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phantomphangphucker · 4 years ago

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Ectober Day 24: House - Sinner Are We Chap.3: The Home Of Broken Parts

Orrin sent a lot of time thinking and that could be both good and bad for those around him. One thing was for sure, even he knows the Gray-Phantom home was strange.

Orrin watches his father’s back as he walks away, out the hall doors. They had gotten into another minor brawl, not that that was uncommon in this family. Arguably it was a favourite past time for all of them. Not that his lummox of a brother was all that refined or skilled at it.

Speaking of that fool, Orrin steps back slightly to easily avoid a blast from him; spotting him glaring bloody murder at him. Orrin rolls his eyes, “are you really going to try that”.

Russet scowls at him and stalks over, “you’re supposed to stay out of the way”.

“I don’t listen to you”. Orrin sidesteps to avoid his brother’s claws, turning to follow Russet landing in a crouch, “I'm the alpha here. You’re just a little boy that prefers to hide in your room”.

Orrin rolls his eyes, easily bending out of the way of a lunge, “you tell yourself that”, sighing and stepping next to him, putting his hand to Russet’s chest, and promptly blasting him into the back wall, “and I’m more of the wanderlust type”. Turning and watching Russet pull himself out of the wall rubble, with the wall immediately repairing itself, and sighs.

Russet scowls and aggressively tosses off the little bits, snarling and clearly baring as much fang as he possibly can, “fuck you, Ori”, and stalks off with a huff. Orrin does catch the slight glance back with a hint of worry on his face though.

Orrin smirking, “fuck you too, Rusty”, quiet enough that one of the living absolutely wouldn’t have heard him. He gets it, Russet was a blowhard that felt he deserved to be the king of the roost; who just got upstaged by someone he thought didn’t give a damn. Shaking his head and turning to look up at Dove, who’s floating upside down and fiddling with the white lace frill of her baby blue dress. Crossing his arms loosely, he has a feeling she didn’t notice the animosity between her brothers. Sure they didn’t hate each other but neither would lose sleep over the other's demise; and neither have damn if the other was at home at the time or not.

But Dove... she was something strange and unfamiliar to him. Yes, he had understood from a young age and his many travels, that their family dynamic was all kinds of unusual. That most of the living and dead were far kinder and gentler than the rest of his family. Or him for that matter. That was perfectly fine with him. And other people and families were protective and supportive in a way his wasn’t, from what he had observed anyway. That’s not to say his wasn’t, his father was probably the most protective being on the planet in all honesty. His brother would have gotten himself destroyed by now otherwise. Not that Russet ever seemed to appreciate it, and not that father gave a shit if his actions were appreciated or not.

Father was quite content to protect them, destructive methods or not. While mother was much more of the ‘protect your damn self’ type. She was very big on them being as capable as possible from day one, and he knew more methods of torture than he really knew what to do with. Mother was a fighter, father was more of a scarer. Encouraging him and his brother to be more creative and dramatic about pretty well everything. Mother always gave him that weird fond look that used to make Russet gag when father was being over-dramatic.

The only dramatic bone Russet had in his body was overblowing his own power and throwing fits like an entitled brat. He also couldn’t build a weapon to save his half-life. But he had tank throwing down to an art and a knack for blowing shit up. While Orrin himself was more dramatic in the confident sense and always being the ‘beau of the ball’ in any room. He knew he could come off as quite snobbish, but he was better than the vast majority of people. And if someone had a problem with that then he’s got no problem force-feeding them an ecto-light or tripping them down a well. See he had creativity, panache; Russet was just a brute. A brute that was more mediocre strength-wise. Which was just a bit sad in his opinion. Sad in a pathetic way, not in a ‘he feels bad for him’ way. Russet has been a real bastard growing up after all. Russet never blooming into power was just him getting his comupins.

Moving his hands to motion Dove to float down to him, her sitting on his forearm. The problem he can already see with her is that she just felt gentle. And kind. Not powerful, or sneaky, or dramatic, or aggressive. She felt like the opposite in fact; which was odd in this household. Yes, she was young, newly born/formed, but even him and Russet had a feeling of danger to them from day one. Russet’s first word had been to scream ‘DIE!’ while incinerating his food according to mother. And he had always been a teeth-barer who liked fire and anything that went boom way too much. Orrin had been blown up more than a few times in his youth because of that bastard. Didn’t help that mother encouraged them both to play with weapons, bombs included. And their father had literal fire for hair and a tendency to set anything around his feet on fire. If he was somewhere recently you would know it, because there’d be foot-shaped scorch marks.

As for himself? Father said his first word, or phrase really, had been to tell Russet to ‘fuck off’ before shoving Russet over via a foot to the face. Father had apparently laughed so hard he tipped the chair over. And while the larger world viewed Russet as the ‘demon child’ all the servants of the Keep gave that title to Orrin. Mother had a collection of photos of all the times he’s scared the crap out of someone simply by being somewhere they didn’t expect. He hardly thinks it’s his fault that curling up in cupboards, cabinets, and other assorted small areas, was comfortable. It was certainly a plus that seeing that look of abject terror and shock flash over someone’s face was rather enjoyable. So what if he may have given one of the mortal servants a heart attack or two. Their fault for being weak.

