, when she’s 12, she has an experience that changes how Hiemal is governed, and has a lot of misplaced guilt over it. A lot of her arc is about discovering her religious identity.

PROCESS: I’ve written about 8k words so far, and it’s going decently smoothly although I am encountering some problems along the way. Namely Torr’s voice is not as voice-y as I would like, and the characters aren’t “springing to life” the way they did in previous drafts, partially because Torr is less demented and more, I don’t know, soft-spoken now. I feel like the writing style and intrigue has increased, but balancing the worldbuilding with the character relationships is proving to be extremely difficult at this stage. I’m hoping once I get everything introduced it’ll go a lot better.

Here are some quotes!

From the very first paragraph:

The chapel was a relic when I turned seventeen. Its black planks groaned and squelched in the nightwind, its steeple javelined the moon. Frosted shingles sled down the roof, the emerald windows snow-bleached and somber and the doors clattering against the sawhorses. Eugene had pushed at every Founders Meeting for it to be salvaged as lumber, but it was more than enough for it to be empty. I made it empty.

Here’s one of the last lines I wrote:

I wanted to rip the duvet off my legs and sprint through the gate, tear through the night, wind gouging at my eyes, and visit someplace hot, get blood in my hands and brain. I wanted to snatch Van by her flimsy wrist bones and Nik by his and fade down a foyer of pine, show Van the world beyond words and convince Nik he didn’t want to settle here. But we’d just run, and run, and our muscles would scream--we’d collapse to a stop, and the wind would scrape in and out of our lungs, no progress made, a mote in the waste.

That’s all! I’ll do another update when I get to around 20k words.

1 note · View note

gabriel-gabdiel · 4 years ago

Text

【Draft】Rurouni Yahiko Chapter 51: A Casket of Secrets

Kinta Minakata has uncovered a casket of secrets from his family, much to his chagrin.

Rurouni Yahiko Chapter 51: A Casket of Secrets

Back in Shimabara, six years ago...

Kinta Minakata (the Shogo Amakusa doppelganger) had finished another sparring session with Kaede Morinaga (the Kenshin Himura doppelganger) with the fight ending with the Mimawarigumi Battousai narrowly winning.

This was so because "Shiro Amakusa the Second" was busy with morning mass and the healing of the sick Kakure Kirishitans (Hidden Christians) with western medicine, so he didn't have time to spar with the warrior woman.

"STOP RUNNING AWAY AND FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN!" demanded the tempestuous Kaede. "COWARD!"

"....But you're a girl," said Kinta, which resulted in him backpedaling from a screaming Morinaga's Scorpion Nest (multiple sword swipes from two swords).

Ah, so he was right. This time around, Kaede was a girl. Because sometimes, she instead claimed she was a boy. Like a woman possessed by different spirits.

Morinaga was a curious lady. Sometimes she fought like a ferocious tigress. Other times, she was as frustrating to battle as a snapping turtle hiding inside a thick shell.

Once in a "blue moon", when she was consumed with bloodlust and bad memories, she became a mix of both.

He even heard that when she tied her hair like a topknot, she even looked like the Legendary Hitokiri Battousai himself, but he personally had no idea. He never met his Battousai namesake.

Blocking every strike and countering sharply. She was a yin and yang of patient defense and inimitable offense.

She didn't only fight with a different style every time but also with a different attitude. It was like fighting three different people altogether.

"DAMMIT!" she screamed and threw her shinai (bamboo blade) at Kinta, who parried it almost automatically with his own weapon. "I want a rematch! Round two! Next time, I'll break every bone in your body, you sullen Shogo-sama wannabe!"

"Go ahead," Minakata dared with a half-smile (or half-frown). "A broken bone becomes stronger once healed."

Morinaga harrumphed. "Admitting defeat already, Kagemusha?"

"...I believe in kintsukuroi (gold repair)," he stated matter-of-factly. "Whatever that's broken can be fixed. Made even better than before."

"How naive. Spoken like a privileged, spoiled samurai." Kaede laughed then grimaced. "There are some broken things that can never be fixed, no matter how hard you try."

Rurouni Yahiko

A Rurouni Kenshin Continuation Fan Fiction Story by Chester Castañeda

Not-so-fabulous secrets are about to be revealed. A skeleton or two might even pop out.

Disclaimer: All characters used in this fanfic (save some others) are the rightful property of Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Viz, Sony Studios, Fuji TV, Studio Gallup, Studio Deen, and ADV. This disclaimer also covers all the other copyrighted material that are far too many to mention here. Don't sue me please, I'm very poor.

Chapter 51: A Casket of Secrets

Somewhere in Yokohama, back at the Minakata safe house, Kinta Minakata reminisced about his time with Shogo and the Hidden Christians.

Kinta also wondered how a fight between Kaede and Soujiro would go.

He'd fought both, after all. Which one was better?

From his experience, unless something changed between the six years he last fought Morinaga, then Seta would probably win.

Especially the Soujiro whose feelings and bad intentions Minakata couldn't read at all: His "Heaven Sword" self.

So what made the Mimawarigumi Battousai think about Shogo's apprentice now of all times? Nostalgia, perhaps.

Or something to distract him from the depressing news he got about his dear ol' grandfather. Of happier times with Shogo, Sayo, Kaede, and the Hidden Christians that he called family once upon a time.

Before Kinta betrayed them to the Meiji Government.

Like grandfather like grandchild, apparently.

Although the fight with Tetsuo Akahori's latest pawn, Soujiro Seta, was one that Kinta Minakata almost lost, he was still able to retrieve documents of the utmost importance.

So in the end, he won. Kind of.

They were samples of the decoded papers that should help the Sanada Ninja Clan in unraveling the mysteries behind the Seiryu Clan's volume of the Black Book.

"...."

The decoders of the clan (since secret messages were among the specialties of these shadow warriors) came up first with the messages and correspondences from the bakufu to the Minakatas and back along with plans of wiping off the rebellious Ishin Shishi rebels.

The families involved in the creation of the Black Book, the Four Clans, were government spies that were tasked to preserve Japanese culture but ended up becoming embroiled in Bakumatsu politics themselves.

They covered all bases from both sides of the conflict... the Shogunate and the Patriots... while at the same time having no dog in the fight. They had loyalty to neither faction or to themselves but pretended that they did.

The Seiryu Clan represented the Bakufu or the Shogunate.

The Byakko Clan represented the Japanese Imperial Army and the Shinsengumi.

The Suzaku Clan represented the Ishin Shishi Patriots.

And the Genbu Clan represented the Rebel Samurai and the Hitokiri or Manslayers of the Ishin Shishi.

Whoever they represented, they had an extensive catalog of their info and members. The Four Clans were supposed to be objective observers outside the conflict looking in, gathering information out of all sides and exchanging them among each other for the sake of gaining favor of the government when the war was over, regardless of which side wins.

As typical of such setups, the Four Clans started to backstab each other, throwing objectivity under the horse carriage and vying for supremacy by taking a gamble and backing what they viewed were the ultimate victors of the war.

Because of this, some clans were wiped out completely. The Suzaku Clan, for example, was discovered by the Ishin Shishi as traitors and killed by their best hitokiri.

However, the Sanada Ninjas and the Mimawarigumi Battousai soon realized that relaying government secrets weren't the only things that the Black Book's secret codes were used for.

Back in the hideout of the kidnappers in the middle of the Hiroshima woods...

The rider from before arrived in time to attack Yahiko Myojin and Kaede Morinaga with his bullwhip, saying, "...I see you came too late ta save 'er, ya bitch! Da boss already got 'er, didn't he? Serves ya right!"

Yahiko Myojin, still miffed from before, grabbed hold of the whip before it cracked, let it loop around his wrist, then pulled the hooligan towards him in order to hogtie him with his own weapon.

"I got to your cowardly boss before he could touch her. We got here just in time," Myojin countered.

The bullwhip rider still wouldn't shut up, though. "Dun matter. I've seen the same look in her eyes from many a horse with a broken spirit! There's no fight in her left! She's dead inside! Soiled fer life! HAHAHAmmph!"

Yahiko had to tie a gag on the criminal just to keep him quiet.

Meanwhile, the one girl Kaede Morinaga wanted to save the most on that day... Mariko... broke down right before her eyes.

Her spirit was shattered into pieces like Kaede's. Realizing what had almost happened to her.

The pale Mariko looked back at the redhead with cloudy eyes, her quivering lips opening as though to say something.

Morinaga grabbed hold of the girl by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes to help her treat the wounds of her past.

Saying things that another special someone in her life had said to her before. Shogo Amakusa's words.

"He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her," she quoted Shogo, who in turn quoted Jesus Christ from the Christian Bible's New Testament.

"Minoe-san..." Mariko trailed off, unaware of Kaede's multiple personalities, thus calling her by the name she knew her first.

"I'm not saying that because you've done anything wrong, Mariko. You're obviously not at fault here. These... criminals have no right to judge you. Listen to me. You are not soiled. You are not somehow 'less' of a person than any of us. Any of them, especially. They're scum. Don't let anyone ever say otherwise, y'hear?"

"...."

The clouds in Mariko's eyes lifted before, with a quibbling mouth and sobs that wracked her body, she hugged Morinaga tightly. She said, "...I was so scared!"

As for Yahiko, he grabbed hold of Takae's straw kabuto and placed it over his head to the point of covering his eyes, as though tipping it at the girls. He then walked away to let them have their moment.

"...Thank you for saving me. Good thing you got here on time," Mariko said after her sobs had finally subsided.

Kaede scratched her head. "N-No. The one who rescued you was my good friend, Yahiko."

Mariko smiled wanly. "Well, he saved me too. You both did."

"Oh." Morinaga looked away and smiled herself, nodding once and borrowing her other self's catchphrase. "Mochiron (But of course)."

As for Yahiko, he realized that he still had much to learn. He still needed more training if Kaede of all people had to stop him from murdering that bandit.

He merely wanted to be as strong as Soujiro and Kaede but not to the point of becoming as crazy as them.

Or was sanity the price of strength? To fight monsters, you had to become one?

No, you didn't have to. Kenshin proved that it wasn't the case.

A couple of hours later, the police arrived on the scene along with Chizuru Raikouji (who helped deliver the other kidnapped girls back to their homes in Hiroshima) in order to arrest the hooligans.

Kinta Minakata had heard all sorts of stories about his late grandfather from his mother's side: The Late Great Toshiro Minakata. The former head of the Minakata Clan and Seiryu Clan. A legendary samurai in his own right.

He was a swashbuckling, seafaring samurai... a Japanese buccaneer of the seas... who safeguarded trade and battled against Chinese smugglers and European invaders of the South China Sea during the period when Japan isolated itself from the rest of the world (also known as Sakoku), thus trade was restricted only in certain ports in the country.

Toshiro was among the samurais responsible for controlling Dejima and Nagasaki trade on behalf of the Bakufu while at the same time being part of the secret alliance of the Four Clans as the head of the Seiryu Clan.

It was under his watch that the Portuguese were expelled from the country while at the same time, the Shogunate engaged with discussions with Korean and Dutch representatives so that the overall volume of trade didn't suffer.

Kinta took a look at his inherited sword, the Akatsuki. Unlike ordinary samurai blades using "pig metal" or Japanese steel with low carbon content, it instead used steel melted straight from the swords of the fallen Portuguese, Spanish, and Dutch smugglers. High-carbon European steel.

The katana, despite its popularity as a collector item among westerners or its beauty and style, was actually a comparatively fragile sword designed to be manufactured on a budget.

Japan didn't have very good access to good quality metals like European countries did. The majority of katanas were made out of low-class steel to save resources.

Furthermore, only the front part was made of good metal and even that was merely coated with a small, thin sheet of it (and sprinkled with carbon powder as they were forged). The back end or spine of the average Japanese sword was incredibly frail.

It also wasn't the defining weapon of the samurai. That would be the spear or the naginata that the Sakaguchi's adopted daughter "Satsuki" used. At certain time periods, the bow was instead the military's primary armament.

Additionally, according to some of the more disdainful European merchants and blacksmiths that his grandfather traded steel with, nothing about the "overrated" katana was completely unique to Japan.

Similarly shaped curves in blades existed in European and Indian sword creation in one form or another. The process of folding steel multiple times was also used by Vikings hundreds of years earlier.

The standards of the world was eye opening to any Japanese in Sakoku Era Japan who believed that Japan was number one at everything, especially in light of the superior military technology that the world's superpowers of the 18th Century possessed.

All the same, this knowledge Toshiro gained resulted in him getting a Japanese sword forged with European steel. The best of both worlds in design and toughness.

The former Minakata head's military exploits and iron fist when it came to upholding the Sakoku Edict of the Bakufu was legendary. Indeed, Kinta's proud Minakata and Akahori lineages were what allowed him into the Mimawarigumi Army in the first place.

It was also during this time that Toshiro made use of naval codes to better facilitate the exchange of secrets between the Four Clans before they ultimately split up and chose sides during the Bakumatsu Era.

On top of all that, Kinta's grandpa used his influence as the head of the Minakata Clan to form what was known in modern times as their zaibatsu (Financial Group)... the Minakata Zaibatsu... with its riches taken from the importation and development of new drugs using western medicine, leading to the development of their Minakata Pharmaceuticals subsidiary.

His grandfather was ahead of the curve and hedged his bets accordingly. He knew that the writing was on the wall when it came to samurai privileges due to changing times. In the Meiji Era, if you wanted to remain in power, then you should get it through money instead of blood and prestige.

However, there were also rumors of Toshiro taking advantage of his high government position back in the Sakoku Era to run his own opium cartel on the down low.

This was just a baseless accusation and pure speculation, of course. Rumors and conjectures that the envious enemies of the Minakatas would use to drag their good name to the mud.

These same critics went on a feeding frenzy like sharks against their family when Kinta's mother had an affair with a foreign dignitary, leading to the murder of the same gaijin in the hands of Kinta's livid father, who then committed seppukku (ritual suicide) afterwards to protect his honor.

The slander that resulted from the incident made Kinta quite skeptical in regards to the assumptions people made about his father selling out his dignity and samurai blood for illegal drug money.

These accusations were never proven, at least. They were just conspiracy theories from idle minds at best.

At least, that was what Kinta hoped they were.

Right?

However, the recently discovered naval codes he got from the errand boy of his uncle from his father's side... Tetsuo Akahori... ultimately revealed the truth behind the elusive Seiryu Chapter of the Black Book. And his family.

An inconvenient truth.

By the time everything was sorted out at the police station and everybody from their group had a good night's sleep, the Sanbaka (Three Stooges) soon rejoined May Brooks/Satsuki Sakaguchi and her best friend, Chizuru Raikouji at a cafe near the Hiroshima train station.

The Great Gan, Yahiko Myojin, and Munenori Minoe arrived in time to bid their wistful goodbyes to the departing young teacher.

Reading the mood, Yahiko didn't mention anything about yesterday's storming at the camp of bandit kidnappers to Minoe. The Tokyo Samurai Descendant hoped that the eye-patched spy could figure out on his own the exploits of his female self, Kaede.

The three arrived just in time to overhear the conversation between the two best friends'... love life, of all things.

"...Oh my! You're such a damp squib, Chizuru-san! Especially with how you'd dare compare Kinta-sama to your crush, the vagabond. They are not alike at all!" said Satsuki.

They were apparently in the middle of some sort of conversation about Kenshin Kamiya (nee Himura) and Kinta Minakata (the man whom May had a crush on).

After Chizuru and May exchanged pleasantries, bows, and hellos with each other and the Sanbaka, the buxom blonde teacher then asked, "You're not making this vagabond guy up, are you? He's no make-believe boyfriend of yours, right?"

As Minoe mouthed, 'Damp squib? What's that?' the Raikouji heiress insisted, "HE EXISTS! But he's not my boyfriend, damn you! Anyway, Yahiko knows him! Tell her, Yahiko! Tell her about Homura Kenshi!"

'...Who the hell is that?' thought Myojin. 'Has she been infected by Gan's nicknaming sickness too? Get it together, Chizuru!'

Unwilling to bring up Kenshin Himura in Minoe's presence (lest his other personality, Kaede, was summoned by the name she hated the most), Yahiko decided to change the subject.

Ignoring Chizuru, the samurai boy told May, "I didn't know you practiced martial arts! You were amazing back at that kidnapper's hideout!"

He then remembered that, oh yeah, even Satsuki's stepsister Kyoko Sakaguchi from back in Shinshu practiced swordsmanship. Duh.

"HEY!" The Kaoru look-alike then stomped on Yahiko's foot with her booted foot, which he also didn't react to despite the pain. "I was talking to you, you rude boy!"

"...Do you pratice battoujutsu too?" Yahiko inquired further, recalling how close Kyoko was to fighting Soujiro and wondering how she would've fared. "Sorry, I meant iaijutsu," he corrected himself, remembering that battoujutsu was the old term for the Japanese sword-drawing style.

"Oh, good heavens no! I only use the naginata. I've never drawn a sword out of a sheathe in my entire life!" May tilted her head to the side. "Wait a tick, how did you know Musou Madden Ryu is an iaijutsu swordsmanship school, Joshua-kun?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Raikouji answered for Myojin. "I met Yahiko back when I was staying with the Sakaguchis in Shinshu. He knows Kyoko-chan! He even saw her wield her grandfather's sword that one time!"

"Oh, you've met my baby sister?" asked the adopted gaijin daughter of the Sakaguchis. "I haven't seen her in a while! Isn't she the cutest?"

Yahiko scratched the back of his head and admitted, "Y-Yeah, I guess she's kinda cute," while eyeing a smirking Chizuru from behind May. "...Don't start with me, Tanuki-chan (Miss Raccoon Dog)."

"I didn't say anything!" Chizuru feigned ignorance. "Also, that ain't my name, Yoshi-boy! Who are you calling a raccoon dog?"

All the same, Satsuki winked at Yahiko and invited, "If you want, spar with me sometime."

The grinning Chizuru then teased the adopted Sakaguchi child, asking, "What would Mister Frowny-Faced Samurai Guy say if he saw you flirting with another guy, Satsuki-chan?"

The Enlightened Gan then hit his palm in his fist, taking note to remember the "Frowny-Faced Samurai Guy" nickname that "Kaori-neechan" came up with. Because he had his priorities straight.

With squinted eyes and a cherry pink blush, Satsuki grabbed Chizuru by the shoulders and shook her around.

"WAH! That's a load of cobblers and codswallop, Chizuru-san! And you know it! I'm not flirting with anyone! You Japanese are so shy that simply being friendly with someone seems like flirting to you people!"

Chizuru's sneering smile widened even while being shaken. Meanwhile, Yahiko looked away and Gan outright stared at the... jiggling girls. One of them jiggling more than the other.

"Oho, I thought you were Japanese too, Satsuki-chan," teased the Kaoru look-alike further, staring at Satsuki's not-so-Japanese chest. "Don't you mean 'us' Japanese instead of 'you' Japanese?"

"You're a meanie, y'know that?" said May with a pout and crossed arms. "I don't even think Kinta-sama and I ever shared a chin wag outside of 'Hi, how do you do!'"

"Well, Honey, it's because he's not the 'chin wag' kind of guy," Chizuru answered, primly straightening up her ruffled kimono and ribbon. "Don't take it personally."

In the background, Minoe himself reminisced about the silent Minakata, nodding in agreement with Chizuru.

Yes, the man certainly didn't wag his chin much indeed.

From there, the Morinaga within him awakened, seething in memory of how frustrating it was to spar with the high-ranking samurai turned Shogo Amakusa body double.

The Judas Iscariot of the Hidden Christians.

Satsuki's happy expression then changed altogether as she concluded with a lower lip quibble, "So I reckon this really is farewell, huh? Cheerio, I guess?"

Chizuru kicked the snow underneath her booted feet. "Aw. And we just got back together again after so long, Satsuki-chan." The rich girl sighed.

"Huh? But aren't you coming with me, Chizuru-san?" asked Miss Brooks.

"Eh? I was?" asked Miss Raikouji in turn. "B-But...!"

"Well, of course you are! I don't see why not! You're our family friend and this is a Sakaguchi Family Reunion!" May then put her hands on her waist. "You'll do great and Bob's your uncle!"

"Who the heck's Bob?" asked Chizuru, who bit her lip, her eyes wide and darting between Yahiko and Satsuki.

Myojin sighed, shoulders slumped, then shrugged and bowed at the Raikouji heiress. "I thought I'd still see your ugly face all the way to Kyoto, but if duty calls and family friends beckon, then I guess we'll just have to say our goodbyes here and now."

"N-Now hold on a minute...!" Chizuru stuttered some more.

"Aw, come on, Yoshi-boy! You still have me!" reassured the Gregarious Gan, who leaned on top of Yahiko's spiky hair like he were a countertop and picked his nose with his sausage-sized index finger.

"...Could you take Gan with you too? He's house trained, I swear," retorted the Tokyo Samurai Descendant while pointing at the thug with his thumb.

"I-I..." stuttered Chizuru, not knowing which path to choose. Should she go with Yahiko, who knew the vagabond, or her best friend, who was about to reunite with her childhood crush?

Yahiko, Gan, and Minoe looked at each other before bursting out laughing at Chizuru.

"Wait, what's going on?" asked Chizuru. "What am I missing here? Why are you laughing at me, you Three Stooges?!"

Myojin slung his arm over Raikouji's shoulders and said, "I was just kidding. We're all going. I've changed my mind. You don't have to go with me to Kyoto or Osaka because we're coming with you and Chizuru to Yokohama."

"W-What? Hey leggo, you perv," the heiress said before shrugging off the younger boy's arm over her shoulders. "But what about your Mushi-whatever? You were supposed to go on a pilgrimage for training, right?"

"Musha Shugyo (Warrior's Pilgrimage)," Yahiko corrected without a second thought before reassuring, "Don't worry about me. This is just a li'l detour before I head on out to Kyoto. Also, I want to spar with the students of Musou Madden Ryu for good measure. I want to see Kyoko and Satsuki in action, pitting their iaijutsu with my kendo."

