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hinac0lada · 4 years ago

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debunked

RISS’ NOTE: a small drabble for my grande king<3 happy bday bubu i’m so proud of u and i lob u mwa

ALEX’S NOTE: the flavor of this drabble is, chef’s kiss 3000x

CHARACTER PAIRING: oikawa tooru/f!reader

WC: 2.1k

WARNING/s: nsfw/smut, pegging, some dirty talk, femdom, mommy kink (tooru n reader are aged up)

as always, nsfw will be under the cut!

your sex life with oikawa was beyond one of equipose. you meet each other's needs and desires, aftercare is always the best, and all was roses and peonies. but sometimes, people like to be nosy and assume things about your sex life, putting unnecessary expectations on the two of you. it was all fun and games and you'd usually brush it off, but there was just this one assumption that irked you the most.

‘you think (name) could ever dom oikawa?’

‘with her looks? no way. a total sub.’

who were they to assume your sense of dominance just based on your looks? you weren’t exactly insecure, but for some reason, the comment disturbed you in ways you would’ve never imagined. it ignited this burning passion, this desire to prove them wrong. to debunk all those theories - that were undoubtedly wrong.

and so this leads to the both of you to start this conversation that is taking place in your shared bedroom.

“soo, pegging right?” oikawa cups a hand on his chin as his expression turns into one of contemplating his decision.

“can’t say i’ve tried it before.”

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms as you stare him down. “you don’t have to do it if you aren’t ready, babe.” he scoffs at this, jutting out his bottom lip as his face scrunches up in protest.

“i’ve been ready, baby-”

“but are you sure?” you cut him off with a concerned yet somewhat shy look, tone full of wary. he chuckles at this, any sign of teasing gone as he takes your hands to cradle them close to his chest.

“there’s no one else i’d trust with this more than you, love.” a faint blush blooms from the soft gesture, still maintaining eye contact with the brunette. you give a small smile, pleased with his answer.

“i’m glad. there’s no turning back after this, okay?” he gives a firm nod at this, beaming. “mhm! i’ll get my turn after right?”

you pull away, standing up as you reply with a giggle. “of course, tooru. as many rounds as you like.” he silently cheers at this, stripping off his shirt and shorts as he sends you a bashful look.

“mind you, i haven’t really done this before so… be gentle, baby?” you stripped along with him, dropping the articles of clothing on the floor. “no promises babe, but i’ll try,” you cast a small wink with a cheeky grin.

“what should our code be?”

“our safe word could be emerald?” he suggests, now free of his clothes as he kicked them away with his feet. you nod and made your way to the cabinet where the stuff you needed was stored in. “emerald it is.”

you rummage around the cabinet to look for the strap, smiling lightly to yourself. “i won’t lie, i’m kinda nervous,” he hums at this, dipping by your shared bed as he patiently waits for you to retrieve the godly piece of silicone about to be placed right up his ass. if you enjoy it, who was he to complain?

“you and me both, love. but do let me prep up - do we have any lube around?”

“i think we do! try checking the bedside table,” you looked over your shoulder, eyes leading to the said furniture before turning back to search for the device. he wordlessly turns his gaze over to the mentioned furniture, hands trailing over the drawer and pulling it, noticing the required item they needed for preparation. he takes it out, pleased that there was still a generous amount inside the container. “i got it.”

“nice, well.. i found it,” you stood up, turning to face the male, teasingly displaying the main star of tonight's show. “isn't it a beauty?” he turns his gaze towards the plastic dildo, giving it a once over with a small snicker. his dick was still bigger after all.

“how cute.” he comments. you roll your eyes, letting out a small giggle as you walked over to where he was situated, giving a gentle kiss on his forehead. “your dick is still bigger, yes. don’t let it get to your head.”

“it should be basic knowledge,” oikawa leans in to snag a kiss from your lips before handing the bottle of lube over to you. “prep me up, baby.”

“alright, tiger,” you opened up the bottle full of lubricant, coating a generous amount on your fingers before sitting down in front of him, pulling him closer. “tell me when it hurts baby, i don't want to hurt you okay?”

he gives a nod, leaning in to kiss her cheek as he shuffles even closer. “mhm, i will. emerald, okay?” he asks again for reassurance.

“emerald,” and with that, you slowly insert a single digit inside his tight hole, peppering kisses along his neck; occasionally sucking on certain spots. he lets a small grunt escape his lips, the unfamiliar but somewhat pleasurable feeling of fingers moving around his butthole was foreign but he takes it nonetheless. pleasured sighs fanned over your head as he let you mark his neck.

“do you feel good, baby?” you mutter in between kisses, leaving love bites on his neck, butterfly kisses tracing his jawline. you took pleasure in hearing the sighs of your beloved, enough to spur you on even more as you felt the slight throb of your core in between your legs.

“y-yes, love-” he grunts, feeling your long, nimble fingers stretch his puckered hole in order to prepare him for what was to come. “more, baby. i want more,”

“hmm? i didn't quite hear you baby,” you purred in his ear, a smirk gracing your facial features. it was kinda like payback at this point, recalling the times oikawa would edge you until you’re in tears.

“you have to earn it first,” you added on, slowing the pace of your fingers to a more painstakingly slow one much to your delight. he whines lightly, hands dipping down to rake his fingernails on the side of your thighs, rubbing his growing erection against your knee.

“please,” he swallows, feeling himself loosen up. “f-fuck me, mommy. please, i want you to fuck me-” he gasps at the slow thrusts of your fingers, feeling himself shiver at the feeling.

“good boy, you're doing great darling,” you placed a kiss on his lips, free hand making its way to his pulsing cock, slowly rubbing the head in the process. you gradually quickened the pace of your fingers.

“how do you want me to fuck you tonight baby?”

“fuck me with- with your strap-” he stutters out, feeling his cock twitch against your hand, groaning out praise and pleas as he shuddered in your hold. you couldn't help but chuckle at the state he was in, seeing as he's enjoying himself. you insert another finger inside his tight walls, pace quickening as you multitasked with fingering his hole and giving him a hand job. “loose enough yet, tooru?”

he shivers once more, a flushed expression adorning his pale skin. “y-yeah, i think i'm ready now..”

“alrighty!” you exclaimed, a little too excited - the giddiness that you felt was overwhelming as you knelt on your knees, adjusting the little device that you were wearing.

“get on your knees and let me see that cute little ass,” you snicker, patting his rear as he got on all fours. he gave you a look as turned around, getting on the position you requested of him. he turns his head to the side, admiring your profile from his doggy style pose he was under.

you position yourself in front of his hole, [e.c] irises meeting with his own, the glint in your eyes telling stories of excitement. “you ready for me, baby?” he grunts in affirmation, bracing himself. “yes,”

“yes what?” you smack his ass lightly, hard enough to hurt but not enough to leave a mark. he yelps at this, the slightly pleasurable burn tingling his pale asscheeks.

“y-yes, mommy,” and without hesitation, you slowly let the silicone dildo enter his tight butthole, watching the piece of silicone disappear inside him with amusement. “does it hurt, baby? feel alright?” his grip on the bed sheets tighten, figure shaking a bit at the sudden invasion in his ass.

“a-a little... just take it slow-” he groaned out, eyes fluttering open.

“i promise babe, just tell me when to move okay?” you lean in to smother the nape of his neck with kisses, caressing his sides to soothe him down. he lets himself have a moment, trying to adjust before he lets out a shaky sigh.

“you can try moving, love. please, make me feel good.”

“your wish is my command, my pretty boy,” you started thrusting in a slow but steady pace, resuming back to gently bite the nape of his neck to where his sweet spot is. he throws his head back, shuddering at the way your teeth bit down on his neck, knowing exactly where to mark him. “fuck! ahh- more, mommy, more,”

“more, you say?” you pulled out and violently slammed it in again, hoping you didn't hurt him by accident. “shit! fuck yes-” he pants, hole tightening around the strap as his ass slammed against your naked hips.

“how bad do you want it, baby?” you whisper by his ear, before pulling out and thrusting in again, actions getting repetitive.

“i want it.. so bad-! ram i-it into me, mommy-!”he gasps, ragged breaths leaving his lips as he whines from the pressure building up. you grab onto his hips to control the pace, continuously ramming into his ass, pressing his head down onto the soft mattress. “who makes you feel good like this, baby?” he moans out loud, lewd pleas and erotica echoing left and right as he drowns himself in the pleasure.

“fuckfuck, you mommy! m-mommy's fucking me so fucking good!”

you quicken the pace at an inhumane speed, the sounds of praises and moans that echoed in the room filled you with excitement, ignoring the tingles on your thighs. “oh yeah? do i fuck you so good to the point you're losing your mind right now?” you emphasize this with a harsh slap on his ass, the impact receiving an immediate reaction from his drunken yelp.

“y-yes, mommy!” he wheezes, feeling his cock twitch from how hard he was of how downright hot the situation was - fucking him like a bitch in heat. “shitshitshit, i-i can't-!” you pull him up using his hair, tugging him close to you, bodies exchanging heat as the room got even more humid. “can't what baby? can't handle this fucking dick inside your ass?” you pant, keeping your pace steady but fast as you bite down on his shoulder.

oikawa arches his back against your breasts, shivering from the heat radiating from their bodies from their aggressive rut. “m-mommy, please- let me cum! i'll be your good boy, i s-swear!” pathetic whines and pleas escaped his lips as his tongue lolled out from his mouth, legs quivering underneath.

“mm, let me think about it, baby,” hearing his whines sent shivers down your spine - one violent thrust after the other, disregarding the weariness you were starting to feel. your only goal was to make him feel good. his cries only grew louder, the pleasurable burn in his butthole catching up to him as he reached down to rub his hard-on, desperate to get off.

“let me help you with that,” you chuckle at his desperation, grabbing his stiff cock to help him reach his climax whilst in the process of catching up to your pace from before. the stimulation from both his cock and asshole was too much, having yet another moan escape from his bruised lips. “fuck, i'm cumming mommy! c-cumming~!”

“come on baby, cum for mommy,” you pant, sighs escaping your lips before picking up the already fastened and secure pace - ignoring the ache you felt in your legs as you wanted him to reach the climax he’s begged for so nicely. he lets out a few more grunts and moans escape his lips, shaky breaths growing louder as he finally reaches his high, dick spurting out ribbons of cum all over your hands as it dripped to the bed sheets.

after thrusting a few more times, you stopped with a shaky sigh, bringing up the hand previously jacking him off to your mouth to lick up his cum, humming in satisfaction. “you taste so good, my good boy,”

he shivers, panting as he drops down to the bed, spent from being pegged. “th-thank you, mommy,” you remove the dirty strap, stretching a bit to ease the friction from your stiff joints, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead before getting up to clean the hot mess.

“you did great, my love. i'll run you a bath, okay?” he hums in approval, moving to sit up from the bed. he felt sticky and dirty after all. “alrighty~”

after a few minutes of prepping a hot bath for your lover, you came back from the bathroom and kissed his once bruised lips. “thank you for this, tooru. i love you.”

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madefate · 9 months ago

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Blitz's mind is working double, triple time. Thank fuck for years of gun fights in every plane, shitty neighborhoods and shittier enemies - all of the raging, roiling emotion in the pit of his stomach is still there, but he's soaring just above it, crystallizing the steps he needs he needs to take one at a time as the world falls away around him. Multitasking in life or death situations is maybe one of the few things he could put on a resume.

Stolas' shoulder is turning dark with blood, and who knows how long it's been weeping. Blitz tears his jacket off and turns it inside out, reflexively looking for the cleanest part of the lining. The priority is getting pressure on the worst of the wounds; everything else - well, Sloth better fucking get the stick out their ass and treat this like the emergency it is when he gets them there.

When he notices Stolas move, Blitz instinctively takes his hand and lowers it, surprisingly gently, back down. - No sense in making injuries worse, right ? Right. Of course. ❝ Don't move until I tell you. ❞ He's too distracted to come up with some innuendo or biteless insult. And he only spares a moment, blinking, at Stolas' question.

For some reason, it twists so warm and bladed and soft in his gut and his throat burns.

❝ - In a minute, you're gonna have to take over keeping pressure on this thing, ❞ he says instead of answering. Honestly, he has no clue what injuries he racked up during the fight - even on the best day he rarely pays attention. Now, it's all that he has in him to fight against the softness in Stolas' voice to make sure he's doing everything he can to at least stabilize him.

It's still going to hurt, but he tries to mitigate it when he ties off one jacket arm around Stolas' shoulder, and then presses more fabric against his side. The pain means you're alive. He's lived by that motto for so goddamn long. Stolas is alive. That is not going to change. He's not going to let that change.

Still, it takes a force of fucking will to not physically recoil at the sentiment that follows - and it is fucking sentimental and Blitz's jaw locks hard against it.

❝ Shut up. ❞ There's a half growl in his voice; he's almost done pressing fabric against the worst of the open wounds. ❝ You're going to look out for Via. You're not dying, Feathers, I swear to fuck. ❞ No, Blitz can't blame him for thinking about Octavia, no more than he knows he'd be focused entirely on Loona, but Satan damn it, the thought of Stolas - of having to -

Blitz can't put off picking him up forever, even if it's the scariest part of the entire thing. There's so many what ifs - what if it's too much for him, what if there's something Blitz missed, what if that shithead gets the jump on them in the interim - but Blitz handles them the way he always does: ignoring them and jumping right in. He gets one arm under Stolas' back and stretches the other to try to get his legs. There's no way to keep them entirely stable but he can fucking try.

❝ Are you telling me that you're done blowing up my phone every other day, especially when I'm in the middle of something ? I don't believe it for a second. ❞ He desperately tries to keep the rawness from his voice. Just - just keep Stolas talking. ❝ This is going to hurt like a bitch, but I'm getting you to the car now. - Tell me about Via. What music is she into these days? I can never keep up. ❞ And with that, he lifts Stolas in a single motion.

If he died here, he'd be breaking his promise to Via, that he wouldn't leave her, that he wouldn't go where she couldn't follow, and the thought breaks his heart. He just hopes that his death will satisfy Stella, and that the fucking bastard she hired will have the sense to stay away from his daughter. But he worried, even now, as he could feel himself bleeding, his injuries severe, that he would go after Via for the money. After all, if he could get a royal to pay him to kill another of their number, how much more would the Goetia family be willing to pay for the safe return of their heir, especially to someone who had already killed one of their number?

He didn't even have any way of sending Via a message, of letting her know it wasn't his choice to leave her, that he would never choose this, especially because it was going to hurt her more to find out that her father was dead. Stolas hoped she never found out that Stella was the one who'd ordered it; Via deserved to have at least one parent she could count on…., though he wasn't sure Stella had ever really been that.

Part of him is glad that Blitz won't be here, that he's not going to come after him. Stolas has every faith in Blitz's skill, especially compared to Striker, but the thought of him getting hurt too, just to help him is something else he doesn't want to think about. He just wished he could have smoothed things over between them, so they might be friends again. Stolas knew that Blitz would never care for him the way he wanted him to, but…., if they could be friends, he could still have him in his life.

But then Blitz had shown up, he was there, and when Stolas tried to get him to leave, to go, to save himself, he told him to shut up, something that almost makes Stolas smile. If he'd had any doubts as to whether or not Blitz was really here (he wouldn't put it past his addled mind to conjure him up, to give himself some semblance of hope before it was cruelly ripped away), that had banished them.

He feels the ropes around him loosen, feels his powers flowing through him once more, and that connection to the world around him, to the stars beyond shows him that, yes, he's still alive, no matter how beaten and bloody. Blitz had saved his life, yet again.

Stolas looks up at Blitz, at the man who had rescued him, and he'd always been that beautiful. He tries to lift a hand to cup his cheek, to take his hand, anything to reassure himself that he's okay too, but the pain stops him.

"Did he hurt you?" Stolas asks, trying to look Blitz over for any injuries. He wouldn't be able to do much if he had been, but the thought of Blitz getting hurt, especially because of him made his heart thump painfully in his chest.

Stolas knew that he was probably in shock, that his injuries were extensive. And he didn't want to leave things the way they had last time.

"At least I got to see you one last time," Stolas murmured, managing a smile for Blitz. "I know it's a lot to ask, but will you look out for Via for me? She's….," it was getting hard to talk, "she'll need someone who can protect her, the way I couldn't." Blitz was the only one he could trust with her safety, especially if he didn't pull through this. The rest of the family would try to get to her, but he wanted her to be able to make her own choices, to forge her own path. And if Blitz was looking out for her, she might actually get to do that.

He took another deep, ragged breath, letting it out slowly. "Thank you, Blitz….., for being in my life." There was so much more he wanted to say, but he didn't think he was going to be able to.

#hh tw #( ic. )#( blitz. )#helldustedstories #FUCK i am so compromised oh my g o d #please kill me why don't you !!!

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mentalisttraceur-software · 3 years ago

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Okay, so, here's the resolution to the problem I got to in my last meandering ramble. To summarize where we left off at:

on the one hand, preemptive, implicit, unpredictable multitasking is awful for reasoning about code behavior any time there can be relevant side-effects, but

on the other hand, preemptive, implicit, unpredictable multitasking is fine and a significant benefit to writing code if no side-effects that could slip in matter.

Here's where I'm at now with this:

What we really need is a system which requires cooperative multitasking unless you have written code which is "pure" code. If something in the system running your code can prove or has been told that your code need not care about side-effects, then it is fine for the system to do preemptive multitasking anywhere in your logic. But, code rootwards in the call tree from your code must be able to control if preemptive multitasking happens in your code.

Because preemptive multitasking is an optimization, the dangerous kind which is liable to change behavior or introduce bugs unless properly constrained, and like most optimizations it cannot be done without some sort of dialog between the thing implementing the optimization and the people or code which is aware of the bigger picture of the specific use-case, situation, and relevant caveats.

The simplest version of this seems trivial to do.

What's left is to figure out how to best make it granular, because stop-the-world blocking of all preemptive multitasking is rarely necessary, and would probably cause problems if code regularly relied on it to prevent race conditions.

Okay, so, here's roughly the thought process, although by now I've re-ordered and re-written several chunks of this, because the original thought process was a meandering thinking-out-loud. And this still is that, but I've tried to make it at least a little coherent.