Shaking his head slightly and floating off to Dove’s room, her staying tucked in his arm and grabbing his frock coat; his parents might be all over that skintight bodysuit style, but he could do without it. At least that one ghost had been nice enough to explain the best use of glamour to him. And by ‘nice’ he means suddenly very agreeable under threat of some very creative knife play. So now he could accentuate the vertically half black, half white t-shirt/shorts bodysuit he was born with. The frock coat, top hat, and cane were his general go to. Never underestimate the usefulness of a cane for knocking out people's feet or snagging some ghosts tail. The white gloves and thigh-high black heels he was also born with worked quite well he thinks. Having a leaner body than mother certainly helped. And it was very amusing that the borderline-stiletto heels confused father. As was the absolute chaos his ocean blue eyes caused. Since apparently father had neglected to tell mother that she knew him as a human. She had blown half the Keep to smithereens over that; which brother had giddily helped with.

Walking into Dove’s room and eyeing the pink-tinted white walls and plushies all around. The Keep had formed her a very different room than the rest of the family. It was incredibly foreign to him... and incredibly interesting. It said a lot though, watching her float off and scrunch up the down-feather comforter over her mouth. A teddy-bear -which is apparently something children normally had- falling off the bed, only being stopped from hitting the ground via Dove’s telekinesis; her floating it over to her and patting its head.

Him walking over, “why did you do that. It’s not like it can get hurt or even care”, and Gray-Phantom’s didn’t care if something outside of their family got hurt in the slightest. She predictably just hums at him, changing to her ghost-form seemingly purely to coil her ghostly tail around the plushie. Orrin’s not sure she’s ever actually spoken.

Shaking his head and sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her. Dove was the sweetest little thing he had ever seen. Wavy soft gray hair nearly twice her small body’s length and eyes the colour of pure amber. Pale skin so easily burned by the sun, while he and his brother were of a darker tone. She touched everything like it was the most breakable thing in the world, she was a gentle soul, and looked at everything like it was made of sparkles.

Their parents would destroy her. A Gray-Phantom wasn’t soft, gentle, or breakable; and that’s all Orrin could see in Dove.

Even her ghost forms outfit felt that way, it was reminiscent of a spandex ballerina, all white with little sparkling black stars dangling off the rim of the skirt and long flowing arm-sleeves; little black shoes and black spandex over her fingers topping it off. Father liked the stars, not that he said that, but if it weren’t for her being black and white like the rest of the family then their parents would likely have questioned if she really was theirs.

With him it wasn’t even a question if they were his parents. And Russet had their father’s bulk plus the more angular appearance to his military-esque jumpsuit. At this point people probably though the white machine guns he carries strapped around his hips were actually attached to him. Same with the military cap he wore over his shaggy black hair. Orrin gets a bit of a kick out of himself being the only one to get father’s fire hair. Even if his flames were a dark red. Which yes, was absolutely blamed on mother. Father had teased her for weeks about probably having red hair when she finally keeled over.

Sighing at the sound of an explosion. Russet was probably picking fights. Or just aimlessly blowing shit up like a rabid mutt. Russet absolutely had mother's tendency to hold grudges and overreact to the slightest slight. Dove looking up to the ceiling and tilting her head, like she didn’t understand the sound. At least she had their parents’ seeming fearlessness. Nothing seemed to startle or scare her. Even him and Russet had the sense to be somewhat cautious of new things that clearly had the potential of danger. Not that Russet would admit to that, or possibly even knew he actually did that. Dove was gentle and soft, never cautious.

Orrin seriously wonders how breakable she is, how strong she is. Mother and the FrightKnight already didn’t know what to do with her. She wouldn’t swing a sword hard enough to even give a piece of paper a paper cut. Her dainty fingers had a lot of promise for putting things together, for intricacy. But the little pistol she had put together at mothers prompting had fired flower petals somehow. Which yes, he had gotten her to use to fill Russet’s bed with flower petals. He was pissed. And in typical fashion tried to blow the both of them up. Which Dove had just stood there and took, giggled slightly even. Before pouting over there being ash on her dress. Mother teased father over her having his dodging skills. Which was fair, father’s dodging was practically non-existent even to this day. Though he could see that mother was actually just slightly concerned. The only ghosts -or halfas for that matter- that could get away without ever dodging were ones like father. And their parents' way of teaching dodging or fighting was just to get hit and shit kicked till you learned better.

Little Dove couldn’t handle that, he’s sure of that. She was good and kind and sweet. Which was strange and he was curious to see what would become of that. He also just didn’t want to see that sullied and stripped away. He didn’t want to see her become their mother. He was aware of what his parents used to be. Heroes. Which was also strange. But enough ghosts and even mortals had told of it or pointed out footage that it was undeniable. So he can’t help but wonder if Dove was a return to that. That the good that was destroyed in them rebuilt itself in her. It would explain a lot. And honestly? Orrin was well aware that their parents were not remotely good people. Evil and villainous really. Russet was just as bad, and Orrin himself was hardly better. He was more immoral and vaguely bad, rather than downright evil. Which was perfectly fine with him and the family. Dove seemed to be trotting right into the innocent sweetheart do-gooder territory though, and a family like this was bound to crush that into dust. The fact that their parents were once the good guys wouldn’t help. They knew the tricks and ways, and they knew how to break a ‘good guy’ and teach them anarchy at the very least, downright world-destroying merciless villainy at worst.