'...Besides, the way I am right now, with both Minoe and Soujiro able to make short work of me at my current skill level, I don't think I'm quite prepared to face Kenshin's master of all people,' he told himself, remembering how much more mature Kaede was about the bandit situation than he was.

"ALL RIGHT! I mean, you know. Whatever. That's cool," came the petered-out exclamation of Chizuru, who brushed her silken "rich girl" hair back and squirmed in her boots after her best friend and the Three Stooges saw her sudden fist pump into the air.

"Oh my! That's indeed wonderful news! You're all coming with me?" asked Miss Brooks. "You've made so many new friends, Chizuru!" she added before whispering to her best friend, "Chizuru-san, why are they coming with us again? They're not staying over at the Minakatas' like freeloaders, are they? Kinta-sama's mother isn't going to like that!"

Raikouji herself shrugged. "But that's what they are. Freeloaders. Interlopers. People who don't know how and when to mind their own business. But seriously though, they'll be staying in their own tents and inns. I guarantee they won't be a bother."

Satsuki saw the glow in Chizuru's face and cheeks then relented, "Since you're all chuffed up about it, why not? The more the merrier, I say!"

To Yahiko, Chizuru said, "I guess it can't be helped. We'll still be seeing each other again real soon. You stupid dumbasses."

"Right back at you, Raccoon Face," mumbled Myojin to Raikouji.

The Son of Tokyo Samurai then offered his hand to Satsuki for a handshake. "This is how westerners greet each other, correcct? I look forward to challenging your Musou Madden School for a spar or two. Tell 'em Myojin Yahiko from Tokyo's Kamiya Kasshin School sends his regards."

May grabbed hold of Yahiko's hand but then curtsied with her dress and bowed in traditional Japanese fashion. "I'm kind of looking forward to it myself, Joshua-kun. I know my onions when it comes to wielding long poles."

Gan guffawed in the background at that suggestive comment, which prompted Myojin to kick his shin.

"OW! It's settled then! Yoshi-boy's Musashi Gundoh continues in Yokohama, training with Miss Melon, Soba Lady's daughter, and the Stone-Faced Samurai!" declared the Boisterous Gan with a wave of his giant metal bat.

"...Soba Lady's Daughter?" Satsuki asked Chizuru.

"He means Kyoko-chan. Soba Lady is his name for Nonoko-obaasan. Because, you know, he really likes soba," explained Chizuru. "The big oaf met the Sakaguchis back in Shinshu too, along with Yahiko and Minoe."

"Ah. How... quaint. What riveting wit he has."

"Hey, at least he doesn't call her Kaori. Or Miss Melons."

"That's Miss Melon, Kaori-neechan!" corrected the Clueless Gan, which earned him swift shin kicks on each leg care of both Kaori and Miss Melon.

"YEEEOOWCH!"

"BAKA!"

After recovering from the pain, the Gabby Gan added, "Of course, we'll keep tagging along with Yoshi-boy for shits and giggles. The Sanbaka rides again. Right, Patches?"

"Mochiron!" responded Munenori.

Yahiko spared Minoe a glance, which made the wigged and eye-patched "man" smile and give him a thumb's up (because a wink was out of the question).

How could he surpass Kenshin when he couldn't defeat his two Kagemusha, the Ten Ken and the Battousai of Speed?

Also, he was more than a little curious about this Shogo doppelganger who also took on Kenshin's name, the Mimawarigumi Battousai.

Yet another Fake Battousai for him to meet. 'The plot thickens.'

Back at the kidnappers' hideout, after the local police force finally arrived along with Chizuru...

As the coppers rounded up the bandit kidnappers in shackles and handcuffs, Morinaga told Myojin, "I've made my decision. I'm going to Yokohama. I need to face off with the man who betrayed Amakusa Shogo-sama. His Kagemusha (Shadow Warrior)."

"K-Kagemusha...?" trailed of Yahiko. "What do you...?"

"It's Minakata Kinta. He served as a body double for Amakusa-sama six years ago. The Mimawarigumi Battousai. The one who betrayed the Hidden Christians to the devil himself, Akahori Tetsuo."

She turned her back on him and walked away. "Someday, when we meet again, maybe you can tell me all about Himura Kenshin. The Hitokiri Battousai."

"W-Wait, M-Morinaga...!"

He grabbed hold of Kaede and turned her around, only to end up facing the winking, gentler face of Munenori Minoe.

"Oh. I mean, Minoe. Hi."

Dammit, the Battousai of Speed ran away from him again.

Even without the wig and the eye patch, Myojin could sense the change in Kaede's demeanor after traveling with the weirdo for so long.

"AH! Yahiko-chi! What is it...?"

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Yahiko told Minoe, "I'm coming with you and May Brooks to Yokohama. We all are."

"Ah. Okay. Mochiron, Yahiko-chi!" said Munenori without thinking before blinking and realizing what the Tokyoite just told him. "Um, come again? We're going where now?"

Chasing Minoe... Kaede... and the rest of the Battousai Group was the right decision. Maybe by taking them down, Myojin would find the strength to surpass the real Battousai and bear the full weight of his heavy sakabatou.

It was silly, but his actions were spurred from seeing another chance at getting extra training to make himself stronger.

He just wanted to be stronger. He had no complex motivations of conquering Japan or avenging the death of a loved one.

He simply wished to be worthy of carrying the Battousai's... no Kenshin's... sword.

His most important inheritance.

What an idiot he was, he realized. No wonder he and Sanosuke Sagara got along so famously.

Toshiro Minakata was crazy. Crazy as a fox.

That was why he went from nobleman to merchant in order to keep his wealth and privilege regardless of which side won the Bakumatsu. This was also why he had his daughter, Kinta's mother, marry into the similarly wealthy and influential Akahoris.

He was a samurai who was ahead of the curve in regards to changing times, even though not all of his schemes went according to plan.

Like his daughter's affair with a gaijin. Or his own untimely death.

A prolific gambler in the prime of his life (like his fat lawyer son Kaneda), he knew how to hedge his bets and take calculated risks every time. Even if he lost, he'd somehow find a way to win.

According to his critics and enemies, Toshiro Minakata (allegedly) got his extra funding for his pharmaceutical business from illicit drug running. They said he was in fact a corrupt government official to the core.

The legit business that imported and made western medicine for distribution into Japanese households was the perfect front and money laundering scheme for all his illegitimate smuggling, complete with labs he could use to make both legal and illegal drugs.

The Elder Minakata got filthy rich from being a drug kingpin that no policeman could pin down until his legitimate pharmaceutical business (that he initially used as a front while using its very labs for opium processing) eventually became financially solvent itself.

It was the same bait and switch scheme done by the wealthiest families of the United States of America. Drug barons who made so much money, it lasted their family for generations to come.

However, there was no proof of such wrongdoing except rumors.

As far as the Bakufu and later the Meiji Government was concerned, Toshiro Minakata was an honest, honorable samurai turned head of a major conglomerate.

However, the naval codes unlocked info that suggested otherwise.

The naval codes used to hide info that the Seiryu Clan gathered from and on behalf of the Shogunate revealed more than just top secret documents from the past government hidden within piles of redundant paperwork.

The more messages that the family ninja Kaita delivered to him (which Kaita's sister Misanagi compiled and summarized for Kinta's convenience), the more the uncomfortable truths about Toshiro Minakata and the Minakata Family was exposed.

Toshiro's critics and their speculations didn't even scratch the surface of how much of a wily fox the old man was. He pulled the wool over everyone's eyes.

According to the puzzle pieces of hidden correspondences dating back decades and records hidden in code within what appeared to be mundane receipts and past contracts, Toshiro had been quite the busy man.

Working on both Dutch and China trade in Nagasaki as a trade regulator and enforcer that was answerable only to the Shogunate, Toshiro was the watchman whom no one else watched over. Betrayed by the very guardian who was supposed to protect them.

He realized that the writing was on the wall in regards to Japan and samurai after seeing the growing sentiment of dissatisfaction over the Bakufu by many of its soldiers and warriors.

The entirety of Japan had lost face thanks to the disaster that was the arrival of the Black Ships of Commodore Matthew C. Perry back in 1853.

The Shogunate was seen as weak and it soon became desperate to save face and crush the growing Ishin Shishi mutiny against it. The chain of events led not only to Toshiro becoming a covert drug runner but also the formation of the Four Clans spy group under the behest of the Shogun himself.

A government intelligence group tasked to protect the Japanese way of life in light of changing times.

Conveniently, Toshiro also took advantage of the resulting reopening of trade to the West after the Black Ships Incident in his plan to safeguard his personal wealth, assets, and influence in the future along with the Four Clans.

Taking inspiration to how the Sassoon, Rothschild, Lincoln, and Forbes families built their own riches in the 1830s to 1840s (the deciphered documents outright referenced them), Toshiro covertly engaged in opium trafficking at night (just like Robert Bennet Forbes) while overseeing the changing trading policies of Post-Sakoku Japan during the day.

He then married into a merchant family who had a pharmaceutical business in order to further help process the opium he imported from Hong Kong then resold back to China using his secret yakuza connections.

Yes. Rather than damn the Japanese, Toshiro had enough national pride to instead damn the already damned by also indulging in opium trade on their behalf along with the rich elite like the Delanos and the Forbes.

He even personally oversaw the safe delivery of his goods under the noses of policemen and his own samurai underlings even as he got rid of his black market competition of Wokou Pirates and the Three Harmonies Society.

He laundered his ill-gotten wealth and opium fortune to fund his actual legitimate businesses like real estate and his existing pharmaceutical company in order to get away with being a criminal mastermind that destroyed the lives of countless addicts for a couple of decades.

By the time the smoke cleared and the Opium Wars had passed, he was already a multimillionaire with a business empire that could rival the Mitsubishis.

All this time. All that wealth. All that privilege. They were all from the money his grandfather made off of the degradation and suffering of the Chinese people.

A cold sweat ran through Kinta's spine as more and more information surfaced from the Seiryu Clan's declassified copy of the Black Book. Names of past and current ministers kept popping up.

Men complicit with his grandfather's crimes... and benefited from them, so they allowed him to remain a powerful man in politics who was effectively above the law.

Such info from the Black Book was probably present in Tetsuo Akahori's own volume. The volume of the Genbu Clan. And two other volumes covering the secrets and sins of the various warring factions and other information of national importance all compiled in one voluminous book.

Every name, crime, and sin was listed along with the crimes and sins of the (grand)father. The measures they took and the bets they made during such a chaotic, uncertain time.

It was as much a history book as it was a "black book" that contained the list of secret contacts and people liable for punishment. Or blackmail.

Like with the rich families of the U.S. and Britain, Japan's elites and multiple political dynasties had an awful lot of drug money in their hands, making the Meiji Government more of an oligarchy than anything else.

This sobering reminder showed the unsurprising truth that if one dug deep enough under the family trees of the one percent, skeletons would be unearthed down below.

Inside a train going in a five hour trip straight to Yokohama in the Kanagawa Prefecture...

"Throughout my travels as a food connoisseur..." began Gan.

"...You mean food bandit," drawled Yahiko.

The five companions of Yahiko Myojin, the Great Gan, Munenori Minoe, Chizuru Raikouji, and Satsuki "May Brooks" Sakaguchi had collectively bought tickets straight to Yokohama from Hiroshima.

They were currently seated on couches facing each other, with Chizuru and May sitting on one couch then Yahiko and Gan sitting on another couch. Just behind his fellow men was Minoe.

Yahiko originally wanted to travel there by foot and rough it out on the woods (mosquitoes be damned) like he did when he traveled from the Kamiya Dojo to Shinshu in Nagano.

Then he went straight to Shura's crew at the docks of Naoetsu. Then he pushed further from Hakata Bay to Fukuoka, where he fought ronin who were terrorizing the town. Then to Hiroshima where he met the English teacher known as May "Satsuki Sakaguchi" Brooks, who helped the Sanbaka bring down a den of creepy kidnappers.

He'd been all over the map, so to speak. His Musha Shugyo had been... fruitful. He'd been perfecting his Revisal Techniques he developed on his own to harness the hardness and heaviness of the sakabatou (reverse-edged sword).

"Quiet, Yoshi-boy. Anyway, I've eaten all sorts of ramen. Okinawa soba. Kumamoto ramen. Hakata ramen. Tokushima ramen. Wakayama ramen. Onomichi ramen. Tokyo ramen. Kitakata ramen. Sapporo ramen. Ashikawa ramen. I even tasted Sakaguchi soba at Shinshu, which was one of the best I've ever eaten! Wait, where am I going with this?" said the Gluttonous Gan.

"If I have to hazard a guess, you're going to Yokohama City to try out the cuisine there," deadpanned Chizuru, murmuring, "Better not stiff the bill on us again, you fat pig. No more freebies from me for sure."

"Damn straight, Kaori-neechan!" said the Scatterbrained Gan, who ignored Chizuru's side comment, too focused on the dishes he felt entitled to partake in. "Can't wait to get a hold of those Yokohama goodies! What are they, anyway? What do I have to look forward to?"

Miss Brooks unironically answered the Ghastly Gan's inquiry with, "Uh, well we have Sanma-Men ramen in Yokohama. Oh, aaand also Shoronpo dumplings, Gomadango sesame balls, and the Gyunabe beef hotpot. Most of those are specialties of the Yokohama Chinatown though, so I'm not sure they count."

"Actually, that's perfect! All ramen comes from China, right? Didn't they invent the wheat noodle? So it's both Chinese and Japanese!" reasoned the Starving Gan, licking and smacking his lips. "Sanma-Men ramen, huh? But what about Soba for the Soba King?"

"We're not going on a food trip! While we're at it, you should've stayed in Hiroshima, Shinshu, or wherever you came from!" said Chizuru. The rich girl then nudged Satsuki's side, saying, "Don't humor him! It's not as if he pays for his own meals!"

"Oh my, let him be, Chizuru-san! No need to be chuffed about him," said the beatific teacher as though Gan were one of her misunderstood "bad boy" students. "Just think of him as a hungry bodyguard! Or a big, cuddly doggy."

"Ah, Megami-sama! You are such an angel, Miss Melon! A goddess from heaven!" said the Grateful Gan. "And quite the looker too! Woof!"

"Aw, shucks," said May. "You're beautiful too, Galileo-san! Uh, in your own way. You're a knees up kind of bloke!"

"Huh? You do nicknames too? We're going to get along famously, Miss Melon!" said the Japanese Galileo. "Oh, and speaking of melons, do you have some special Yokohama fruit desserts or sweets over there? Like melon bread or taiyaki?"

"Fruits? Desserts? Melon?" repeated the adopted Sakaguchi with an innocent bounce. "Well, yeah, I guess we have melons in Yokohama too. But they're not exactly Yokohama specialty."

The Grinning Gan was about to quip about something crass when Yahiko raised his wrapped-up sakabatou and aimed it at the bandanna-wearing man's head. "...What? The melons are coming back to Yokohama."

And so Myojin conked the goon's thick head with his sword scabbard. The Unfeeling Gan barely even winced.

Located south of Tokyo in the Kanagawa Prefecture, Yokohama was Japan's second largest city. The Minakatas settled there (or so Satsuki informed them) because of their influence in trade back in the Sakoku Era.

Around 1859, the government opened up the Port of Yokohama. It was one of the first places in Japan that allowed open foreign trade from a multitude of nations, spelling the end of the closed-off and controlled Sakoku Era Trade.

Knowing this, one of the premier hatamoto officials of the previous era packed his bags and moved his family to Yokohama along with the samurai family serving under him (the Sakaguchis).

That was how eccentric "Grandpa" Toshiro was, claimed Satsuki. He was a game-changing, forward-thinking maniac cut from the same entrepreneurial cloth as the patriarchs of the Mitsubishi, Sumitomo, Mitsui, and Yasuda Clans. But this time with samurai blood and influence involved.

At any rate, Yokohama soon became a progressive city right after the Black Ships of Commodore Perry forced Japan to open trade with the rest of the world, making it one of Japan's most internationally minded cities.

It served as a gateway to items like jazz music, baseball, beer, and beef; products that would eventually play a role in shaping modern Japan and, in turn, Yokohama cuisine.

In fact, Asia's biggest Chinatown area (outside of actual Chinese towns) was in Yokohama. It was filled with traditional landmarks, restaurants, and shops that occupied several city blocks.

Speaking of Yokohama, Kinta Minakata learned even more about his grandfather in the context of the city's transformation as an international merchant town.

Reams and reams more of hidden codes started getting deciphered by the Sanada Ninja Clan. Other names and families came up with their own questionable histories during the Bakumatsu and their connection with the dying Shogunate.

Some of whom were still in high positions in government. Many others had died in the war, leaving their families in poverty. Their children and grandchildren suffering from the sins or karma of their fathers and forefathers.

Some even had their family line wiped out entirely.

But none of those puzzle pieces fascinated the Mimawarigumi Battousai more than his hatamoto grandfather and his shenanigans for obvious reasons.

His case was personal, after all.

The Chinatown in Yokohama boasted countless stores, making it the largest Chinatown in the world by the time the 20th and 21st Centuries rolled along.

The Yokohama Chinatown was established in 1859 along with the opening of the ports of the city. The shores of Yokohama were where all the Chinese merchants went and gathered after being forced to do restricted trade in Nagasaki for centuries under the watchful eye of samurais like Toshiro.

Yokohama became the new center of trade with western countries, and Toshiro Minakata grabbed the opportunity to himself indulge in western medicine importation and, on the down low, making and distributing his own brand of opium to China to fund his burgeoning pharmaceutical empire.

Kinta expected to unlock the sins of the forefathers of the current Japanese administration by decoding the Seiryu Clan's volume of the Black Book, not uncover that his grandfather was among those criminals.

The shards from his shattered glass house cut deep.

The opium that brought China to its knees in order to give Britain a more favorable tea trade agreement also pushed his grandfather and their family up to hatamoto-class.

"So what? Queen Victoria herself is history's largest drug dealer," was one of the smug coded messages that Toshiro left to justify his own sins.

Even as Japan suffered from Unfair Treaties by countries that bullied it into submission so that it could open its shores for trade once again, the Minakatas were among the elites who plundered and took advantage of the suffering of their own nations and other nations that were also headed towards the same fate as China.

As food for the new superpowers of the world. Manifest Destiny.

The saddest part was none of this disturbing info really shocked Kinta in any way. He suspected it from the start. Or rather, he wouldn't put such actions past his family.

It almost seemed typical for a Minakata to act this way, especially the oh-so-great Toshiro. Every one of the children of Toshiro and Mieko (his grandmother) were groomed for success.

Tatsuya overcame his lack of talent in swordsmanship and physical strength to grow up into a banker that handled the entire family's significant fortune stemming from its multinational financial group named after it.

Kaneda overcame his own inferiority complex of living under his assertive elder brother's shadow (and his own body image issues) by completing his studies and becoming a lawyer himself.

Even Daddy's Millionaire Princess did her part for the family by having an arranged marriage with the Akahori Family's eldest son to strengthen political bonds and secret ties as well as merge their accumulated wealth.

Although according to Grandmother Mieko, Kinta's mother was spoiled rotten by his Grandfather Toshiro.

Even Kinta served as a pawn to the Minakatas. Or the Seiryu Clan itself.

He had to become another Battousai to counteract the Ishin Shishi Battousai that murdered many fellow Mimawarigumi samurai (even though their paths and blades never crossed through a twist of fate) and earn back his grandfather's trust that was lost from him when his mother had her affair.

As though he were the fruit of that union rather than the biological son of Azuma Akahori and Aoi Minakata.

Even Kinta had to curry favor of his own high-standard hatamoto-class samurai family (and relatives) in order to not be treated like their black sheep or a redheaded bastard.

This was all understandable... even characteristic... of the Minakata Bloodline.

The Mimawarigumi Battousai had heard stories on the dinner table from his bragging grandpa about how their Sengoku ancestors were defeated and became Ochimusha (disgraced samurai who'd lost standing and became low-ranked citizens; could also mean the remnants or corpse of a defeated warrior).

Legend had it that instead of becoming Burakumin (outcasts) hiding in the boondocks, the surviving members of their family stole the land under the control of another family of samurais known as the Minakatas by killing them, taking their identities, and defending their uncaptured land before allying themselves with the Tokugawas.

Known for the shaved top of their heads and disheveled chonmage (topknot) after being disgraced by defeat, the new shogun allowed these ochimusha to grow their hair back along with their dignity and standing as reward for their help.

The False Minakatas became the True Minakatas.

They henceforth became known as the Minakatas (their original clan name had been lost in time), replacing the family they massacred. Through their cunning, they managed to save face and cease from being Ochimusha. Allegedly.

"What are you going to do now, Kinta-sama?" asked Misanagi in reference to these discoveries they'd unearthed regarding his grandfather.

"...." said Kinta.

Back in the train to Yokohama where the Sanbaka (and friends) were riding...

Unable to take more of the Gluttonous Gan's inane food talk, Yahiko switched seats (it was a half-empty train) to sit with Munenori Minoe (or Kaede Morinaga) from behind them.

The Son of Tokyo Samurai sat beside Shogo Amakusa's own prodigy, who had her Minoe "disguise" on and was snoring softly with her head nestled on the closed window.

Or his head. Whatever.

Munenori (or Kaede) was, after all, the reason why Yahiko decided to do his Musha Shugyo training pilgrimage in Yokohama along with him (or her).

The samurai kid couldn't risk Morinaga separating from him and doing any political assassinations and whatnot under his watch, specifically on this Minakata fellow whom she described as a traitor to Amakusa and the Kakure Kirishitans.

After all, Kinta was Satsuki's crush and all.

Regardless, Kaede was the person who almost defeated Soujiro Seta the Ten Ken (Heaven Sword), who in turn almost defeated Kenshin Himura.