Clearly "not safe to preempt" has to be transitive, from the caller down. Even if some pure code by itself is fit to get preempted, and even if we had a system where that code actively indicated that it is compatible with preemptive multitasking or did some sort of yield-if-needed operation, if that pure code sits in a code path which cares about any side-effects that might happen when it is preempted or something else is scheduled concurrently, then it needs to be able to call into that pure code without that code being preemptible.

Caveat: for some code, timing and latency is a relevant side-effect. This is why mainstream preemptive multitasking operating systems are so terrible for trying to build real-time computing systems - you can't guarantee any upper time bounds if any number of other things can be preemptively scheduled in between all of your operations. So whatever method we use cannot even assume that code paths of entirely pure code without side-effects in the semantics of its language is safe to preempt.

Finally, part of why "coloring" functions with an `async` keyword is good is that when `async` is transitive rootwards on the call tree, we always know when something we call is forcing concurrency problems onto us. Of course, if you can perfectly contain the concurrency within your implementation then there might be a way to split your call stack into a call tree of coroutines which are concurrent with each other but isolated from all other concurrency, wait for all those to finish or get cancelled, and that's fine to not reveal to the caller. But if your use of concurrency can breach containment in any way, you shouldn't even have the ability to express your code in a way that hides that from your caller. So that is the wisdom of function "colors".

But if we have an explicit yield-if-needed operation, should it be colored async? If you're already convinced of how great `async` color which contaminates all callers recursively is, and if you've accepted the wisdom of structured concurrency that concurrency should not be allowed to breach containment or slip in under you without you knowing about it and consenting, you might be tempted to say that the answer is obviously yes. Every instance of yield-if-needed is an opportunity for side-effects, after all.

So here's the key realization: yield-if-needed isn't saying "I use concurrency here (you are using concurrency by calling me)", it's saying "I yield to concurrency (you can use concurrency while calling me)".

So they are actually really different things, that we need to handle differently. Code which uses concurrency in a way that breaches containment is non-optionally forcing you to use concurrency, and it needs to be seen and managed as a place where something else can be scheduled underneath you. But code which merely yields to concurrency without using it is just optionally concurrent.

And so we could have a system where we can tell the scheduler "hey, I'm going to execute some optionally concurrent code now, but concurrency in this case is not safe for my logic, so don't schedule anything else in the meantime (and I accept that the only choice this might leave you with is to give me a cancellation signal or just kill me if it takes too long in total)".

Also, if yield-if-needed is an async-colored operation, then libraries doing pure logic can't just call it without tainting themselves as impure, as async-colored, and compilers or other tooling might need to do smarter and more extensive code transforms to automatically put it in for you if you don't care and just want the computer to do it for you. Because async-coloring in many languages changes the implementation of a function to return something that at a minimum holds the state which must be saved between pausing the now-interruptible function and resuming it.

So if we decide that yield-if-needed is not an async-colored operation, then

only code that introduces concurrency is async-colored, rather than any code which is not harmed by yielding to concurrency, and

yield-if-needed becomes something that actually could be slapped literally between any two operations in pure non-async code.

So finally we get to the breakthrough: we upgrade the yield-if-needed operation to yield-if-needed-and-safe.

The scheduler brings the "needed". The caller brings the "safe".

Of course, the scheduler has final say, so if you try to disallow yielding for too long you get some sort of cancellation signal, and if you don't obey your process gets killed. In fact I think there doesn't even need to be an explicit cancellation signal in the simplest version of this: when code sees that the "do I need to yield?" value is no longer zero, it could consult another "is it safe to yield?" value. If that says no, it quickly bails out and goes back to the caller with a "scheduler said to yield before I could finish" error. Or maybe there is also a good argument in some cases for the code to yield in that situation, and then only upon being resumed go back to the caller with the "scheduler said to yield before I could finish" error. Either way, getting that error from something you called functions as the cancellation signal.

I really like this. I think this elegantly solves the problem:

if you have logic which really doesn't care about being preempted, you can just write code without thinking about it, and it's trivial for your tooling or the system to automatically inject preemptive multitasking,

if you are calling into pure logic you don't need to worry about whether or not it has an yield-if-needed operations, because they're yield-if-needed-and-safe operations, and your code gets to say whether or not it is safe,

yield-if-needed-and-safe no longer needs to be async-colored, because it can only introduce concurrency which the system has proven would be irrelevant if you followed its rules, or which you have told the system is irrelevant - it can no longer force concurrency onto your caller,

we can implement this in a backwards-compatible way which allows incremental migration: add the yield-if-needed-and-safe operation, and let code opt-into this mode where it can say "don't interrupt me until I say it is okay" but it will get killed if it doesn't yield for too long,

in fact we maybe no longer need the yield-if-needed-and-safe operation, because the system can do the same check that yield-if-needed-and-safe would do, and if it knows you don't want to be preempted, it can just not schedule the next preemption until the latest possible moment,

although the yield-if-needed-and-safe might still turn out to be useful, either as an optimization, or because there is a need for it which I'm not yet seeing.

And the cool thing here is that we could generalize this! We could have systems that let you take any arbitrary sequence of operations, and the entire sequence will either succeed without interruption or race conditions, or fail somewhere along the way because there wasn't enough time in the time slot you had from the scheduler. You still have to do the hard work of figuring out how to deal with any inconsistent state from partial completions, but you no longer have to worry about all the problems that can only happen if something else gets to operate on the same state at the same time.

We could even probably figure out how to do this across processes. So even shell scripts could say "hey please don't schedule something between these commands that I'm about to run". And if the shell script or its child processes take too long, the whole process tree starting from that shell script gets whacked. And it seems like it would be fairly trivial to pass information between the operating system's scheduler and any event loop scheduler or lightweight thread scheduler in user-space, so most software developers would only need to make the request once in whatever language or framework they're using, and it could apply across all the relevant nested schedulers that are in play.

The other way this generalizes is that it would be nice and probably necessary to have the capability for branches of the call tree to isolate their concurrency from all other concurrency. To let code say "I am using concurrency as part of my implementation, and I am fine with yielding to other coroutines which I spawned as part of my logic, but I need to be safe against races with other logic".

(Incidentally, the most mature and thought-out structured concurrency implementation I know of (the Python library Trio) lets you shield a branch of the call tree from cancellation by code rootwards on the call tree. And what I'm describing here is shielding a branch of the call tree from concurrency with code which is rootwards on the call tree. I imagine Trio has cancellation shielding and not concurrency shielding because in most async code, you want other stuff scheduled while you wait on I/O, and you can get away with putting off handling cancellation until you're done with something that needs to finish to keep things consistent. Meanwhile, I'm currently more focused in robustness against race conditions and how to get the benefits of cooperative multitasking while still being robust against code which fails to yield for too long, all while making guarantees about completing within some upper bound of time - so desirability of concurrency is no longer taken for granted, and cancellation is more starkly revealed to be something that needs to be a non-optional final warning. Notably though, to the extent that cancellation shielding can be permitted, it seems a lot like a special case of concurrency shielding.)

So this is all cool, but so far this solution is fairly all-or-nothing. The simplest implementation I described is absolute - there is a "need to yield" boolean (which we might consider turning into a "yield deadline" monotonic clock value) and a "safe to yield" boolean. Of course, we can implement more granular concurrency scopes/shielding on top of that mechanism. The trouble is actually coming up with how to make it more granular than "yes I'm fine with stuff preempting me" or "no I'm not fine with stuff preempting me". What we really want is a way to specify which stuff we are fine being preempted by.

And maybe the answer is almost just locks - mutexes, or read-write locks, the usual. In a sense, locks are how you say "please do not schedule anything else which uses this specific thing at the same time". Of course this was very hard for me to see because a lot of systems do not have locks for most things or actions which you might want to avoid concurrency for, and what locks they do have are often advisory. But if

everything which touched or did a thing in a way where races might matter was required to get a lock for precisely that thing, and

all locks were automatically released if the holder did not release them on their own soon enough,

then holding locks basically functions as precise specification to the system and its scheduler of exactly what you care about not having scheduled during your code.

But... I can see other avenues besides locks which I'd like to really deeply think through here.

#software #software design #operating system design #concurrency #structured concurrency

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jade4813 · 5 years ago

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The Lies We Tell Ourselves, Chapter 3

Fandom: Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist

Title: The Lies We Tell Ourselves

Rating: PG (I’m assuming it’ll stay there?)

Pairing: Zoey/Max

Synopsis: Max would do anything for Zoey. Including posing as her fake boyfriend to give her father one last “big moment” to celebrate with her. Nothing could possibly go wrong. After all, it’s only his heart that stands to be broken. Right?

Chapter: 3/?

Author’s Notes: Takes place after Zoey’s Extraordinary Glitch.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

What would she do without Max? It was a question she’d asked herself several times over the years, but never as often or with as much heartfelt gratitude as over the last few days. He couldn’t heal her father or take away her pain, but he had made her laugh over dinner and offered her silent support and unrelenting strength for the conversation that followed. And when she told him she wanted to spend the weekend alone in her apartment, processing her grief, he didn’t try to convince her to go out and be social. Instead, he spent the weekend sending her ridiculous memes and corny jokes that made her laugh and, for a few minutes at least, took her mind off her sorrow.

She was stepping out of the café, fortifying cup of coffee and lemon poppyseed muffin in hand, when her phone beeped to notify her of an incoming text. Zoey was smiling before she even grabbed her phone, already knowing who it would be. Her smile turned into a snort of laughter when she saw Max pick up their conversation from where they’d left it off the night before.

“I think we really need to get everyone at work in on this because it’s really important to me that you accept that you’re wrong. In fact, you’re so wrong, I’m a little worried about how you could think you were right about this.”

“You’re out of your mind! I’m totally right about this!” she wrote back quickly. “A T-Rex would totally take the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man!”

Three ellipses appeared at the bottom of the screen, followed by Max’s response. “A T-Rex is 20 feet tall. Tops. Mr. Stay Puft was 112.5 feet. There’s no competition! One step and it’s over!”

Zoey had to veer to the edge of the sidewalk to perch on a concrete barrier was she typed out her reply. “Did you honestly just Google that?”

She didn’t have to wait long for his response. “Of course I did! This is serious business!”

“Dork.”

A few ellipses briefly showed up at the bottom of the screen, but when they disappeared, no message followed. She continued, “You’re forgetting that, according to Jurassic Park, the T-Rex is so much faster than the marshmallow man. AND he was a finely honed murderbeast. He gets a few lucky bites in on the legs, and it’s over!”

“T-Rex may be faster, but how wide is Stay Puft’s gait?”

She shook her head, looking around to make sure nobody saw the goofy smile on her face as she teased him over text, “I’m surprised you didn’t Google it.”

His response made her laugh out loud. “I tried, but I couldn’t find anything. The geeks of the Internet have really let me down.”

Zoey shot off one last quick text before picking up her coffee and muffin and resuming her walk to work. She was going to be late if she didn’t hurry. “Is this really what you think about in the morning when you’re getting ready for work? It’s a wonder you aren’t late more often.”

“I multitask.” A few minutes later, her phone chirped again. She paused long enough to throw her empty muffin bag into the trash and then read the message on the screen. “Can we at least agree that Godzilla could take both of them?”

“How tall is Godzilla?” she asked, absolutely certain he’d already looked it up.

“164 feet originally. The new Godzilla is about 984 feet tall. And, let’s face it. That’s ridiculous.” He was such an adorable dork.

“Oh, yeah. Totally. And Godzilla would toast them both.”

“Was that a pun? Did you actually just text me a pun??? If we weren’t already fake-dating, I’d fake-ask you out just for that.”

“I couldn’t help myself!”

Her self-satisfied smile morphed into a soft “aww” when she received his next text, with an attached photo. “Also, I saw puppy yesterday and thought of you. It’s in boots. BOOTS!”

Zoey was so distracted by Max’s texts that she was stepping on the elevator leading up to the SPRQ Point offices before she realized she hadn’t thought about her dad’s condition once that morning. She had absolutely no doubt that had been his purpose all along, but he was once again touched by his quiet thoughtfulness.

She was trying to think of the words to text him to express her gratitude when the elevator doors started to slide closed. At the last second, Simon darted through the opening and joined her on the elevator. “Hey,” he greeted her warmly, meeting her eyes briefly before their gazes darted away. “Listen, I was hoping that the two of us could talk. About what happened in my office the other day.”

She shifted her weight, edging away from him as she looked down at her feet and slipped her phone back into her pocket. “Yeah, I know. Look, I know that I made things complicated when I sang to you. I wish I could explain what happened to me that day, but I can’t.” She’d briefly considered telling him about her powers, but she doubted that would help the situation much. If anything, telling him their friendship started after she heard him singing about his sorrow when he was alone in the office would only complicate things. More than she had already. “I know this is going to be hard to believe, particularly given my behavior the other day. But I’m not trying to get between you and Jessica.”

He nodded slowly. “I know, and I appreciate that. I hope I haven’t given you the wrong impression. Ever since I lost my dad, it’s been nice to have someone to talk to who understands what I’ve been going through. You’re a good friend, Zoey. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” she reassured him with a smile. “I will always be your friend, Simon. I think we just need time, you know?” Before he could point out the obvious, she winced and let out an apologetic little laugh, trying to cover her embarrassment with a joke. “Okay, I know I said that before, but this time, lap dances are totally off the table. I promise.”

He grinned over at her. “So that’s not something you do with all your friends? That’s a shame.”

“Not really. I was trying something new. I wouldn’t recommend it.” The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped through, expecting that Simon would turn immediately towards his office. Instead, he followed her.

“Can I ask you a question? You and Max. Are the two of you…?”

She hesitated, looking around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. In all honesty, she wasn’t entirely sure what to say. They’d talked about maintaining the fiction for her family, but they’d failed to address whether their lie would carry over into work. Or maybe they’d deliberately avoided it. Either way, she wasn’t sure what she should tell Simon now. She wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted to tell him. “Me and Max?” She glanced around the office, but it appeared she’d beaten Max to the office.

At a loss, she shook her head. “No, we’re friends. Just friends.” But even though she knew it was the truth, the words tasted like a lie. Or a betrayal. She was Max’s boss, so it was entirely possible that their unusual arrangement could cause problems for them at work. It was possible he would prefer to keep it between them. On the other hand, if he didn’t, it would undoubtedly hurt him to know she was denying it – particularly to Simon. “Well, I mean…I guess we’re kind of dating. Maybe?”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Maybe kind of dating? What does that mean?”

Heaving a heavy sigh, she mumbled, “It means…it’s complicated?” If her life was going to continue being so convoluted, she was going to have to find different ways to describe it or quantify it on a sliding scale of difficulty or something. She should buy a thesaurus, at the very least. “The thing is, we haven’t been dating for very long, I guess? And I’m not even sure if that’s how we would describe it! Or that Max would describe it that way. As dating, I mean.” Did it sound too much like she assumed he wouldn’t want to admit it, like she thought he’d be embarrassed by their relationship? She scrambled to recover. Waving one hand helplessly in the air, she blurted, “Or maybe he would! You should ask him.” Wait. What if Simon asked him before she’d had a chance to warn him, and Max panicked and said the wrong thing? “Later. Or not!” For crying out loud, this was getting ridiculous. She had to stop. She was only making it worse.

Simon didn’t seem put off by her ridiculous rambling. “Well, whatever’s going on with you two, he’s a very lucky guy.”

“Thanks,” she told his retreating back as he headed toward his office. She couldn’t waste time reliving her conversation with Simon, picking apart every sentence to torture herself with thoughts of what she should have done differently. She had to catch Max before anything else happened.

She tried to find reasons to casually lurk near the elevators. She was pretending to examine some chipped paint near the baseboard when she saw him enter. “Max!” she hissed, jumping to her feet.

He let out a small yelp of surprise, spinning around to face her. “Zoey! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

She didn’t wait for him to catch his breath. “I need to talk to you. Meet me in the meditation room in five minutes. Act natural! Oh, and don’t talk to anyone.” Without waiting for him to respond, she walked back to her desk, projecting such a forced air of nonchalance that she felt she might as well hold up a neon sign saying she was up to no good.

Still, when she snuck into the meditation room a few minutes later, she found him already waiting for her there. He rushed up to her, framing her shoulders in his hands. “Zoey, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“It’s funny you ask me that, because you’re going to have to tell me. The thing is – and I know I should have talk to you about this first – but we have to pretend to be dating here. At work.”

Whatever he’d expected, she could tell by the expression on his face it hadn’t been that. “Okay. I guess that’s…okay.” She saw a line form between his brows as he tried to process the ramifications of what she was saying. “Why? What happened?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped out of his reach, burning off some nervous energy by pacing back and forth. “I kind of panicked when I was talking to Simon this morning.”

“Simon? You told Simon? Why – how did it come up?”

She didn’t even need to look at him to hear the astonishment in his voice. In fact, not looking at him was easier. “He sort of…asked me if there was something going on between us, and I said we were maybe kind of dating.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Max shake his head, as though trying to clear away some mental cobwebs. “Simon asked you if there was something between us. And you told him – Simon – that we were dating,” he reiterated.

Rolling her eyes, Zoey turned on him. “Are you planning on repeating everything I say? Because we don’t have a lot of time before people realize we’re hiding out in here and get suspicious!”

“I seriously doubt anyone has noticed we’re missing,” he reassured her. “And, no, I won’t repeat everything you say. I’m just…processing. Making sure I’m clear about what happened. You know, to make sure I have our story straight.” But he didn’t look like he was overly concerned with nailing down the details. In fact, he looked overjoyed. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear he was practically glowing from the grin on his face.

Her eyes narrowing in suspicion, she said, “I hope you’re not getting the wrong idea. This doesn’t really change anything.” She remembered how he’d reacted when she’d unwillingly sung him a love song, and she didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. Again.

“I know,” he agreed, a little too readily.

“And you’re okay with keeping up our act here at work? It might cause some problems with Joan.”

His smile didn’t so much as falter. “I can honestly say, whatever happens with Joan, I’m totally fine with it.”

Zoey stared at Max for a long moment, wondering if she should ask why he wasn’t upset that their personal fiction was going to interfere with their professional lives. He seemed to be in an inordinately good mood, given she’d just lobbed a bomb at him. But maybe it was a better idea to leave well enough alone. From his texts throughout the morning, he’d seemed to be in a good mood. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

While she wrestled with whether or not to press him on the issue, he rubbed his hand together and said, “Anyway, I should probably get back to work before I get in trouble with The Boss for goofing off.”