So what was he to do? He could stand back and watch things play out; he’s not too fond of that option. And a Gray-Phantom, a prince, doesn’t do things they don’t want to. And he wasn’t lying when he referred to himself as one of wanderlust, he could arguably take her away from here. Sure father could sense where any ghost, or half-ghost, was, but Orrin had made himself exceptionally skilled at glamours. If he didn’t want to be found, then he wasn’t going to be. It wouldn’t take much to get a small space amongst the living, sixteen or not he could seem older if he wanted; he could look as old as father if he wanted, older even. Age-morphing was an incredibly enjoyable power to have. Of course if he went that route then they would really be on their own, not that that was an issue to him or even out of the ordinary. And living arrangements wise it would be quite the downgrade. The living didn’t have partially nice living arrangements. Houses getting blown up or suffering some other form of destruction didn’t particularly encourage the living to build them well or fancy. Dove might mind that, or she might not care at all.

And living with mortals posed its own inherent issues, they weren’t ‘one of them’ and the living could be quite perceptive to that. If you acted like them then you could generally be fine, but he could only fake it so much and couldn’t really relate. Dove wouldn’t even know to fake it or hide her halfa status. Which if they did get found out that could be a problem, not to mention a blow to his ego. Both the living and dead weren’t entirely fond of the Gray-Phantom’s. Which he finds logical, they were dangerous threats who ruled through fear and destruction. If the mortals and ghosts could destroy or dethrone them, then they probably would; and likely without hesitation. And even if they could only destroy or harm Dove, they’d see that as a blow to the high royal family; which it would be. Sure, no ghost would with him around. Making an example of those troll giants served its purpose fabulously. Mortals, however, where much more willing to sacrifice their life for the supposed good of others. Martyrdom and self-sacrifice was quite romanticised by the living after all. Ghosts valued power, mortals valued community. Ah the differences between the strong and the weak.

But what really interests him with this idea was what will become of Dove and society should she make it to adulthood with her pure heart intact. What kind of change could that bring about. Would the living flock to her as some sort of symbol of hope. As the good princess that could reform the king and queen. Or perhaps usurp them. Would the dead see her as a chance for the Ghost Realm to flourish without all the constant destruction or ‘living’ in fear. Or would the two realms tear her to shreds in repentance for her lineage.

Regardless of his ponderings, if he wants to see this through he’ll need some sort of name. After all, him and his brother had their own titles. The Shadow Prince and The Poisoned Thorn Prince. Looking her over, watching her play with the legs of the plush animal, shimmer glittering in her wide amber eyes and smiling faintly. He finds himself breaking out into a grin.

The Golden Princess.

That would work splendidly.

#ectober #ectober2020 #ectober 2020 #danny phantom #phandom #dan phantom #valerie gray #dark grat #dan/Valerie #Villain! Valerie #implied/referenced murder #worldbuilding #fan fic #phan phic #my writing #have a fic suck my dick #phantomphangphucker #alternate tue

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lo-55 · 4 years ago

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Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 9

Crown of Thorns

Before they set off for Seireitei the next morning Ichigo hands a backpack to each of his friends.

‘Backpack’ isn’t the right word. It’s a sling bag that will strap across one shoulder each. Kukaku had been nice enough to provide him with them. They’ve got basic medicines, rations, a small flashlight and a bowie knife, a few other things that came in strangely useful in Ichigo’s experience. Like a roll of tinfoil, and a ball of rubber bands.

“Once we get into the seireitei, we’re gonna make a flashy entrance. People are going to see us and they’re going to report on what we look like. As soon as we land we need to find the laundry, or the barracks, and steal uniforms.”

He holds a hand up to keep Uryu from objecting.

“I know you hate it. Deal with it. Orihime and I will be the most distinct. Chad and Uryu can probably change clothes, maybe hair styles and be fine. She and I will have to change hair color.”

They won’t have time to dye their hair, and even if they did Ichigo knows they were both loath to do so. Orihime prided her hair for Sora, her brother. Ichigo was just plain stubborn.

“There’s wigs in both of our bags,” and in Ichigos, his Chaldeas combat uniform in all its white and black glory. It will cover the rather distinct mark on his chest. He turns to their guide.

“Yoruichi. There’s different squads, what do we need to know about them? Characteristics, duties, positions. Anything.”

The cat has been staring at him this entire time. Ichigo doesn’t quite know what to make of it. She shakes herself out of it.

“You’re right. Each squad has different duties and different specialities. There’s also rivalries between certain squads. Each squad has approximately 200 individuals.”

“That’s not good,” Ichigo grimaces. “200 is small enough to be able to recognize people by face if not name.”

“Yes, but the turnover rate for unseated officers is low enough I don’t think it will pose a problem,” Yoruichi continues. She gives them a run through of symbols and squads associated with them, before moving on, “the first division is made up of those who are able to take charge. They rank highest, besides seated officers. They will be the second worst to masquerade as. The absolute worst will be the second division, who work as covert operations. They handle wetwork.”

“Assassins,” Ichigo understands. “And spies?”

“Sometimes. That also falls to the Third division, which serves as a secondary source of information gathering and is in charge of media, communication, and, for lack of a better word, propaganda. Fourth division is medics and combat medics. The fifth has historically been an emergency response system, and are one of the most combat ready.”

Ichigo nods along. Orihime would be best suited to the forth then. Chad, perhaps the fifth?

“The sixth division runs internal affairs. Even if Rukia had not been their captain's sister, it would have been someone from the sixth sent to retrieve her. Seventh doesn’t have a particular speciality as far as I know, but they are typically sincere people. The eighths division is made up almost entirely of women, and they are the reservists and jacks of all trades. They work closely with the thirteenth. Rukia’s own division.”

“Are they mostly women as well?”