According to the former Juppon Gatana member, his Shun Ten Satsu (Instant Heaven Kill) was as fast although not as strong as the Amakakeru Ryu no Hirameki (Heavens Gliding Dragon Flash).

Yahiko remembered how Enishi Yukishiro countered Kenshin's ultimate technique with his own ultimate technique, the Kofoku Zetsu Tou Sei (Absolute Trap Blade Wave) or Kofuku Zettousei.

He then learned the mechanics of Zettousei from when Shura, the Scourge of the Pacific, used the same technique to get her revenge against Captain Masakichi Hananuma Inoue for sinking her ship and killing her first mate.

As the Pirate Queen turned Privateer Queen slowly but surely found a way to counter Captain Inoue's Wanmei Fengbao (Eye of the Storm) with the Kofuku Zettousei, Yahiko also put two and two together and realized that the Hirameki was susceptible to attacks from below the vortex it created, allowing a chance to counterstrike between the gap of the initial strike and the second counterstrike.

Myojin even began getting faster and stronger from sparring with both the Great Gan and the Battousai of Speed. Gan helped him work on his stamina. Minoe helped him work on his reflexes and dexterity.

They were the best training partners a growing teenage boy could ask for.

If the Tokyo Samurai Descendant could get on the level of the Nisemono Battousai (Fake Battousai) and the also-similar-to-Kenshin Ten Ken, then perhaps he could someday finally wield the heavy sakabatou and the accompanying burden of responsibility that came with it.

So that the injured Kenshin who could barely practice the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu wouldn't have to bear that burden himself.

Unbidden, Minoe began to stir and moan.

"Minoe?" whispered Yahiko. "Are you awake?"

"Amakusa Shogo-sama... is amazing. I'm sure that even the Hitokiri Battousai would fall against him. They use the same sword style, am I correct?" Yahiko heard Minoe murmur in his sleep, his one exposed eye closed and his other eye covered by an eye patch.

Ah, so he was talking in his sleep.

Yahiko smirked and harrumphed. "I've seen Kenshin in action. He's amazing. He helped the Ishin Shishi win against the Bakufu. What feats has your Shogo-sama accomplished?"

He then bit his lip, remembering how much of a touchy subject the mass murder of the Hidden Christians rebels were to Amakusa and Morinaga.

Thankfully, the half-asleep Munenori didn't interpret his words in such a malicious manner.

With his eyes (or eye) still closed, he rebutted, "Amakusa-chi is a gifted swordsman from birth, taking out young men his age in kendo tournaments then taking on older, more experienced swordsmen as well when none of the kids could match his kenjutsu prowess."

Huh. The Tokyoite didn't know that. Of course, most any sword style should succumb to the superman's sword style known as Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. "So he learned Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu at a young age, huh?"

Munenori shook his head. "He used Nikaido Heiho when he was younger. That was his father's swordsmanship school. His Uncle Hyoue taught him Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu later on, after... escaping from Japan when the Bakufu first rounded off, tortured, and murdered the Kakure Kirishitan, including his parents."

"Oh. I... I see." Yahiko didn't know what else to say.

"...Besides, he's also a one-man army that took down whole squads of policemen and whole platoons of soldiers. Or have you already forgotten what happened in Shinshu? How you can barely keep up with Shogo-sama?"

Or maybe Minoe did find Yahiko's rebuttal earlier malicious after all. That was... harsh of him to point out, to say the least. Munenori just reminded Myojin of his failure to save the lives of many a copper.

On the other hand, if the Tokyo boy remembered correctly, weren't some of the policemen at Akahori's Mansion involved in an incident with Amakusa six years ago? From another government-sanctioned massacre of sorts?

Shogo, as Shiro Amakusa the Second, assassinated the murderers of his parents (some of whom were still in power), only for the current Meiji Administration to retaliate against his growing rebellion.

The two went silent as the sound of the rumbling train and the murmur of the passengers drowned out their thoughts.

The samurai kid turned his head, only to see someone else other than Minoe stare back at him. The person beside him removed his eye patch, revealing a new character.

Kaede Morinaga had just woken up. He'd been talking to her all this time, not the gentle Minoe.

Kaede rubbed her eyes and recounted to Yahiko the things Lady Magdalia told her about Shogo and his exploits.

Magdalia had specifically told her the story of how she and her brother escaped the Bakufu's clutches.

Even though Shogo himself didn't seem to remember how he manhandled the samurais who were after him, his sister, and his mother at the time, Lady Magdalia filled in the details.

Shogo took out the initial wave with only his shinai before that broke and he was forced to steal a katana that turned him into a bloodstained whirling dervish.

Amakusa might've remembered things differently due to the trauma of the situation. However, had his master Hyoue Nishida not intervened, Shogo might've outright murdered the samurais that stabbed his mother to death.

In fact, Kaede had compartmentalized her skill set into two categories... Cancer Stance for defensive moves and Scorpion Stance for offensive moves... based on the dual styles Shogo used (the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu and the Nikaido Heiho).

"Oh yeah? Well, Kenshin himself trained hard with his master for years. And when he was 14 years old, he also took down grown swordsmen himself as a hitokiri assassin! Grown experienced noblemen samurai, even," boasted Yahiko.

The boy blinked. As much of a bad guy he painted Amakusa as in his mind, the Hidden Christian was similar to Kenshin in many ways.

Except for one important thing, but he held his tongue in regards to that in order to not incur the wrath of the emotionally unstable Nisemono Battousai.

"That's nothing! Shogo-sama defeated his master when he was the same age! Using a technique of his own making, the Rai Ryu Sen!" Kaede countered.

"Okay? Kenshin defeated his master to acquire the ougi (succession technique)."

"Ha! I knew it. Shogo-sama is better."

"What? No! Kenshin's master is a god who walks among men. A superman in his own right. Also, last I checked, he's the official bearer of the Hiko Seijuro name. Shogo's uncle isn't, so he must be the weaker of the two!"

"No, he's not! He was the swordsman Kirisaki, who protected the Hidden Christians for the longest time single-handedly until that fateful massacre. I heard he also spared his master, Hiko Seijuro, from death by countering the Kuzu Ryu Sen with something other than the ougi!"

"...A likely story!" said Yahiko with a shake of his head. "Kenshin has a better, stronger master who actually inherited the Hiko Seijuro mantle, so of course he'd whup Amakusa's ass real easy."

"HA! I bet Amakusa's twice as fast as the Hitokiri Battousai! He'd have Super Godspeed compared to the slower Battousai!"

"Yeah right! Kenshin defeated Psycho-Kid when he was still part of the Juppon Gatana... in his prime, mind you... and Amakusa can't! He got completely defeated by Psycho-Kid back in Shinshu!"

"T-That's... unfair! He fought multiple policemen at Akahori's Shinshu Mansion before facing the Ten Ken! He was already spent! Besides, he showed that emotionless bodyguard of Akahori who's boss when he used the Rai Ryu Sen on him!"

"More excuses, huh? Well Kenshin faced off against an Oniwabanshu Okashira (Garden Guard Boss) before facing Psycho-Kid back in Mount Hiei, and he defeated both of them while holding back on killing them, which made taking them down twice as difficult!"

"Shogo-sama's master Kirisaki avoided killing the people he fought all the time, including Kenshin Himura's master, whom he also faced off against. He was a pacifist, so he became skilled enough in swordsmanship to defeat everyone without killing them. That's the kind of master Shogo-sama had!"

"Yeah, well, Mr. One-Man Army didn't help win a civil war against the Bakufu to install the Ishin Shishi into power!" Yahiko blurted out even though he didn't mean to. He couldn't help himself. His emotions got the better of him.

He wasn't even particularly proud of Kenshin helping the Meiji Government rise to power, especially in light of his experience with its corrupt officials.

However, instead of threatening to cut his loose tongue or castrate him, the Fake Battousai pledged to him, "Shogo-sama's own revolution is near. Once he gets the Black Book from Akahori, he'll have all the ammunition he needs to topple this government."

Kaede herself then slapped her hand over her mouth, realizing that she had said too much as well.

Reading the mood, Myojin changed the subject. "In full health, who's faster? Psycho-Kid or Amakusa?"

Morinaga turned her head away, placing the eye patch back on her eye as though to "summon" back her alter ego Minoe before muttering, "The Ten Ken is a little faster than Shogo-sama. But Shogo-sama can still beat him. Stupid Urchin-Head."

The Son of Tokyo Samurai heaved a sigh and confessed, "It's fine. Kenshin told me that Psycho-Kid is faster than him too. Seta Soujiro might even be faster than the whole Hiten Mitsurugi School itself. Maybe."

"...But I bet the Hitokiri Battouai is waaaay slower than the Ten Ken compared to Shogo-sama, who's only a little slower."

"Hey! Don't get ahead of yourself!" said the inheritor of the sakabatou. "I give you an inch and you take a mile. Honestly."

Much later still...

"You wanted to speak to me?" Tatsuya Minakata said. The banker son of Toshiro Minakata. Kinta's uncle from his mother's side.

"Yes," said Kinta.

"What the hell do you want, you brat?"

...And Tatsuya was every bit as intimidating, menacing, and cunning as his uncle from his father's side, Tetsuo Akahori. The complete opposite of his other uncle and Tatsuya's younger brother, Kaneda.

But that was in the past. Kinta was no longer a small child or gangly teenager that the alcoholic could push around and abuse whenever he was drunk.

Uncle Tatsuya might've not inherited any of Grandpa Toshiro's immense talent in swordsmanship, but he certainly had his father's business acumen as the person in charge (by proxy and with Grandma Mieko's blessing) of the Minakata Family's vast wealth.

As expected of a ruthless banker who was as thin as Uncle Kaneda was fat.

From behind Tatsuya was their newly hired manservant bodyguard who towered over the two like an outright foreigner despite being Japanese. Meanwhile, Kinta's uncle sat on his chair behind his desk, his arms folded and his mouth a scowl.

His eyes staring straight into Kinta's eyes.

Toshiro's grandchild could hear the insistent taps from the shoes of Toshiro's eldest son.

Hiding behind Kinta's shadow though was Kaita of the Sanada Ninja Clan.

Not that the Mimawarigumi Battousai who faced off against Hitokiri Gensai Kawakami needed help defending himself or anything.

The ninja Kaita was also there to remind him of anything he missed regarding the intelligence they'd decoded in their search for the Seiryu Clan's Black Book.

Kinta didn't want to make a single mistake about the uncovered intel before asking about them straight from one of their primary sources.

Conversing with his grandfather's son about past crimes was the ex-Kagemusha's way of giving Toshiro the benefit of the doubt. Even though Tatsuya himself could very well be an accomplice to those crimes.

"...Well? What is it? I'm a busy man," said Tatsuya with a dismissive snort, breaking contact with Kinta's gaze. "I have no time to play with you. We have goddamn assassins after us, if you haven't noticed!"

Kinta went straight to the point. "What do you know about the Seiryu Clan's Volume of the Black Book?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Seiryu Clan? I have no idea what you're talking about," denied Tatsuya. Like Jesus Christ's disciple Thomas, as Amakusa would say.

The younger Minakata then placed his copy of the decoded papers on the Elder Minakata's desk.

"What is this nonsense? I have no time..."

"There are declassified documents about Grandfather Toshiro's drug dealings in China using Minakata Pharmaceuticals as a front."

Tatsuya's scowl turned into a snarl. "Drug dealings? Are you saying your grandfather is a drug lord? Is that it? Those are some grave accusations you're hurling, kiddo. Be careful what you say."

However, Kinta always was careful. He spoke the way he fought. Methodically. With no wasted movement or words.

The nephew presented a different document from Kaita. This time full of names, addresses, and quantities of delivered goods. Contact persons, if you would. More like accessories to his grandfather's crimes.

The names listed meant nothing to the Mimawarigumi Battousai, but he summarized and said them aloud nonetheless. They were Toshiro's contacts from the warehouses he stored his opium. The names of his chemists who processed the drug.

The list of ports under his control that allowed him to ship to China his own brand of premium-grade, potent opium that was easier to access than the ones being sold by the Indians, the British, and the Americans in Hong Kong and the Pearl River outside Canton.

Although his uncle would not divulge one piece of information about the Black Book, the reactions he gave to the uncovered information spoke volumes.

Kinta had all the puzzle pieces of the Black Book right at the palm of his hand.

Through seemingly redundant and suspicious documents, bogus employee contracts in triplicate, and receipts for business expenditures that were nonexistent, his grandfather had weaved a web of lies he used to communicate with the underworld in order to go about his opium trade in ways that would've made the likes of Takeda Kanryu jealous.

The sheer amount of opium Toshiro sold and money he made was many magnitudes larger than Kanry's lifetime wealth. It involved millions of yen's worth of drugs sold by the ton. The same way the Rothschild and Forbes families built their fortunes.

Tatsuya stood up from his seat and slammed his hands on his desk, with both bodyguards... the tall nameless one beside the uncle and the ninja hidden in the darkness behind the grandchild... stirring in reaction.

For Kinta's part, he stood his ground. In his younger years, he would've flinched or cowered away from Tatsuya. Not anymore. Not after everything he'd been through.

Tatsuya got in Kinta's face before smirking and attempting to feint a punch, but the swordsman wouldn't buy it.

The ruthless businessman had half the mind to punch his nephew. Show him who was boss. His little sister's forgotten piece of excess baggage.

Like the good ol' days.

"As if Father would leave a paper trail behind," Tatsuya rebuked, calling his nephew's bluff. "What piece of fiction have you written up here? Decode? There's nothing to decode here! Spare me your conspiracy theories and nonsensical speculation!"

"If this is all false, then you won't mind the police investigating all this evidence, correct?"

Tatsuya grabbed Kinta by the collar. The younger Minakata still wouldn't flinch. Defiant to the end.

"Call the police? We own the police!"

"The Minakatas haven't been influential in politics since grandfather's death," Kinta called Tatsuya's own bluff.

"Ever since you became one of those Mimawarigumi goons from back in the day, you've been full of yourself. You've changed. But I know better. You're still the same scared little snot I've whipped with my belt time and time again. How many times do I have to teach you that lesson, boy?"

Tough talk from a drunkard who never held a sword or killed a man his entire life.

Kinta didn't say those words, but Tatsuya must've heard his unsaid sentiment through his eyes because the banker soon swung at his face immediately after.

A swing and a miss.

To Be Continued...

Miss me? It's been a while, huh?

Salamat, Abdiel

#kinta minakata #yahiko myojin #minakata familyi #るろうに剣心 #rurouni kenshin #るろうに弥彦 #rurouni yahiko #fanfiction.net

1 note · View note

iffeelscouldkill · 5 years ago

Text

Adjusting [Part 3: Campbell]

A/N: It liiiives! Here is a long overdue Chapter 3. As compensation for the wait, this chapter is longer than the other two chapters put together :D

I originally drafted this chapter some time ago, but then once I started serialising the fic on AO3, decided that I wanted to rework the middle part. I wound up redrafting most of it over the past few months, and it was a bit of a slog at times, but I'm much, much happier with the final result. A big big thank you once again goes to my wonderfully encouraging beta @dragonsthough101, and to @whelvenwings for writing with me and listening to my Fic Woe and helping me fix That One Section that I was struggling with!

A heads up that this chapter contains some quite heavy conversations about wartime under an oppressive regime, loss and regret. There are no graphic descriptions of violence, just a lot of fairly grim introspection. It probably goes without saying, but I'm not a military veteran myself, so I based all of this on the podcast canon and my own imagination.

Please take care of yourselves, and I hope you all enjoy 💜

---

Summary: It turns out that there isn’t a blueprint for quitting your job, turning your back on the organisation that you’d built your life around, committing treason and abandoning your friends and family to go travel across the galaxy with a band of wanted criminals. Fortunately, RJ now knows some people who have been there.

Or: Five times that RJ McCabe shares a late-night drink with someone on the Iris 2.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Read on AO3

---

About three weeks on from the Iris’ flight from New Jupiter, Sana calls a crew meeting. It isn’t their first by any means, but until now, crew meetings have either been about the division of chores or about pooling information to convey to the resistance movement. This one is different.

“We’re making another stop-off,” she tells the crew once they’re all assembled, Arkady looking half-asleep and disgruntled at the earliness of the hour. “I’ve arranged to meet a… long-time contact of ours. I know that we need to be careful about who we trust outside of the crew on this ship and confirmed members of the anti-IGR resistance, but… he’s a friend. An old friend.”

RJ raises their hand. “Is it Ignatius Campbell?” they ask, feeling like they’re on a quiz show.

Arkady revives slightly and snorts. “Got it in one, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” RJ shoots back automatically. This is old, well-worn banter between them at this point.

Sana blushes slightly. “Right. I forgot that of course… you and Park know exactly who Campbell is.” She gives them a sidelong look, and RJ suspects that she’s remembering her fractious exchange with Campbell after Elion, and thinking about exactly what they would have heard.

“If it’s any consolation, we’ve been trying to forget about the recordings, too,” Park offers, slightly abashed, as he always is when this subject comes up.

RJ finds it awkward, too, but doesn’t see any point in pretending that they weren’t at one point on very different sides. Or that listening to the recordings from the Rumor wasn’t literally their job. But Park is right – they have been doing their best to forget about those long days and nights spent cooped up in their tiny office, replaying audio over and over. Know thy enemy had practically been RJ’s motto back in those days, but the Rumor crew aren’t their enemies any more. And RJ wants to move on from the person they were back then.

“I’ve spoken to Campbell a couple of times since… Well, since Elion,” Sana continues. “Trying to smooth things over since we-”

“Accused him of backstabbing us?” Arkady volunteers drily.

“To be fair, we really didn’t have any other good theories about what was going on,” Brian puts in. “None of us would have ever jumped to ‘an invisible robot nanoswarm’ as the source of our leak.”

Sana nods. “I know, and Campbell understands that, too. That’s why he’s willing to meet with us, and help us out – with supplies, and with information about the situation on Telemachus as well as some of the other Regime planets.”

“What about payment?” Violet asks. “We’re pretty light on funds at the moment, and we don’t have any cargo to trade either.”

“Campbell has agreed to effectively give us the goods on credit, with the understanding that we’ll pay at a later date,” Sana replies. “We’re also trading a little information in exchange for what he knows. Nothing top-secret, just a bit about the Regime’s movements, to help him keep two steps ahead.”

“And did you ‘barter’ with him to get him to agree to that deal?” Arkady asks, raising her eyebrows in a significant way.

Sana reddens a little, but says with dignity, “I don’t know what you’re implying. But yes, we did haggle for a bit.”

“Nice to hear that you two are back on ‘bartering’ terms,” says Arkady with a smirk.

Krejjh, looking between Arkady and Sana, grins as if Ferin has come early.

Ignoring this, Sana continues, “It’s obviously too dangerous for us to land on any of the IGR planets, so I’ve arranged to meet Campbell on Halton Station, in the Neutral Zone.”

Brian instantly perks up. “Dude! We’re going to Neuzo? Wait, isn’t Halton Station-”

“Where Thasia and Emily Craddock grew up,” Krejjh finishes eagerly.

“Yeah. To be honest, I picked it half because I knew the name, but it happens to be in a particularly convenient location for us, too,” says Sana. “It’s also not that populated, so there’s less chance of us attracting unwanted attention.”

“Does this mean I’ll be able to go outside?” Krejjh asks, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh, for the gentle caress of the wind! The touch of the ground beneath my feet!”

“I don’t see why not,” Sana says with a smile. “Just try to keep things, uh… low-key?”

Arkady snorts eloquently.

Later on, RJ is on joint kitchen cleaning duty with Violet, who is chatting aimlessly about the rendezvous with Campbell.

“…it’s just going to be Sana, Krejjh and Arkady going out to meet Campbell on Halton Station,” she says. “It’s still not safe for Brian to set foot on Neuzo, and having a huge group would definitely attract unwanted attention. So, I guess we won’t get a chance to meet Campbell this time, unless he comes back to the ship.”

“Is that likely?” asks RJ.

“If things go well between Sana and Campbell, I guess,” Violet says with a small smile. “At least, that’s what Arkady thinks.”

“So, are Sana and Campbell… a couple?” RJ clarifies. Violet laughs a little, moving a dishrag in slow circles over the countertop.

“Not that I know of? My impression from Arkady is that they’ve always been close, but never actually, uh… been romantically involved,” says Violet. “Then, after Elion… well. We didn’t really know who we could trust, and… Campbell was one of the only people who knew about our destination and had our new IDs. Or at least, so we thought.”

“Mmm,” RJ responds, which seems safer than ‘Sorry for being part of the evil government eavesdropping operation that made you paranoid and destroyed your friendships’.

“But now it seems they’re patching things up, so maybe…” Violet smiles brightly. “It would be great if they could make it work.”

“That’s true,” says RJ with as much enthusiasm as they can muster. Romance has never held much of an appeal for RJ – it’s nice for other people, but RJ realised some years ago that they just don’t feel the thing that people have devoted endless poems and novels and movies to, and trying to get invested in other people’s romances feels similarly awkward. But RJ likes Sana, and she deserves to be happy.

Violet, who is sensitive to that sort of thing, seems to pick up on RJ’s train of thought. “Sorry, I realise we might seem a bit… romance-obsessed on this ship sometimes,” she says with an embarrassed smile. “If it gets to be too much… feel free to tell us to knock it off any time, really.”

RJ thinks about working under the IGR, and the way that no-one ever felt safe being themselves. They’ve already started to take this new freedom for granted – but that doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten the way things used to be.

“It’s fine,” they say.

---

This time, it’s not unsettling dreams or racing thoughts that are keeping RJ awake. It’s just energy. It’s midnight, but they feel as tense and jittery as though they’ve just downed four mugs of that overbrewed sludge the IGR used to serve employees in the breakroom.

A lot happened during the day. A huge amount of planning went into the rendezvous with Campbell on Halton Station, and even though RJ wasn’t part of the group who went out to meet him, they were involved in every other part of the endeavour.