Somewhat reassured that he’d taken the decision out of her hands, she gestured toward the door. “Oh, yeah. We wouldn’t want that! I hear your boss is a real task master!”

“She can be,” he agreed, and though he’d been the one to suggest he take his leave, he lingered by her side. “But I have a soft spot for her anyway.”

He leaned down, and for a second, she could have sworn he was about to kiss her. Her breath caught in her throat and she froze, staring at him with wide eyes as she waited to see what he would do. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned his head and brushed his lips across her cheek. Bewildered by an unexpected sense of disappointment, Zoey didn’t move and found herself entirely unable to speak as she watched him leave, humming merrily to himself as he walked out the door.

She had told Simon about their fake-relationship. She had told Simon about their fake-relationship! Of all people, she had told Simon about their fake-relationship!

Barely able to believe it, he kept repeating the words to himself, over and over. Of course, he knew it didn’t really matter. It certainly didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean that she might have decided that she wanted to choose love over attraction, after all. It didn’t mean that she would want to pursue a relationship with him at some point. It didn’t even mean that she’d made a decision about what she really wanted. It didn’t mean anything.

But it felt like it meant something – or like it could mean something, at least. It felt like it could mean a lot.

It didn’t matter what happened with the rest of his day. He doubted his mood would be brought down, even if Joan fired him for his supposed relationship. Simon had asked Zoey what was going on between the two of them – and Max would love to know what had prompted that question – and she could have said anything. She could have denied it. She could have evaded the question. She could have even told him the truth, that it was all pretend. Instead, she’d told him they were dating.

Nope. Nothing could possibly bring down his day. He was in such a good mood, he found himself singing softly as he headed back to his desk. In fact, he was having a hard time resisting the urge to break out into an impromptu dance. “I used to think maybe you loved me, now baby I’m sure. And I just can’t wait ‘til the day when you knock on my door. Now every time I go to the mailbox, gotta hold myself down. Cause I just can’t wait ‘til you write me you’re coming around.

“I’m walking on sunshine, whoa! I’m walking on sunshine, whoa! I’m walking on sunshine, whoa! And don’t it feel good?”

#zoey's extraordinary playlist #zep #zoey clarke #max richman #fanfiction #my fanfiction #max x zoey #zoey x max #clarkeman #zomax #zax #the lies we tell ourselves

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trying-write-fanfics · 4 years ago

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Shouji Mezo X Reader Remember part 9

This part is a little OOC, but whatever.

Yaoyorozu and Todoroki cornered Shouji to get more information on Y/n. He re-told the asthma attacks, how she didn’t want any help, but ended up fainting. Her dorm is by the teachers and she has her own room with a laptop that has websites blocked. With her second chance at life, she might go into biology like her mother.

“I’m pretty sure your theory is right, Todoroki. I think she was experimented on.” Shouji said.

It wasn’t outright said, but with what Aizawa said, this was probably her safest place. She hasn’t tried to escape or anything. Was she escaping from anymore experiments, or was she just isolated. Isolated so she wouldn’t have anyone to talk to. No one to hear “I am here and I am hurt.” Or “save me!”

“How are you feeling?” Aizawa asked.

“Physically a little like shit and emotionally shittier! How could you tell them what I did? Now they’re gonna hate me for committing petty crimes!” Y/n whined. “They’re all wide eye heroes, now they’re gonna be so heart broken their favorite teacher was secretly a thief.”

“They figured out that you were your mother’s child and thought you were taking notes in their quirks. I came clean, and I’m actually a little proud of them for figuring something out so fast.” Aizawa said.

“Yeah but now I’m gonna get bullied!” Y/n yelled.

“They’re not gonna bully you. I heard that Shouji carried you to recovery girl, and he knew your secret.” He tried to make her feel a bit better so she could set up the class review packets.

“I mean, I guess, but that’s just what you’ve taught them.” She complained. “But I was wondering something.”

“What is it?”

“Could I call my parents or siblings or maybe see some of my middle school friends? Or at least go grocery shopping. I’m yearning for some familiarity.” She told him.

“Look at you opening up. I’d have to think about it honestly. This is supposed to be a punishment you know.” Aizawa told her.

He told her he may allow her to arrange something, but everything was going to be monitored, and that if she were to leave she’d need an escort. It turned her off on the idea a bit, not that she was planning something, she just thought it would be lame to have to hangout with her friends and Aizawa. A major reason why he was considering it was because he wanted to be the opposite of the family dynamic she had back at home. The isolation would only make Y/n worse on her development. Sure she could make new friends and adapt to this environment, but he knew how kids were. She didn’t hate it here, but she didn’t like it either. This was a new planet, but with surveillance he can allow bits and pieces to come in and out

The next day Y/n was the first person in the classroom putting packets together. It was boring and she was scared to face her peers, but it had to be done or she’d never move on. She was grateful for Shouji telling her that everyone knew, instead of being surprised by it.

“So you really are a criminal.” Butt-u-go said to her. “If you ever commit a crime again while I’m a hero I will take you down.”

“I’m gonna jay walk right in front of you just to kick your ass, other than that I have no plans to commit any more crimes.” She told him.

“How can you be so sure?” He growled.

“My old group hasn’t tried to find me at all. It’s like they forgot about me.” Y/n whined.

“Ha, loser. They all probably forgot about you.”

“Oh shut up diarrhea hands!” Y/n yelled at him.

“Y/n, were you only pretending not to recognize me?” Momo asked. “Was that part of the plan?”

“I remembered your name, but honestly I’m not so good with faces. Didn’t we last see each other like ten years ago?”

“Yeah, we were seated at the same table.”

“That sounds familiar.”

Not the familiarity she was looking for, whatever Momo seemed happy to see Y/n for whatever reason. Maybe it was familiarity for her. More students had questions for her regarding her true identity, and they promised they wouldn’t treat her any differently because everyone makes mistakes. Aizawa soon came in and class started. Today they were gonna train outside. Aizawa told Y/n he wanted her to teach them hand to hand combat. The rules were simple, practice hand to hand combat. Mineta was absent so with Y/n it was an even number.

“Y/n will give you guys some pointers, do you want to pick a volunteer?” Aizawa said.

Aizawa did have Y/n review her combat skills with him and figured there was a benefit for her to actually teach some of them. She probably learned the latest fighting styles of criminals and any tricks that were coming out to use against heroes. A 15 year old may not be the fastest and best way to combat new villains, but its a start.

“You know I always pick on Butt-U-go, does anyone else wanna try?” She said.

“Sounds like you’re scared!” Bakugo yelled.

“Iida lets fight.”

“I accept your challenge!”

“Okay so when fighting one on one you need to address your weaknesses, I don’t know yours, but I bet one is your head.” She told Iida as the others began training. Y/n took Iida’s wrists. “Make sure that your arms aren’t locked until you have you to defend yourself…”

She continued tactics that she learned when she was in training. Sure she still needed some, but her perspective brought a fresh light on their training, and they needed it.

“Now try and hit me.”

Shouji heard that sentence and let his hand watch. Iida pulled his fist back and then tried to release a blow. Y/n grabbed his wrist and pulled it around his torso and got behind him. She put her other hand by his neck to make it seem like a hostage situation. She then went to correct his form and they went again. Shouji was sure that he was going to be picked to be her partner, and yet… Why did he care?

“Iida you have more limbs that just your legs you gotta punch better.” Y/n told him.

“I have nerve damage-“

“Wait seriously?”

“Yeah, I was-“

“When you’re up against someone who wants to kill you and your legs are all stalled out, they don’t know you have nerve damage, at least pretend you don’t to still scare them, that’s like your greatest strength is the unknown you have about yourself. That’s how I almost kicked Aizawa’s ass.”

What? How in the hell did this 15 year old, loud mouth, go hand to hand with Eraserhead. Okay they knew, but still, sure Aizawa told them but it was weird hearing it from her. It’s a hero’s job to capture criminals, not kill. He didn’t know what L/n’s intentions were. Still when the USJ attack happened he was well equipped when versing a majority of criminals. Was it because she didn’t rely on her quirk that shocked him.

“You have a lot of depth for this topic.”

“Well now you know, I’m a minor to reform.” She said. “By the way I’m sorry about your brother.”

“I know you have nothing to do with Stain.” He told her. “I just have a hard time understanding why you did commit crime.”

“If you think my mind set was, hey I’m gonna start trouble today, you’re wrong. It was at first helping someone.” She told Iida as she resumed the training by throwing a punch at him. He blocked it, but her second fist was the real blow as it stopped before she hit him in the nose. “I thought I could do anything for my friend.”

Iida had already heard she sacrificed herself which was why she was here.

“Even if you knew what your friend was doing wrong?” Iida asked jumping back to give them some distance to recalculate.

“I’m still learning my moral compass, but like hell I’ll let the stiff law be it.” She pretended to punch him.

He thought he knew the move she was doing. Another side punch to the face, but instead she hopped and lifted her leg to the other side of his face. She was good at diversions. While he turned his head to focus on her fist, he would have been kicked in the back of the head. But she didn’t hit him, she brought her leg back when she landed.

“You know in one of these situations, you could just push me down. You might get grazed, but you don’t have to be so defensive.” She told him.

“I have to say, you’re quite good at multitasking. You can carry a conversation and spar at the same time.” Iida told her.

“...thank you.” It took her a minute not to think of a response that either made wouldn’t make her gloat or wasn’t sassy. “I’m sure you’ll get out of your straight and narrow mind to get like that.”

She can try.

“That can’t be too much of a bad thing!”

“I’m teasing, hero bloodline.”

She gave advice to a few more students. She was able to surprise them with her tactics. Though she didn’t see them fight as much, she learned a lot by watching them all in class. The class learned they didn't watch her that well, or that she did have something to offer. Her bored face and weird phrases didn’t give them anything about her fighting style. Sure Iida had engine legs, but his reactions weren’t fast enough for someone he still underestimated. Someone who couldn’t fight with their quirk, who got caught, who never had proper training was still able to fight them well enough to surprise them. If able to use their quirk, no doubt they could fight her and win, but that’s not the purpose of the training. Someone like the head of the league of villains could touch them and their bodies would shrivel up to dust. Being too rash could result in death.

“So you got a rival, Iida?” Y/n asked.

“There is someone I thought I looked down on, but he’s grown past me now-“

“It’s beefcake isn’t it.” Y/n said.

“Hey you didn’t let me finish.”

“I can’t wait forever for you to get to the point!” Y/n whined. “God all you guys hate on beefcake.”

“I don’t hate him! I just hate how poorly I misjudged someone.” Iida said. “He’s my friend, an ally.”

“I mean, okay.” She didn’t totally understand his reasoning, but she wasn’t gonna think long on it.

“You’ve kinda locked on him yourself.” Iida told her.

“I worry for him. He’s a sweet kid.”

“He’s our age.”

“Okay but we all pretended I was older so…”

“Hey! Pencil pusher, why didn’t you pick on me for training? You scared?” Bakugou yelled.

“I don’t want you to fart on me, god!” Y/n yelled back.

The class went back to the room for a head count and waited to be released from school to the dorms. Y/n sat next to Aizawa. The phone rang.

“Class 1-A, teaching aid speaking.” Y/n said.

“(Last name) your father has called. If you want to take it, come to the front office. The phone call will be recorded and listened to.” The sectary told her.

“Oh my god really- Aizawa you wouldn’t believe it! I have a phone call at the front office, I’m practically the president of coolest person here.” Y/n said.

“You may go.”

“I don’t know where it is.” Y/n told him.

“Kirishima, you wanna help (last name) to the front office?” Aizawa asked.

“Sure!”

“I’ll be there soon, tell my father!” Y/n told the phone.

#shouji mezou #shoji mezo #xreader #bnha #bnha fanfiction #series #bnha x reader #bnha shoji #mezo x reader #mezo shouji

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dcmidivine · 5 years ago

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onwards and upwards | rosie & graves

Rosie traps Graves somewhere he can’t escape for an interrogation.

Knocking on Graves' door would ruin the point of a surprise attack, so first Rosie slowly tested the handle to see if it was locked– nope! What an idiot. She slammed her body into the door as she opened it and tumbled into the room, finding her footing within seconds and launching herself onto where her brother was sleeping peacefully. "¡Despierta!"

It wasn't until 3 AM that Graves finally fell asleep, mid-reading, his tarot deck strewn across his comforter. He was sprawled in the middle of his bed, out cold, without a care in the world. A card was stuck to his cheek. He was drooling - that is, until Rosie landed on him and yelled right in his ear. Graves sat bolt upright, eyes wild, his mind taking a second to wake up. "Gods, Roz. A simple knock wouldn't have worked?" He looked at his sister, using his arm to wipe drool off his cheek.

Rosie rolled off of him and onto the floor. She sat up and grinned at him, reaching forward to prod one of his cheeks. "Gross. You're drooling." Scooting backwards away from him, she clambered back up to her feet and started to look around his room. "Nah, boring as fuck. Wanna go for a drive?"

"I know I'm droolin'. I was asleep before someone barged in. " Graves stuck his tongue out at his sister, before grinning. He ran a hand through his hair in a failed attempt to tame his bedhead. "Oh hell yeah, where to hermana?" He rolled out of bed and started rummaging through his dresser.

"Oh yeah? Who?" Rosie snickered and leaned against his dresser as he began to go through it. "So rude of them. I want somewhere to stretch our legs! Somewhere out of the way. And ice cream, I for sure want ice cream."

"My punk ass sister, that's who." Graves snapped a t-shirt in Rosie's direction, but made sure it didn't hit her. He resumed his search, digging through a second drawer to find a pair of pants. "A hiking adventure! I'm in. And you know I never turn down ice cream." He laughed, "I never turn down any food, let's be honest. Alright, give me two minutes." Cam shooed his sister from his room and quickly got dressed. When he opened the door again, he was in his usual ripped jeans and tee, a flannel tied around his waist. His boots were in his hand. "I gotta put these on, do you wanna grab some snacks from the kitchen?"

Rosie yelped and skipped out of the way of the t-shirt, continuing on out the door as he ushered her out to change. When he emerged, she feigned a yawn as though she had been waiting for hours. "Yeah, yeah, make me do all the hard work. Meet me in five." With a laugh, she spun around and dashed to the kitchen.

Graves let out a loud laugh as he sat down to pull on his boots. "I'm not makin' you do the hard work, I'm lettin' you pick your favorite snacks!" He called to her retreating form. He tied his shoes and pulled his phone out of his pocket, looking up nearby hiking trails. "Am I drivin'?"

"Whatever!" she called back as she gathered armfuls of snacks and started shoving them into her backpack before scampering back to her brother. "I can drive if you want a thrill!"

He waved his keys in the air. "I'll let you drive when I want a heart attack. You're navigating. C'mon, Loretta's parked over by the vans." He grabbed his water bottle and backpack before standing. With a smirk on his face, Graves looked over at Rosie. "I'll race you there."

“Coward,” Rosie teased, slinging the backpack over her shoulder. As soon as he mentioned the word ‘race’ she shoved him, then took off in a sprint.

"Woah, hey! False start ref!" Graves stumbled, laughing, then bolted after his sister. "I'll get you back for that, Roz!"

“Gotta catch me first!” she yelled back, ducking her head and maintaining speed. “You’re too slow!”

"C'mon, I haven't played lacrosse in two years. I used to be faster!" Graves could see his truck in the distance, his sister a few yard ahead of him. Laughing, he ran a little faster until he was just behind Rosie and reached out for her backpack to slow her down.

Rosie yelped as she was yanked backwards and dove to the side to try and slam into him as he passed her. "Fucker!"

Graves lost his footing when her shoulder crashed into him. "Shit!" He righted himself, watching as Rosie reached his car first. "For the record, Roz, I let you win." He was laughing and reached out to ruffle her hair before tossing his backpack into the truckbed and swinging himself into the driver's seat.

Rosie grinned and ducked her head when he touched her hair. "For the record, you're a fucking dick. I'm faster." She hopped into the passenger's seat and put her feet up on the dashboard as she got comfortable. "I got a question for you once you start driving and can't escape."

Graves exhaled, "Oh gods, I don't like the sound of that." He turned the key in the ignition and buckled his seatbelt, looking over to make sure his sister did the same. He tossed her his phone. "You're navigating and interrogating, don't forget to tell me where I'm going."

Rosie rolled her eyes but fastened her seatbelt anyway. She flicked her sunglasses down over her eyes and caught his phone, tapping in the passcode and pulling up google maps. "I can multitask. Head towards the highway first."

Graves flicked on the radio and followed her directions, driving out of camp and onto the road that would take them to the highway.

Rosie waited until they were on a stretch that didn't require directions for a while and twisted in her seat to face him. "Alright, tumbitas." She pointed at him. "What's your relationship with the wicked bitch of the west?"

Graves gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and flicked Rosie a cool look. He'd anticipated the question but hoped he'd been wrong. "Sorry, hermana, I've never been to Oz." He tried to flash her a grin but her expression was unreadable through her sunglasses.

Rosie raised her eyebrows, still casually sprawled across the seat despite the edge in her voice. "I'm talking about Cleo Bancroft." She pronounced the name with disdain.

"Ah." He said, tapping the steering wheel with his index finger. "I...don't know? Relationship feels like a strong word." Graves shrugged, acting indifferent.

"Are you friends?" Rosie crossed her arms.

"We..." He squinted, trying to think of the right word to describe what he and Cleo had. "We're friend-ly? Ish?"

With a scoff, Rosie sat up, pulling her feet off the dashboard. "That's it? I don't believe it."

Graves shrugged again, visibly uncomfortable. His expression said he was calculating any possible escape route from this situation: there were none. He glanced at his sister again. "I don't know? Gods, Roz."

Rosie scowled. "Oh my gods, I'm not going to flip shit on you. I just want to know."

"Is it that big of a deal if we are?" He asked, getting defensive.

"Uh, kinda? Since the rest of us hate her?"

"For something that happened, what? Five years ago?"

Rosie threw her hands up in the air. "Yeah! 'Cause it fucking sucked and was a shitty thing to do!"