“No. They typically do the most work outside of the soul society, sending people to the living world and protecting people from hollows. Ninth division is also combat oriented. They are entrusted with the defense of the seireitei. They count the paperwork of all high ranking officers as well. The tenth is in charge of inter squad cooperation and joint task forces. The eleventh is full of heavy hitters and combat specialists. They are one of the largest divisions, and also the one with the highest mortality rate. Twelfth is research and development. We should avoid them as well.”

Ichigo taps his fingers along his leg. “Orihime should find something from the fourth. She’s the only one who can heal, and can probably pass her abilities off as a zanpakuto if needed. None of the rest of us could be in the eighth, and the thirteenth seems too close to each other to be fooled. I don’t know enough about science for the twelve.”

“I could probably pass, but I would rather not,” Uryu agrees.

“That’s fine. I think it’s best if I say I’m in the eleventh. I have the sword and the fighting ability too. Chad, I think you’d be best for ninth. And Uryu, sixth. We need to avoid one through three if we can.”

“Ichigo…”

Ichigo looks up at Chad. “Huh?”

“When did you start planning like this?”

Ichigo doesn’t know how to answer that. He learned on the battlefields of france. He learned in the streets of london. He learned on the decks of the Golden Hind, the plains of america, the mountains of the middle east and the deserts of egypt. They had been weaker, they had been lesser. They had heart and desperation, but they had to fight smarter not just harder. It was the only option. He had to learn or he had to die.

“Chaldea, I guess,” he finally says. “We need to be quick and careful. This is a rescue mission, not a war.”

Chad looks at him for a long moment. Finally, he nods.

“Okay.”

They break apart and come back together around the ball that Kukaku hands them. She looks at Ichigo intently.

“This energy needs to be balanced between all of you equally. Your power is insane. You’ll have to put barely any into it.”

“That’ll suck,” Ichigo says bluntly. “I’m not good at holding back.”

He runs his fingers through his hair. “No choice though. Let’s go.”

Before they can start, Ganju grabs his wrist. Ichigo keeps himself from elbowing him in the face.

“What?” Ichigo asks, turning to look at him.

“Why are you going through all of this for one shinigami? Why is she so special?” Ganju asks. For once he looks absolutely serious. Ichigo stands straighter and lifts his stubborn jaw.

“It’s because she saved my life. And my family’s lives. She gave her power to me, and because of that she’s going to die. I owe her,” he said again, “And I will repay that debt.”

Ganju searches his face for something. Whatever he finds must satisfy him. He lets go of Ichigo, but Ichigo grabs his arm before he can get far.

“Why are you coming along? It’s not like you have a stake in this. You’re not one of our friends. You’ve never even met any of us before this, and you clearly hate shinigami.”

Ganju looks ready to say something, but Kukaku shoves her way between them and cuts it off.

“Enough chit chat, let’s go already. You’re wasting daylight, idiot.”

Ichigo can’t argue with that. They circle the sphere and Ichigo lets only the barest of his reiryoku bleed into it.

He’s not oblivious. He knows the difference in his power and theirs is about where he and Mash had been when they’d first began. She was endowed with the power and skills of a great warrior of ages past and he was little more than an amateur mage who fought punks on the side.

Now he’s got his own power, his own sword, and he’s been trained by the best warriors to ever walk the earth. He’d learned at the knees of literal legends. He’d faced down gods and demons and he’d lead armies.

He had the power, he had the experience.

It’s time to go.

They climb into the canon, form the sphere, and the chant begins.

Kido isn’t so different from magic. The only difference is the type of energy that’s being used. Reiryoku and mana are the opposite of two coins, the body and the soul. The living and the dead.

Ichigo figures now he stands somewhere between the two. He doesn’t fully understand. He doesn’t need to.

All he needs to know is how to fight and win, for the sake of his friends.

Ichigo will admit, it’s somewhat terrifying how big this goddamn continent is. They’ve been marching for what feels like forever. He knows that the northern army has been holding the celts back for at least a week. He doesn’t know how much longer they can last, and they themselves are still a good week from the white house.

The stress of the situation was still heavy on Ichigo’s shoulders, but Kyo was a good person to carry part of it. Mash is under just as much stress as he is, but she must be made of stronger stuff than he is.

She presses on with all the faith in the world that they will stand victorious when the dust settles.

Ichigo has less faith, and more bullheaded refusal to accept any other outcome.

Kyo, he can tell, doesn’t understand this.

They stand in a field of death. Celts lay at their feet, blood drips from Ichigo’s sword and stains his cheek. His orange hair is dyed red in places.

These are soldiers who were born only to fight. They were made to die at the behest of a wicked queen and an artificial king. They never knew childhood. They never knew joy or a future. They only knew the present, they only knew what they were made to do.

To fight. To kill. To die.

“This is wrong,” Ichigo says, his hands fisted at his side and his jaw set in stubborn anger. In one hand his sword weeps bloody tears into crushed flowers at his feet. A mansion sets in the background, once grand, and around them stretches the ruins of a garden. A headless cherub gushes brown water into a red basin.

Kyo reaches down and plucks the flower from its place on the ground. Ichigo knows well he has the heart of a poet and the mind of a scholar.

“Orchids,” he says, showing Ichigo where the violet petals stretch through the violent stains.

“I doubt we can get perfume from them.” The stench of rot and death hasn’t set in just yet, but it will. Ichigo would rather not stick around.

“No, but they’re out of place here, don’t you think?” He must see the scowl on Ichigo’s face, for he goes on without prompting. “Orchids are a spring flower. One of the four gentlemen. They’re a rather old concept in art.”