Halton Station might be in the Neutral Zone, but they’d already established that the IGR was willing to cross huge lines and even violate the Treaty in order to get what it wanted, and the crew of the Iris is wanted on every IGR planet. It’s impossible to be too careful. Park and RJ had advised Sana to the best of their knowledge on steps that the IGR might take to try and survey the area, on the resources that they might try to use.

Meanwhile, Brian and Krejjh – both over the moon at being back on Neuzo, where they first met – had taken it in turns to tell stories about Ryedell Station, where Brian once worked as a bartender alongside his friend Alvy Connors.

Inside the Republic, the Neutral Zone was referenced only sparingly, and always characterised as a den of vice and iniquity. RJ had hardly ever thought about it except to be glad that they’ve never had the misfortune to set foot on any of its stations. But hearing stories about a place where humans and Dwarnians co-existed alongside each other, talking, trading, bartering… It’s made RJ realise just how narrow their world was until recently. And it’s sobering.

Sure, they’ve been watching Dwarnian soap operas, which deal with a completely alien (literally) species and set of cultures – but those are overblown and feel removed from RJ’s day-to-day reality. This doesn't.

So, RJ processes by pottering around the kitchen, making a late-night cup of tea. The light in the kitchen is kind of busted and it only emits a very dim glow – Sana has been swearing that she’ll tackle it once they’ve got the supplies from Campbell, but RJ finds it soothing, particularly at this hour.

It does make them jump, however, when the door suddenly slides open to admit a tall, dark shape.

“Apologies,” says the man, in a rough voice accented with a slight drawl. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Ignatius Campbell,” says RJ in realisation. His voice, though RJ has only ever heard it over comms (and recorded comms at that), is pretty distinctive. Also, process of elimination dictates that there’s only one person this could be.

“The very same,” says Campbell, inclining his head forward. The door slides shut behind him. “And you must be RJ McCabe? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

RJ would like to say something witty like ‘The one and only’, but doesn’t really think they could pull it off. Instead, after a few dumb moments of deliberation, they manage, “You can call me RJ.”

Okay, so maybe they’re more tired than they realised.

Campbell raises his eyebrows a little. “Well, then, you can call me Ignatius.”

RJ doesn’t think so. Even Sana still calls him ‘Campbell’ – well, at least as far as RJ knows. Does his presence on the ship mean that the rendezvous has “gone well” like Violet and Arkady hoped?

The water comes to a boil, and RJ busies themself with pouring it out. “Would you, uh, like some tea?” they ask, mostly out of politeness – Campbell doesn’t really look like the tea type.

“Actually, I was planning on drinking something a bit stronger, if you don’t mind of course,” Campbell says, pulling out a battered metal flask from the pocket of his heavy brown coat. “It’s not moonshine,” he adds, at RJ’s slightly sceptical expression. “Just whiskey. You’re welcome to some, if you want.”

The opening notes of ‘Whiskey in the Jar’ immediately start up in RJ’s head, and they inwardly curse Violet, who has a habit of humming it when she’s nervous. And when she’s happy. And when she’s been spending time with Arkady.

“I’ll pass, but thanks,” says RJ, taking their tea and sitting down with it at the table. Campbell manages to locate a mug and pours his whiskey into it, but stays standing, drinking it slowly and staring into the middle distance. It puts RJ a little on edge, but they force themself to relax and remember that Campbell isn’t a threat.

It’s harder to resist the impulse to run through the collective intelligence that the Intergalactic Republic had on the man known as Ignatius Campbell. Known contact and long-time associate of the crew of the Rumor; expert forger; suspected aliases include Alexander Cole and Jonathan Johnson. Based in Telemachus, but with an extensive network of affiliates and possible connections across multiple galaxies.

As if picking up on their thoughts, Campbell suddenly asks, “You used to work for the IGR, right?”

RJ tenses. “Emphasis on ‘used to’,” they reply.

Campbell waves a hand. “Don’t worry, this isn’t me trying to accuse you of anything. God knows everyone on this ship has stuff in their past they’d rather not go back to – me included,” he says, a little darkly. “No, I was just wondering what kind of intel they might have on me up there. Any good rumours?”

“Most of it was inconclusive,” RJ tells him, but thinks back anyway. It already feels unnatural trying to access the headspace and knowledge that they had while working for the IGR, after going to such pains to put it behind them. “W- They suspected you might have links to the notorious pirate Kim Hoff and her Bald-Cat gang, potentially as a supplier of intel or documentation, but nothing was proven.”

Campbell gives a low chuckle of amusement. “Believe it or not, I’m not the one on this ship with links to Hoff,” he says. “Though I can’t say we’ve never crossed paths.”

In response to RJ’s look of confusion, he elaborates: “She was Brian Jeeter’s thesis advisor.”

“You’re kidding,” says RJ in disbelief.

Campbell lays a hand on his heart. “I swear – you can ask him about it. For all that he might seem mild-mannered and harmless, Brian Jeeter has some interesting connections.”

“I’ve heard about his run-ins with the Dwarnian mafia,” says RJ, partly to show that they aren’t completely uninformed.

“Yeah, that’s another good example,” says Campbell. “There’s a reason why I’ve kept doing business with the Rumor crew all these years: they have some damn good stories to tell.”

RJ snorts in acknowledgement. If it weren’t for the fact that they’ve listened to some of the Rumor crew’s insane exploits (and been present for one or two of them) they wouldn’t have believed half of the stories that they’ve heard since they came aboard the Iris.

Neither of them says anything for a while, and RJ contemplates taking their tea back to their room so that they can carry on thinking. But the prospect is dull and a little claustrophobic, and part of them wants to take this opportunity to find out more about this person who is obviously so important to their crewmates.

“So…” says RJ, and Campbell’s gaze flicks over to them from where he’d been contemplating the cupboards. “What’s got you up so late, drinking whiskey in the kitchen with a total stranger?”

One corner of Campbell’s mouth quirks up. “You’re not a total stranger,” he points out. RJ just raises an eyebrow, and Campbell relents.

“Not sure, really – Sana and I were talking, but then she wanted to crash, and I wasn’t quite ready to sleep yet. Got a bit too much going round in my head.”

RJ nods; in other words, a very similar reason to their own. “So I take it you’re staying the night?”

This immediately makes Campbell flustered, and RJ can’t make out his face very well but they imagine that he’s probably gone red. “I – I mean I am, but I promise that there’s nothing improper- It’s just for the one night. And we’re bunking in separate rooms,” he says in a rush.

RJ snorts and manages to keep from rolling their eyes – just about. “Calm down. I wasn’t trying to imply anything,” they tell Campbell. “I only asked because I’m on breakfast duty tomorrow morning, so I wanted to know how many people I’d be cooking for.”

“Oh.”

“Also, ‘improper’? What millennium is this, again?”

Campbell coughs, and says with the air of someone trying to pull the conversation back on track, “So – what about you? What has you up in the kitchen past midnight?”

RJ sips their tea, stalling for time as they try to decide how much to say about what has been keeping them awake. They settle on,

“I guess I’m… learning a lot about the universe that I never had the chance to before. Working for the… for the IGR, you’re told that only you have access to the real facts about everything – Dwarnians, the war, the upper limits of science and space exploration – and that anyone who tells you differently is lying or trying to confuse you. I prided myself,” they stress, bitterly, “on the thoroughness of my research. On having all the information. Now I realise just how little I really knew.”

Campbell nods, slowly. “All repressive governments control their people’s access to information,” he says. “The better to make sure that no-one gets any ideas of their own.”

“Yeah, I know,” says RJ, a little wearily. “I’m not under any illusions about what the IGR really is. Not anymore.”

“But you were,” Campbell points out. “Sure, maybe there were things you could’ve questioned and didn’t. There are also folks up at the top of the whole operation who have access to all the information and make a very different choice with it. At the end of the day, you still thought for yourself when it counted. You got out.”

RJ eyes Campbell warily. “I’m not fishing for reassurance here,” they tell him. “You don’t have to make me feel better.”

Campbell holds up his hands in apology. “I know,” he says. “It just sounded to me like maybe you were being a little harsh on yourself.”

RJ shakes their head and searches for the right words. “When I joined up with the Rumor crew on New Jupiter, it wasn’t some heroic stand,” they say eventually, quietly. “It was a strategic decision I made to survive. If I’d stayed where I was, I would have been killed on sight.”

“The crew of this ship knows a thing or two about survival,” Campbell tells them. “They’re not all on some grand moral crusade.”

RJ knows that Arkady worked as a guard for the IGR, that Violet used to be a government scientist, that Krejjh fought in the war on the Dwarnian side. But on nights like these, the gap between their experiences still feels vast.

The others, they all have this bond, a camaraderie forged from venturing out into the deepest parts of space, from facing near-death experiences and defying the Regime side by side. RJ might have tagged along at the end, but they don’t have that history. They haven’t earned that bond, yet.

RJ realises that Campbell is still watching them – considering, almost. Their first instinct is to break eye contact and look away, but instead they meet his gaze, raising their chin slightly. RJ thinks they see Campbell’s mouth twitch into a small smile.

“You know that I served in the military,” he says suddenly. It isn’t a question.

“Yes,” RJ replies cautiously.

“Do you want to know why I left?”

“Uh…”

RJ is well aware that Campbell fought in the war. They vividly recall the argument with Sana where Campbell angrily spoke about losing ninety percent of his first unit. RJ remembers listening to that exchange in their cramped office with Park, and looking over at him, wanting to ask for more information. But Park’s brow had been furrowed, his expression dark as he stared down at the wood of the desk, and the question died on RJ’s lips.

Park had fought in the war, too.

RJ doesn’t feel like they have a right to Campbell’s story any more than Park’s, but apparently, he's offering. “If you’re… okay with telling me,” they say uncertainly, pressing their mug between their palms until it’s a little painful. “I’m… sure it was nothing good.”

Campbell gives a short nod, his expression grim.

“I enlisted in the military in 2178, two years before the coup,” he says. “My first unit, they were… a really good group of people. Some of the best I’ve known. When the coup took place in 2180, we were excited. The old government had left the military drastically under-funded and over-stretched. The Regime promised better funding, better resources, more troops – of course, they accomplished that via the Mandate, but they made that seem like a great thing. A stable career path; an opportunity for everyone who was able to “serve the human race”. As they put it.”

RJ nods slowly. “I know. They’re pretty big on teaching that as part of the history of the Republic,” they say. “‘How the Intergalactic Republic transformed our military’.”

“Yeah, well, I experienced it first-hand. And for about a year, everything was as promised. But then my unit got word that we were being redeployed to the Dwarnian stronghold of Nreech-shlegga.”

RJ frowns. “As in… the Battle of Nreech-shlegga?”

“The very same,” Campbell confirmed. “But this was years before that battle. We were told that it was a small outpost, largely unmanned – an opportunity to score an early victory over the Dwarnians and make an incursion into their territory.”

RJ feels a sick sinking feeling, and unconsciously grips the edge of the table with one hand. “What happened?” they almost whisper, although they know the answer.

“On the basis of the briefing we were given, we stormed the stronghold,” Campbell says, and RJ suspects that he might not really have heard their question, lost in the memory. He’s not looking at them anymore, staring down at his mug, but he doesn’t drink from it. “Of course, Nreech-slegga was the exact opposite of what we'd been led to believe – it was an extremely well-defended military stronghold. My entire unit, barring myself and six others, was wiped out in less than an hour.”

Campbell is silent. RJ breathes out quietly, trying not to interrupt his thoughts by drawing attention to themself. Their throat is dry, but they’ve drunk all of their tea and daren’t move to make some more.

Several long minutes later, Campbell shakes himself a little, seeming to come back into the present. “Sorry,” he apologises gruffly, taking a swig of whiskey.

“Don’t apologise,” RJ says quickly, and then clamps their mouth shut, in case they sounded overly familiar. But Campbell nods, and they think they see his lips quirk upward slightly.

“What did you do… after?” RJ ventures, after another long moment of silence. They hate to pry, but they’re still not clear on why Campbell decided to tell them this in the first place. Maybe he’s not sure anymore either.

Campbell nods again, once, as if agreeing to something inside his head. He meets RJ’s eyes again. “Would you believe me if I told you that I defected from the military?”

“Of course,” RJ says immediately. “After what they did to your unit? Your superiors must have known the reality of the situation, but they withheld crucial intel. It cost the lives of dozens of good soldiers.”

“I notice you haven’t considered for a moment that the IGR might have had a good reason for giving those orders,” Campbell points out. He sounds amused.

“I—” RJ falters. “I mean. How could they have?”

People died needlessly, they want to say. But they know that while they were on the IGR’s payroll, they came across all kinds of evidence of similar incidents and found ways to rationalise them, to explain away the devastating loss of human life. Like the planet where the inhabitants were left to starve without aid after their food supply was consumed by ants – because of “improper paperwork” and “budgetary concerns”. Or the fate of the original Iris, in which an entire crew had been murdered in order to silence one man.

Why had it taken RJ so long to see the Regime for what it really was?

Because it’s easy to make excuses, to explain things away, when it’s not your life on the line, RJ’s brain supplies. When you’re not the one they’re coming for.

“If you see any of the Rumor crew, or Agents McCabe or Park, shoot to kill.”

Until you are.

“You’re right,” Campbell says, and RJ stares at him for a few seconds, having lost the thread of their conversation. Their head feels heavy and over-full, their mind whirling. “My superiors had perfect intel on the situation in Nreech-slegga and knew the full extent of its defences, but they lied to us because they wanted to test the Dwarnians’ response times on their own territory. We were just cannon fodder to them.”

The phrase rings a bell in RJ’s mind – they remember him using the same words to Sana in ‘Report 6: Parallel’. They nod mutely.

“But in the wake of The Nreech-Slegga Disaster, as it became known – though only among the troops, as official reports of the incident were largely suppressed – they told us that they’d been fed false intel by double agents working for the Dwarnian Federation. They even used it as an excuse to purge a few members of the rank and file who’d fallen out of favour.

“I could tell something was off about it all – if the Dwarnian counter-intelligence efforts were so effective, why tip their hand so obviously? Why waste them on eliminating a single ground unit? But at the time, I couldn’t envision a life for myself outside of the military. And I was afraid to follow that train of logic any further, for fear of where it might lead me. So I stayed enlisted – for three more years.”

“Three… years?” RJ echoes in shock. “But…”

“Why would I stay?” Campbell finishes for them. “It takes a lot of guts to choose a different path to the one you’re on, to leave behind everything you know. I didn’t have them, then.” He stares off into the middle distance, mug held loosely in one hand. “A lot of people who fought in the war didn’t really believe in the Regime’s cause. They had their own reasons, and I told myself I had mine.”

Campbell raises his mug to drink from it again, and then – evidently finding it empty – picks up his flask and drinks directly from there instead. “But I spent a hell of a lot of time regretting those three years.” His voice is a low, bitter growl, almost too low to hear.

A more profound silence descends this time, and RJ isn’t sure how to break it. Their instinctive response to hearing how Campbell lost his first unit had been to assume that he would have left the military and refused to serve under the regime that caused the deaths of his comrades – just as many people would question why RJ had stayed and continued to work for the IGR after Park was taken away.

Like Campbell said, at the time, they thought they had their reasons. It's only in hindsight that those reasons become a lot harder to justify.

It takes a lot of guts to choose a different path to the one you're on, Campbell had said. RJ can't find it in them yet to think of their decision to turn against the IGR as something that took "guts".

But no matter how adrift they've been feeling since then, they also haven't regretted it for a moment.

“Apologies,” says Campbell abruptly, and RJ looks up from toying with their mug, surprised. “I probably shouldn’t have dropped all of this on you at once. It’s just been… on my mind, what with the renewed crackdowns from the Regime, and skirmishes breaking out everywhere…”

RJ’s stomach turns over. They knew that there were protests on Telemachus, and a couple of the other large planets as well, the ones that were harder to control. But they hadn’t realised it had broken out into all-out fighting.

They realise that Campbell is still looking at them, and try to force their mind back to the subject at hand. “No, it’s fine – it actually helped. Uh, it’s nice to hear…” They trail off, not sure if it would be presumptuous to say, ‘a story similar to mine’. RJ isn’t a war veteran. It’s not the same thing at all. “That is, I uh, really appreciate you… trusting me with this.” There.

Campbell gives them a slight smile, and then ventures, “I’m not sure how well it’ll go with the aftertaste of whiskey, but… can I take you up on that tea?”

“Oh! Sure!” RJ jumps to their feet so quickly they almost upset their chair. They do their best to cover it up by holding the box of tea out to Campbell, who raises his eyebrows. “What kind would you like?”

“Uh… Why don’t you choose,” Campbell suggests.

“Oh, if you’re sure…” RJ looks down at the tea, wondering what kind would be appropriate to give a former-soldier-turned-forger after a heavy conversation about serving under an oppressive regime. They decide to go for vanilla and honey.

As RJ is busy boiling the water again, making another cup for themself at the same time, they realise that Campbell never actually told them how he came to leave the military. They wonder if it would be pushing it to ask him, or whether it would be best to leave the topic alone.

They procrastinate by pouring out the water, then finding a spoon to stir the tea with. “You can leave it in for as long as you want to – three minutes is usually a good amount of time,” they tell him, handing over the mug and the spoon.

“Thanks,” says Campbell appreciatively. “It smells good.”

“You’re welcome.” RJ goes back to pour out their second cup of jasmine green tea. Campbell gives a little chuckle to himself, and RJ looks over, curious.

“Oh, it’s just – I realised that after all that, I never finished my story,” Campbell explains. “But uh, I’m sure you’re sick of hearing-”

“Actually, I was wondering-” RJ begins, and then stops awkwardly. “Uh. That is. I’d like to hear the last part?”

“All right then,” says Campbell. His manner is a little more relaxed than before, and RJ senses that this part of the story is easier for Campbell to tell.

“I served in the military for three more years,” he says, “after the Nreech-Slegga Disaster. I rose up the ranks a little bit – but not that much. I wasn’t great at taking my superiors’ orders without question, especially when they were irrational, stupid orders. A lot of soldiers who started out below me on the pecking order quickly got promoted ahead. But that was fine – I never wanted to be in command. I knew there was all sorts of corruption in the upper ranks of the force – bribery, dirty deals, a comfortable life lived on military funds.

“But the breaking point really came when I was put into a situation that reminded me vividly of the Nreech-Slegga Disaster – a campaign where we were given almost no information about the situation on the ground, and were ordered to go in, guns blazing, and mount an attack. I refused to lead my men in blind – I demanded more information from the officers in command. And when they ordered me to go ahead with the offensive regardless… I left. I couldn’t watch it happen again.”

“Where did you go?” RJ asks.

“I disappeared,” Campbell says simply. “I had an old friend I’d never completely severed ties with who had links to the criminal underworld. Not, uh, Sana,” he adds quickly. “We met later. I went underground with a new identity, and set about methodically erasing every trace of my former life. Officially, I’m listed as Killed in Action during the offensive that I refused to participate in. I honed my skills as a forger at the same time.”

“Did you have, uh…” RJ realises partway through asking the question that it might be an uncomfortable subject – well, another uncomfortable subject. “…family? You don’t have to answer that,” they add awkwardly, but Campbell is nodding.

“My parents had passed away, but I had a brother I’m close to. I wasn’t able to make contact for several years. But now I… see him, occasionally. And his kids, my nephews.” He says the last part softly.

“That must be nice,” RJ says without thinking, and then flushes when Campbell looks at them quizzically. “Um, that is…”

At that moment, the door slides open and a voice says, “Hey, I woke up and I wasn’t sure where you’d – oh! RJ, sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Sana stands framed in the doorway, wearing loose sleeping clothes, her hair twisted into a side braid. Because she’s Sana, rather than being embarrassed or discomfited, she immediately shifts into Concern Mode. “Is everything all right?” She looks between the two of them, obviously curious as to how they came to be talking in the kitchen.

“Hey, Sana. Everything’s fine, we were… just having tea,” RJ says.

“I think mine’s vanilla and honey,” Campbell adds, lifting his mug. Sana seems tickled by this, grinning broadly.

“All right, well I’ll leave you both to it, if you’d prefer – I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s okay–” RJ says, at the same time as Campbell begins, “Actually, I’d be happy to come back to–”

They both stop, and RJ presses their lips together in amusement and then stands. “I’m gonna head back to my room. It was… really nice talking to you, Mr. Campbell.”

Campbell gives an exasperated huff at being called ‘Mister’, which makes RJ smile. “Likewise,” he says.

“Goodnight, then, RJ,” says Sana, standing to one side so that RJ can get past her. “Don’t be afraid to come and knock if you still can’t sleep.”

RJ nods, though they have no intention of doing anything of the sort. “I will. Oh, and Campbell?”

“Yes?”

“Do you like eggs?”

This throws Campbell for a loop. “Do I… like eggs?”

“For breakfast tomorrow. Sana said there would be some eggs in the supplies we were getting, so I figured I’d make eggs.”

Campbell laughs a little with surprise. “Sure. I’ll eat pretty much anything.”

“Great.” RJ looks back at Campbell. “See you at breakfast.”

What they really mean is:

Thank you.