"I-" Graves looked at Rosie. "I wasn't even here for it, Rosie!" He pressed his lips together. "I'm sure it sucked and it was shitty but...I'm just supposed to hate someone because y'all do? What is that?"

"Yeah, kinda!" Rosie frowned at him. "I'd hate anyone you wanted me to."

“I wouldn’t ask you to hate anyone!” He fired back. “I-sorry. That totally wasn’t the point.” Graves sighed. “It’s just- I don’t know. I’m being a dick, aren’t I?”

Rosie blew a piece of hair out of her face. “Ugh. Shut up, you’re so fucking-“ she motioned towards him. “Nice. I just wanna be annoyed.”

Graves chewed his lip. “Nah, I’m not that nice. I know she hurt you cari. You have every right to be mad.” He glanced down at the maps just to make sure he was going the right way. “If I said we were friends, what happens?”

Rosie kept half an eye on Graves’ phone. “Still five mins until the turn.” She slid down further in her seat. “I dunno. I guess I just wanna know. Are you?”

He nodded, appreciative of her directions. “I honestly don’t know? She’s not awful and we talk sometimes?” Graves offered vaguely.

“Erre es korakas,” she cursed at him, her momentary calm already gone. “Just answer the fucking question.”

Graves winced when Rosie cursed. When he answered, his voice was quiet. “If I said yes, are you going to tell all our siblings to hate me too?” He stared at the road, expression tense.

Rosie rolled her eyes again and leaned against the window, pressing her temple against the glass. “You really think I’d do that?”

“If I called Cleo my friend, yeah. You hate her so much. Miranda too. I don’t know.” Graves ran a hand through his hair.

Rosie hunched her shoulders defensively and looked back at him. “I wouldn’t. And even if I told them to, they wouldn’t.”

He glanced over at her, not believing her fully. “I don’t want you to be mad at me. I know how long you can hold a grudge, Roz...”

Rosie frowned at him. “I can be fucking pissed at you and still love you to death, idiot.”

Graves’ expression was filled with doubt. “Do you want me to stop talking to her?” He realized he still hadn’t answered Rosie’s question.

“Yeah, no shit.” Rosie looked back out the window. “But I’m not gonna ask you to. I’m sick of pulling you guys into this shit, it clearly just fucking spirals.”

“I let you down at Cyrus’ party, fuckin’ losing my walkie talkie. And inviting Cleo. I don’t want to let you down with this too.”

Rosie was silent for a few long seconds. “You invited her?”

“I-“ Graves racked his brain, trying to backtrack. “I didn’t invite her, exactly? Invite us a strong word. Nah, I-uh, I ran into hear that day and uh, we were talking and I said I had to go get ready and she asked what for and...” He trailed off. “A party for Cy is public knowledge, right? He’s the party king. Everyone knew......right?”

Rosie slapped a hand to her forehead since she couldn’t smack him without causing a car crash. “Are you fucking serious, Cam? She wasn’t invited for a reason! Because it was Cyrus’s fucking birthday and obviously a fight was gonna start with her there! It wasn’t just a party, it was a party for his birthday and because she was there I almost fucking ruined it! None of us wanted her there!”

"It wasn't on purpose, I swear!" Graves looked at Rosie and shook his head, eyes wide. "I didn't think about it! Also didn't think she'd show up, that's insane! And," he paused and sighed. "You didn't ruin it. If anything, I did. I was too busy flirtin' with Casey, I didn't even see Lisette hit you."

Rosie felt like tearing her hair out or bursting into tears, she couldn’t tell which. “You’re not helping your case here.”

"It was a game!" He said, exasperated. "You came up with the game, you hit Lisette, she hit you back. Isn't that how the game worked? I'm pretty sure yes because I hit Tai and he fuckin' wailed on my jaw. Hit for hit!" Graves could feel the hole he was in getting even deeper." I don't even know how to help my case."

“Oh my fucking gods you don’t get it!” Definitely leaning towards tears now. Rosie could feel herself getting choked up, which only made her more angry. “I don’t care Lisette hit me! Good for her, it was part of the game, which I said at the time if anyone would just fucking listen to me!” She pressed her fingers under her eyes. “I know everyone thinks I’m some fucking psychopath who’s gonna snap at anything but I said it was fine, I told the others to back off, I didn’t hit her again or yell at her or anything! I just wanted to keep going with the game and everyone else was making it worse but of course it was Rosie who lost her temper and interrupted the game, and had to be told to calm down and have the water gun confiscated, of course.” She slid her hands down her face, exhaling hard. “I’m not fucking mad I got hit. Okay?”

"Ah...shit," Graves wilted as Rosie got choked up. He was not good with crying so he hoped Rosie didn't cry, especially because it would have been his fault and he would officially win 'Worst Brother of the Month.' He looked over at her, eyes full of concern. "No, Roz. Rosie, I-I know you're not mad you got hit. I know you told everyone to stop and I know no one listened to you. I also know it's my fault. Cleo and Lisette wouldn't have been there if I hadn't opened my big fucking mouth and I-I'm sorry..."

Rosie turned her head to face the window when he looked over at her and rolled it down a crack. The breeze was bracing, and gave her a chance to catch her breath enough to clear the lump from her throat. She looked back at him. “Whatever. You didn’t know.” Deciding to risk it, she punched his shoulder. “Fucking look at us. Ridiculous.”

Graves had been prepared for Rosie to hit him since the conversation had started, so her punch only made him swerve a little. He made a face, "I forgot how hard you can hit, damn." He exhaled, watching Rosie look out the window. "Ridiculous," Graves agreed. His next words came out in a rush. "Do I make it better or worse if I say that we're kinda friends and I feel bad hiding it from you and Miranda but I don't want to hurt you by being friends with her and I don't want to her by lying and saying she's not...my friend." He bit his lip, afraid he'd escalated the situation again with his confession.

Rosie would have laughed if she wasn't still upset. "You could've started with that." She looked back at the window. "I'm pissed you're friends with her but I'm not gonna make you stop. Just... it's not all me, okay? She's really fucking good at playing the victim card and making me look like the villain in this whole shit, but it's not just me."

"I didn't want to start with it because I honestly...didn't plan on telling you yet. But I just feel like a fucking dick." Graves shrugged, he looked like a kicked puppy. He could tell Rosie was still upset with him and he didn't know how to fix it since all he was saying were hurtful things. "I never thought it was all you, Roz. I promise. She doesn't talk about you either, if that helps. I mean," he chose his words carefully. "It's not like we hang out and she shit talks you. I think I'm the only one that's ever really brought you or Miranda up and it's to tell her that I don't want to upset either of you. Which is true. I don't and I've never wanted that. But leave it to me to befriend the one person you hate the most. Great fucking brother, huh."

Rosie half smiled. It was hard to keep being mad at him when he seemed to be doing her job for her. "Leave it to you," she agreed. "Fucking terrible taste in people. You're not crushing on her, right? Honestly."

“She’s not terrible,” Graves laughed and shook his head. “We’re just friends. Gods, don’t worry about that. Don’t joke about that. I’m sorry, again.”

Rosie pointed at him. “Hey. You’re still on thin fucking ice.” Despite her words, she was smiling. “Take the next exit.”

Graves smiled back at his sister, taking the exit as directed. "Thin ice, got it. How do I get to solid land? How do we...navigate this?"

Rosie pushed her sunglasses back on top of her head. She had wanted to clear the air not have a discussion, but it did seem like the mature thing to do. "Ugh. Just... don't invite her to the cabin, okay? I don't want to have to go full hippie cleanse mode and burn some sage."

"Do we even have sage in the cabin?" He laughed. "I don't picture you as the hippie type."

Rosie made a gagging sound. "I'm not. I burned that out of my system when we broke up."

Graves rolled his eyes. "Well, thanks to Gran, I don't have sage, but I do have crystals, so if you really need to cleanse the cabin, I'll let you borrow them."

"Turn left up here." Rosie rolled the window down the rest of the way. "Good to know." She glanced over at him. "You got anything you wanna say to me?"

He took the turn Rosie instructed, pulling smoothly into the parking lot of the hiking area. Graves looked at his sister. "I'm sorry again. And I'm treating you to ice cream after this."

Rosie laughed and sat up to unbuckle her seatbelt. “I was asking if you’re pissed at me about some shit but I’ll accept free ice cream.”

Graves unbuckled his seatbelt and slid out of the truck in one fluid motion. He shut the door and leaned over the truck bed to look at Rosie. He rested his chin on his arms. "I don't know. I just figured you were pissed at me and that I'd be kicked out of the cabin or something."

Rosie snorted and hopped out of the car. “I’m thrilled you’re that scared of me. C’mon tumbitas, I’m always pissed at you and you still got a bed!”

Graves fished his backpack out of the truck bed and slung a strap over his shoulder. “Only an idiot wouldn’t be scared of the Hermes girls.” He grinned. “Is there anything I should be pissed at you about, since you asked?” He waited for Rosie to grab her bag before walking to the trail.

Rosie followed after him, skipping to catch up and walk beside him. “Nope! I’ve been an angel, as always!”

Graves snorted. “Right, I believe that. What’s the most recent wild thing you’ve done?”

She pulled a baseball cap out of her bag and put it on. She winked at him. “Forgiving your terrible judgment.”

Graves bumped her shoulder with his own. "My judgement's better than yours. I didn't date her." He stuck his tongue out and grinned, making sure she knew he was only teasing. "Honestly, I fully expected you to punch me once we go out of the truck. Loretta could only protect me for so long."

Rosie laughed and tugged his sleeve so he would stop for long enough for her to clamber up onto his back. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re such an idiot,” she said fondly.

"I know I am. You still love me, hermana?" Graves adjusted his arms so he could carry her properly and set off on the trail.

“No shit, tumbitas.” She rested her chin on his shoulder. “Onwards and upwards.”

#rgraves #rosie #graves #chatzys

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shyly-yours · 5 years ago

Text

not too obvious

notes: was inspired by a reddit snapshot. it’s really quite adorable.

---

“Quick, let me hold your hand!”

“Sora, I’m eating lunch--”

“I only have five minutes to feel everybody’s hand before I have to make my next delivery!”

Lea put down his chopsticks inside the Cheeto’s bag he was holding. He wasn’t five anymore and did not appreciate cheesy powder clinging to his clean hands. “First, gross. Second, do I even--hey!”

Sora took Lea’s free hand and interlaced their fingers in a firm hold for several seconds. The hungry man learned the best tactic to any Sora brand shenanigans was to let it play out, and then bail when it looked like government enforcement got involved. “I would say you should buy me dinner first, but I kind of think Riku would have a problem with his boyfriend of four years taking out his ex-lover on a date.”

“No, this isn’t right either,” Sora mumbled and then sighed while letting Lea go. “I’ve held at least a hundred hands today and none of them are right!”

Shaking out his released digits, Lea set down his Cheeto’s, leaned forward on the table they were currently occupying, placed his elbows on the surface, and put his head onto his folded hands. “Well, if we’re doing hand counts now--instead of bodies--I can positively say you’ve actually one upped me for once. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’ve done Kairi, Ventus, Roxas, Terra, and Xehanort--”

“Maybe, check, check, check, and what the fuck.”

“--and none of them feel right.” Sora ruffled his spikes as he sighed. “Why are you the only one here? I was hoping to feel Isa’s hand before he left for band practice. Did he leave already?!”

“It’s a holiday, dumbass. How did you even get in here? The shop isn’t open--waaait, did you make copies of the key I gave you years back?”

“There’s no time for questions, Lea! It’s imperative you tell me where Isa is!!”

“I’m not telling you where my other half is if you’re just going to molest him like you did me.”

“What?! I did NOT--”

“Sora? What are you doing here?” Namine’s sweet voice asked from the break room doorway. “Doesn’t Riku have a show tonight? You’re usually with him when he does.”

“Let me hold your hand!”

----

There was a talent show at a convention Sora took Riku to that one time. They were dressed as popular video game characters that Riku had no clue about, but he would do just about anything for Sora (well, okay, he would do anything for Sora), and they received positive comments everywhere they went. Therefore, it was easy for Sora to persuade Riku into a duet to “give the people what they want”. It was a wonderful memory Riku cherished very much.

He has to remind himself that Sora didn’t orchestrate Riku being discovered by an attending talent agency representative. Riku thought it was a joke at first--he was a good singer, but he didn’t think it would necessitate things like recording contracts or publicity interviews. He wasn’t so far gone into stardom that he needed a bodyguard to protect him from invading paparazzi. He was in that sweet spot of having gained enough notoriety to be recognized once or twice while buying toilet paper with his cute boyfriend at the local supermarket.

It’s just... most of the good things to happen in Riku’s life are usually associated with Sora. It took him a while to recognize self sabotage and learning to take time-outs when haunting thoughts resurfaced before old habits reverted him back to a person Riku didn’t like. Sora met him at this stage in his life--a chapter where Riku looked at gift horses in the mouth and manipulated the situation into a disaster before anybody else could ruin it. Despite fading into a toxic shell, Sora remained his friend, eventually a best friend, and coaxed Riku back “into the light” where Sora knew he belonged. Such a genuine person deserved somebody who didn’t occasionally hiccup, right?

“So when are you planning on asking him?”

Riku and Kairi sat side-by-side on the edge of the amphitheater stage. “You don’t think it’s too soon to ask him to marry me?”

Kairi shoved Riku’s shoulder with hers and said in a disbelieving tone, “Are you seriously asking my opinion about whether or not you should ask Sora, our impulsive and reckless and dearly beloved Sora who you have been dating and living with for a while now--”

“Only because I was getting evicted!”

“--who, might I also add, has been deeply in love with you since the day you two first met--”

“You just said he’s impulsive and reckless. I don’t know if I’ve been complimented or insulted.”

“--and whether or not you should marry him?”

Kairi stared.

“...the jury’s still out?”

And then smacked Riku upside the head.

----

What’s fascinating about the world of Sora is that he inherently knows when the time is right. His mother always told him to follow his heart when it came to the facts of life and making tough choices. Leaving Destiny Islands behind was an internal struggle, but a necessary change as Sora felt the universe calling him elsewhere. He made new friends, reunited with other adventuring islanders, and eventually landed in the energetic hubbub of Radiant Garden.

This is where he met Riku, one of the adventuring islanders Sora was surprised existed (although now he knows better than think he was the first to venture away from Destiny Islands). It wasn’t obvious then, but Sora’s heart knew Riku would always be a part of his life. Now to find the correct hand measurement for the ring he wanted to buy to further cement Riku’s permanency in his world.

“I’m really exhausted trying to find Cinderella’s shoe--”

“We made a list of code words, Sora, and you’re still sticking to this one?!”

“--and I’m not going to give up until I find the right hand, but Aqua I’m really starting to freak out here. LOOK OUT I’M COMING THROUGH!”

Sora threw his cellphone into the bicycle basket in order to put both of his hands onto the handlebars for better swerve control. Exclamations and shocked shouts were hollered in his direction both from walking pedestrians and his mobile. Sora was never meant to multitask at any capacity no matter his stubbornness to improve his lack of skill. Riku said Sora must have been born under a new moon to have been inhibited with so much chaos.

“SORA! What’s happening?!”

Out of harms way and coming up to his final destination, Sora plucked his cell out of the basket and resumed his conversation. “Sorry, Aqua! Yen Sid’s Bao buns have been really popular today and he called me in to help with deliveries before Riku’s concert tonight!”

Aqua sighed in disapproval. “I really wish you wouldn’t talk and drive, Sora.”

“It hasn’t been that bad today! I only crashed once and it was smooth sailing up until just a minute ago.”

“So let’s reset the accident calendar to ‘zero days since last incident’, shall we?”

“Can we focus on what’s really important right now?”

“Oh! You mean you don’t want to discuss the state of your health and well-being? Because I have a mountain of evidence that says there should have been an intervention weeks ago.”

It was Sora’s turn to sigh. “Okay, I hear you Aqua! I need to take better care of myself! No need to mother hen me into an early grave.”

“I love you, Sora, but how does that even make sense?”

“Listen,” Sora grabbed the last take-out bag, walked up to the townhouse front door, and knocked. “I haven’t found a hand that resembles Riku’s and if I don’t get the ring size for the jeweler soon, tonight will be ruined. Well, not ruined-ruined because Riku is perfect and wonderful and his show is going to be GREAT but, like, I want to be married to him already, Aqua!”

The last part of Sora’s tirade came out whiny and the person who answered his knock heard every single syllable. “Um...”

“Oh! Hello, my name’s Sora and I’m your delivery service today! Oh behalf of Heavenly Buns we thank you for your order!”

“I thought you were joking when you said that was the name of Yen Sid’s restaurant,” Aqua mumbled to herself.

The patron smiled at Sora’s enthusiasm. “Awesome! I paid over the app already, but, um, give me a sec to get get you a tip.”

Already on the edge of despair from time’s harsh reality, Sora glanced at his wristwatch (anniversary gift) and said, “It’s totally okay! Your thanks is enough!”

“No, no, no, I have my wallet nearby. I used to work as a pizza delivery guy and I know how hard this job can be,” the customer said. He grabbed his food and left to find the aforementioned wallet leaving Sora to awkwardly stand on his doorstep.

“It’s nice to know there’s still decent people around,” his phone crackled.

Biting his lip nervously, Sora sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, I’m really anxious about getting his ring in time and, well...”

“I’m listening.”

“...him saying yes.”

Sora couldn’t see her, but Aqua has been his confident throughout this excursion and he knew she was softly smiling. “Sora... do you want me to list all of the reasons why he is going to say yes to you like Kairi? Or do you want me to sprout endless quips like Lea until you finally get it knocked into your brain?”

“Um, how about some mother henning like Aqua?” It was Sora’s worst kept secret that he gravitated towards his friends that had strong maternal qualities when he had an episode. It was his quiet way of remembering his mother who passed two years earlier.

Sora heard a change of background noise and the click of a door shutting. He imagined Aqua stepped outside of her house as she tended to do that to better focus on serious conversations. “I may not have known you two from the beginning of your relationship, but I rarely see a person look at you the way Riku does every time you’re both in the same room together, Sora. You might not notice, but Riku is always making sure you’re comfortable first before he takes care of his own needs. He’s a dependable young man that cherishes the heart you have given him and he will always protect it from harm. It actually makes me jealous you found somebody that compatible in midst of your uncontrollable life.”