“Old for you must mean ancient for us,” Ichigo tries to turn the subject, but Kyo merely shrugs.

“You humans live short, scared lives. And we, long and terrible ones. It’s the way things are…”

It’s there again. The look in Kyo’s eyes. The one he’d had when he was first telling Ichigo about Rukongai and seireitei, and the empty throne that sits atop the world. There’s a longing for change, Kyo is too stubborn and ambitious not to have it, but there’s something else holding him back.

Ichigo scowls and closes the distance between them in a single stride.

“You just sound defeatist. So it’s hard, so you’ll have to fight. So you just give up? Are you going to give in to the status quo when you return to Soul Society?” Ichigo demands. He grasps Kyo by the front of his shihakusho and drags him so close that their noses almost touch. Brown eyes meet brown, one set wide and the other narrowed. “Half the fight is always mental. If you talk like that, you’ll never win, and nothing will never change!”

Ichigo bites out his hardest truth. “A victor should talk about how the world should be. Not how the world is.”

Kyo opens and closes his mouth, gaping like a fish. Ichigo has never seen the man so wrong footed before. Even when Ichigo had shoved part of his soul into Kyo’s body, there hadn’t been time for him to be so stunned.

Now he gets to see those brown eyes shift. From shock to understanding to a near burning determination that his calm demeanor barely betray’s.

Ichigo is getting good at reading him.

He can see the blossoming dream inside his heart. Soon time will erase everything, but maybe, just maybe, some things will remain. Impressions, hopes. Dreams.

Kyo lifts the orchid up between them, purple and red in equal turns, and incinerates it with only a whispered spell.

* *

They’re forced to split apart upon entry.

It’s not ideal, nothing about the situation is. All the same, Ichigo deals with it.

He finds himself spat out into a street with no name and no distinction with Ganju, who lands in a pile of sand while Ichigo himself land catlike on his feet. Yoruichi still sits on his shoulder, steady and growing familiar. She isn’t Fou, but the presence is welcome all the same.

It takes all of ten minutes for someone to find them.

Typical.

Ichigo glances at Yoruichi on his shoulder. “Are you staying, or do you wanna step to the side?”

Yoruichi considers him with those wide golden eyes of hers. He always feels like she’s looking more than skin deep.

“I’ll be off to the side. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Give me some credit,” Ichigo rolls his eyes and bends down enough that Yoruichi can hop to the ground comfortably.

He tilts his head at Ganju. “Hey. I’ll take the stronger one. Do what you want with pretty boy.”

“Oh?” one of the opposing shinigami smiles and flutters his weird feather eyelashes at him. “You really think I’m pretty?”

It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. Ichigo grimaced at him. “You look like you spend twenty minutes in front of a mirror every morning. If you don’t exfoliate, I’m a hollow.”

“Well, Yumichika, looks like this guy has got you pegged!” the other one, a blond man who has his sword propped on a shoulder, grins at Ichigo. There’s red around the corners of his eyes. Make up? Tattoos?

“I’m not pegging anyone, thanks,” Ichigo says dryly.

The three dead people stare at him blankly.

“Huh?” pretty boy, Yumichika, asks.

Ichigo shook his head swiftly. “I’m not explaining that.” At least Yoruichi snorted at him.

“Well, doesn’t matter. All I need to know is that today…” the bald man started bouncing around on his toes with his sword out in front of him. Dancing? “I’m lucky! Lucky, it’s my lucky day!”

“Ichigo!” Ganju hisses, grabbing his shoulder. “I’m not fighting these guys, they’re way too strong! I’m gonna run.”

“What? No. If you run we might get split up! That’s a terrible plan, just hold him off until I finish my fight.”

“Hah?” Ganju scowls at him. “Since when are you the boss?!”

“Since I knocked your ass flat on the ground, that’s when!”

“I don’t care what you say,” Ganju scrambles out of the sand box he made. “I’m outta here!”

Ichigo watches him go sprinting before he looks to Yoruichi. “Oi. Keep an eye on him, would you?”

Yoruichi gives a long suffering sigh. “I suppose I must. He is Kukaku’s brother, after all.”

Without another word the cat trots off at Ganju’s heels, keeping pace easily.

Ichigo is left with the two locals.

“...Did that cat just… talk?” Yumichika points after the runaway, his perfectly trimmed brows furrowed.

“Ee-yup.”

“Yumichika,” the bald one nods to his companion, who grunts in response and takes off after Ganju. Ichigo has no choice but to let him go and trust Ganju to handle himself. He doesn’t know if he can take the both of these guys at once. They’re clearly close. He’s sure they’re a terribly effective tag team too, and he really doesn’t have time for this.

“Your friend. He could tell we’re stronger, and he ran. You would have been smart to do the same,” the bald man says, eying Ichigo speculatively.

Ichigo merely shrugs. It’s not in his nature to back down from a fight. It never has been, and now it is even less.

“I figure, if you are stronger you’ll catch up,” They aren’t, he can see clearly. “I’ll have to fight you either way. Besides, if you’re not then I’ll just kick your ass now and move on.”

He shifts himself, draws his sword and bares his teeth.

The man laughs, sounding far too delighted. This is someone who revels in combat.

“That’s a pretty good reason,” he praises, drawing his sword from his scabbard. Ichigo blocks the blow that comes, and ducks the swipe of his sheath. Ichigo bounces back and comes against him again, a whirl of blade. He twists out of the way of another blow and smashes his elbow above the man's eye, splitting his brow. He barely moves back from the blade that slices through his own. Blood drips into his left eye, a mirror of the damage he’s inflicted. They separate.