#TSCOSI #The Strange Case of Starship Iris #RJ McCabe #Ignatius Campbell #Sana Tripathi #Violet Liu #late night tea drinking and heart to hearts #war stories #I want to promise that RJ will get a break from chatting to traumatised war veterans in the next chapter but uhhhh #let's just say I can't promise that quite yet

20 notes · View notes

flightysquip · 5 years ago

Note

any tips on getting back to a fic you haven’t written anything for since uhhhh last year?

ahh i’m so AWFUL about this myself. this is why nanowrimo works so well for me, it generally forces me to output a lot and finish projects. however, as far as my advise with wips, at least with what i do:

1. reread what you’ve written so far. this might not be necessary for you, of course, but my memory is absolutely atrocious. this helps me remember what dynamics and plot points i’ve already touched on. it also helps me fall back into my writing style, and tends to kickstart ideas in my head about where to go/how to progress

2. find some external tools for motivation. what helps me a lot is making playlists and obsessively listening to them, but sometimes finding images that fit your characters/ships, or memes, or tv shows/movies, or even reading (*i usually find that reading fic when trying to write doesn’t help me though, so ymmv on that, but books written by people who’s writing you respect--the only reason i don’t go the fic route is that like i am transparently prone to mimicking writing styles--that’s really what writing is, let’s face it--but i find it ickier/less morally sound to mimic another free content creator, ESPECIALLY if they’re writing the same ship or concepts as me, than mimicry of, say, some established published author)

3. get yourself a hype partner. the fun thing about fanfic is the communal aspect to me, the fact that you’re creating for people who are naturally predisposed to enthusiastic enjoyment. obviously the communal nature of fandom has died out a lot now compared to how things were before, unfortunately, but i’ve still managed to meet some cool people who share my enthusiasm and enjoyment of fan content, so i hold out hope it’s still possible. i know some people like to lead with the ‘will you beta what i’ve written so far’ thing, and that’s good if that works for you (and it’s probably more socially acceptable to ask for editing assistance than outright saying “please hype my writing right now”), but since i don’t even want to think about editing until i’ve completed my first draft (whether that’s per chapter or per full work) that doesn’t work for me personally. but find yourself someone, someone you trust and with compatible enough overlapping interests, who you can gush about your latest wip with. maybe it’s just exchanging plot points and ideas. maybe it’s giving them a snippet of what you’ve written so far. let them hype you up. there’s no shame in seeking out kindness and validation, and it can absolutely be the kick in the pants you need to hear someone say “this concept rocks, i want to read more of it!”

4. alternatively, if you prefer a less personable approach, you can post a few concepts and ideas on your blog. let people comment or interact or ‘like’ your ideas. this really works better though if you aren’t so concerned with spoiling people, of course (granted, you can tailor the posts too to exclude spoilers. vaguepost about your plot! it’s your blog, no one can stop you)

5. prioritize your writing. some people find structure helps--setting a specific time a day to just sit down and focus specifically on writing. your story is worth telling, and you’re worthy of allowing yourself the time to write it.

6. all words are good words, and the amazing thing about the written word as opposed to spoken is you can always go back and rearrange or delete or change things. word-vomit into your document and try not to worry about quality. nothing is ever going to be as pure and perfect as the theoretical fic in your head, but until we can make machines to plug directly into our minds and dump our subconscious shipteases into our readers’ heads directly, we’ll have to settle for the messy art of transposing these beautiful dynamics into imperfect, tangible words. you can always edit. it doesn’t matter how impractical or ooc or cliche the first take is. you can fix it. a bad first draft on a chapter doesn’t invalidate the polished chapters you’ve composed before

anyway, honestly, i cannot stress enough, your story has value, your words have value, your ideas have value, and the world will be a better place with the addition of your story. the joy that fanfiction brings people globally is worth more than a lot of people may want to admit. you’ll never know what person might be out there right now, searching for the exact concept, writing style, ship, and dynamic as you’re composing, and the more work your pour into your craft, the more net-joy you will produce in the world. creation is powerful and the fact you’ve already started, never mind how long ago, proves that you, too, are powerful. you are powerful, you are valuable, you are worthy, and you are going to create wonderful things. the worth of your work is inherent, simply by virtue of coming from you. and if you think about it, isn’t that pretty amazing? isn’t it incredible, that you have the capacity to not only imagine worlds and plots and dialogue and interactions, to build universes that others can enjoy, that you not only have the capacity to imagine, but the tools with which to communicate those ideas to an audience? whether that’s an audience of one or hundreds, your story matters.

and i’m proud of you, for being vulnerable and brave and strong enough to go through the rigor of writing. the world needs the story that only you’re capable of writing. go out there and kick some ass.

#writing #watch me babble aimlessly lol i'm sorry

6 notes · View notes

creamypudding · 5 years ago

Text

Combo story sneak peek

I sort of finished the Clack/AkuRoku combo story I started in 2017, waylaid for The Two Penguins, and picked back up this year to complete it for a Big Bang, which died before it ever took off. I say sort of finished because I haven’t written the very last chapter yet, which is an epilogue set several years after the end, and which I am not very invested in writing at the moment (if at all). I haven't read through the entirety of this story yet. It’s still in first draft. I’m going to put this to bed for now and get going on some other projects I’ve yet to start/complete. The break will let me come back to it with fresh eyes and opinions and I hope a feeling of wanting to refine it.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I don’t feel very satisfied finishing this story. Well... ok, thinking about it, I think I do know why I feel this way. In part, it’s because this story isn’t satisfying. It’s not got a happy end. But I suspect the main reason is that I don’t feel like the emotion I wanted to transpose from my own experience into this story is adequately portrayed. At least that’s how I feel not having read the whole thing in one go, nor even the last chapter in one go. Maybe I need to be kinder on myself. Maybe the story isn’t even so bad. And if the story does lack the emotional punch like I suspect, it’s probably something I can fix in the subsequent drafts. Anyway, for anyone interested, you can have a sneak peek at the first chapter. May it pique interest. If anyone wants to be a pre-reader for me please get in touch with me. I would appreciate at least one person to read through this and give me feedback on the story, pacing, character development, and relationships. Title: Fleeting Moments (working title) Chapter: 1/(possibly)7 Fandom: FFVII/Kingdom Hearts - Modern AU Pairing: Cloud/Zack and Axel/Roxas Rated: Mature (drug use -smoking and drinking-) Word Count: 8,170 Summary: Cloud and Roxas meet Zack and Axel in a laundry, of all places.

CHAPTER 1 -

The mechanical whir and swish of the washing machines was almost hypnotic, and drowned out the dripping of a leaky faucet somewhere within the laundry room. Cloud, with his back pressed to the wall, sat on the wooden bench lining the side closest to the door.

The laundry was wholly unremarkable. It smelt of washing detergent and liquid softeners. Garish lights above only served to wash out the drab, peeling paint of the walls even further. The cold, gray concrete floor had lost all its polished sheen, and the change and vending machines had all seen better days.

Yet this was one of Cloud’s favorite spots. Winter was dismal up in the mountains, with long hallways and wide open expanses lying between the laundry and his temporary residential housing. So Cloud chose to sit, cocooned in the underground warmth of this room, while he waited for his clothes to be washed so he could move them into the dryer.

He got a lot of reading done down here, which was a definite benefit. Most sane people chose to go do other things than hang in the laundry while their things got clean. So it was mostly quiet and empty in the laundry, and for Cloud this spelt sanctuary from society and his own rather busy life.

People came and went, and Cloud took no notice. He only looked up whenever a machine beeped, checking if it was his one announcing the completion of its cycle. It was never his, so he continued on with his book, an auto-biography. He found himself deeply engrossed in it when eventually a beeping did faintly register. He looked up again, like so many times before, searching out his machine. From where he sat he could make out the LCD display. There were still ten minutes left.

“Hey. Whatcha reading?”

Cloud jumped with a start and then frowned. Eyes darted to see where the question had come from. He found the source in seconds. A man stood by one of the machines facing the opposite wall. He was hauling clothes out of the toploader but looking directly at Cloud.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” came the apology, along with a smile, which lit up the man’s whole face.

Cloud couldn’t fathom why he was being spoken to. “It’s fine. And, um… it’s a auto-biography of Ferdinand Papora.” Cloud flashed the front cover up, so the man could see it.

“Who’s that?”

“A racing car driver.”

“Pretty famous?”

“Obviously not famous enough if you’ve never heard of him.”

“Well he might be. I’m completely oblivious to that sort of thing. You like racing?”

“Not particularly.”

A confused look was followed up with the question, “So what’s with the book then?”

Cloud inspected the paperback cover before he spoke. “I just like to read biographies. Doesn’t really matter whose it is. And the library here has tons of different ones.” The man continued smiling. “That’s a cool way of expanding your horizons. I might take inspiration from you, if that’s all right.”

Cloud shrugged. “Go ahead. It’s not like I’ve got copyright over reading books on subjects I’ve no interest in.”

“Well, you must have some interest, right? I’ve been here for five minutes, trying to ask you a question but you were totally engrossed in that book.”

He felt slightly taken aback and said, “Oh. Sorry.”

“No worries. So the book’s a real page turner?” The man hoisted up a collapsible laundry basket and moved toward the dryer section.

“Mmm. It has its moments.”

“Think you’ll finish it?”

“Of course. I see things through to the bitter end.”

The man laughed. “That sounds dire. You a perfectionist?”

Cloud hummed thoughtfully. “Nah, I’m just a completionist.” “I stand corrected.” The man dumped his load of laundry into the dryer, inserted coins and pushed some buttons. “So this Ferdinand—ah…”

“Papora,” Cloud assisted.

“Yeah, him. What are some of his more notable moments?”

“Well,” Cloud inspected the book, to help jog his memory, “He survived three near-fatal crashes. Went through some pretty hefty rehab in hospital, and continues driving even to this day, despite the peg-leg.”

“Woah, seriously?”

“No. I made up the peg-leg, but the rest’s true.”

The man laughed loudly. It shook into Cloud a little. “What a shame. That would have made even me read the book.”

“It’s still a worthwhile read. The guy’s pretty… driven.”

Another laugh and a great big smile lifted and turned the other man’s rather tanned complexion a little darker. “Nice one.”

Cloud cracked a smile. He wasn’t usually this chatty, particularly with a stranger but… well he put it down to being in a relatively good mood.

The man closed the lid of the machine and leaned against it, looking across the room at Cloud. “I’m Zack, by the way.”

“Cloud,” he responded.

With raised eyebrows Zack said, “Nice name.”

Cloud gave a small sigh. His mood was about to go south. “Here we go,” he muttered.

The raven-haired man tilted his head to the side. “Go where?”

“The weather related puns. Go on. I’ve heard them all.” He resigned himself to the inevitable. Cloud opened his book again to give a clear indication that he was done communicating.

“Really? That thought didn’t even cross my mind.”

Cloud laid eyes on him without lifting his head. “What was with that look, then?”

“What look?”

Cloud imitated what he had just witnessed.

Zack shrugged and pushed off the machine, walking toward Cloud. “It’s just how my face works. I think Cloud’s a cool name. They’re my favorite things about the sky, you know.” He came to a standstill a few steps away from Cloud.

Cloud skeptically scanned the man before him, dressed in dark jeans and a dark wool-knit turtleneck sweater. This close the man looked rather tall. It wasn’t even the thick heeled boots. He was probably really tall even without those on. Cloud wondered if he should he believe him. The man looked sincere enough; that soft smile plastered on the rather handsome face—broad cheeks, pointed jaw and nose—spoke of gentle earnestness. But with distrust in his voice Cloud questioned him, “Even more than stars?” Because everyone loved stars. It was a fact of life.

“Yeah. Even more than the stars and moon. Give me fluffy altocumulus or wispy cirrus clouds in a wide blue sky any day of the week. Even these nimbostratus clouds around here, bringing all the snow, are nice. But I do prefer the other ones. If I had to choose.” Zack tapped at lips, thoughtfully.

That response took Cloud by surprise. “Well, I’m impressed. Look at you, totally nerding out about clouds. You a meteorologist or something?”

“Nup. Just an amateur cloud fancier,” Zack grinned.

Cloud’s heart thumped a bit at that wording. He paid it no mind and returned a small smile of his own. Both men stayed like that for way too many moments. Cloud grew uncomfortable, desperately searching for something to say. He didn’t like people just looking at him. “What did you want to ask me?”

“Oh, right,” Zack slapped the side of his head. “I wanted to know if you’d have a drink with me this Saturday. I’ll be at the Clay Bar. Eight til late,” Zack positively beamed.

Cloud blinked, not comprehending. “What?”

“I mean, if you’re into it. If not then don’t worry.” The man’s toothy smile simmered down.

Had he heard right? Was he being asked out? By someone he just met? No way. Cloud opened his mouth to say… he knew not what.

“Cloud!” His name rang out several times, down the hallway, getting louder and louder by the second.

Both men turned their heads to look at the source of the tumult.

Roxas flew through the open doorway, “Cloud! Guess what! Sophia Tiller will be giving a symposium right here in the center!” By the time Roxas had finished that sentence he had slid with great force along the bench and was now in Cloud’s face, with hands resting on Cloud’s thighs.

“She is?”

“Yeah,” Roxas nodded eagerly.

Disbelief melted and excitement bubbled inside of Cloud. “We gotta get tickets.”

“Already sorted,” Roxas grinned.

“Nice one.” Cloud put his closed fist up and Roxas completed the gesture by fist bumping him.

The sound of a slight cough drew both men’s faces up and over.

Roxas frozen. The bubbling warm excitement gave way to overwhelming and sheer dread. Who was this guy? How long had he been there for? Had Roxas just embarrassed himself completely before a stranger? He looked to Cloud for a minute second.

Cloud saw the tension which seized Roxas. He gave him a quirked lip and a slight eyebrow raise to encourage him and let him know it was alright. That seemed to snap Roxas out of the panic.

“Oh. Hey! Uh—” Roxas glanced between Cloud and the stranger. Could he regain some dignity? Could he just… avoid? “Did I… interrupt something?”

“Ah… this is Zack. Zack, this is Roxas. We were just…”

“I was just leaving. But it’s nice to meet you, Roxas,” Zack said with a big smile.

Cloud was relieved, because he didn’t know how he would have finished that sentence had he been left to his own devices.

“Ah,” Roxas let out, half in relief, half in reply.

The room was quiet other than the sound of the clunk-clunk-clunk of the dryer going around. The men all looked between each other. The whole situation felt unnaturally awkward.

A loud beeping startled everyone. Cloud saw that his load was finally done, so he got up and made his way over to the machine, thankful that it alleviated the weird tension. He walked right past Zack. It was unavoidable and made Cloud full aware of the man’s height. He barely came up to his shoulders, and in no way was he short, not like Roxas.

“Do you need some help?” Zack asked as Cloud squatted down and pulled open the front loader door

“No, it’s what I’ve got Roxas for,” he said without looking up. “Roxas,” he commanded.

Roxas snapped out of his panicked thoughts which circled around telling him how he had embarrassed himself and how he was to blame for the absolutely stifling awkwardness which was in the room. “Coming,” he muttered and slid off the bench and shuffled over to Cloud, with his head bowed so as not to be seen by Zack. But Roxas still felt the towering presence. He reached Cloud, held out his arms and received the dumping of wet clothes. He then scurried over to the dryers, relieved to have his back to the source of his embarrassment.

Cloud stood up and followed Roxas with his eyes, but was brought back to himself as warmth radiated next to him. He turned and looked up at Zack out of the corner of his eye.

“Cute kid. He yours?” Zack nodded toward Roxas.

Cloud glowered. Roxas froze, somehow even more embarrassed. Kid? Roxas looked down at himself, dressed in his big blue Cookie Monster hoodie. He winced.

“We’re brothers," Cloud almost growled.

“Oh.” Zack laughed and rubbed at his neck, “Shit, sorry for assuming. That’s embarrassing. Sorry. My mistake.”

Exasperated, Cloud said, “Can you just leave?”

“Oh.” The way Zack’s face fell felt a little comical to Cloud. “Yeah, sure. But.. before I do… are we… okay?” He looked at Cloud with concern, and then throwing his head in the direction of Roxas said, “Hey, Roxas, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that.”

Roxas was focusing all his energy on putting each individual item of clothing into the dryer separately. He waves with one hand, not turning to look at the other man, and said, “All good.” His face was burning up. He wanted to strip off his hoodie and dump it in the trash.

Cloud looked over at his brother; the tension in his shoulder, his slow movements. He could feel Roxas’ discomfort and embarrassment. Why was Zack still here? Maybe Cloud wasn’t being tough enough? He needed the other man gone. Cloud pressed his lips together, leaned against the washing machine with his arms folded across his chest and gave the other man a pointed staredown.

Zack took a step back as if Cloud’s stance had put up a physical barrier. “Uh-oh. I’ll leave, no worries. Bye, Roxas,” he said loudly, and then more quietly, “See ya around, Cloud, yeah? I hope we’re okay. Clay Bar. Eight to late on Saturdays.” Zack gave Cloud a little smile and a casual two-fingered salute and hurriedly left the laundry. His hasty footfalls echoed and faded down the hall.

Cloud let out a deep breath, peeled his eyes off the doorway and onto Roxas who turned around to face Cloud across the way. His cheeks were a deep, splotchy crimson. Cloud felt terrible for him.

The two brothers stared at each other for a few beats and then the smiles grew and the laughter started out of both of them.

“You really let him have it with your Cloud-stare-of-death,” Roxas giggled madly, feeling so good to have the anxiousness replaced by a different sensation.

"Well, he was making everything really uncomfortable."

Roxas stopped laughing. "I think that was just me."

"It wasn't."

"Oh." Roxas left it alone. They argued way too much about what was and wasn't his fault. Roxas supposed life would be easier if he could believe Cloud, but they were brothers, so Cloud would always say stuff to make him feel better. "Was that a friend of yours?" he deflected.

Cloud returned to the bench to collect his discarded book. “No. He’s just a random guy I literally only met about ten minutes ago.”

Roxas chuckled. “That’s so unlike you; making random friends in the laundry.”

“We’re not friends.”

“But he said something about going to the bar?”

Cloud didn’t want to think about it. “How’re you feeling?”

“Oh… yeah… okay, I guess? Now anyway. Do you think I dress like a little kid?” He pulled at his sweater, looking down at Cookies big smiley face.

“You shouldn’t worry about it. There’s nothing wrong with liking Cookie Monster.” “Yeah, but I’m twenty and a guy. I had to go to the women’s section to find all the cute stuff.”

“Stop doubting yourself.” “You know I can’t do that. I wish it was easier.” Cloud sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. Is it getting better at all?”

“Little by little, I guess?” he shrugged.

Cloud smiled at his brother. “I definitely see the improvements you've made since you've been pushing yourself.”

The smile that should be on Roxas’ face never came. He just looked down at his sweater some more and frowned harder. “I still feel like I fall apart when you're not around.”

“Keep practicing. Worst case scenario; pretend I’m behind you, giving you this look—” Cloud gave him a dead serious and slightly angry scowl.

Roxas broke into a smile then and laughed. “Got it. The disappointed-dad glare. You do it so well.”

“I got it enough times to have mastered it.” Cloud rolled his eyes.

“He only looks at you like that because he loves you the most and expects the most from you.”

“Why couldn't you have been the older brother? It's all your fault,” Cloud threw out with a dismal and exaggerated sigh, ribbing Roxas.

Roxas stuck his tongue out as way of reply. “Hey, but that guy; Zack.”

Cloud sat down, trying to cast his mind back on that weird encounter. “What about him?”

“I think he’s got the hots for you.”

Cloud gave a startled cough. “Huh?”

“He was totally checking you out when you got the laundry out.”

“No.” “He did. I was stressing out but I still noticed. He totally was.”

Cloud groaned. “How about you get the dryer started or our clothes’ll never dry.”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” Roxas remembered what he came down here for. He turned back to the forgotten machine and inserted the coins.

Having Roxas’ eyes off him gave Cloud some reprieve to acknowledge what he was trying to deny himself. “You really think so?—about Zack?” he asked tentatively.

“Yup.” Roxas smacked the machine and felt it jolt to life with a loud rumble. He turned back around and walked over to where Cloud was sitting.

“Damn.” Cloud wrinkled his nose and looked at the floor. “What’s up?” Roxas returned to Cloud’s side giving him an inquisitive look.

“If you’re right then he also totally asked me out on a date before you came in.”

Roxas’ eyes and mouth sprang open. “Ooooo,” Roxas sing-songed and giggled. He snappily sat down next to Cloud and nudged his side with his elbow. “So I did ruin the mood, huh.”

“There was no mood to ruin,” Cloud denied and stood up. He hadn’t even been sure of what it had been before Roxas had bombarded him with his observations.

“You gonna take him up on the offer?”

Cloud pressed his lips together, thinking about it

“Hmm? Well?” Roxas grinned up at his always too serious brother.

Cloud grimaced and turned away from Roxas a little. He wasn't used to people asking him out, preferring to keep to himself as much as possible. But… “He is sort of… attractive,” he understated with a mutter.

“Only sort of?” The tease was unmistakable.

Sexy chiseled jaw, tight jeans, cool leather jacket, and did he already think of those tight jeans? He had smelt really nice too as he had passed him. Cloud merely grunted and then conceded with a small, “Maybe.”

Roxas sniggered and wore a satisfied smirk. “Attaboy.”

“Shut up. When’s this Sophia Tiller thing happening?”

“Oh right. Two weeks from now. I left the flyer with all the info on the kitchen counter.”

“Okay. I’ll go email it out to both our groups and then I really need to get ready for work. Don’t forget to take the clothes out.” “No worries. I’m on it, and thanks!” Roxas waved as Cloud took his leave of the laundry room. --------------

Roxas sat in the laundry, fiddling around on his phone to pass the time. He played some mindless games, trawled through online message boards, and checked the clothes, separating and pulling out the items which were drier than the others and putting them in a plastic bag he had pulled out from his pocket.

Dark hair and a somewhat familiar face popped through the doorway at some point, attracting Roxas’ attention.

“Hey, Roxas. Is it okay if I come in? I need to get my stuff out of the dryer.”

Roxas felt his stomach drop and butterflies kicked up a storm. His heart jolted into an uneasy pace. He pulled his arms around himself, trying to hide his sweater. Heat prickled his chest and cheeks. “You don’t have to ask me. It’s a public space,” he got out, trying to shut off his thoughts.

“I just thought… if I make you uncomfortable I can always leave and come back later.”