Rubbing at his eyes, Sora released a surprised laugh. Shakily, he said, “Riku worked hard to become the person he is now. He just needed somebody to believe in him to start creating the future he has now. I mean, he’s going to the next biggest pop star, Aqua! I can’t let him be tied down with me when his career hasn’t even started yet!”

“You’re doing it again, Sora.”

“...doing what?”

“Not believing in you. He won’t say no because he suddenly has a new life ahead of him. He’ll only say no if this isn’t something you want. Which, by the way ding-dong, are you already forgetting how passionate you were about wanting to be ‘married to him already’?”

“But what if he doesn’t want this?!”

“Then you will come to my place and we will hash it out over some moscato while Kairi and Lea wreak hell upon his person until he see’s sense again.”

“I don’t want him forced into marrying me, Aqua! That’s got to be illegal in several countries if not all of them!”

A throat cleared behind Sora. “Uh,” it was the customer back with the promised munny. “That sounds like a really interesting conversation you got going on there, buddy.”

Sora turned red in embarrassment. “Well, uh...” in for a penny, in for a pound. “Just, y’know, having an internal crisis about whether or not my almost famous boyfriend wants to settle down with,” Sora paused and gestured to himself, “this.”

Caught in the moment with this exchange of words, Sora barely heard Aqua on his phone, “I know you just didn’t call yourself a ‘this’. That is the equivalent of ‘it’ and you are worth so much more than that.”

The client clearly had no idea what to do. “Oh, well, um, good luck with that?” He shoved his fistful of munny at Sora. “And here! Thank you again for the delivery!”

Sora looked at the patron’s outstretched hand and froze.

“...Are you... are you okay?”

“Can I hold your hand?”

“...What?”

“Your hand! Can I hold it just for a quick second, please? I promise this isn’t for something weird--well, it’s a weird request, yes I know, because you don’t know me--well, you kind of do because I told you my name, but I don’t know yours! What’s your name? WAIT, that’s not important right now! Please help me propose to my boyfriend who I love very much?!” Sora looked at the guy with the biggest puppy dog eyes he could muster. Considering the emotional rollercoaster he has been through recently it didn’t take much effort on his part.

The guy’s eyes widened as he considered calling for help. “Look, can you please just take the munny and go? My buns are getting cold.”

“I’ll pay for your dinner if you just hold my hand for a few seconds, sir, and I promise you’ll never see or hear from me again! Unless you wanna be friends!!”

“...Okay, I guess?”

Relieved, Sora set his phone down onto the townhouse banister and reached for his wallet to pull out munny. Elsewhere, Aqua facepalmed in exasperation. Sora was a sweet kid, truly, but his eccentric approach to life is why Lea purchased the accident calendar to go next to the tally marks of how many new friends Sora makes in a week. Sometimes their group makes bets.

Aqua smiled when she heard Sora’s shout of excitement on the other end of the line (and casually overlooked the distressed sound from the ex-pizza man).

----

note: part one of two...?

#kingdom hearts #soriku #riku x sora #mawwiage #engagement fic #ficlet #fanfiction #writing inspo

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 6 years ago

Text

Kira

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: Not much. Just characters coming together.

Warnings: Representation of anxiety, curse word(s).

Word count: Sometimes I feel like my mind teases me irrespective of the setting around us. It’d be like, oh you’re sitting in your office, too bad if we had a new fic idea, right? riiiight? *deep inhale*

MASTERLIST in bio, my love

CHAPTER 1: The End

Everything moves in slow motion. The water coming down the silver faucet. The gasp escaping your lungs. The whimper being born in the heart of your heated throat. The water dripping down your nose into the spotless white sink. Your hands running across your face mixing the tears with the tap water over your skin. Everything moves at a snail’s pace. Everything except your heartbeat and your shallow breaths. One, you start counting, trying to trick your brain into taking in one long gulp of air while your moist eyes close themselves for the fear of losing your balance. Two. Your trembling hands grab the edges of the ceramic sink to ground you. Three. You bend your knees and get close to the outer space shade of black tiles beneath your grey block heels.

Four. You start to whisper to yourself. It's okay. You're okay. Remember. Just try to remember. Five. Your eyes open and look at the objects around you to recount them inside your head. Faucet. Hand towel. Mirror. Hand dryer. Purse. Phone. Six. You get up and pick the hand towel from the pile neatly stacked beside the sink to pat your face dry, pressuring your shaking fingers hard into the fabric pressing onto your skin. Seven. You whisper the list you just made out loud to your reflection in the mirror. Eight. You clench and unclench your hands, repeating the ritual till you can no longer feel the shiver as evidently as before. Nine. You pick up your brown-rimmed glasses and put them on, adjusting them over the bridge of your nose using the help of your reflection. Ten. You straighten your back and square up your shoulders, smoothening the rebellious hair strands over your head back till the bun. Breathe. Tugging your royal blue blouse to get rid of the wrinkles, you swipe off some invisible dust bunnies away from the fabric before picking your grey purse. Your eyes lock for a moment with your reflection's, creating a minuscule swerve of a latent pain rising somewhere behind those pupils. And just at the speed at which they met, they look away from the mirror to walk towards the door. The click of the washroom door alerts your body and you move out into the gallery of this glass building, mingling into the crowd going about their daily lives. Everyone who walks by is in suits. Monotones. Nothing lighter than a plain white, nothing darker than an abyss black and nothing more colourful than the stainless steel grey. The walls wear the same shades as the concrete they were made with. The massive beams running to the top at the entrance add a bright hue of white to the structure. The reception desk right by the wall whose corner you came out of is decorated in black. You almost feel out of place in your blue before your mind realises that you actually are. "Miss Kira?" The receptionist with fiery ombre soft curls running till her shoulder calls out to you as you approach her, "Miss Donatella will see you now." You try to pass her a smile but hurt your muscles in the process. Taking the yellow guest ID you follow the receptionist's instructions to go the twentieth floor. Between the ground level and floor twenty, half a minute of silence is a rare opportunistic gift that your mind takes to breathe away the episode in the washroom before the ding echoes around the elevator covered in mirrors on all sides. You step inside the destined floor and just one thought crosses your mind. Why am I still surprised? The walls here are the same as any other part of the building. Concrete. Naked. Dull? And where there aren't any walls, there is glass frosted to a level desired by someone who wants to keep their private sections of the offices private indeed. The absence of any footfall in this part of the building makes the clack of your heels louder than supposed to be. The corridor seems deserted and you really cannot tell if any human is breathing on the other side of that glass. It feels like an eternal walk through a cement maze till you finally spot the glass door marked Conference Hall C and turn the handle. A blonde, pale woman- paler than what you're accustomed to seeing usually- sits behind a grey table huge enough to accommodate a buffet for a family of twelve. She smiles at you and asks you to come in. Now that is a surprise. Not the smile. Not the setting. The fact that she is wearing beige in the world of grayscale is what shocks you a little. "You must be Kira..." a raspy voice greets you from her raspberry painted lips before turning towards the file to look for the last name. "Just Kira, please," you respond, stopping by the lone chair that stands on your end next to the table in this hall, "and you must be Miss Donatella." She nods and passes just a hint of a smile before requesting you to sit down. The air around her smells of lavenders. You don't like lavenders; not recently. Maybe it's this premeditated thought that sets a tiny itch in your nose as you sit down. Donatella opens a white file with your name on it. "So," she begins as she shifts in her comfortable black swivel chair and you know she's crossing her legs under that table, "Miss Kira, you have an impressive resume." You try to smile better this time. You are forced to. This woman practically holds the cards to some very important, life-changing events in your life right this moment in this room. "I have to say," Donatella raises her brows in a little grim speculation while eyeing the contents of the file, "it is so impressive that you should not be applying for the post of an assistant." Pressing the pulsation in your lips you take in a lungful. "My academic qualifications are elements of education that I deemed necessary on my way, Miss Donatella, if their degree of complexity is your concern. Now, as far as my application for the portfolio of an assistant goes, I'd say my qualifications along with my extracurriculars are actually one good example of me being able to handle multitasking, work decently under pressure and get the results on time." You can see Donatella's lips curve up a little before she plants her fingers over her lips, trying to cover whatever positive emotion she is feeling while her other hand sifts through the pages scrutinize your life as seen on those pieces of paper. "It says here you worked at Rein Industries for six months," Donatella bends her voice in a question. "That was a mandatory internship I did during my college course," you reply, feeling your ears heat up. You do not realise when you left thumb starts to move along the right wrist, trying to feel the bone beneath your skin. "They didn't present you with an offer?" "They did. I had to decline for some personal reasons." "Must be some reason," Donatella quips, her hand resting on her chin while her mix of grey and honey eyes look right at you, "because you do not have any work experience for an entire year after that. Which...was last year." The movement of your thumb does not stop. The smile plastered on your lips stretches a little as you look down at your hands for a second before meeting her calculating gaze. "I, unfortunately, had some health issues last year. Hence, the little gap in my resume. If I had joined any company at that point of time I'm sure you understand how that would have affected not only mine but the company's performance as well." "Why Sun Corp?" Donatella does not even wait for you to breathe out the last word when the question drops on you and you realise your fingers digging into the skin of your palms right on time. "It's hardly been a year and Sun Corp has been expanding throughout the country with its extended subsidiaries. That's unlike any private corporation I have seen." "And this is what attracted you?" You can almost hear Donatella's scoff. "I wasn't finished yet, Miss Donatella," you mention before continuing, not waiting for her brows to retain their composure, "Sun Corp has been working within third world countries just like ours and unlike any other multinational company, which basically want a monopoly with a huge profit margin, it has been working on the grass root level with a comparatively low but evidently stable profit index. And the reason this corporation has been having one successful industrial arm after another is that someone in here knows exactly what the population needs in our country." You pause for a moment to let the air around you ease the heat flurrying through your body. Donatella takes that one moment to glance at her phone, moving it little to make it light up. "Now unlike other companies who are content in fulfilling the bare minimum required of their corporate social responsibility and hiring agencies to research on how to market their product to the general public, Sun Corp's management has been using its resources on actually finding the necessity and working on building the bridges hereafter...with the people who actually are in need of those bridges." The silence that follows is satisfactory for one side and shifty for the other. "All you have given me till now is pretty much a really generic reason though I must say you seem to have done some homework, if not all," Donatella is quick to remark before scribbling something down on your file. "Twelve per cent." "Excuse me?" You inhale before repeating the figure. "Twelve per cent. That was the increase in the yield of crops when my family took up Sun Farms' aid. I'm sure it does not seem like much to someone who doesn't have a background in agriculture but it helped pay for my sibling's tuition so there's that. Now, this is the twelve per cent that I know. I haven't included the percentage of sales that increased by word of mouth publicity after that. And considering how environmentally conscious and cautious my family is about the chemicals going into their crops, I can assure you the word-of-mouth thing was huge." The image of your grandfather going on about the better health of the mustard growing in the vast field brings the first genuine smile on your face today. But Donatella, on the other hand, seems unphased. The silver watch on her wrist peeks from inside her cuffs- reflecting the soft golden lights of the room right into your eyes- when she sits up and close to the table, throwing a quick look at her phone. Her elbows barely rest on the table; as if she's preventing herself from being at ease. "And that is the only reason you are here. Out of a sense of-" she raises her hands a little with a light shrug- "gratitude. Is that so?" "I am here because this company seems to have farsightedness, Miss Donatella. Not regarding what it needs to do to stay in the game but regarding what the people would want now and in the near future. And I feel that it forces you to believe in some kind of a direct or indirect moral compass that comes with the corporation's work," you are quick to answer. Donatella's chuckle is like the one that comes out of actors portraying the Victorian era aristocracy to show the restraint the women would be put through even when having fun. Why it reminds you of those actors is something you find both amusing and confusing in that instant. "Moral compass." Donatella's mutter is more for herself than for you, spewing the words out in mockery. "I have to say, sweetheart," she shakes her head while her brows try to imitate an emotion of sympathy, "this was good. Really good. The first such answer I have heard but, really? Are you sure?" Now you are really confused. "I beg your pardon ma'am?" You try not let the pricks of fear show over your face, your thumb digging into your wrist for some reason unknown to your consciousness. Donatella intwines her fingers together as her honey and grey fixate on you. "How many interviews do you think I've taken for this position? Hm? Ten thousand applications came in for just this post. The post of being the assistant to the company's founder. Out of those ten thousand, two hundred people were shortlisted for the interview. And even in those two hundred candidates was barely a person who actually wanted to apply for the post." You feel the space between your brows get heavier with every passing second. "If they didn't want the post then why did they apply?" "For the same reason you did, young lady. They all want to get close to the man himself," she declares before muttering, "Cheapskates." "Excuse me?" You can almost see her roll her eyes at you. "Oh don't give me that look," she huffs tiringly with a wave of her hand, "a pretty girl like you giving up all of this hard work of so many degrees just so you can satiate your desire to meet him. Some of you even have the audacity to think of getting into his pants. Take my advice and get out of here. Girls like you have a better chance of stalking him on the internet than getting to even kiss the floor Mr Odinson walks on." The next few seconds are filled with the ticking of the watch on Donatella's wrist. The ringing in your ears is mind-numbing for the first ten seconds before it transforms into something else. An ember of rage lights up somewhere inside you, heating up a spot right in the centre of your chest. Your thumb rubs the back of your palm through the silence before coming to an abrupt stop with the one long breath you take in. "I am flattered Miss Donatella, that you think I'm pretty," you begin, with just a hint of a smile this time, "And also surprised, because you are being so straightforward with...what you think about me." You abruptly push your chair forward to keep your arms on the table, openly offending Donatella, who gasps at your guts to do so. "But it does make me wonder that almost all one hundred and ninety-nine people might actually be having evidence to get you fired before you leave this company, ma'am." Donatella blinks, faster than she'd supposed to, as her one leg that had so comfortably been resting on the other goes down. "Ex-" "You should be more wary of...people who want to get into his pants, that's what you said, right? Be wary of such people discreetly taking pictures of your boss while you make deals with his rivals behind his back, Donatella. Because I can assure that these people have a drive more intense than the number of zeros you were offered on your paychecks to leave Sun Corp." The stoic and cold demeanour she had been maintaining till now starts to crumble bit by bit. "Don't make accusations you cannot prove, Kira," she nearly hisses. "Don't make judgments you cannot justify, Donatella," you softly throw the words her way. "And I'm not making this up, something which was just proved from your facial expressions. The entire Instagram has proof of your meeting with some private military corp that's been trying to find a way to enter the country through some other businesses." The fear in Donatella's distant gaze is hard to miss. But you barely feel any empathy for her. Picking up your purse from the floor you begin to get up but pause. "Oh and one more thing, Donatella DeMorgeaux Bellasario-" you tap your finger on the smooth steel table surface- "your boss hates it when anyone addresses him as Odinson. At least his assistant should be aware of that," you enunciate before getting up, looking at that lingering rage in your reflection in the mirror covering the wall next to you before going for the door you entered from. "How do you know all this? What are you, some kind of a-" "No, I'm not a spy Donatella," you spew at her from the door, irritation brewing up over your features, never looking back at the woman, "just like you said, I did my homework." "Bitch," you mutter under your breath before exiting the room. Donatella sits there, her hands covering the creeping disbelief over her face. Behind the mirror, you had caught your reflection in, a pair of emerald eyes glisten in the filtered light entering the darkness they are engulfed in. Having seen the entire thing unfold in front of them, they turn towards a camera resting in a corner of the dark space near the ceiling, a smirk glimmering through those green eyes showered in the soft foreign golden light. "Be careful, Balder," the man in the black suit warns the blonde guy with a soft face, "you so much as put a scratch on anything in this house, I'll make you pay it from your pocket." The blonde looks at the man in command. Balder cannot help but feel both scared and excited to look at him, his dark skin reflecting the blue sky outside with such flawlessness. As if that wasn't enough, the weight in the British voice is enough to make any manly man weak in his knees. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Balder apologises softly before carefully planting the miniature camera behind the book stack, his pale nimble fingers working carefully with the rosewood he had drilled to make way for the device. The man in the suit walks around the tiny studio apartment space, taking in the citrus smell of a body spray that was used in this space this morning. The bedroom is a five-step walk from the main door that opens into the living room-cum-open kitchen-cum-study. A violet coloured quilt lies on the bed in a mess, half-covering a Bulbasaur plushie. His long gloved fingers trace the edge of the headboard to collect the dust over the latex for examination. "José," he speaks without looking away from the dust bunnies over his fingertips, "put one on the headboard too." "Yes sir," comes another voice as a tall dusky man dressed in a cleaner's uniform walks into the bedroom space. The huge, calculated steps walk back into the living room, hands resting inside his pant pockets. "All the cameras and listening devices are in position, sir," the olive-skinned woman sitting on the carpeted floor with a laptop in her hand declares as she types away some codes on her screen, "we're going live in three, two, one." A press of a button later, the screen floods with Balder and José's faces- adjusting the cameras- along with the man's back to the one device planted above the apartment door. "Good work, Torra," the man announces, "now route that feed to my account and remove the access from yours and anyone else's. Make it a level seven clearance feed." "Ooh! They must someone really important we're spying on. Yes, sir," woman quips happily before typing in a serial number and pressing enter, allowing the screen to show the rerouting before going blank. "Mission accomplished." Within the next five minutes, the apartment sees the two men and woman trickle out of its space as if they were never there. The man in the suit takes one last look around before he eyes land on the nine figures resting on the side table near the door. The nine protagonists of One Piece sit there facing the kitchen opposite to where they stand. The man looks at them all in some deep thought, his honey eyes lingering for some time on one figure before moving over to the next, before he takes one hand out of his pocket and moves the figure of the woman with long black hair to face his direction. Content with his work, he walks out of the apartment, allowing the silence before his arrival to take back its place as gracefully as he had. The walk back to your place is heavy and slow. The noise from the passing subway train behind you does not help the piercing pain going in and out of your throbbing head. Picking up a sandwich and fresh juice from the local deli you stop by the twenty-four seven store to grab a bottle of Jägermeister. It is only when you've reached the front of your building do you take an effort to conceal the liquor bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag inside your purse. The walls might only have ears, but the old women living around your place had heightened senses when it came to young single people living in their vicinity. Your building's elevator feels like a good change from the mirrored one you had been trapped in on your way in and out of the building today. The chime is welcomed too as you step out on your floor, your keys ready to open the door and lock yourself in your comfort zone. Your neighbour- a young man a year or two older than you- tries to wave your way and before he can even blurt out your name, you have bolted the door and thrown the keys into their designated bowl on the side table. Keeping your purse down on the carpet gently, you take in one long breath. "Breathe," you whisper to yourself. "Just breathe. Forget everything else. Right now, just breathe. Please." Your eyes take in the familiar soft space. The kitchen, The Tempest lying on the two-person dining table, your quilt still the same mess you had left in the morning. The oil painting of a sunflower hanging on the wall you are leaning over, your One Piece figures sitting right next to you on the table. Luffy, Brook, Zoro, Franky, Nami, Chopper, Sanji and Robin. A blank minute passes as you stand there, frozen in time, looking at the figures in a confused daze. And then something dawns on you. Your hand, with a life of its own, moves to turn Robin towards the direction she usually faces before coming back to your side. A cold prickle passes through your spine as your eyes go about the familiar space with a scrutinizing gaze shrouding the fear behind those eyes. Someone was here, your mind sets off all the alarms in one go. And this time, when it actually seems appropriate to feel the panic erode you, you stand there breathing normally. No shivers. No sweats. The vibration and loud chime of your phone makes you jump where you stand eventually. Your fingers take out the device from your pant pockets to click it open. Another chime comes. A message from your bank stating the recent deposit that had been made into your account. Another message congratulating you on getting the position of Assistant to the founder and head of Sun Corp, requesting you to join the post tomorrow. Donatella clicks her phone close and places a grey file on an oakwood desk before walking out of the lavish office space and into a room with a fire pit separating the space into a lounge area and a living room with its length. The clack of her pencil heels stops as her eyes catch the figure standing by the glass wall that opens to the view of the city beneath and mountains beyond them. "I have narrowed down some candidates to come as my replacement," she speaks in the direction of the figure, never bothering to close the distance between them, "but I still need to go through another batch tomorrow." The figure stands there. Still. Like an old tree. Donatella can feel a tiny chill rise up somewhere inside her, which she tried to suppress as she shifts her eyes away, her hands coming together in front of her while her shoulders move a little to shake away a lingering stiffness. "Burn them." A soft voice- like a warm brandy laced with honey going down your throat, heating it up in ways unknown- commands the room. "I'm sorry?" Donatella fears her ears didn't catch that right. The figure's shoulders finally shift a little but the pale arms exposed through folded up black sleeves do not move away, the hands resting inside the pant pockets. "I said burn them," the voice says again. "Why?" "Because none of those letters spells out Kira." An arrow seems to have pierced Donatella's chest as her eyes go wide before her entire body tries to find its composure. The fact that the figure doesn't move still amplifies the fear crawling over her skin. "I-I think-" "Pack your things and never show your face within a hundred meters of my empire. You're fired." The voice never rises. Not once. The delicate smoothness lingers throughout the words even when the threat is delivered. Donatella brings her rage over features, about to spit some words into the ice-like air surrounding her. "Before you say something you'll regret I suggest you look at the table in front of you, Donatella." And she does. All the heavy rage folded in her wrinkles disappearing within a flash, replaced by nothing but mortal fear as the photographs on table show her meeting with an unknown man before displaying her in a compromising position in high-resolution grayscale. "Mr Odinson, I-" The head turns a little in her direction, making her cracked voice stop at once. Even with a distance of at least twenty feet between them, she can see the green embers burn from where they stand. And before she knows it, her lungs are trying to find air to breathe. "I'm sorry Mr Loki, sir," are her last words before she hurriedly walks out of the space that has been chilled to the core by that one traumatising side glare. It's done. The man in the black suit closes his phone and walks across the length of the dark room that has nothing in the name of lights except for the endless skylight revealing the infinite stars above him and the twelve screens lit up on the wall he is walking towards. Grabbing the top of the swivel chair, he sits down before pulling up two screens on the monitors in front of him. His hand goes in the pocket of his jacket to take out two marbles with hues of orange, golden, fiery red and black trapped in them, seemingly similar to a pair of golden eyes. And like a ritual known to his hands, he starts moving them around in his fingers while his eyes are fixated on the two figures on those separate screens, considerably apart, sitting inside the space of their homes, eyeing the alcohol bottles sitting next to them. One of them shifts their gaze away to look at the phone in their hand before closing it and moving out of the camera's view. A chime comes on this side. The man takes out his phone to see the message displayed on the screen. Thank you, Heimdall. He looks back at the screen and clicks a key on the keyboard to reveal Loki's figure laying down on the bed. The other screen shows you under your quilt, your back halfway down the bed and halfway supported by the soft headboard, looking at the Jager bottle resting by your bedside before you turn off the lights and take off your glasses, throwing them in the little space between the empty pillow next to your head and the headboard. Heimdall watches neither of the figures closes their eyes, just lying in there on their beds in the dead of the night, waiting for some distant memory to either kill them with dried out tear ducts or tire them enough to put them to sleep.