It’s the bald man, his opponent, who brings them to a pause. The air isn’t as heavy as he would expect. This man may want him dead, but Ichigo can tell; he’s fighting for the fun of it.

(Ichigo loathes to admit it, but he is too. Rukia is going to die, Ganju is being chased by someone dangerous, and Ichigo is here having fun )

(It makes him sick to realize that the life of one person weighs less heavily than all of human history.

Rukia is his friend, how can he think such a thing?)

“That was good. You’ve got good reflexes. You’re stong. What’s your name?”

Ichigo doesn’t see a reason to pretend to be anyone he’s not.

“Ichigo,” he says easily. “And you are?”

“Ikkaku Madarame. Third seat of squad eleven. Ichigo huh? That’s a good name.”

“You think so?” Ichigo arches a brow, privately waiting for him to say something about strawberries.

“Yeah. They say guys with ‘ichi’ in their names are strong and forthright. So…”

He lifted his sword again, his scabbard in a reverse grip behind him and grins like mad. “What say we be friends, Ichi?”

Ichigo wishes Urahara were here, if only so he could crow an ‘i told you so’.

Ichigo levels his sword and can’t help the curve of his mouth. “Fine. But only if I win. If I lose. I figure I’ll be dead.”

“Deal!”

They come together again.

“You seem young,” says the chatterbox, Ikaku. “But you’ve adapted to my fighting style well.”

Well? What can he say, he’s met a lot of dual wielders. EMIYA, other EMIYA, Diarmuid saber, Diarmuid lancer, Scathach, Jack the Ripper, and more. He’s fought with them, trained under them. His hand still itches to hold a sword that isn’t there.

He settles it on his hilt instead.

“Who taught you to fight?” Ikaku asks. He wipes away the blood on his brow with an ointment. Ichigo makes mental note of it. For now he settles on keeping one eye closed, and waits for Ikaku to try to take advantage of his ‘weakness’.

“Who’s to say? I pick up what I can from everyone I know,” he says truthfully. “Are we gonna talk or fight?”

“Fight, obviously! Now,” he slams his sword and scabbard together. “Extend! Hozukimaru!”

Huh. A duel wielder and a lancer all in one. What an interesting person.

It doesn’t matter. Ichigo crosses the ground between them. He pours his power into his blade, until it shines pale white and blue. Ikkaku brings his halberd up to block, but Ichigo cuts through it like butter.

Zangetsu slices through Hozukimari like it’s not made of wood and steel and soul.

Zangetsu carves through Ikkaku’s chest and stomach. It’s not deep enough to kill, but the blood flows heavily. Ichigo finishes it with a hard elbow to his jaw, and Ikkaku falls to the ground.

Zangetsu returns to his resting place on Ichigo’s back and Ichigo gets to work. He has no intention of killing if he can help it. In this case, he can.

He uses part of Ikkaku’s own balm and his first aid kit, one of the things he’d packed in his bag, to seal the injuries. Ichigo hasn’t got time to wait around for Ikkaku to wake up, but this is a good chance for him to get information.

So he sits and changes his hair color, and watches the clouds roll by while Yoruichi plays cat and mouse with the pretty boy.

* * *

The whitehouse is a twisted vision.

Ichigo has seen pictures of his classmates on vacation in front of it, and pictures online or in books. He knows, at least vaguely, what it’s supposed to look like. It’s not supposed to be a twisted desecration of red thorns eating away at pale stone dragons.

Ichigo eyes one of the macabre statues, wrapped in thick, strangling vines made of the same blood red bane that Gae Bolg is. So many thorns. Scathach had called them unbearable. Ichigo is caught somewhere between pity and anger at the berserker that’s caused so much pain and suffering. He was born for this, created from a wish and twisted by Medb’s black heart.

A pitiful creature to be sure. Ichigo knew Cu Chulainn well. He was a creature of duty and loyalty, of compassion and determination. Once he decided he wanted to protect someone that was the end of it. He would battle an entire army on his own, suffer uncountable pains, and still die with his pride intact. He had.

Ichigo doesn’t miss the way his own Caster eying the thorns, his red eyes dark. If Ichigo remembered right, he had died at the point of his own spear during Medb’s quest for vengeance against him.

Ichigo bumps his shoulder with him and gives him a questioning look.

“ ‘m fine,” he assured, touching Ichigo’s shoulder. “I sworn m’self to you, Master. Have faith in me.”

“Will my loyal dog not use my name?” Ichigo rolls his eyes. He still manages to get a cracked smile from the druid. Caster lifts his staff and settles his shoulders.

“After you.”

Ichigo leads the way inside.

It’s just them again. His core servants, and now Florence Nightingale. For a medic, she’s one of the scariest berserkers he’s ever seen. He’s not sure even heracles would win a fair fight with her when she’s determined to save someone.

Indeed, when they finally step into the interior, where Cu Alter and Medb are waiting for them, she wastes no time explaining that she’s going to cure them.

Although, Ichigo has never heard someone say that the best course of treatment would be suicide .

He privately agreed with the king of savages. Nightingale is crazy.

That doesn’t mean she’s not wrong. Ichigo can see it plainly. Cu Alter, the king that Medb created, really has had his joy sealed away by his duty to destroy. There’s no pleasure in the fight for him, and for a warrior such as he it must be equal agony to the red thorns that pierce his hide.