That offer took Roxas aback. “N-no, you’re fine to come in.”

“Oh, cool.” Zack grinned and he strode into the warm room. “I didn't mean any offence.”

Roxas just nodded, hoping Zack would leave him alone, and he pulled his phone out again, hunching in on himself with his feet up on the bench, knees up and slouching against the corner wall. But apparently Zack took Roxas’ silence as something entirely different—

“I'm sorry, really. I just wanted to figure out who you were to Cloud. I didn't wanna overstay my welcome if you were… well, you know.”

Roxas didn't, but figured he had to make conversation if he was ever going to have Zack believe that he wasn't angry at him. He tried to picture Cloud’s disappointed-dad face and told himself it was fine because he had already made a fool of himself once. He took a deep breath and then, “It’s all good. All fine. Really. A lot of people assume I'm much younger than I am.” And no wonder with the way that he looked and often times acted. If he wasn’t running away from social situations he ended up saying dumb shit which made him look like a complete imbecile.

Zack advanced further towards Roxas’ position. “Well, I’m sorry anyway.”

“You don't have to keep saying that. You're not in Cloud’s bad books or anything,” he muttered, wondering—hoping—that this wasn't really about himself.

“Well, he does love reading,” Zack chuckled to himself. “Ah… hey, Roxas,” Zack sat down and slid across the bench toward him. Roxas pulled his knees closer to himself. “You think I'm in with a chance? With your brother, I mean.”

The tight coil of panic eased a little bit and he felt breathing to be a little easier. It really was all about Cloud. Thank god! Zack clearly didn’t care about him at all. Such a relief! He shrugged by way of reply. Cloud would definitely hurt him if he told Zack what they had discussed earlier.

“Got any tips for me?”

Roxas shook his head. He wanted to be left alone, so he looked back down at his phone.

The hint seemed to finally be received. Zack sighed and got up. “It wasn't supposed to be an interrogation. Just came to get my stuff.” He walked to a dryer and started pulling clothes out.

Roxas would have felt relieved… if he didn’t feel so bad. He wished for Cloud to be around to make him feel more at ease. But he wasn’t, and Roxas was stuck in his own anxiety-riddled skin. He stared blankly at his phone, tapping the screen to keep it from going into sleep, while all his senses were trained on Zack, without directly looking at him.

He worried and wondered what Zack thought of him to an unreasonable extent. Why should it matter to him? He didn’t even know Zack. But no amount of reasoning ever seemed to do him any good. He wanted to leave a good impression though. He didn’t want Zack to hate him, especially if he would be around for a while. The fact that Cloud had apparently engaged Zack enough for them to have talked for a bit was significant. Unless it was for business, or a close friend or family member, Cloud didn’t give people so much as the time of day. For some weird reason this felt weighty, in his chest and limbs, and especially in his head.

Lid slammed. Roxas tore his unfocused gaze away from his phone and up toward Zack, who walked carrying his load of washing in a cloth bag. His unhurried but determined footsteps echoes around the quiet space. “Later, Roxas.” He gave a wave and a congenial smile.

Roxas was totally leaving a terrible impression right now. He could feel it. “Peanut butter,” he burst out as Zack vanished through the doorway.

Footsteps ceased and seconds later Zack leaned backward through the doorway and looked at Roxas, confused. “Huh?”

“Cloud. He loves peanut butter. Smooth. Not crunchy.”

Gray-blue eyes lit up and Zack’s smile stretched wide across his face. “Thanks, man!” and with that Zack was gone, his steps fading off into the distance of the long concrete hallway beyond.

Roxas was left alone once more and he breathed out his nerves. He had managed to not make a fool of himself this time. But what if Cloud got angry with him? Should he really have given the man any information about anything pertaining to his own flesh and blood? Had he become some sort of an accomplice? Roxas tried to take a deep, calming breath. And another. And another. “Fuck!” He got up, poked his head out past the doorway to see if anyone was around. The coast was clear. He went toward the back of the laundry, around a corner where the wash basins for handwashing were situated. He went to the very back corner, squeezing in between the end of the washbasin and the corner wall to where a ventilation grate sat recessed in the wall. He loosened the screws which held the vent grate in place. A bit of jiggling leant itself to the metal coming out of its wall fitting. It revealed a hollow and dark cavity, leading out of the building. Roxas reached into the void, expertly finding what he had put there himself; a ziplock bag with a stage of cigarettes and a lighter inside. He looked at the bag and swore. He only had one left.

Without thinking about it he took the lone smoke and lighter out and shoved the empty bag back in the hole. He’d have to bum a few smokes off someone when he got another chance. That thought made him feel even more stressed out.

His hands jittered a little but he got himself lit up after two tries. He took a deep dragging suck of the heavy smoke. It delightfully hit that spot right at the top of his throat and instantly soothed his nerves. He took a few more longer drags, exhaling into the vent and then stubbed out the cigarette and returned it into the bag. He wasn’t a heavy smoker. It was just a vice to help soothe his nerves. If he could save this cigarette he’d be spared the anxiety of having to ask strangers for a new one.

“Blowing-fucking-hole-of-motherfucking-shit!”

Roxas jumped with fright and snapped his attention to the main part of the laundry. He quickly worked at securing the vent and quietly walked over to the corner, to peek around and see what was going on.

He saw the source of the profanity and it certainly wasn't hard to spot; a lanky redhead, sporting hands on hips, staring at the detergent vending machine which was mounted on the wall near the first row of washing machines.

Roxas slunk back around his corner and took deep breaths. The few puffs he had of the nicotine still calmed him. He could stay hidden here. He could go over to the dryer and check it to make himself look busy. There was no need to be shy or nervous.

“Why’re there so many Goddamn brands to choose from in this metallic piss pot?” A loud metallic thump sounded through the space.

Roxas felt his heart sink. He probably should help. No one else was around after all and the longer he lingered in indecisiveness the worse his embarrassment would be if the guy realized he had been in here all along. Roxas pictured Cloud’s stern stare. He told himself to play it cool, took a deep breath, clenched his trembling fists, and stepped out of his hiding nook, saying, “You need a hand with anything?”

The man jumped and yelped. He whirled around, squeaking slightly, “Oh geez. Where’d you come from?”

Roxas stared at piercing green eyes, high cheekbones and pointed chin. An overwhelming sense of inadequacy rushed through him. This stranger was completely handsome. Roxas shrunk in on himself, crossing his arms in front of himself, trying to hide Cookie Monster. He screamed at himself for still wearing the sweater.

“Eh…” the man said.

Roxas blinked rapidly. Shit. What had been the question? “My mom and dad?”

The redhead’s eyebrow rose as did the corner of his mouth.

Roxas screamed internally at his stupidity. He was aiming for cool - not complete dork. “I-I mean I’ve just been here,” he gave a vague shrug towards the dryers. Had he saved it? “Need help?” he tried to deflect walking closer and calling himself names.

The amusement the other man wore melted away, “Yes! I don’t normally do laundry. I have no idea which of these to use.” He pointed at the dispenser and stuck his hands deep into his jean pockets.

Roxas' heart raced uncomfortably, his palms sweat, but he could handle the topic of laundry. He’d just focus on that instead of vivid green eyes. He walked over with a bit of confidence as he fixed his gaze onto the vending machine. He tried to ignore the fact that the redhead was very tall. He hugged himself tighter, really wishing he had worn something cool today, instead of childish. “Well,” he began, “most of these are all the same. You can have liquid or powder—not that it really matters. The only thing you might need to watch out for is if you’ve got sensitive skin. Then you’d want this one or this one,” Roxas pointed and looked ever so briefly at the other man. “And don't even worry about all these at the bottom. No one needs fabric softener in their lives.”

“But what if I hate scratchy fabric on my delicate skin?”

Roxas looked up and studied the man next to him then, not sure if he was being messed with or if the guy was sincerely concerned. But he couldn’t tell because he got too distracted by porcelain skin which accentuated and drew out the color of the green eyes and the red hair and Roxas had never seen someone like this before, and he hung out with artists all the time, but still nothing compared to that color palette and what was he looking at the man for again?

The mesmerizing green eyes flicked onto Roxas. Thin lips quirked up into a smile.

Roxas quickly looked away and pulled his stupid mouth shut. How long had he been slack-jawed for? Washing Powders! “Ah—” he cleared his throat and tried again, “Then maybe do buy the softener?”

“Nah. Think I'll manage without it.”

Whether on purpose or by accident the man's arm brushed Roxas'. He hardly heard the next part because he was so focused on inconspicuously shifting away from the redhead.

“I’m pretty easy. I could wash my clothes in dish soap and I’d be fine. Why don’t we use dish soap for clothes?”

Roxas shrugged, trying to catch his breath and tell his head to shut up and to not say anything more embarrassing. “Wouldn’t want your clothes squeaky and sparkling, right?” An internal groan followed. He couldn’t pull off cool in a million years. Dork it was always destined to be.

A small laugh came out of the other man and then he said, “Right.”

Roxas’ heart pounded. His cheeks were so definitely red and hot and fuck he wanted to vanish. ‘Just focus on the topic,’ he told himself. “Anyway, you’re better off using this one,” Roxas pointed to the brand Cloud always used. “That seems to work best with these old machines.” “Cool. Thanks.”

Roxas gave the briefest of smiles to the stranger, not daring to focus too hard on his face. He turned his back and walked to his machine where he was definitely going to throw himself into it and disappear from view. He got to his destination, opened the lid but determined he wouldn’t fit. Instead he checked on the clothes, especially the jeans; checking the hems to see if they were drying properly.

“Yo, guy—dude—you. Cookie!"

Cookie! Roxas was mortified and absolutely wanted to die. He turned his head to take a look and saw flailing hands, beckoning him over.

“Roxas,” he offered, shutting the lid of the dryer to let it continue its tumbling. He reluctantly walked toward the redhead, still trying to distort Cookie Monster on his chest by bunching the fabric up.

“Sure. Sup. I’m… Axel. So this machine… what gives?”

“Whaddya mean? Have you never used one of these?”

“No. Well, yeah. But usually there’s like one button to push and I walk away. These things are ancient.”

That made Roxas huff with a small laugh. “Yeah. Their almost like lost relics from another dimension.” Roxas’ smile fell when he saw Axel give him a confused look. He kicked himself. Why couldn't he stick to simple yes and no answers? He didn't know, but he grew determined to be helpful and just focus on the machine, and not the man. “Ah… you just set the cycle here, hit this, spin that and you’re done. Oh and don’t forget to put the detergent in there.” Roxas pointed to all the things he mentioned.

“Awesome. Thanks, man.”

Roxas gave a small nod and turned to get distance between himself and Axel. He barely made it back to his machine before he heard a frustrated grumble.

“I did what you said. So why isn't it starting?” A metallic thud echoed.

Would this troubleshooting nightmare ever end? Couldn't Roxas be left alone? How much more help did he have to give? Clearly, this was a cruel test on his determination for self-improvement. Roxas turned back around. “Kicking it won't help.”

“Maybe. But it's fun. Wanna try?” Axel grinned.

Roxas’ nervousness died a little bit. He shook his head and returned to Axel's side, checking all the settings, redoing them himself and then they both stood around, hands on hips, looking at it.

Axel gave a loud groan and bowed his head. “I’m not cut out for domestics.”

“I don’t know why it’s not working. You put money in, didn’t you?”

Axel raised his head, stared at Roxas and suddenly looked behind Roxas and pointed, “What’s that over there?”

Roxas snapped his attention behind himself. Was it a fire? A large bug? Another person having walked in? He saw nothing bar the empty doorway. Had he just been made fun of? Roxas turned back around fully prepared to get laughed at but saw the other man slip two coins into the coin slot of the machine and push the start button.

The machine sputtered to life.

Axel side-eyed Roxas, and Roxas quickly looked away.

“Oh look, magic! It works now!”

The smile grew and Roxas tried to stifle it but he laughed anyway and Axel let out a small laugh as well. They looked back at each other, smiling.

“Amazing magic,” Roxas remarked, nervous tension sliding off his chest.

Axel nodded. “Hey, uh… Roxas?”

“Mm?”

“You seem like the kind of guy who would know where to get a smoke around here.”

The good mood froze inside of Roxas. “Why?” he asked as he stared.

“Well, I can smell it on you.”

Shit. Roxas frowned and snapped at himself for having been so careless. He was so fucking lucky that Cloud wasn’t around right now. “And?” he asked, hesitant of where this would lead.

“I could really use one right about now.”

Roxas could relate. He debated with himself whether or not to give Axel directions to the tobacconist down in the town or if he should keep Axel around. He heavily leaned toward sending Axel away but… “Well—” He looked around, making sure the coast was clear, and then beckoned Axel to follow him around the corner to where the handwash basins and his hidden stash were.

This was unprecedented, but Roxas thought they had shared 'a moment' so maybe it would be all right. He walked with purpose to the corner of this section of the room and squeezed into the gap between the washbasin and the wall. Axel was right beside him, squeezing into the small space as well.

Their sides were pressed together. Roxas could smell a hint of musk and feel the other man’s radiating body heat. He really hoped he wasn't going to say something stupid as he began talking, “Can you keep a secret?” he asked in a hushed tone.

Axel leaned down. “I’m master of secret keeping.”

Roxas swallowed down the lump forming. Axel’s warm breath brushing against his face was caught and detected by every fine hair on Roxas’ cheeks and caressed his lips. Nervous butterflies swirled around inside himself. “Ah… normally I wouldn’t do this but—” The tremble and buzzing radiated outward from the pit of his stomach. Roxas really needed to calm his nerves. A smoke would help. He shifted, turning toward the wall, and swiftly got the grate undone and his half-smoked cigarette and the lighter out again.

“Ooo, a secret stash!”

Roxas heard the excitement in Axel’s voice as he slotted the grate back into place, without redoing the screws. He pressed his back against the opposite wall, trying to get an inch of space between himself and the other man, before offering up the nearly half-smoked cigarette.

"Sorry, this is all I've got left."

Axel took it, but not without dragging a finger down the length of Roxas’ hand. "Thank you for sharing it with me."

The touch nullified all of Roxas’ thoughts and sent his heart racing. He looked up at green eyes, which looked down at him, half closed. Roxas didn’t know what to make of it. He simply watched long fingers holx and push the cigarette against thin lips in a well-practiced manner.

"We'll share the rest of this one?" Axel mumbled past the obstruction in his mouth and leaned towards the lighter which Roxas held up.

Roxas nodded and flicked the lighter a few times. He could hardly breath. Green eyes kept looking at him in a way that was too sexy for Roxas to comprehend. He needed to smoke a whole packet if he was ever going to recover from this.

Roxas kept flicking the lighter, hating himself that he couldn’t get the blasted thing working. He never had a problem doing this in the past. The one time someone was watching him—someone insanely hot, no less—and he couldn't get the blasted thing working. Well, of course, it figured.

“Here.” The other man's warm hand clasped over Roxas’, steadying him enough so the flame could be lit.

The touch was almost electric with the jolt it sent through Roxas and the flutters it caused. He felt so embarrassed that it made him nauseous.

“You don’t do this very often?” Axel leaned the cigarette into the flame and took a few drags to get it lit.

“Only sometimes—blow into the vent,” he instructed. “Stops the place from stinking, and the fire alarm from going off.”

Axel hummed in appreciation. Whether it was from the nicotine hitting him or from Roxas’ instructions he couldn’t tell.

Smoke was exhaled into the ventilation system. “Clearly you've done this enough times to know the ins and outs of the place. A real veteran at doing the sneaky sneaky, huh” Axel grinned and winked before passing the cigarette on.

Roxas took it, trying his best to ignore the way their fingers touched and connected. The longer he was pressed up against Axel like this the more in need of a smoke he was. He took a drag, and pulled thick air into his lungs, where the nicotine could do its magic. He let out a shaky breath into the ventilation system and coughed a bit at the end.

More embarrassment welled, counteracting the calming effect the smoke was supposed to have on his nerves.

Roxas passed the cigarette back and saw the way Axel barely held laugh at bay.

“Go on. Let it out.”

“Nah. Couldn't do that. Not after your generosity.” Axel took another puff. “Ah… what about the ashes?”

“Tap them into the sink behind you. We’ll wash them down after.”

Axel did laugh at that. “Nice. You got this all figured out. But why the covert operation? Last I checked smoking wasn't illegal—outside that is. Pretty illegal us doing it in here. You doing it for the extra buzz?” Axel chuckled, passing the smoke once more and as it got smaller and smaller their fingers grazed and connected more and more.

“My brother would lose his shit if he found out.” “Why’s he such a busy-body?"

“Our grandad and uncle died from lung cancer. So it’s probably a genetic predisposition and probably in my best self-interest to not smoke. But… you know,” Roxas shrugged, feeling more relaxed in his own skin even as he could feel himself trembling and feel his cheeks oh so hot with the flush he was experiencing. “Once in a while won't kill me, right?”

“I hope not. Would be a waste.” Axel smiled and Roxas chose to look at the wall instead.

They passed the cigarette between one another for a few more pulls before it was all used up. Roxas was glad when it was all over. Having to reach his arm around the guy so he could ash was wearing on him. As was all the body contact, if Roxas was honest with himself. He tried to ignore it because he could feel his heart race every time he noticed the sensation of legs against his own and the man's pelvis and hips digging in. He shifted as discreetly as he could because he was getting hard and he would die if Axel could feel.

Roxas turned away a little and pulled the grate off the wall once more and disposed of the butt in there and replaced the lighter. He really lamented the fact now that he would have to try and bum another smoke off someone in the near future. That activity alone was so nerve-wracking that he really considered forking out the cash to buy a whole pack for himself. But that seemed too risky for the once in a while medicating relief the cigarettes provided. He sighed to himself in resignation and Pulled out a packet of gum.

He turned back to face Axel, pressing himself tight against the wall to create some space between his groin and the warm delicious and ridiculously hot man before himself and held out the packet. “You want?”

Axel laughed and took a stick. “Thanks. What else you got hidden in there? Drugs?”

Roxas took a piece of gum, popped it in his mouth and threw the packet back in the vent. “Um… just this,” he reached in and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. What the hell. He figured he might as well go all the way with incriminating himself.

“Oh my God, Roxas!”

The look of surprised mirth, coupled with the laugh Axel gave, sent a tingle down Roxas’ body. “What?” he asked, trying to hide the smile. He figured his blush couldn't get any deeper so chose to ignore that, and instead focused on how maybe, just maybe, he was pulling off cool?

“Don't be giving me that cute little smile. You're way too badass for that.” Axel laughed some more.

Roxas let the smile spread. He totally was pulling it off. If it wouldn't have a detrimental effect Roxas would have cheered and fist pumped the air. “You wanna?” He held the bottle aloft.

Axel accepted it, unscrewed the top, took out his gum, and took a long swig. He passed it back to Roxas when he was done.

“I shouldn't have accepted the drink,” Axel lamented, popping the gum back in.

“Why not?” Roxas looked at him, confused, and took a deep gulp of his own. It tasted weird with the combination of cigarette smoke and minty gum freshness, but the taste wasn't the reason for drinking for Roxas.

“Well, now I can’t use my line of 'we should go out for a drink some time,’ on you, now can I?”

Roxas choked, coughed and sputtered, bending over a little, sending his forehead right into Axel's chest.

Axel's hand was on Roxas' back in moments, patting and rubbing, which only made Roxas sputter more.

“Take it easy.”

Roxas got control of himself, screwed the cap back on, replaced his gum, and thrust the bottle deep into the vent, closing it up. He was making a colossal fool of himself. His mood sullied considerably. “I can't go out for a drink with you anyway.”

“Why not? Do you need your brothers permission for that as well?”

“No. But I'm twenty, so legally not allowed in this dumb country.”

“I should probably be upset about you callin’ my country dumb—” Roxas suddenly froze, but then breathed out a small sigh as Axel continued, “but the drinking age is dumb. So I’ll let it slide. Do you really have a reason to complain though? You somehow got your hands on a red label,” Axel grinned. “You certainly are something else, Roxas, I'll give ya that.”

“Uh… thanks?”

“You're welcome.”

They were still wedged against each other, between the wall and the wash basin. Neither of them giving the slightest hint to the other that they should move. Well... Roxas couldn’t. He felt frozen in place, party by want and party due to sheer terror. He thought his legs would buckle and collapse under him. Axel was keeping him upright and as Roxas looked up at him he hoped he remembered to blink as he stared deep into pools of green.

Those eyes were so damn sexy.

Axel’s mouth drifted open, his eyes widened a fraction and softened just as quickly. “Ah, thanks. Yours are gorgeous too.” He smiled gently.

Roxas tensed up and forgot to breathe. He swore he could feel all the blood drain away from his face. Had he said something? Shit. He stammered out, “S-sorry. I shouldn't have—they’re not—I mean you’re not—you are—but—just… sorry.” He quickly extracted himself from the tight corner.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” It came out too hoarse and harsh for his own liking. Roxas berated himself for being a massive idiot.

“Is there anything I can do to repay you for sharing your secret stash with me?”

At least Axel wasn’t teasing him about it. That made him feel somewhat relieved. Roxas, feeling a tiny bit more composed, turned around. Green eyes darted upwards, where they exchanged looks. Fuck! Axel had seen Cookie Monster. Thought Roxas had lied about his age. Thought he was a complete moron and a little kid. Roxas crossed his arms. He was going to burn the sweater, he swore he would. But first he needed this to end. His nerves were getting shot again and he felt like he might need to down the whole bottle if this went on for much longer. With a bowed head and a deep grumble he said, “Can you please just forget what a massive dork I am?”

“Dork? I think you’re really cute… and a bit sexy.” Axel stepped out of the corner to stand right in front of Roxas.

That froze Roxas up completely. He stared at the black boots with a red trim. Swallowing down the tight lump in his throat he slowly lifted his gaze up over jeans, and the red and black sweater up to Axel’s face, where he saw a soft expression.