(I don’t know where I thought I’d be going with this but it’s here.)

TAGLIST

Permanent

@magiclolipopqueen @choke-me-sweet-pea @smexylemony @hazzastyles2471 @lokis-lady-death @lokixme @l0kisbitch @tarithenurse @joyofbebbanburg @itheoneofmanyfandomsi @nalokoniloki @fuckidontknow @qualitynerdwasteland @cryinglots @unipanda1006 @literalangels @meganlikesfandoms @kcd15 Loki @avenging-blackwidow @yzssie

@wishrains @ultraslytherwin @loki-the-fox @awkward-dr-strang3rman @royaldork @arianna-17-11 @uranusismyfavoriteplanette @marvelrose @gotta-get-back-to-johnlock @moonlightprime @keepingupwiththelaufeysons @writingpromptsstuff @auroraborialis15 @marvel-cinematic-universe0123 @henloamkitty @alexakeyloveloki @markusstraya

(tags are open. Lemme know how you found this chapter and if you’d like to read more of this AU)

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its-a-writer-thing · 6 years ago

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Character Guide – What Your Character Experiences While Leaving the Military

As I blundered through yet another wave of revisions for my sci-fi/fantasy WIP, I had an epiphany which, reasonably, should’ve come when the project first began. But didn’t, as all glaring plot holes don’t.

Here I have a soldier-esque character, whose background and experience affects huge swashes of the plot. I’ve nailed down what happens while they’re with the military; I’ve nailed down what happens several years after they’re out. But what about that transitional phase? What did they do there? What would they feel? For that matter, rent exists even in a rundown sci-fi/fantasy – am I looking forward to a played-for-laughs convenience store job, or could my character arguably rocket into a steady position somewhere they like?

Good question.

The answer to those question(s) – and yours, if you’re asking them – took some research, and finally resulted in reading “Leaving the Military: Life After Resettlement; How to Get a Job That Doesn’t Suck,” by Chris Hitchens. What makes it a great resource? Unlike many an article I read and books I checked out at the library, it doesn’t just dive into “hut hut hut get a job here we go!” It takes time to evaluate what may motivate servicemen and women to leave the military, what they might experience in response from their peers, and what an emotional experience it really can be.

In this article, I’ll walk you through the main questions and considerations this book brought to my attention and then answered… so you can write better military characters, figure out that transitional phase and weave it into the plot, or hey – learn what your or a loved one’s options are for exiting the military!

Let’s dive in.

The Five Stages of Grief Apply

My MC doesn’t care much for her military-esque group, especially not at the end of their service. So I always assumed she’d bounce back pretty quickly, and move on to the next stage. However, it’s important to consider that – whether or not you liked something, if it took a huge place in your life, you will feel its absence. Either your character LOVED the military and misses the camaraderie, the structure, the sense of doing good, or any number of things… or they hated the military, but they miss the routine, the sense of direction (even if they disagreed with the direction), or the security of that career. You can’t spend 24 hours a day, 7 days a week at something and not feel a gap when it’s vanished.

So your character will sense that pit, a pit which is grief in some small or great capacity. Do they fill it up with something, like a distraction? How fast do they go through the stages? Do they skip some stages? Do they go back to the career for a time, draw out the ‘quitting’ process, or do they cut it entirely? No matter what they feel – they will feel something. Nail down what that is!

Civilian Jobs ARE Different From Military Jobs

This is what I’ve heard from most ex-military I’ve spoken to, and this book emphasized it again – officially making it earn a place in my ‘transitional notes for MC’ category. Civvies don’t act like the military, and neither do their jobs. Not only is there less of a strict hierarchy and a lot more (what will be perceived by your character as) disorder, but their values will be different. The military is very goal-oriented, with a task at hand that needs completion. However, a civilian company may be sales- and profit-oriented, motivating them to cut corners or bend quality to achieve that.

No matter what job your character takes up, there will be differences in the company culture as well as the general structure of their new job. The important thing is to identify what your character could and couldn’t tolerate. How does your character feel about this? Do they do something to improve or worsen this? Would it cause them to adapt, or rebel? How important is the job to them? Are they invested in this new team?

Military Skills Do Translate, But Not (Always) Directly

Your character may not create an organizational chart of their strengths and weaknesses, but I recommend that you do. What did they enjoy about their previous career, and what did they hate? What were they good and bad at? This is what narrows military talents into civvy talents like ‘team building’ or ‘unsupervised discipline.’ If your character was a fantastic pilot, then maybe a civilian flying career would be a great choice; or maybe all that skill at multitasking will make them incredible at running a tech company.

This sort of thing can also serve as an excellent way to disguise your characters’ past. Who would suspect an accountant of being an ace tank mechanic? Well, their photographic memory always came in handy.

It’s important to remember your character has real talents – but they haven’t been labeled in the way civilians categorize talents. Marksmanship doesn’t look as typical on a resume as an English degree, but can still be useful. They could be an instructor, could be excellent at sports, could work with the parks department – any number of choices.

The Lingo is Different

Even if your character finds their way into a secure civilian job, there will still be differences to overcome, mainly in the language. The Army, Air Force, Navy – you name it – operate through a series of shorthand and code words, some not as fancy as you’d imagine, while others downright unintelligible. As Hitchens outlined, even ordering a drink can result in a language barrier, since “Tea, Standard NATO” doesn’t mean “Tea, white, two sugars” to most people.

That doesn’t mean your character runs around shouting “ALPHA DELTA NINER” like a loon, but think of it like this; how often do you translate “Big Mood” to “I feel the same way” when around your grandma? The military has their own ‘meme speak.’ Keep that in mind, and you’re on the right path.

Your character will feel ostracized in the little ways and forced to adjust, which may further their feelings of grief (however intense those may be). Do they adjust quickly? Do they make a conscious effort or let it happen naturally? What do they feel after several months of immersion when they run into a fellow ex-military who knows the lingo? What happens if they’re trying to disguise their past, but keep sliding distinct terms into their speech by accident? Does it hurt their productivity at their job or social life at all?

A Quick and Successful Leap Requires Preparation

Most of us sail out of high school and into the job market, where we flail for a period of time. But that’s expected, because we’re new, right? If your character is fresh from the military, they’re likely past that newbie age group, but are still faced with the same problems. Very little (if any) civilian job experience, an outdated (or nonexistent) CV, and rusty skills (at best) for job interviews. Now, this can be the set-up for a played-for-laughs job at the local grocery store, should you character be the kind who takes things slowly or instinctually.

However, if you want to skip your character to the higher end of the career spectrum – or if they themselves wouldn’t be content with taking it slow – then it’s important to be aware of one thing: making that happen takes preparation. More than probably anyone else leverages to get a job. They’re behind the eight-ball and need to make it up fast. So, this means using some of that military know-how and putting it to good work.

What is the opposition? How to best take it down? Does this mean highlighter pens and a list of keywords from the job description to tailor your CV? Does this mean rehearsing job interview questions? Does this mean thoroughly researching positions online (or cornering other employees under the guise of a drink, should your character be the cunning and over dedicated type)? Keep in mind that, during this transition period, either they will take it slow and adjust gingerly, as most do when they first enter the job market. …Or, if they wouldn’t be content with minimum wage, they will need to actively raise themselves above this – abnormally fast.

All in All

Leaving the military and taking up a civilian life isn’t as simple as ‘sign your name here, you’re a civilian, good luck’ and then immediately diving into a regular life. The transitional phase exists either in a large and dramatic way, or a smaller but still influential manner. Allowing your character to experience this can help round out their personality and create ties from their past to their present in subtle, crafty ways. Even more-so, keeping this in mind can allow you to portray a character of their nature and situation more realistically, so they resonate as human beings.

I touched the high points, but be sure to read the official “Leaving the Military” by Chris Hitchens for a more thorough look. Support a fellow self-published author and give a read! It’s an introduction to the namesake experience, and one of an ongoing series. I’d recommend it as a great resource for a military character – or hey, for an actual member of the armed forces, if you know someone who’s bringing their career to a close. It’s short, funny, and contains actionable tips

Happy writing!

#leaving the military #military characters #character development #military #army #resettlement #writer refere #writer resourc #chris hitchens

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noona-clock · 6 years ago

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One Night - Part 2

Genre: AU/Fluff

Pairing: Park Seo Joon x You

By Admin B

Part 1, 2, 3, 4

October 31st, Year 1

“How have you never seen this movie?!” Seo Joon gasped as he plopped down next to you on the couch.

“I told you!” you defended, your brow furrowed. “I’m not a big Halloween person!”

“Yeah, but... it’s Hocus Pocus. I thought everyone had seen this movie.”

“Well, not me.” You reached over into the popcorn bowl Seo Joon had brought with him, grabbing a handful and shoving some into your mouth.

The two of you had been together for a year now; you were past the stage of wanting to always look good and attractive in front of each other.

“How come you never made her watch this?” Seo Joon asked your roommate as she entered the living room in her Princess Peach costume. Her girlfriend was throwing yet another party, but you and Seo Joon had decided to opt out this year.

It was your anniversary, after all. You wanted to spend it in your favorite way: together and alone.

Not that you never or didn’t like to spend time with your friends. Once you and Seo Joon got kind of serious, you actually started hanging out with his friends as well as your roommate and her girlfriend more. They’d eventually become your own group of friends (your roommate even moreso than she had been before), almost to the point where it would get really awkward if you and Seo Joon broke up.

But... you weren’t going to. You were sure by now.

I mean, honestly, you’d been sure last Halloween, but you’d been too clueless to fully understand your feelings.

“I tried to! Multiple times! Believe me,” your roommate answered as she began to gather her things. “But you know how she is.”

“Stubborn.”

“I am not!”

“You are.”

“No, I’m really not.”

Seo Joon just raised his eyebrows and threw a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it in his mouth easily.

“Okay, well I’m watching it now, so both of you can just get off my case, okay?” You pointed a finger first at your boyfriend then at your roommate before settling back into the couch as the opening credits of the movie started playing.

“All right, you two, have fun,” your roommate called out as she headed to the front door. “I learned my lesson last year, so I’ll just definitely be staying over.”

“Okay,” you chuckled, glancing over the back of the couch. “Call me if you need me!”

“But don’t need her!” Seo Joon added.

You nudged his arm as your roommate left, a smirk pulling at your lips. “You’re such a troublemaker,” you murmured.

“Who, me?” he asked innocently. “Make trouble? I would do no such thing.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” You held back a laugh as you settled back in to watch the movie, sliding one arm underneath Seo Joon’s and holding onto him as you leaned your head against his shoulder.

You felt him kiss the top of your head, and you smiled to yourself (though you did try to focus on the movie even though you just really wanted to kiss your boyfriend right now).

Once the popcorn was gone about half an hour later, Seo Joon leaned forward to put the empty bowl on the coffee table.

When he leaned back, he simply moved to lay down on the couch and pulled you gently down with him. A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you got comfortable against his chest, curling your arms up in-between the two of you and burying your face in his neck.

You were still watching the movie, of course; by now, you’d become an expert in multitasking. AKA cuddling and watching whatever was on the television.

Seo Joon began to rub your back lazily, his fingers ever so slightly scratching in slow circles. And then when you felt him press another kiss on the top of your head, you pulled back the tiniest bit to look up at him.

“I love you,” you said softly before placing your lips on his jaw.

“I love you, too, baby,” Seo Joon replied. His voice rumbled in his chest, and you could feel the vibrations against your arms. You’d felt this many times now, but it still sent shivers down your spine. In a good way.

You kissed his jaw again, your lips curving into a smile against his skin when you felt him move his hand to your shoulder and squeeze you tightly.

“I love you, too,” he repeated, his tone much more dreamy and nostalgic this time. “Remember last year?”

The smile on your lips turned into a smirk as you continued to place feather-light kisses on his jaw and cheek. “No, not really. You’ll have to be more specific.”

A deep, low chuckle escaped from the back of his throat, and even though you weren’t looking at him, you could tell he’d just rolled his eyes.

“I was just amused to see a Supergirl,” he explained. “It’s not like it was a huge party, y’know? There weren’t that many people there, and out of all the costumes, I was Superman, and there was someone there as Supergirl.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, slowly but surely moving your kisses toward his neck and ear.

“And then you turned around, and I knew I was a goner.”

“You did not!” you chuckled.

Seo Joon shrugged his shoulder quickly, shuddering because your mouth had been right next to his ear when you’d said that.

“Sorry,” you whispered before nuzzling his cheek and lowering your voice. “But, seriously. You did not know you were a goner.”

“I did,” he insisted. “You were so beautiful - you are so beautiful.”

“Yeah, but I was so shy and awkward. I am so shy and awkward.”

“It just seemed like fate,” he continued, obviously deciding to ignore your additions to his observation.

“Fate,” you murmured with a breathy chuckle as you resumed your mission of kissing every inch of him you could see right now.

“Well, it did! Would you have talked to me if I hadn’t talked to you first?”

“No,” you replied immediately.

“Exactly.”

“So... you’re saying you wouldn’t have talked to me if I hadn’t been dressed up as Supergirl?”

“Hey, don’t put words in my mouth,” Seo Joon teased, grabbing you with his other arm and pulling you on top of his chest.

“I didn’t!” you laughed as you situated yourself along his (tall, strong) body. “I made a logical jump. Be honest. Would you have?”