Ichigo shift, Kyo at his side, while his band steps forwards in formation. Mash and Rama take the front, a strong defense and a strong offense that can switch easily to long range at a dimes turn. Cu Cullainn and Nightingale bring up the rear, supporting them with runes and healing spells, while Medusa stays staunchly at Ichigo’s side.

Her hair floats around her, a hissing halo that rattles with chains. Her scythe has manifested in her hands.

Ichigo lifts his right fist, the command spells burning in his skin. He only has two left, and three spells in his combat uniform. This will be their final fight. They have to win. They have to.

If they lose, they lose the world. Everyone’s suffering and sacrifice will be wasted. Yuzu and Karin, and even his dad will be lost forever. His mother will have never even been born.

“Go!” He shouts, his voice cracking through the air.

Rama aims at Medb while Mash tries to keep Cu Alter at bay. Ichigo’s Caster uses the distraction to start weaving runes into deadly traps, while Nightingale reverses the worse of the damage as she’s able.

It’s going well. They’re this close to overwhelming the duo when Medb does something that Ichigo will never be able to forgive.

She summons 28 demon god pillars to the northern army.

Cu Caster get’s in the final shot.

Gae Bolg still does not kill the wicked Queen of Connacht, but it’s master does deliver the last blow that sends her glittering into dust on the wind.

That one instant of victory, however, is all Alter needs.

Gae Bolg leaves his hands.

Ichigo knows the details of the Noble Phantasm. A spear that affects probably, and turns ‘trusting the spear’ into ‘piercing the heart’. Once it’s active, there is no dodging it. There is no blocking it with anything shy of a realty marble.

It does not pierce Rama again. Nor does is strike down Mash, or Nightingale, or Meduse, or even their own Cu Chulainn.

Ichigo chokes.

He doesn’t feel it, not really. But he sees it. He sees the red jutting out of his chest. The hole that has pierced through his heart. ]

He chokes. Blood drips from his lips, down onto the spear. Brambles crawl beneath his skin, spreading the hole until black gapes within the red. Blood pours down his chest, staining the white of his shirt.

Ichigo chokes. Black bleeds into his vision from all sides and his mouth tastes like blood and chalk and void dust.

White drips down his lips.

Darkness consumes him.

* * * *

“Alright,” Ichigo tugs his wig in place one more time, double checking that there’s no orange hair poking out to give him away. Ganju is next to him, tying the shihakusho in place with a grimace over his face.

“I hate this,” he grumbles. He secures his sword back in place. His armor is barely hidden under the sleeves of his new uniform.

“You didn’t have to come with us,” Ichigo pointed out.

Ganju scowled at him. “Yes I did.”

“Your sister didn’t tell you to-”

“It’s not about my sister!” Ganju snaps. Ichigo shuts his mouth at the look in his eyes. Burning with anger and grief.

“It’s about… my brother,” Ganju’s hands were shaking. “He was killed in cold blood by a shinigami. He was a genius, a lieutenant, and a good man. But he was betrayed and killed by his partner. I was young… So I don’t know everything. But I will never forget that shinigami’s cold eyes, when she dragged my dying brother back to our home. Or the way he thanked her for it. I’ve never understood. But you.”

Ganju grabs him by the front of his shirt. “You’re different from other shinigami. So I followed you here, so I could understand. Why he loved the shinigami until he died. I want to see for myself what shinigami are like!”

Ichigo meets Ganju’s eyes squarely. “I’m not a real shinigami, so I can’t and won’t speak for them. I’ll let you see for yourself, Ganju. Just as long as you watch my back.”

Ganju gives him a short, single nod.

Yoruichi, who has spent the entire time standing in the corner while they ready themselves, flickers her tail and stands.

“We should get going. The longer this takes, the more danger we will be in. Everyone will be on high alert, and while this can help us blend in in the confusion, we still need to stay on our toes.”

Ichigo nods sharply.

They duck out of the barracks they’d stolen into and start down the pathway. Ikkaku had told him Rukia was in a white tower, and they could see it from here. The problem was that none of them knew the way to get to the white tower. They’re just wandering around blindly.

There’s nothing for it.

They walk on.

Ichigo looks around as they go. Some of the walls carry Lily of the Valley on them, stamped in careful black ink.

“Mary’s tears,” Ichigo muses, mostly to himself.

“Huh? No, they’re plants,” Ganju argues, looking at Ichigo like he’s just lost his mind.

Ichigo scowls at him. “I know that. They’re Lily of the Valley, but some people call them Mary’s Tears. There’s an old legend in the west in the living world that they grew from the tears Mary cried when her son was crucified. They’re a sign that their messiah is coming back.”

“That’s very interesting,” comes a smooth (terribly, awfully,) familiar voice from behind them.

Ichigo feels his heart tighten. He turns.

Kyo stands behind them. Brown hair, brown eyes. He’s older now. His face is more angular, the last of his puppy fat has melted off his face, and he’s finally taller than Ichigo. His smile is polite and geniel. Ichigo is almost fooled. He can still see the sharp intellect behind them.

A white haori hangs off his shoulders. Kyo has been made a captain.

It’s all Ichigo can do not to reach for him and hiss out the truth.

But this isn’t the place. He cocks his head and frowns.

“I’m friends with Jeanne d’arc,” he says straight faced. Ganju at his side has gone tense and still. Ichigo elbows him. They’re more than a little suspicious out here like this. Two men and a cat.

Except, Yoruichi is now gone.

Two men and no cat.