With hands deep in pockets, Axel said, “If I can’t buy you a drink at least let me take you out.”

“Like… on a date?”

“Mm. Not really but kinda?” he shrugged.

Roxas didn’t understand what that was supposed to mean. “No. Look, that’s not necessary. I didn’t share this with you ‘cause I wanted anything back.”

“Aren’t you nice.”

Roxas frowned and hugged himself tighter, looking away.

“Roxas?” “What?” he snapped, shooting Axel a grumpy look.

“I’d really like to hang out with you some more.”

It was bizarre and out of left field. Roxas looked around himself, half expecting someone to jump out and yell, 'Gotcha!' “Why? I suck.”

Axel chuckled. “Do you now?”

Roxas wanted to die to escape the embarrassment. “No. I…”

“It’s all right. I blow, you know,” Axel winked.

Roxas choked a bit on his spit. “What?” he croaked. What was even happening right now?

“I blow. I’m in this band and I play the sax. What did you think I meant?”

That cheeky smile said it all. Axel was teasing him. For good or for bad Roxas couldn't tell. “I didn’t think that. No.” He grumbled some more and hunched in on himself more.

“Shame, 'cause if you did, well—” Axel flashed his eyebrows up and a smirk bloomed while he flicked his tongue out to wet his lips.

A swirling hurricane of emotions and thoughts whirled through Roxas. What was going on? This stuff never happened to him. People didn’t hit on him. Axel was doing that, right? Or maybe he did just delight in making Roxas flush deeply and to make him uncomfortable? Roxas opened his mouth, but nothing bar incoherent sounds come out.

A low chuckle flowed from Axel. “It’s all right. Come and watch me blow—this Saturday. Any time after eight.”

Had Axel moved closer to Roxas? It felt like there was no space between them. He took a step back. “I ah—I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Good.”

The harsh beeping of the dryer was like a warm embrace from a dear loved one. “That’s me,” Roxas said with haste, turned and almost bolted to his station. As he pulled out the clothes with great speed and determination he heard Axel’s footsteps drawing closer.

“It was fun, Roxas. Don’t forget, this Saturday at the Clay Bar, yeah? You need to see me in action.”

“Yeah, I’ll… maybe.” Roxas slammed the lid shut and almost ran out of the laundry, the bag of laundry thrown over his shoulder. If he had left anything behind he wasn’t coming back for it.

That’s it for chapter one. Feedback appreciated. If you’d like to pre-read the rest for me get in touch on here or Discord or twitter. All my relevant contact info can be found on my AO3 Profile page.

#fanfiction #sneakpeek #Clack #Zakkura #AkuRoku #FFVII #Kingdom Hearts #drug use #relationship building #social anxiety

7 notes · View notes

actualbird · 7 years ago

Note

yo you totally made me think about low empathy michael and it like totally makes sense and i think about it a lot when i listen to two player game bc ye like he OBVIOUSLY cares a lot about jeremy and he loves him and like jeremy's stating his problem and michael keeps saying the same solution cause like "that's the answer bro, don't be down" bc he cant wrap his head around the emotions and connect w them that well so in his mind he's just saying this completely fool proof solution i love this hc

yo i got this ask while balls deep in three books of discourse analysis i could only understand by like 10% but because of that was in the mood to just. keep thinking my brain in circles.

so heres a stupidly long answer cataloging canon instances of michael being low empathy af/exhibiting other traits related to this. along with like, characterization to extrapolate from that (at least by my own personal interpretation. obligatory disclaimer that how i see characters is not law, this is just My Take).

but before that, im gonna define some terms outright so we’re all on the same page. empathy is a person’s capability to understand and feel what others are feeling. basically how well you can put yourself in somebody else’s shoes. this shouldnt be confused with sympathy, which is feeling compassion, pity, sorrow etc. for another. empathy is recognition/replication while sympathy is more on the caring about it. here i focus on empathy and the lack of it.

im not an expert on Anything but speaking from experience as somebody who has very low empathy, this causes some complications. when you dont feel what others are feeling, sometimes you dont notice other people’s feelings at all. this results in stuff like bluntness, trouble reading social cues, insensitivity, etc. all things that 1) may happen unintentionally, 2) can be worked through via healthy communication, 3) are not inherently bad, just a result of how one reacts to external emotions and 4) things i totally think michael exhibits because hes a low empathy goblin i love with my whole heart.

let’s get right into it. in more than survive, right after jeremy and michael discover their boyf riend backpacks, this exchange occurs

this seems pretty normal at first glance but it is the first instance of what seems to be michael’s go-to pattern for when he notices his best friend is feeling down, which, at least, kudos to michael, he very obviously noticed jeremy’s feelings. hurrah! so his process for how to fix this goes a little like “step 1: notice jeremy is upset. step 2: cheer jeremy up! step 3: unknowingly kinda mess up step 2“

jeremy is upset about the backpacks but then jeremy provides an out with something supposedly positive. michael latches on to it. it turns out to be negative. michael tries to salvage the situation by cheering jeremy up! by giving him a cool science fact! hell yeah! except it’s a shaky save at best because he does call the both of them losers but in an “it’s okay :D” way.

all in all this is nothing really, just some friendly fast paced banter between best friends. whats important here is the 3 step pattern aforementioned because it 1) shows that michael Cares about his best friend and tries to make things better and 2) is BASICALLY the entirety of two player game

TWO PLAYER GAME is such a BOP and, at its core, is a song about how michael has got jeremy’s back and vice versa. but tpg is also textbook the 3 step pattern with added sprinkle of unintended invalidation. ive briefly spoken about tpg before so this might look a lil familiar but at its gist:

like you said anon, in tpg jeremy tells michael a problem he has, and throughout the course of the song, he continually makes it known that hes upset and has a lot of issues. step 1 has been achieved: michael knows jeremy is not doing too hot. time to do step 2: cheer him up!! and what better way to do that than to think positive with his trademark line “guys like us are cool in college” like, over and over again. because….it makes sense for michael. things might suck now, but just keep swimming yeah? it’ll be better later.

but it’s not better now and thats what jeremy actually needed validation on. michael thinks the solution is to look to the future but jeremy has his problems bothering him in the present. for all that michael says this is a two player game, he’s unintentionally dismissive because he doesnt understand that this isnt something that can be fixed with a simple “look forward to two years from now” mentality. neither of them are in the wrong, really. theyre just not on the same page.

onwards we go to something else entirely. the chili fries

this is a RIDICULOUSLY SMALL MOMENT but it stuck out to me because imo it is pretty obvious that jeremy says “leave me alone” because hes bummed and is being dramatic, but michael takes it literally and uses the opportunity to skedaddle and get his sweet sweet discontinued soda. im aware michael had to be gone for plot reasons and also the discontinued soda is foreshadowing for the mtn dew red, but taken at face value, this is something that happens a lot w/ low empathy: things are taken literally.

jeremy is upset. jeremy said to give him some space. thats cool, i’ll go for a bit and come back with something neat that might cheer him up—hey, where’d he go?

and now let’s jump to something everybody and their dog knows about. michael in the bathroom. except not really. because mitb isnt what interests me so much as what happens before.

pre mitb is very, very interesting. before i say anything i’ll be clear in saying that literally nobody had even remotely a nice halloween night, it’s a disaster for everybody involved, but keep in mind that jeremy goes into the pre mitb scene immediately after the clusterfuck that is do you wanna hang and also getting chased down by a sloshed but aggressive jake. many people have said this before me but i’ll say it again: jeremy was not doing well. at all.

and this is where michael fails step 1 of his pattern. he doesnt pick up on this at all. michael is kinda stuck in his own head right now. hes pissed. hes confused. hes betrayed. he cant understand other people’s feelings and now he has to deal with his own too. his head is a melting pot of AGH and he takes it out on jeremy. yeah, he tries to help jeremy, but he doesnt do it very well. it’s all very accusatory, and jeremy just had a terrible night, so jeremy lashes out.

teenagers are bad at emotions but theyre not bad people for it. //cue mitb notes, we know the drill

to the play!!!

recap for maximum contextualization: jeremy realizes the squip is bad fucking news and wants it gone. michael makes an entrance with the one thing that can kill it. and then this happens

AIGHT okay so the whole “i need an apology” scene is obviously played for comedy, and it does a good job at suddenly diffusing the end of the world stakes with some more down to earth teen friend drama but that aside, this scene is a good candidate to be listed under the definition of the phrase “bad timing” because michael, holy shit. BAD TIMING. like great timing for humor but bad timing as a human being.

here we have jeremy clearly in possessed distress and michael has the antidote but he only wants to give it on a condition. it is absolutely a dick move. yeah, michael is is valid for wanting an apology, but not at this moment with the current stakes. this is michael thinking pretty selfishly. hes stuck in his own head and his own thoughts. he cares about jeremy and wants to help but…this apology important to him. it’s easy to get stuck on things like this when you cant empathize with others. the low empathy means that the only feelings you really get to really interact with are your own, so theres a tendency to focus on them. sometimes even at inopportune moments.

unintentional asshole-ery behold. in fact, this can be pushed even harder by this snippet in the score of be more chill that had some lines from an earlier draft.

the fetus version of michael makes an entrance is hilariously low empathy, oh my god. this happens while jeremy is rolling around on the floor fighting an invisible-to-everybody-else squip and this is the first thing michael says. it’s positively dickish.

SO with that done, a little bit can be extrapolated in terms of characterization. i think michael is low empathy so the dominos fall. michael is terrible at feelings. hes got a tendency to get stuck in his own head and not see what others are going through. his emotional periphery is abysmal, hes like a horse with those things that stop horses from looking to the side. in spite of all this, he still has a lot of love and good in his heart and he tries his best to show that in the ways that make sense to him. post-canon, the rift between his brain and jeremy’s brain can only be bridged by a big healthy heap of communication where michael learns that what makes sense to him isnt always what makes sense to other people. hes a good kid. he can do it.

of course this is, again, all my take. the fun thing about transformative work and fandom is that all interpretations are valid and there will always be somebody out there who agrees. or disagrees. but on this blog, this is my michael. or at least one aspect of my michael. //shrug

ANYWAY im glad you like the hc anon!! ive obviously got a lot of feelings about it since i used your ask as an excuse to aimlessly ramble for, holy shit, 1.6 k words lmao. i hope you have a good day!!!

#be more chill #bmc #i spent too much time typing this so it's getting tagged #if i had to type all this you have to scroll past all of it. ive never used a readmore in my life #i havent written most of this into fic yet but i want to. desperately #hc

323 notes · View notes

spiralatlas · 7 years ago

Text

PAX Australia 2017 Day 3

There are no notes for Day 2 because I spent it socialising a little and sleeping a lot.

Queer Coded: A History of LGBTQIA+ Gaming

David Gaider Q&A

Brian Fairbanks Talks about Addressing Accessibility Through Game Design

Misc: I spent a chunk of the day in the diversity lounge which was fun. I met some great people at the Gender Diverse card game, and got to the semi finals of the Xena Nintendo 64 Fighting Game Tournament (there were only three rounds, but given how much I suck at fighting games this was still a happy surprise, and a sign of what a random button masher the game is)

The gender neutral toilets near the diversity lounge were very well done, unlike GCAP the original signs weren't visible and "with stalls/urinals" was in small letters like an afterthought.

I didn't break anything on Day 3 but did break a mug the next morning. Also the cinema in the Crown Casino is surprisingly inaccessible.

Despite the various mishaps I had a great time and will definitely come again next time we can afford it.

Queer Coded: A History of LGBTQIA+ Gaming

I missed the second half of this to see David Gaider, feeling very annoyed at the programmer.

Anny Sims @ChattyAnny on twitter (I was too slow to get the others!) Keely Thirkell Hayley Williams Soap Pejovic

Most queer characters are just queer coded, with plausible deniability. "It's up to you".Tendency for queer characters to be villains. Indie games tend to be more queer friendly than AAA games.

Lesbians: First known queer character in games: 1986 Moonmist had side-character who was a lesbian murderer.

Other notable lesbian characters:

KOTOR 2003, Juhani, first queer Star Wars character

Gone Home 2013

Dragon Age Inquisition Sera (I thought Sam Traynor from Mass Effect 3 came first?)

Tracer from Overwatch 2016

Trans characters:

1988 Birdo from Super Mario Brothers 2 "A male who believes he is female"

Lots of others but all terrible. Jokes and villains. Trans women seen as threat. Poison from Final Fight 1989, "so you can hit a woman".

Krem DAI 2014 trans man, You can't go "Ok, cool".

Hainly Adams MEA 2017 trans woman. Tells you her deadname, this was patched.

Horizon: Zero Dawn 2017 trans man

Dream Daddy 2017 trans man. One throw away line about wearing a binder, had to be clarified by writers. Non binary people and cosplayers wear binders too!

How do you make it clear they're trans without them implausibly outing themselves or just having it be word of god?

Gay men:

1993 fmv Dracula Unleashed has speaking role

Tended to be background characters, jokes and villains again. No m/m relationships shown onscreen.

Dreamfall: the Longest Journey 2006 (not made super clear until 2015)

Steve Cortez Mass Effect 3 2012

Dorian DAI 2014

Dorian knew exactly what his sexuality was. Coming of age narratives get boring.

Bi Characters (no picture because they're invisible):

1993 Ultima 7 part 2 bi character propositions character regardless of gender.

"Slutty bisexuals". A lot of characters are playersexual and it never comes up outside the relationship.

Zevran DAO 2009

Borderlands 2009

Fable 2004 let player be bi, Fable 2 2008 added bi PCs

Playersexual:

Only queer in the context that they will date players of both genders, but you don't see that unless you play as both.

Dragon Age 2 2011, Anders only mentions his ex-boyfriend if you play as a male PC

Fallout 4 2015. Did have background queer characters.

Stardew Valley 2016

Non Binary:

1995 Chrono Trigger villain

Often robots, aliens or other non human

Frisk Undertale 2015

Life is Strange 2015

Zer0 Borderlands 2 2012

Turing Read Only Memories

Some games let you have gender neutral pronouns.

David Gaider Q&A

1999 Working on Balder's Gate 2, didn't talk about his sexuality at work. Figured he would always be writing stories for straight people.

He was shocked to hear Jade Empire was having same sex romance. Got to be lead writer on DAO after that. "So I can put same sex romances in, right?". More economical to have bi romances, but he would have been happier having some gay characters.

Feeling iffy about playersexuality after DA2, he asked for 2 straight, 2 bi, 2 gay for DAI. "Minority content" is weighed via the percentage of those who play it and those who appreciate it. Eg 5% play dwarves but most see it as a positive thing to be able to do.

Most of his time was spent on the actual plot but Dorian was the most personal writing.

He was targeted by Gamergate but it doesn't compare to, for example, how much Jennifer Helper was targeted.

10 years on Dragon Age was enough, his head would explode if he had to write another story about templars and mages.

How did you get the job: His story is very specific. He was managing a hotel and a comic book artist in his spare time. A friend was a character artist at Bioware but Gaider wasn't really aware of the specifics. Bioware told their employees "If you know anyone who does game related writing let us know", the friend gave them Gaider's LARP rule book without asking. Got a call, gave the stories he wrote in highschool, got offered a job. He said no, it didn't pay enough, but then he got fired from the hotel. It felt like a sign.

Who do you think will take the romance torch from Bioware: he’s not sure they're giving it up? EA treats romance fans as a reliable audience who don't need to be advertised to, even though it's why a lot of people play in his experience (though obviously those are the kinds of fans he will tend to meet). There is an underserved audience.

Most proud of: Lots of stuff he's not proud of. Wishes he'd been more involved in community discussions early on. Proud that the team tackled issues as they started arising. Proud of the company for standing by them. Most proud of Dragon Age 2 despite the mixed response. They had very little time to create it. It’s like a very big first draft. They had a plan but didn't get to compare notes once things were written, so he had to trust the team would stick to plan as much as they could despite things being cut on the fly. Team said they were happy in a post-game survey, didn't feel he was too dictatorial.

What does your writing look like, a screenplay? A cutscene does. But it’s generally structured like a tree that expands and then contracts back to the core path before expanding again. Flow charts.

Favourite relationship in a game? Morden in Mass Effect. Cried more than in a movie. Tali was his space girlfriend. Of the ones he's worked on, Morrigan will always be closest. She represents Dragon Age to him. Joyous time working with Claudia Black, first celebrity he'd worked with. Flemeth was originally Arabic, but that actress couldn't do it so they got Kate Mulgrew. They stopped looking for an Arabic actress for Morrigan and looked for someone who matched Kate Mulgrew. Claudia Black's audition tape was her reading Smack That like a beat poet. Gaider was very nervous, he'd never spoken to any actor before. First rule he was told was don't compare them to another celebrity, so naturally he said "I had Helena Bonham Carter in mind when I wrote Morrigan". Claudia Black said "So you're saying I'm a cheap Helena Bonham Carter ;D". She would say "Does he want me to do it more like Helena?" during recording.

Has being so closely associated with diversity had downsides? He may be gay but he's still white and a dude. He feels like it's all he talks about conventions sometimes. Teams need to sit down and look at what they've made. Lot of things made individually without concern for the bigger picture eg only 15% speaking roles in DAI were female until they stopped and looked at it and fixed it.

"We didn't think about it" is no longer a defense. He wants to help with that, but we should be helping other marginalised voices get into the industry and amplifying their voices.

Wishes it could just be expected and we didn't have to discuss it.

He likes dating sim mechanics in the context of a larger story. But he does like the idea of romance not being as tertiary as it's been in Bioware games, romance as part of the adventure eg a romantic adventure. He's not really interested in social sims or day to day relationships. "My idea of a spicy relationship is to have my life threatened."

Why do you think most AAA companies try to avoid discussions of lgbt stuff, why is it taking so long? Because it's Pandora's Box. There is more being added casually. But if they do nothing they get lumped in with the rest of the industry. As soon as they do anything there are 2 sides: 1. why are you doing this, you're politicising your game. 2. Why aren't you doing more, whatever you did is wrong and not good enough.

Not that flawed attempts should be above criticism. But by mostly focusing criticism on the games that did anything rather than nothing, people have increased the feeling that it's Pandoras box. He understands that it feels like those developers might listen to criticism but the dynamic is sending the wrong lesson.

My question: How do you think inclusion of non binary player characters can work with including gay and lesbian love interests instead of just having playsexuality? “We've thought about it”. He defined playersexual for audience, like Shroedinger's sexuality. He doesn't like it when the only way to have something show up is to have the character talk about it. eg asexual: character would have to sit you down and explain what asexuality is. Is unsexy as a feature. Explaining nuances of sexuality is off putting. If there was more nuance across the industry that would mean no one game has to do everything. Any one game can have only so much within it.

(This doesn't actually answer my question. I discussed it with my husband afterwards and even he didn't understand what I was asking, so I may have garbled it in my nervousness)

Are some choices "canon"? One of the features of Mass Effect and Dragon Age was the continuity of choices. No "canon" but there is a default. A lot of people feel like they have to play the whole series to get the full experience, was off putting, and he found the Keep a nightmare as a writer.

They had editors keeping track of which choices were incompatible. And that was just the third game. "Can you imagine for a fourth game? Phew! Not my problem :D"

Have you thought about the morals of gamifying romance, saying what people want to hear to get sex? Dragon Age didn't work that way, sex was not at the end. Some characters in DAI had no sex scenes, sex is optional for Dorian's romance. It's a game, everything is gamified, you can't simulate actual relationships. For proper reactivity you’d have to mark every response and keep track of inconsistency, but that’s too much work. Same with polyamory: too many variables!

Maybe get away from the approval system? Pay more attention to overall choices in major quests etc instead of individual lines.

Bi characters in DAI were bi from the start. Not the first thing that comes up during character creation eg Dorian started out as "the good Tevinter". Helps avoid too many assumptions based on sexuality. But once characters started solidifying they would think about who worked for what sexualities. There's no set way to write someone "as" bi, but the writer can have them talk about relevant things in other scenes. Sera's writer is a straight dude, he didn't want to write About The Lesbian Experience, and got lesbians in the company to check out what he was writing.

Have relationships gotten more or less complicated? In Balder's gate 2 there was a single sequence of romance scenes which you could get kicked off. Dragon Age had approval. If it gets complicated but the player can't see it or understand how reactions relate to their previous actions it just seems random or predetermined. Unless they say "I am angry at you because of X", but noone says that.

Brian Fairbanks Talks about Addressing Accessibility Through Game Design

lostandhound1 on twitter

His notes.

He's not blind himself, and while he obviously cares a lot about accessibility had an unfortunate tendency to treat disabled people as a separate, if respected, "Other" to himself and the audience, even though I was right there in a bright red mobility scooter. He advocated person first language, "a person with blindness" etc, but not all disabled people like it and it shouldn't be presented as unambiguous best practice. I'm building up the energy to talk to him about it.

He's a sound designer.

Audio games: designed for people with a vision disability.

Audio game jam: the games tended to be about blindness as a bad thing. It felt victimising.

How can we make people feel powerful?

He was inspired by his dog's amazing sense of smell. The mechanic is that you follow an invisible trail using sound cues, a humming noise that gets louder and quieter.

Sighted people struggle with extracting information from sound. The game is more difficult for sighted people.

He had to add fruit on the ground as an accessibility measure for sighted people.

All music is diegetic: happening inside the world of the game, eg characters are singing.

There's a lack of much budget for audio games, since they're never going to make much money.

In 30 years current 30-something gamers will need accessible games.

Accessibility tends to be added as an afterthought or accident.

For example Pokemon has unique sounds for materials, collisions, monsters that accidentally make it accessible.

Sony reader: US only

Microsoft narrator: good but hard to use as a developer

EA: Proactively adding blind accessibility

Fighting games are often in stereo, blind players can play and even win tournaments.

Demand more from your games.

Developers: find a consultant. Address accessibility early.