“...Honestly, I think so. Just maybe not as quickly as I did.”

“Probably because you would’ve seen me talking to her cat, and you would’ve felt sorry for me.”

“Probably,” he smirked.

You couldn’t even get upset with him because it was entirely true.

“I wonder if we would've ever met if I hadn’t gone to that party,” you mused, finally ceasing your kisses and resting your head on his shoulder. He held you pretty tightly and tangled your legs together, your absolute favorite way to cuddle. Seo Joon was just so strong, and you didn’t feel safer anywhere else but in his arms.

It was a feeling you’d never known you were missing in your life, but now that you did know, you never wanted to live your life without it again.

“I sure hope so,” he murmured. “I mean, we probably would have met at her Christmas party, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, that’s true. I think I would’ve gone to that on my own even if we hadn’t been dating.”

“Because you love you some Christmas,” Seo Joon grinned, nuzzling into your hair.

“I sure do,” you beamed. “But I’m starting to warm up to Halloween.”

“Yeah? You like this movie that much?”

...Honestly, you’d totally forgotten there was even a movie playing right now.

But, of course, you would never pass up the opportunity to tease your beloved boyfriend.

“Yes, I do,” you replied with an overly sweet grin. “If it weren’t for this movie, I would probably still hate Halloween.”

Seo Joon lifted his head, one of his brows quirked along with one corner of his lips. “Oh, really? You would? This movie is the only reason why you like Halloween now?”

“Yes,” you replied, doing your best to bite back a laugh.

“Oh, okay, I see how it is.” Seo Joon used his hold on you to his advantage and moved his hands down to tickle your sides.

“HEY!” you cried, immediately bursting out laughing. “STOP! STOOOPPP!!!”

Seo Joon pushed you over onto your back, switching places with you and moving to be the one on top now. He tickled and poked at your sides, a grin lighting up his face as you squealed and shrieked and tried to swat his hands away.

“Seo Joon!” you gasped. “Stop!”

“But I don’t want to,” he retorted, though he still ceased the tickling and was now simply holding your waist in his hands.

“Why?! You know I hate being tickled.”

“I know, but you know I love to hear you laugh.”

“Oh my god, stop being so cheesy!” you cried, wriggling one arm free to hit his shoulder playfully.

“Never,” Seo Joon proclaimed, grinning as he lowered himself down just enough to start placing kisses all over your face.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, letting your eyes flutter closed as you felt the gentle touch of his lips on your skin over and over again. He kissed your forehead and your eyelids and your nose and your cheeks and your chin, and then finally he kissed your lips.

“I love you so much,” he whispered in between kisses. “You know that, right?”

“Mm,” you hummed. “Yes, I do. And I love you exactly the same amount, don’t even try to argue with me.”

“Oh, believe me, I’ve learned my lesson on that front.”

You chuckled softly, rubbing the tip of your nose against his and kissing him one more time.

And then, all of a sudden, you heard one of the characters in the movie talk about candy.

“Hey, you know what I want right now?” you asked with a bit of a sly smirk.

“Hmm, I think I can guess...” Seo Joon mirrored your smirk with one of his own and began to lean in to kiss you again.

Oh, god, you were about to be the biggest buzzkill, weren’t you?

“I want some Halloween candy,” you said quickly before he could actually touch your lips.

He froze, his brow furrowed immediately at your words.

“You want... candy?”

“Yes,” you beamed angelically.

“But... I can give you something sweeter.”

“Yes, but I really want some candy corn. There’s really nothing sweeter than candy corn.”

He let out a playfully exasperated sigh... but he still rolled off the couch and headed into the kitchen where your roommate had left out a bowl of assorted Halloween candies.

You followed him, scurrying into the kitchen behind him and hopping up on the counter next to the large bowl of candy.

When Seo Joon picked out a candy corn and held it out to you, you smiled sweetly before accepting it.

“Thank you!” you grinned.

“You are welcome,” Seo Joon murmured before popping a piece of candy corn into his own mouth.

You watched him with probably the most adoring look on your face, and right after he ate another candy corn, you reached out and gently grabbed his arm. You pulled him in front of you, spreading your legs so he could stand in-between them.

“Hey,” you said softly as you slid your arms around his neck. “Happy anniversary.”

The smile that lit up Seo Joon’s face almost legitimately melted your heart, and he held onto your waist, pulling you to the very edge of the counter, as close to him as possible.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

You placed the softest, sweetest kiss on his lips while you slowly wrapped your legs around his hips. Thankfully, Seo Joon got the hint, and he picked you up easily before starting to carry you toward your room.

Now that you’d had your candy corn, you were in the mood for something sweeter.

And, like, your roommate was gone for the whole night, so... gotta take advantage of that, for sure.

Part 3

Master list // RULES // Submit a Request! // Read About the Admins

#park seo joon #park seo joon scenarios #park seo joon imagines #park seo joon au #park seo joon fluff #kdrama #kdrama actor #kdrama scenarios #kdrama imagines #kdrama au #kdrama fluff #admin b #noonaclock halloween

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mariyekos · 7 years ago

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holy shit 75k for your college!? man just go to community college, mine's literally 600 dollars a semester. there's really no difference except how much you'll be spending your life in crippling debt

(this is pretty negative btw. and long)

Okay so while it’s nice to see people read my tags and have a suggestion, I kind of wish you could have worded this a little more nicely. I feel guilty enough about paying what I have to pay. Which is not actually 76k, since I am getting some financial aid. I was saying that $76,000 is the base tuition (well, with housing and stuff). Which yeah, is a lot, especially when compared to community college. And it’s the reason I’m thinking about transferring out after a year or two to a UC school since I’m from California and the tuition would be a lot cheaper thanks to in-state tuition and Cal Grants and all that stuff. I don’t think I’ll end up doing it in the end, or at least hope I won’t have to, but we’ll see.

I wouldn’t go to a community college though. Community colleges can be pretty good, and I have a cousin who went to one for two years before transferring to a UC for his bachelors or whatever, but I don’t want to go to one myself. Going to a 4-year university has been my dream since childhood. I’ve spent the past few years being told by people that that’s the end goal. With some specific people telling me that if I don’t go to a university after all I’ve done, it will be a waste. And one particular teacher telling me I’ll fail at life if I don’t go to a 4-year university and while I know it’s not true the combination of all that pressure has stuck with me in a way I can’t get out of my head. And to a large extent, I agree. I didn’t do all the things I’ve done and pushed myself beyond what I really felt like doing so I could go to a community college which would have accepted me even if I hadn’t done those things, as long as my grades were good enough (is there even a grade requirement? I have no idea actually. I’ve never checked. I think so? But I really don’t know). So much of my life over these past few years has been dominated by me doing things so I could build a resume that would get me accepted into a university. Basketball, track, science fair, IB, etc. Whatever made me look the most impressive. Whatever could show a University, “Hey! I can multitask! I can excel! I can do well! I would be a great addition to your school, accept me!”

Sure, some of these things I did because I liked them. To an extent. I can tell you that my last 2 and a half years of basketball were done because I thought “what will universities think if they see I made Varsity but then abandoned the team? It will look so much better if they see I can stick with something.” Definitely year 3 in particular was for college. That year was beyond hellish. Science Fair took so much effort, and created many stressful days all with the goal of “improving my college application.” The specific diploma program I’m doing in school was 50% motivated by “colleges look to see you took the hardest courses available at your school” and “I need to look the best”. Long story short, I’ve worked too hard with the specific goal of “getting into a four year university” to just… not do that.

The biggest thing though, or maybe it’s tied with the last thing, is that going to Duke has been a dream for as long as I can remember. Even in elementary school I wanted to go. In about 3rd grade I realized, hey if I get good at basketball then that will impress them! And then proceeded to play basketball nonstop until my junior year of high school when my coach ruined the sport for me so much I took a two month break. Which I came back from to play for him again because I needed that “Varsity basketball senior year captain” thing on my resume. To get into college. My dad went to Duke, and I’ve been wearing Duke stuff since I was born. I’ve always felt like going there would give me a sort of connection to him. Like it would impress him. He passed away when I was 5, so going there is all the more important. Kind of like I can show him, “You know what dad? I did my best. I tried so hard, and maybe I’m not perfect, but look where I’m going! I did it! I’m here! I made it! Just like you did! Are you proud of me?” I don’t remember him much, but his Duke friends were his friends that stayed with him for life, and his Duke stories were the ones that were told. It was a special place to him, and because of that it’s a special place to me.

I’ve visited the campus, and it’s beautiful. It has one of the best environmental science programs out there, which is what I’m interested in, as well as a marine lab that I’m hoping to have a class with. The campus is beautiful, and the people I met seem pretty cool. and it’s just… Evidence. Evidence of how hard I worked. All those nights of staying up until 2AM, trying to finish an essay or a project or a study guide or whatever payed off. They got me to my dream school. To one of the top universities in the country. Sure it’s not an ivy league, but it’s good. It has the programs I want to enroll in. It’ll look good on a job application. It’s located pretty close to the EPA headquarters, as well as a bunch of other prestigious places (the research triangle area).

I wasn’t looking for the most expensive place possible. I can tell you I sobbed when I saw the price and thought “oh god I can’t go here. It’s too expensive.” I don’t like the price. It’s ridiculous. But my mom has told me for years that the price shouldn’t be the reason I don’t go to my dream school, as have several other people. Hell, my classmates have been talking about it for years. Whenever I talk about something that seems below impressive, I get looked at. Like, “what the hell are you talking about.” “What the hell do you mean you don’t know if you’ll get in? You’re like one of the top 5 smartest people here” Or “oh come on don’t worry about it you’re super smart” or “no way you’re going to go somewhere like that. you’re too good for that.” And I sure as hell don’t have a great self image or self confidence. Being able to go somewhere like Duke gives me such a sense of accomplishment. I did something. I really did something. I worked so so hard. And I’m getting something out of it. I didn’t fail. After spending so much time feeling like a failure, i did something. And I don’t want to give it up. I really, really don’t want to give it up.

Plus there’s what I said before. I feel like if I do go to community college… i’ll have failed. Community college is a great option for people. I’m glad it exists. It’s especially great for people facing tough financial situations. Several of my friends are going to community colleges either because they couldn’t afford a university education, or because they just wanted to. And I’m not looking down on it. But for so long I’ve been told that that’s not the top - that university is. And like I said, I can’t get that out of my mind. If I go to community college I know I’ll always have a voice nagging in the back of my head that I could have done better. I still feel guilty for small things I did years ago. I hate myself for doing choir, for example. Right now, my class has 1 valedictorian and 2 salutatorians (due to a tie). So the top 3 people in the class. I’m class rank 4. Had I not taken choir, I would be either 1 or 2 right now. But I took choir. I wanted to sing and I allowed myself that and it hurt my GPA. I tell myself, well I had some fun. But will I regret it for a while? Yes. Have I regretted it since I finished? Yes. Because “I could have done better.” I took choir before that and that should have been good enough, right? I would have been fine taking a different class. If I had taken that 7th class when i had the option, taken that weighted class instead of the non-weighted choir, then I wouldn’t be number 4. It’s silly to be so upset over. But that’s the sort of way my mind works and the sort of thing that sticks with me. There was nothing wrong with taking choir. It wasn’t a terrible experience. Just like there’s nothing wrong with going to community college. But I would have that nagging voice telling me that I failed. That I could have done better. I don’t want to feel guilty for however many years that would stick with me.

And then last thing… I’m already enrolled in Duke. It’s a little late for going to a community college. So thanks for the suggestion, but no thanks. I’ve spent a while thinking about where I would go. I thought about community college for a while, to save money. But I’m getting financial aid so college isn’t completely impossible money wise. I have a savings account that will help me pay. I don’t want to go into debt. If I have to transfer somewhere cheaper to avoid that, then so be it. I just don’t want people to see me as a failure, and I don’t want to see myself as a failure. If I don’t go to a university (specifically Duke) at this point, I know that that is what’s going to happen. I get judged enough when I’m not at the top already. And as much as I know my life shouldn’t revolve around other people’s thoughts about me, I get freaked out thinking about being a failure, and thinking about what others think of me. It doesn’t always change my actions, but it does make me insanely guilty which I don’t want to be.

Okay for the real last thing I will say this. Thank you for making a suggestion to help me. Debt is not a fun thing, and I don’t want to be in debt. However, even putting aside all my fears of not going to a university… I want to go to Duke. It’s been my dream forever, and it has everything that I want now. So that’s where I’m going. And next time, please just… phrase things a little nicer. That’s the sort of stuff/tone I get hit with both by people trying to crush my dreams (in this sense and others), and by people telling me I need to do something like going to a university or I won’t accomplish anything meaningful with my life.

Sorry for going off or whatever. This is much longer than I thought it would be, and super unorganized. It’s stream of consciousness or thought or whatever the phrase is (I think the first but i’m tired and don’t feel like putting in more effort). But it’s honest. So that’s that.

#anonymous #eruanswers #eruasks #erurandomness #hmm #i have an essay i need to do now anyway #i've kept straight As forever and i'm not letting myself fail now #i'm so close to the end.#Anonymous

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ra3lynn3 · 7 years ago

Text

Stay With Me Always

Chapter 1

I shift uncomfortably in the stiff plastic chair as I tug at the hem of my skirt, willing it to be just a few inches longer. I wonder then why I let my sister dress me for this interview. She promised I looked professional and smart; just the right winning combination. As there's no one else around in the small reception area, it's hard to judge the truth. Not to mention, my idea of fashion is jeans and a t-shirt with my hair pulled back in a braid. But Prim insisted I let my hair down. She even convinced me I should let her put a few curls in it. I'm certain I recall seeing my mother dressed something like this back when I was ten, which sets my insecurities on high alert. I stare at my hands on my lap and begin to pick nervously at my nails.

I, like the rest of Panem, have been looking for a steady job since the fall and subsequent rebuild of the government several years ago. Odd jobs here and there have kept me from being homeless. Barely.

I work most days (and nights) at a little diner affectionately called, Greasy Sae's, while the well-intended original name has long since been forgotten by its mostly inebriated, stoned, or just-don't-care clientele. Besides a basic need to stay alive, I am determined to provide a better life for my sister, Prim, and our mother.

Which is what brings me to this mostly humiliating moment in time. My friend, Gale, tipped me off about an opening here at Mellark's. Gale's girlfriend, Madge, works in the mail room and mentioned one of the head honchos was looking for a personal assistant. Unfortunately, Gale is often a man of few words, so I had little information to go off of to get me here. I spruced up my resume to include my vast knowledge of customer service (even if the customers are easy to please when they're hungover), and my uncanny ability to multitask (being the sole waitress in a small diner can be tricky), along with my stellar organizational skills (no one else was going to alphabetize the cans and boxes in the pantry, thank you very much). Whatever the case may be, someone liked what they saw and called me for an interview. Although, according to Madge, several dozen able-bodied people have been in and out of the towering office building, not to mention herself, in search of the coveted position. She swears the Devil himself would be easier to impress.

"Katniss Everdeen?"

A shrill female voice interrupts my thoughts. I look up to see an impeccably dressed woman with her hair piled high atop her head, adorned with several small butterfly clips. She has a number of subtle streaks of hot pink in her blond hair, and lipstick to match. Her lashes are heavy with mascara, and underneath, her eyes land on me and her lips purse. I feel her eyes raking in my appearance. I'm suddenly aware of my too-tight, too-short, too-old outfit that was pieced together from my mom's wardrobe since my argument for pants and a plain top were not compelling enough. According to Prim, it didn't help me "stand out" (her words, not mine). My stomach clenches. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands.

Right now, I would give anything to disappear. Butterfly blond turns abruptly and motions for me over her shoulder with a sharply pointed, well-manicured nail. With no further instruction, my response time is slow, but I jump to my feet before the door she came through has a chance to close. I take the opportunity to give my skirt a quick tug. It's then that I hear a sickening rip and feel the cool air hit the side of my thigh. I feel a rush of heat rise to my cheeks, and quickly glance down to assess the damage. The hem that barely reached the end of my fingertips has now slipped several inches up my right thigh. It's a miracle my under garments aren't showing. I barely register that the blond is talking to me.

"I'm Effie. I'll be showing you around today. Hurry, we have lots to do before we meet with Mr. Mellark. He insists on timeliness!"

If it's possible, her already fast pace quickens and I try to reason how I'm going to fix my skirt quickly in order to downplay my new street walker appearance.

Effie stops abruptly and I nearly slam into her. She frowns slightly as she sees me try to subtly fidget with my clothing. She unceremoniously hands me a hair net and cloth shoe covers. She quickly dons her items and straightens to face the doors in front of her. She smooths her perfectly pressed dress suit and takes a deep breath.

"This is where the fun begins!" She exclaims reverently as she pushes open a set of large double doors.

My senses are assailed with sights and sounds and sweet smells. Beyond that, I'm immediately overwhelmed by the sound of the loud machinery and the whirring of objects being seemingly flung from place to place by a dizzying amount of conveyor belts. I can barely hear Effie as she speaks above the roar.

"Mellark's has been a household name for decades, but of course you know that." She chuckles under her breath.

I did know that actually. We've bought their bread, when we could afford it, since I was a little girl. We even had a special white box on the counter to store it so it didn't spoil as quickly. When my father was alive, he liked to surprise us on holidays with a bag of their cheese buns. Christmas Day meant a loaf of their fruit and nut bread. I was always intrigued by its knotted appearance. Mellark's became synonymous with home. It reminds me of sweeter days when I felt whole.

"Each of the family's beloved recipes is made in-house and distributed throughout Panem." She drones on above the roar as we make our way to the opposite end of the factory. She points and gestures in several other directions as she guides our tour.

I nod dumbly as I follow close behind. I'm admittedly lost in my thoughts of the past when I realize a second too late that Effie has stopped abruptly once again. We bump into one another, and if looks could kill, I'd have been dead ten times over. I mumble an apology under my breath. Effie quickly composes herself after a small shake of her head, fluffs the base of her updo, and wipes the corners of her mouth. Effie begins to remove her hair net and booties. I follow suit and follow her through the steel double doors into a noticeably quieter area of the building. My heeled feet sink into the plush carpet and I try hard not to look too wobbly.

"This is the administrative area of the building." Effie gestures widely with her arms.