It's about empathy. People with disability deserve the same stories to take part in as everyone else.

gameaccessibilityguidelines.com

daisyalesoundworks

binaural sound is going to make a big difference

audiogames.net: where blind gamers go to play games. They're supportive if you ask for advice and feedback.

People don't mind if you don't do immersive, game specific voices and just rely on the screenreader

Sound designers need more love to make VR accessible.

Braille games?? He doesn't know much about it.

Curb cut effect examples: curb cuts for wheelchairs but also useful for prams etc. Subtitles. Think about short term problems that benefit from accessibility as well eg the screen is broken, there's sunlight on the screen etc.

Sounds of a blind person navigating their desktop. To me it sounds like a mangled garble of little bursts of cut off computer speech, here’s a description of what’s going on.

#Conventions #pax 2017 #pax #panels #sexuality #accessibility #social justice

2 notes · View notes

peppernephew7-blog · 6 years ago

Text

2:00PM Water Cooler 2/20/2019

By Lambert Strether of Corrente.

All too patient readers, my schedule is complexified today. So I will toss out some red meat in the form of political news, finish up a post on the recent study on insect collapse, and then return for a latish Water Cooler revision with more of the usual featurs, especially The Bezzle. Thanks! –lambert UPDATE All done.

Politics

“But what is government itself, but the greatest of all reflections on human nature?” –James Madison, Federalist 51

“They had one weapon left and both knew it: treachery.” –Frank Herbert, Dune

2020

Lots of Sanders news, as might be expected:

Sanders (1):

In his first 24 hours as a 2020 Presidential candidate, Senator Bernie Sanders raised $5.9 million from 223,000 donors https://t.co/k0r4xpBvf6

— OpenSecrets.org (@OpenSecretsDC) February 20, 2019

More than double what Harris raised on her first day. And he didn’t even have to go to the Hamptons to do it! In any other candidate, we’d see phrases like “brutal display of fundraising prowess.”

Sanders (2): “Bernie Sanders Is the Democratic Front-Runner” [The Atlantic]. The staffing question is answered: “A full operation is being put together, with the assumption that he will have well over $200 million in online fundraising to draw from. That includes top leadership of the campaign meant to illustrate the diversity of his support, demographically and geographically. Faiz Shakir, a former aide to Harry Reid, is leaving his job as the political director of the American Civil Liberties Union to be the campaign manager. In addition to his deep political experience, he will be the first Muslim presidential-campaign manager in history. Analilia Mejia, an organizer of Colombian and Dominican descent who most recently directed the Fight for $15 and Earned Sick Days campaigns in New Jersey and previously worked for the New Jersey Working Families Party, will be the political director. The deputy political director will be Sarah Badawi, who was most recently the government-affairs director for the Progressive Change Campaign Committee, a liberal group that led the effort to draft Elizabeth Warren into the 2012 Senate race, and later worked on her campaign.” • Two things about the Sanders staff: First, though obviously competent and political, they’re not drawn from from the 2016 Sanders campaign. And although they’re Democrat-adjacent, none of them are currently outright (and treacherous) Democrat strategists or consultants. Second, the staff is fully identitarian-compliant. We’ll see how it all goes!

Sanders (3):

Faiz Shakir does have the right enemies:

Here's @johnpodesta and @neeratanden talking about Bernie's 2020 campaign manager @fshakir back in 2016.

They clearly don't like him. I wonder if this played into Bernie's decision at all 🤔#Bernie2020 #FeelTheBern pic.twitter.com/fYfFyj7fIa

— Carlo #Bernie2020 🔥✊🏻 (@yesthatCarlo) February 19, 2019

Sanders (3): “You Don’t Have to Like Bernie Sanders to Like Bernie Sanders” [Jezebel]. “If you support things like Medicare for All, tuition-free college, campaigns funded by small donors rather than wealthy interests, an end to mass incarceration, and reducing a truly staggering level of wealth inequality, then Sanders is the candidate who has fought for those things, often consistently throughout his career, often when no one cared that he was doing it. More importantly, the response to his 2016 campaign also helped galvanize a bottom-up national movement that has—through committed organizing, movement wins, and a new wave of national progressive politicians—remade Democratic politics in the span of just a few years. None of that means Sanders doesn’t need to be pushed left or that you have to find him charming. You don’t have to actually like Bernie Sanders to like what he represents.” • Long list here! More: “Sanders, who continues to struggle with white guy political myopia and sounding like an assh*le, still has the most aggressively progressive platform of any presidential candidate running right now.” • Indeed.

Sanders (4): “5 reasons to be skeptical of Bernie Sanders’ 2020 bid” [Chris Cilizza, CNN]. “Sanders simply doesn’t look like the Democratic Party that scored across-the-board victories in 2018. What he does look like — demographically speaking — is the current occupant of the White House.” • And, ya know, #MedicareForAll “looks like” what Trump is doing to Obama’s damp squib, the ACA. Cilizza’s gotta Cilizza, and I confess a sneaking admiration for him, because he embodies the conventional wisdom of the moment so perfectly. So, not uninteresting and worth a read!

Sanders (5): A breath of reality:

Why is "Bernie appeals to white voters" seen as an insult?

If anything, it is his strength.

It is mathematically impossible to win a presidential election without significant support of the white voters. pic.twitter.com/Zi8kwfkhmX

— Esha 🌹🌷🌹 (@eshaLegal) December 18, 2018

It’s almost as if identitarians care more about continued funding for their NGO verticals than winning….

Sanders (6): “Time to fight” [Carl Beijer]. “The time to make your decision is now. Because the center is already fighting to win – and if you do want to win the presidency and you do not act now, you will find yourself out-organized, out-numbered, out-resourced, and out-argued before you can even throw your first punch…. The time for preparation ends when the fighting begins. And ready or not, the fight has already begun.” • The fight began at the first DNC meeting after the 2016 election, when liberal Democrats punched the left right in the mouth (defenestrating Ellison, standing up Perez, purging all Sanders supporters from the Rules and Bylaws Committee, and subsequently rigging the primary calendar to favor Harris).

Harris (1): “Freedom Rider: Kamala Harris: The Fix is In” [Margaret Kimberly, Black Agenda Report]. “The Democrats are hoping that having another biracial black person on the ticket can make up for their lack of substance and hers. All Harris knows how to do is pander, and she doesn’t even do that very well. On The Breakfast Club radio show she was asked if she opposed marijuana legalization. ‘That’s not true. Look, I joke about it, I have joked about it. Half my family is from Jamaica. Are you kidding me?’ The promotion of a stereotype didn’t go over very well, including with her own father, who was angry enough to call her out in public. Donald Harris said that his ancestors “…must be turning in their grave right now to see their family’s name, reputation and proud Jamaican identity being connected, in any way, jokingly or not with the fraudulent stereotype of a pot-smoking joy seeker and in the pursuit of identity politics.” Not only had she offended her father but she was also lying. As attorney she opposed a 2010 proposition that would have legalized recreational use. She opposed it as late as 2015.” • I continue to be amazed that Donald Harris’s denunciation hasn’t viral. (Also, Kimberly’s “ancestors” is highly charged for some segments of “the African Diaspora.”)

Harris (2): “‘We’ve Lived Under Her Regime'” [Slate]. “‘[Harris] fought to uphold tainted convictions,’ [says public defender Lara Bazelon] says. ‘That’s from my perspective as someone who ran an innocence project and is an innocence advocate. There are other cases that bothered me as well, including her real inability to respond in an appropriate way, for example, when there was a big crime-lab scandal in San Francisco in 2010. When she was running the DA’s office, 600 cases had to be dismissed’…. She continues, ‘It became clear as these cases were being litigated that the higher-ups in her office were well aware of the corruption of the lab technician whose work was at issue and did not turn that information over to the defense as they were required to do. A judge got quite angry and issued a long ruling sternly rebuking Harris, and her response was to challenge that ruling by arguing that the judge’s husband was a defense attorney who had spoken publicly about the importance of disclosures in these kinds of situations and that therefore the judge was conflicted.’ Like President Trump has done with judges in the past, Harris made things personal.” • Ouch!

Brown: “Sherrod Brown’s opening: Less liberal than the liberals” [Politico]. “‘There’s nobody who says they could not get a fair hearing from Sherrod Brown,’ [Better Markets President and CEO Dennis Kelleher] said.” • Swell.

“‘Sustained and ongoing’ disinformation assault targets Dem presidential candidates” [Politico]. • If you look at the sources, it’s social media companies talking their books….

2019

Ladies and gentleman, I give you… The #Resistance:

Remember when Andrew McCabe, whose book is now a Number 1 best-seller on Amazon, raised over $554,000 in five days via GoFundMe because people apparently worried that he would fall into poverty and destitution as a result of his bold anti-Trump stance? What a gigantic scam

— Michael Tracey (@mtracey) February 20, 2019

Realignment and Legitimacy

“Fracking company teams up with Susan G. Komen, introduces pink drill bits ‘for the cure” (with image of pink drill bit) [Salon]. From 2010, still germane. There’s your liberal identitarianism, right there. It’s not The Onion! I swear!

DSA collateral:

MOBILIZER 101 series. New and experienced activists welcome. 🙌First up: how to talk about Socialism and DSA https://t.co/4KtFAnZhr9 pic.twitter.com/aJtAoIqBqm

— DSA San Francisco (@DSA_SF) February 20, 2019

On the one hand, this is a strong effort. On the other, where’s the bullet point about the working place, the — stay with me here — (un)natural habitat of the working class?

Stats Watch

MBA Mortgage Applications, week of February 15, 2019: “The purchase index ended its four-week slide” [Econoday].

Debt: “How Scary Are Subprime Auto Loans?” [Bloomberg]. Shorter: Not especially, since they’re not levered. • But auto loan defaults are not a good sign for the working class balance sheet, as it were, at all, assuming most need cars to get to work.

Retail: “Alden-controlled Payless to close all 2,300 of its stores, including 34 in Greater Philadelphia” [Philadelphia Business Journal]. “Payless ShoeSource Inc. intends to file for bankruptcy protection later this month and close all of its approximately 2,300 retail locations, including the 34 in the Philadelphia region. It’s the second time the Topeka, Kansas-based company has filed for bankruptcy protection in two years.” • Purchased by Alden Capital after the first time, so you know it’s being sucked dry.

Shipping: “Hedge funds hunt for shipping debt in new market push” [Reuters]. “A growing number of hedge funds are moving into shipping debt, an asset class few have invested in before, looking to buy up loans and bonds as banks cut their exposure to the troubled sector…. European banks, particularly German lenders, are trying to offload distressed and performing loans to the industry which attracts high capital requirements. The European Central Bank’s banking supervisor has flagged troubled non-performing loans in 2019 as ‘a concern for a significant number of euro area institutions.'”

The Bezzle: “Tesla General Counsel Quits After 2 Months in Latest Upheaval” [New York Times]. “Tesla said Wednesday that its general counsel was leaving the automaker after just two months on the job, the second unexpected, high-level departure in the last month. The official, Dane Butswinkas, was a Washington trial lawyer who represented the company’s chief executive, Elon Musk, when he was sued by the Securities and Exchange Commission last year. The company said he had decided to return to his law firm.” • There’ll always be a lamp in the window for my wandering boy.

The Bezzle: “Hundreds Of Android Apps Found To Serve Invisible Ads” [Media Post]. “A massive mobile ad-fraud operation, involving hundreds of malware-laden Android apps, has been uncovered by Oracle. The scheme, “DrainerBot,” involved serving ads that were invisible to users, but that burned through their data allotments and depleted their batteries. The affected apps — including popular ones like “Perfect365” and “Draw Clash of Clans” — have been downloaded more than 10 million times.” • Oops.

Tech: “Apple Plans on Combining iPhone, iPad, Mac Apps by 2021” [Bloomberg]. “Apple Inc. wants to make it easier for software coders to create tools, games and other applications for its main devices in one fell swoop — an overhaul designed to encourage app development and, ultimately, boost revenue. The aim of the multistep initiative, code-named “Marzipan,” is that by 2021, developers will be able to build an app once and have it work on the iPhone, iPad and Mac computers, people familiar with the effort said. That should spur the creation of new software, increasing the utility of the company’s gadgets.” • Utility. Oh. iOS apps will be shitty on the Mac because they don’t conform to the Macintosh Human Interface Guidelines, which even today structure the UI/UX on that platform. So it’s another way for Apple to further crapify the Mac.

Tech: “Scream Time” [The Baffler]. “Silicon Valley’s awareness of the addictive, damaging nature of its products predates much of the recent self-care fad. The self-described “movement” that brought about the rise of “digital well-being” can be traced to a 141-page Google Slide presentation created by Google engineer Tristan Harris in 2012. Harris had gone to Burning Man and had an “epiphany,” according to Wired, realizing that maybe dopamine-triggering notifications on slot-machine-like pocket-sized devices weren’t geared toward users’ best interest. Back at Google, Harris was promoted by then CEO Larry Page after his memo went viral, becoming the company’s first “design ethicist.” Harris’ role would be to advise the sprawling surveillance empire on how to create more “ethical” technology. This arrangement, of course, would be like Facebook internally handling Fake News, the Sackler family tackling the opioid epidemic, or Exxon fighting climate change—the new normal.” • Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

Transportation: “Southwest cancels hundreds of flights as it struggles to get its mechanical problems under control” [CNN]. “Southwest Airlines continues to grapple with an ‘operational emergency’ after an unusually high number of planes have been taken out of service. The Dallas-based airline has been forced to cancel hundreds of flights since late last week because of mechanical problems with its fleet. Despite an ‘all hands on-deck’ staffing policy for its mechanics, the company has not been able to resolve its problems. In a statement on Tuesday, Southwest (LUV) said there was no common theme to the issues facing its 750 airplanes and it was extending a staffing protocol instituted last week to ‘maximize availability’ of mechanics. ‘We are requiring all hands on-deck to address maintenance items so that we may promptly return aircraft to service and take care of our customers,’ it said. On Tuesday, more than 40 planes had maintenance issues — more than twice the average number on a typical day. That created a domino effect, disrupting Southwest flights across the country.” • Well, at least none of Southwest’s hangars caught fire. Readers, what’s with this story? I’ve always thought of Southwest as a well-run airline. Am I not cynical enough?

The Biosphere

Left on the cutting room floor from today’s post:

“Helping Farmers Prevent The Insect Apocalypse” [Exploring the Problem Space]. “Three words: sustainable intensive agriculture. Sure, organic and local help in little ways – but the planet needs help in a big way. Organic and local require more land to produce less food and we need to shrink the terrestrial footprint of agriculture. The less land used, the better – at least as a general rule.” • Hmm. However, the USDA’s list of suggestions looks pretty good. Yes, it allows herbicides and, through Integrated Pest Management, insecticides, but I think separation of concerns applies: Get the Filter Strips, Contour Buffer Strips, and habitats in place, and wean ourselves from the *cides as we go. Readers?

“Five things you can do to protect our insects from population collapse” [CNN]. “3. Be less tidy: Insects don’t like manicured lawns and whilst cultivated double-flowered plants look lovely in the garden, they are bad news for pollinators as they typically don’t produce pollen and their nectar is hidden deep inside their flowers…. You can help the insects in your garden by letting the grass grow longer and sowing some wildflowers. If every garden had a little patch for insects collectively it would probably be the biggest area of wildlife habitat in the world.” • That sounds good, because it’s less work. Also, CNN using the word “collectively”…

“Using Parking Meter Records and Tweets From Local Businesses for Sea Level Rise Research” [Weather Underground]. “Little is known about the social and economic consequences of these events, since these high-tide floods, also called nuisance or sunny-day floods, typically last for just a few hours at a time and rarely leave lasting damage. To document the occurrence of these floods, the researchers used tide gauge data in combination with satellite and photographic evidence of the flooding. An important source of these photographs were tweets from local businesses. When periods of flooding were identified, receipts from the parking lot flooded by the ocean were studied to determine by how much visits to the Dock Street area [in Annapolis, Maryland] were affected. During the period May 2016 – November 2017, 4584 hours of parking meter records were reviewed. They revealed that when the parking lot flooded, people did not go to nearby unflooded parking areas–they simply avoided coming downtown, resulting in a loss of revenue for local businesses. Even after the flooding ended, there was a more than six-hour lag until visitation returned to its usual levels.” • Interesting, and shows more potential for citizen science.

Water

“Fighting pollution: Toledo residents want personhood status for Lake Erie” [Guardian]. “Called the Lake Erie Bill of Rights, it would grant personhood status to the lake, with the citizens being the guardians of the body of water. If passed, citizens could sue a polluter on behalf of the lake, and if the court finds the polluter guilty, the judge could impose penalties in the form of designated clean-ups and/or prevention programs. ‘What has happened in Toledo is that we have lost our faith in the current mechanisms of power, and decided to take things into our own hands,’ said Bryan Twitchell, a Toledo school teacher. ‘We decided it was our personal responsibility to take action and pull us back from that brink so we can live near a healthy lake.'” • Next up: The Ohio, Mississippi, and Missouri rivers?

“Lake Erie Bill of Rights issue to go to Toledo voters” [Ohio Country Journal]. “The Ohio Supreme Court recently decided that a ‘Lake Erie Bill of Rights’ [LEBOR] initiative could be placed before Toledo residents in a special election Feb. 26, 2019…. the Supreme Court decided that based on a reading of case law and the Ohio Constitution, the board of elections in Toledo had no option other than placing LEBOR on the ballot. This outcome does not necessarily mean that if Toledo passes LEBOR, it is a done deal; if and when it passes, courts could determine it is unconstitutional and/or beyond the scope of the city’s power.” • That’s less than a week away. I hope our Ohio readers will keep us informed!

Class Warfare

“Known Assailants” [The Baffler]. “[T]he baseline skills of construction in the brick-and-mortar world—wiring a conference room, framing a house, fixing a transmission—aren’t lesser forms of intellectual work; rather, they call on different types of intelligence than the kind necessary to compose a quarterly process improvement report or a PowerPoint presentation on category strategy. Neither brand of labor is better than the other. Work is work. Everyone toils beneath a boss; most of us will never earn what we’re worth. And now that we’re on the other side of the interregnum, there are some real advantages to blue-collar jobs, at least in my world. None of the guys or women I know who skipped college and went straight into the trades are burdened by student loan debt. They own houses and motorcycles and go on vacations; they have good healthcare and can expect to collect on a pension when they retire.” • Until the unions are destroyed, along with the pension system. But I take the point.

News of the Wired

* * *

Readers, feel free to contact me at lambert [UNDERSCORE] strether [DOT] corrente [AT] yahoo [DOT] com, with (a) links, and even better (b) sources I should curate regularly, (c) how to send me a check if you are allergic to PayPal, and (d) to find out how to send me images of plants. Vegetables are fine! Fungi are deemed to be honorary plants! If you want your handle to appear as a credit, please place it at the start of your mail in parentheses: (thus). Otherwise, I will anonymize by using your initials. See the previous Water Cooler (with plant) here. Today’s plant (Unna):

Unna writes: “Harvey’s Lake, Barnet, Vermont.” Since Vermont is in the news lately!

Some people who have not sent in pictures of plants did so. Thank you! But more would be nice…

* * *

Readers: Water Cooler is a standalone entity not covered by the annual NC fundraiser. So do feel free to make a contribution today or any day. Here is why: Regular positive feedback both makes me feel good and lets me know I’m on the right track with coverage. When I get no donations for five or ten days I get worried. More tangibly, a constant trickle of small donations helps me with expenses, and I factor that trickle in when setting fundraising goals. So if you see something you especially appreciate, do feel free to click below! (The hat is temporarily defunct, so I slapped in some old code.)

Or Subscribe to make a monthly payment!

This entry was posted in Water Cooler on February 20, 2019 by Lambert Strether.

About Lambert Strether

Readers, I have had a correspondent characterize my views as realistic cynical. Let me briefly explain them. I believe in universal programs that provide concrete material benefits, especially to the working class. Medicare for All is the prime example, but tuition-free college and a Post Office Bank also fall under this heading. So do a Jobs Guarantee and a Debt Jubilee. Clearly, neither liberal Democrats nor conservative Republicans can deliver on such programs, because the two are different flavors of neoliberalism (“Because markets”). I don’t much care about the “ism” that delivers the benefits, although whichever one does have to put common humanity first, as opposed to markets. Could be a second FDR saving capitalism, democratic socialism leashing and collaring it, or communism razing it. I don’t much care, as long as the benefits are delivered. To me, the key issue — and this is why Medicare for All is always first with me — is the tens of thousands of excess “deaths from despair,” as described by the Case-Deaton study, and other recent studies. That enormous body count makes Medicare for All, at the very least, a moral and strategic imperative. And that level of suffering and organic damage makes the concerns of identity politics — even the worthy fight to help the refugees Bush, Obama, and Clinton’s wars created — bright shiny objects by comparison. Hence my frustration with the news flow — currently in my view the swirling intersection of two, separate Shock Doctrine campaigns, one by the Administration, and the other by out-of-power liberals and their allies in the State and in the press — a news flow that constantly forces me to focus on matters that I regard as of secondary importance to the excess deaths. What kind of political economy is it that halts or even reverses the increases in life expectancy that civilized societies have achieved? I am also very hopeful that the continuing destruction of both party establishments will open the space for voices supporting programs similar to those I have listed; let’s call such voices “the left.” Volatility creates opportunity, especially if the Democrat establishment, which puts markets first and opposes all such programs, isn’t allowed to get back into the saddle. Eyes on the prize! I love the tactical level, and secretly love even the horse race, since I’ve been blogging about it daily for fourteen years, but everything I write has this perspective at the back of it.

Post navigation

← New Review of Dozens of Studies of Insect Population Decline, the Causes, and Things You Can Do CalPERS Election Vendor Votem on Verge of Failure Just as CalPERS Board About to Approve “Business as Usual” Election Notice →

Source: https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2019/02/200pm-water-cooler-2-20-2019.html

0 notes