As I look around the sizable hallway, I notice dozens of framed photographs, newspaper articles laden with flattering headlines about the company, plaques, magazine covers and awards neatly hung in a pleasing array. No time to stop and look with Effie's breakneck speeds. When I tune in, she's explaining several of the duties I would be responsible for, should Mr. Mellark agree to hire me. Admittedly, I am largely unfamiliar with clerical work, but I know myself to be a quick study. As we round the corner, Effie slows her speed. This time I'm aware of the shift. Her reason for pause gets my attention and I follow her gaze to see two men standing several yards away engaged in a very tense-looking conversation.

Both stand uncomfortably close to one another. The older man plants his pointer finger in the younger man's chest, whispering something along the lines of 'get it together' through gritted teeth. Effie clears her throat to signal our presence in the hopes of breaking up this testosterone-driven moment. Both men turn to see us standing in the hall. The older man plasters a smile on his face and turns toward Effie.

"Effie!" He exclaims, taking several large steps toward us to quickly close the distance. "Who do we have here?" He asks, turning to face me with his still-fake smile.

I steal a glance over his shoulder to take in the defeated looking younger man. I quickly pull my eyes to the man in front of me as Effie introduces us. I abandon my death grip on the side of my skirt as Ryan, or 'Rye-to-his-friends', reaches to shake my hand.

"This is my baby brother, Peeta" Rye tips his head back toward the younger man standing behind him. Peeta does his best to keep his look of annoyance to a minimum as he comes forward to shake my hand as well. I'm struck by his warm, firm grip. He does little to show any enthusiasm toward our meeting and quickly releases my hand. He makes short work of unbuttoning and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Sensing his younger brother's foul mood, Rye commandeers the conversation with a, "Glad to meet you Katniss. I hope you can finally be the one to meet Peeta's ridiculous demands for an assistant."

He looks sideways at Peeta then leans in and whispers conspiratorially, "He's hard to please".

With a wink, Rye stands upright and gestures toward a door that I'm assuming he'd like us to enter through. Before I can make a move, Effie takes that as her cue to get to work. It seems that she simultaneously holds the door for the three of us, while ensuring enough water-filled glasses are provided and paperwork is evenly distributed to the men sitting across from me at a table that would fill the entirety of my kitchen at home. I feel the seam of my skirt stress and tear even more as I go to sit at the edge of a very plush, black leather swivel chair. My bottom nearly slips off the edge of the slick material. I quickly catch myself and look to see that Peeta has witnessed my clumsiness. I swear I see him stifle a smile and try to compose himself with a sip of water. I feel heat rise to my cheeks once again as I work to bite my tongue, holding in a passive aggressive comment that has no place in a much-needed job interview.

"So, Katniss, tell us a little about yourself" Rye begins as he skims over my meager resume.

I'm really feeling unsettled by how this entire event has gone from beginning until now, but I think briefly of Prim. Imagining her disappointment at the recap of this nightmare, I muster up my confidence and begin, "I'm a very hard worker. Have been my whole life. I'm not afraid to learn new things either."

"That's very original" Peeta chimes in. I detect movement under the table. It would seem Rye planted a swift kick to Peeta's shin judging by the grunt elicited from his clenched mouth.

There's something in his tone that sets my teeth on edge. I look between the two of them, debating if I even want to bother going on. I take a deep breath and resolve to say, "Listen, I know you've seen your fair share of people in and out of here for this job, but I really need this job."

Throwing all caution to the wind, I continue, "You see, I can't afford to put my little sister through school on a waitress's salary, and she deserves all the good things this world has to offer. While my resume may not be the most impressive one you've seen, I won't let you down."

The men look dumbfounded at my revelation. We sit in silence for a moment. I look down to my hands in my lap as Rye hesitantly says, "Thank you for your honesty. We'll be in touch."

I take that as my signal to leave. Standing to wobbly heels, I compose myself quickly and look to both men as I thank them for their time. Peeta's eyes hold mine a second longer than I expect. I stare back with an intensity that I hope conveys my determination. With a nod of my head, I turn to leave. Effie stands beside the door to the conference room.

"This way, Miss Everdeen" she says as she guides me back to the hallway and onto an elevator. "Thank you for your time", she says as she pushes the button to return me to the lobby and steps out from the elevator before the doors have a chance to close. She gives me one last look up and down, before I begin my descent.

As the doors close, I grab a fistful of my hair and let out a growl, cursing the powers-that-be for that unfortunate excuse for an interview.

I've completely blown it. Time to start practicing my speech for Prim.

I make my way out to the street, and as if on auto pilot, I pull my hair back in a braid. Giving one last look to the towering skyscraper beside me, I shake my head and begin my trek to the other side of town, The Seam, as it's affectionately called. Much of The Seam's people are blue-collar. A small group makes the daily commute into the larger part of the city to work in its offices, shops and justice building, but for the most part, families make a living by working in the coal mines.

My family is no exception. My mother worked in the city for a time, while my father kept long hours in the mines. When I came along, my mother resolved to staying home to care for me. I sometimes wonder if she regrets her decision when she looks back on her life. Although, like me, she was willing to make sacrifices for her family. In fact, if I were to claim any one thing I have in common with my mother, it would be her sacrificial spirit. Even though my father's death nearly broke her spirit entirely. His endless hours subjected to inhaling coal dust wreaked havoc on his lungs. He was dead three months to the day after his diagnosis. Lung cancer. I was 16.

I'm met with a soft tinkle of a bell as I pull open the door to Sae's.

"You're late, girl!" I hear Sae call from the kitchen.

"Hey, glad you could join us, Sweetheart!" I hear a familiar voice chide from the far booth to my left. Haymitch. One of the regulars and perpetually drunk.

"Save it, Haymitch." I reply as I dip behind the counter to grab a change of clothes. I hear him chuckle as I hurry to the back room and swiftly remove the source of much of my disdain. Without thinking twice, I pitch the clothes in the nearby trash can and make my way back to the front.

"How'd it go, Katniss?" Hazelle asks as she wipes a spot clean on the counter.

I give her a look that encompasses enough emotion that she knows not to pursue the topic further.

"It couldn't have been that bad" Darius, another regular, remarks.

"No, it was worse" I reply. I proceed to fill in my small audience on the play-by-play of the day. They respond appropriately with sympathetic silence and shakes of their heads.

"You could always help me with my geese!" Haymitch suggests from his seat at the booth.

I roll my eyes and hear Sae from the kitchen say something about me having enough work to do here and that the tables and floors aren't going to clean themselves. I take the hint and get to work, putting the day and its disappointments behind me.

It's a quarter past four when I hear the tinkle of the doorbell and a ray of sunshine enters the diner. Primrose. She smiles happily as our eyes meet and she takes a seat in front of me at the counter. I see the expectation in her gentle blue eyes and solemnly shake my head. She responds quietly with, "That's ok, Katniss. It's their loss."

I smile half-heartedly and fill a cup of water for her as she pulls a number of text books and paper from her accompanying bag.

"This isn't a library, Prim" Sae remarks as she pokes her head around the corner from the kitchen; her permanent residence.

Prim pulls a pleading look and Sae retreats behind the wall without another word. Curious, I pull one of the textbooks toward me and read the title out loud "Introduction to Human Anatomy." I try hard not to sound appalled at the title, which sounds far too intimate and challenging for me to comprehend. I was always an average student in school. I never excelled at anything in particular, but got by unnoticed for the most part.

Prim, on the other hand, really took to school and will often admit that she loves it. It's a good thing too, since becoming a doctor requires many years of her dedication. Our mother had a knack for healing when we were younger. When she worked in the city, it was for a small druggist, preparing medicines and doing minor first aid when necessary. People from our neighborhood would occasionally stop by for help if they couldn't afford the hospital.

"Classes started today, and I want to make sure I'm ready for lecture tomorrow." Prim says matter-of-factly.

I nod knowingly and leave her to it. I keep her cup full of water and force her to take a break at dinner time. By 9:30 I've completed my closing duties and break her from her concentration to pack up and head home. We walk in silence. I don't have the heart to pull Prim from her thoughts. Her head is always in her books, even if she's not reading. I've just pulled my keys from my jacket when I feel an insistent buzzing from my bag. I scramble to find my phone. The number isn't one I know, and given the late hour, I send it to voicemail. As we enter the house, Prim and I greet our mother as she sits nearly catatonic in front of the glowing TV. She utters a hello, but makes no move to get up. I throw my bag and jacket over the chair and begin cleaning up the mess my mother left the kitchen.

For the last ten years since my father's death, she makes it her mission to do the least amount of everything possible to get by. If she takes her pills regularly we can usually get a good streak of motivation out of her, but often these moments are followed by 'the fall out' as I've come to call it. Times where, like now, she abandons whatever work she has started and retreats to a quiet world in front of the television where everything is simple. Judging by the piles of old photographs and photo albums, she was making it her mission to organize the chaos.

I make quick work of piling the photos and putting them back in their respective boxes or books. Several catch my eye as I go about my task. Happier times. Prim and I as children dressed in make believe costumes. Holidays. First days of school. My parents wedding photo. Their love for each other never ceased to amaze me. I always admired them for it, even before I could grasp its depths. Now as an adult I can't even imagine what it must be like to love someone that much, so I don't even try. Love and romance never interested me much. I've had my share of boyfriends, but never once did I feel that 'thing' I'm convinced I will feel if the right person should come along. But who am I kidding? I have no time in my life for going out on dates. I have my family to think of and that's enough.

The buzzing from my bag pulls me from my thoughts. As I reach for my phone I notice I have a voicemail from that same number I didn't recognize earlier. As I push the playback button, I pull the phone from my ear as Effie's shrill voice fills the room.

"Hello Katniss. Effie Trinket calling from Mellark's. Please call me back at this number at your earliest convenience. Any time. I'd like to speak with you about the terms of your employment. Thank you."

I stand transfixed. Did I hear her right? I replay the message. Yes, I definitely heard her correctly. I feel strangely lightheaded. Maybe giddy is the word? I would never use that word to describe myself, but it's the best I can do. How that conversation must've gone after I left intrigues me. Oh, to be a fly on the wall! Without thinking I press the button to dial the number Effie called from. After two rings, I suddenly realize the time and go to hang up.

"Effie Trinket speaking!" Comes her cheerful trill.

"Hi, Effie. It's Katniss. I apologize for the late call..." I begin lamely.

"Don't be silly, Katniss. I'm always so busy I rarely get a chance to sleep." She chortles back. "I'm delighted to hear from you. Both Ryan and Peeta would like you to start as soon as possible. Does tomorrow morning at eight work?"

She rattles off these words and my mind swirls to put it all together.

"Uh, sure" I stutter dumbly. "I'll be there tomorrow."

"8 AM sharp." She confirms. I'm about to say goodbye when she interjects, "And Katniss... attire with a bit more fabric if you will, please?"

With that the phone switches off. I feel heat rising to my cheeks again. I sit down quietly in a kitchen chair, staring at the lines in the floor.

"Everything ok, Katniss?" Prim's voice shakes me from my thoughts.

"I got the job" I manage to push out just above a whisper.

"What?" She asks, coming closer. I look her in the eye and repeat my unexpected and joyful news. She shrieks and bends down to hug me. With a quick clap of her hands she stands and looks preoccupied with her thoughts. She starts muttering under her breath about picking out an outfit for me as she turns and heads toward our bedroom. Realization dawns on me about what happened last time she was left alone to dress me, so I quickly give chase.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12666126/1/Stay-With-Me-Always

#everlark #everlark fanfiction

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lestatslestits · 7 years ago

Note

i vaguely remember a thing crowley did involving phones ... what else 'evil' tricks did he get up to while waiting for apocalypse stuff to happen?

((In which evil is in the eye of the beholder, or in which Crowley has some shocking revelations about his motivations. Pre-slash.

Thanks to @pen-in-hand-mb for letting me bounce ideas off of her, and for helping to think up some of Crowley’s antics.))

The cemetery was dark and cold and for once Crowley was early. Drumming his fingers idly against a tombstone, he glanced around for any sign of Hastur and Ligur, the two demons with which he was meant to be corresponding.

Just outside the cemetery gate, his Bentley was idling, waiting patiently for the first possible moment of escape.

Checking his watch, Crowley realized why he did not make a habit of being on time for his meetings with Hastur and Ligur.

The waiting period was hell.

He fidgeted. It wasn’t that he was nervous, per say, it was simply that there tended to be nearly insurmountable creative differences between Dukes of Hell and, for instance, the sort of demon who might drive a vintage Bentley, appear to wear snakeskin shoes, and dedicate a corner of his flat to keeping a series of increasingly anxious plants alive. Crowley was never any good at family reunions.

A noise from behind made him jump. He managed to resume a neutral expression just as Hastur and Ligur rounded the corner of a sizable monument nearby.

“All hail Satan,” Ligur said, spotting Crowley.

“All hail Satan,” Hastur echoed.

“Ditto,” Crowley replied, nodding.

Hastur scowled. Not that it did much to change the expression on his face.

“Everything soldiering on below?” Crowley asked, rather brightly.

“Below is not the point of this meeting.”

“The point?” Crowley scratched at a place behind his ear. “Alright then. Let’s get on with it, shall we? I haven’t got all night.” Hell’s particular brand of accountability made him twitchy.

“Right,” Ligur said, cracking his knuckles. Of all the joys of corporation, joint cracking must have been foremost on Ligur’s list, judging by his endless pursuit of the form. Crowley chewed thoughtfully on his own lower lip as he waited for the full report.

“I have made a man believe that a dalliance with his wife’s sister will not be discovered. Within two years he will be ours.”

“And you?”

“I have put doubt into the mind of a devout man. Within a year he will be a shadow of his former self. And you, Crowley?”

Crowley smiled winningly at them. “An especially good one today,” he said. “Convinced another three celebrities to write tell-all memoirs.”

Hastur and Ligur blinked at him like two very confused oafs eyeing a particularly difficult maths problem. This was only half accurate. Crowley avoided maths.

“What good is that?” Hastur demanded finally, after a quick glance at Ligur to assure himself that the other demon was equally perplexed.

Crowley frowned at them. “What good? Millions of people will lose their spotless heroes when those books hit the shelves. And millions more, shopkeepers, will have to look at those smug faces, trying to remind the world of when they used to mean something.” Well, he could think of one shopkeeper who wouldn’t. He recalled the look of horror on Aziraphale’s face at the prospect, and felt the corners of his mouth turn up in an involuntary smile.

“That’s not real evil,” Ligur said finally. “Not of our stock, at any rate. ‘Ave you got anything else?”

“Of course,” scoffed Crowley, who prided himself on his ability to multitask. “What do you think of shops that only play elevator music.”

It had been a good idea. Aziraphale became unusually suspicious upon hearing it, and Crowley spotted him checking his vintage record collection with increased frequency, lest the albums go the route of cassettes left in the Bentley, but with a muted saxophone line instead of Freddie Mercury’s falsetto. Crowley laughed at Aziraphale’s fears over a glass of the angel’s rather good wine, of which he seemed to never run out.

Seeing the look of continued nonplussed irritation on the faces of the other demons, he chuckled cautiously. “I suppose you had to be there.”

“Crowley,” Hastur said, leaning in conspiratorially as though to tell a secret or offer advice. “You’re going to have to do better than that. What happened to the demon I remember from Eden? You did good work back then. Proper work.”

“Books with movie posters on the cover!” Crowley retorted.

Hastur huffed a sigh and rubbed at his temple. “Come on, Crawly. Real, proper evil. Surely you’ve got something.”

Aziraphale had thought the movie poster ploy to be among his most impressively devious schemes. Hastur seemed to have slightly different standards.

“Alright, alright,” Crowley held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll tell you about one of my most impressive projects. I’m really playing the long game here. It’s taken years of work.”

“Out with it, then,” Ligur growled.

“Have you ever wondered why everyone calls the MONSTER 'Frankenstein’ instead of the scientist?”

Hastur and Ligur, who had briefly perked up at the word “monster,” deflated almost instantly. Seeing this, Crowley forged on ahead in an attempt to explain his reasoning. “Listen, boys. You’ve got to think about the engineering here. Every film. Every minuscule reference. Hell, every textbook I can get my hands on. It’s been bloody difficult, okay?”

But worth it, he thought, to see the delightful little cringe on Aziraphale’s face every time someone failed to properly identify Mary Shelley’s creature. Almost any effort was worth the benefit of gently teasing Aziraphale. It was a delightful hobby.

More than a hobby, in fact, he thought suddenly. There was nothing in his report to hell which didn’t serve the greater purpose of showing off to the angel.

Crowley felt his face begin to flush slightly at the dawning realization. He hoped the Dukes of Hell did not notice. Thankfully, they seemed too busy being absolutely disgusted with him for other reasons.

“You’ll be bringing down our averages again, Crowley,” Ligur warned.

Crowley found he did not care what sort of infernal maths went into documenting Hell’s productivity and risk assessments, but that he did care about getting out from underneath its most dogged actuaries.

They made him squirm.

“Alright. Sorry. Listen. One more for the road, then. My car’s been running this whole time. Burning away the firmament as we speak. Viciously, and with malice of forethought, tearing it to pieces. Does that help?”

He liked to keep the bar set low. Life was easier when Hell didn’t expect much from him.

Hastur and Ligur exchanged glances and grudgingly acknowledged this as Crowley’s most diabolical act in the past several weeks. “Fine,” Ligur grumbled. “We’ll add it to the report. But see you do better next time, Crowley.”

“Right. Sure. Of course.”

In point of fact, he already had some pretty vicious ideas about library cataloguing systems.

“Ta,” he said to Hastur and Ligur, and headed for the Bentley as quickly as it was possible to do while still appearing casual and not-at-all unsettled.

The radio was playing “Under Pressure” softly and Aziraphale was frowning at it.

“This was supposed to be Bach,” he fretted.

“It’s close enough,” Crowley said, smiling as he folded himself into the driver’s seat. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Angel. Fortunately, I made our dinner reservation for 'precisely when we feel like arriving.’” It was a standing reservation, and he never had to make any phone calls to procure it. It was also his favorite time to dine.

“Don’t worry, My Dear. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Excellent,” Crowley nodded. And then, “Angel, how do you feel about passages of text underlined in ink?”

Aziraphale shuddered. Crowley only smiled.

#good omens #crowley #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands

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