“Is that so?” Kyo looks faintly amused, even as he assesses them sharply. It’s barely hidden in his deep eyes. Ichigo knows him well enough to see it, and to see something unexpected. A faint recognition. “It’s rare for someone in the eleventh division to be so knowledgeable.”

“How did you know…?” Ichigo is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Kyo does not speak his name, he does not broach any subjects. It stings far worse than Ichigo had ever imagined. Hadn’t Nero felt something familiar about them too? But she hadn’t remembred them, and neither does Kyo.

“You were with third seat Madarame after he lost the fight with the Ryoka, weren’t you? The eleventh rarely tolerate people who aren’t in their own squad.” He had waited at Ikkaku’s side for field medics, with his own choppy work keeping the barely conscious man stable. It shouldn’t be a shock that someone saw them and spread the word. But how did Kyo recognize him from just that?

“Oh, right,” Ichigo says like that makes sense. In his mind he’s screaming.

Kyo, kyo! Don’t you see me? Do you remember? We’re friends, we’re friends! We fought in america, we travelled the continent, look at me goddamn it. I know the name of your sword, I know where you were born. Kyo-

“Excuse us,” Ganju grabs Ichigo by the back of the neck and forces him into a sharp bow. “We need to get going. Invasion and all that.”

“Yes, of course,” Kyo says smoothly. He gestures behind him. “I won’t keep you. We all must do our best to protect Seireitei.”

“Right…” Ichigo barely keeps his hands to himself.

He’d promised. He promised .

His mouth opens to say something, to beg time between only them, to send Ganju away if he must. But down the street comes a pack of blood hungry shinigami, looking for a piece of the invaders, and Ichigo has no choice but to let Ganju drag him away by the collar of his shihakusho.

A woman with a badge on her arm appears at Kyo’s side as they’re being pulled away, her brown eyes wide and curious. Kyo draws her attention away and that’s the last Ichigo sees of him. It drives him insane.

* * * * *

He comes in the dark.

Silver hair and a white haori, he manages to go utterly unseen by all. It’s a skill even Sosuke Aizen has trouble mastering without the aid of his illusions. Gin’s footsteps are light, barely a whisper against the hardwood of the office building. Even the omniskido would be hard pressed to beat his skill with sneaking around.

It’s one of the things that Aizen prizes him for. The other being his unfailing loyalty and his willingness to do whatever he was told, with or without answered questions.

These things include going out to spy on the young would-be Ryoka. Everything is happening exactly as he’s expected. They’ve even brought the Shihoin heiress back to Soul Society with them. How useful.

“Well?” he asks, without further prompting. Most of his attention is still on one of the monitors in front of him that details the boy sitting outside the Shiba house. A camera fly can only get so close with Shihoin around, so he must settle for watching the human stare at stones in his hand like they’ve personally offended him.

The boy must be mad, to come with such a small group, but this is a while different type of crazy. Sosuke is fairly certain he’d seen the human-shinigami- possible -hollow speak to the rocks.

“He’s got good reflexes,” Gin says, peering over Sosuke’s shoulder. His presence is familiar and not unwelcome. Few get so close, even when Sosuke pretends to be gentle and kind. He keeps them all at arms length, the brown nosers and sycophants.

“I saw that much. You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

Gin smiles widely at him and lifts, from out of his pocket, the innocuous looking marble. It swirls with blacks and blue’s and glows faintly it’s own ethereal light. A faint red in the center bleeds purple into the blue. Incomplete as it is, it still reacts to interesting things and people.

Gin drops it in his hand. It’s warm to the touch, nearly burning. He’s never seen the red in the center flicker so bright before, like a tiny ball of fire in the very center. There’s something not quite right about this intruder. Ichigo Kurosaki. Sosuke has known him for many years, even if he’s never gotten close enough to see the boy in person. That would involve getting far to close to Urahara and Shihoin, and if he is honest even Sosuke is not foolish enough to go up against legendary assassins in their own home field.

“It tried to burn a hole in my pocket when I got within fifty feet,” Gin reports succinctly. “What does that mean?”

Sosuke has no idea what that means. But one of his rules of his own behavior is that he never admits to not knowing something. So rather than say as much to Gin, he offers him his own faint smile, the kind that puts other people at ease but sets his most faithful companion on edge.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he says instead. “Now. Are you ready to be the bad guy, Ichimaru?”

Gin’s smile, snakelike and cold, only grows. His eyes curve upwards.

“What other kinda guy would I be for you?”

* * * * * *

#bleach fanfiction #Ichigo Kurosaki #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #kyo (SCoF)#sosuke aizen #gin ichimaru #yoruichi shihouin #Ikaku madarame

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nightwolfomega · 4 years ago

Text

Painting Fox

Part 3 (Final)

Aki got to work on lunch, he wanted to make sure it was perfect for Cora. So she could never have to worry about her family's cooking. He didn’t hate her family, not one bit, he just wanted to make sure his food was better than theirs so she wouldn’t have to worry about thinking about them and having to take those long trips to visit. He’d go with her obviously, Cora’s family loved him but they just kept taking her time that was meant to be with him.

For a day such as this one would call in for something Cora would really like, spaghetti with meat sauce and chunks of romani tomatoes with a dash of brown sugar to give it a sweet taste. “She’s going to love this.” clasping his hands together as his tails wagged. Making sure the parmesan cheese was shaved on top of the dish to give it a nice touch of cheesiness.

“The perfect dish for my perfect girl~.” He sang song to himself, the table set up nicely with a little lit candle of her favorite scent of vanilla buttercream. He walks briskly to the studio “Cora, lunch is ready!~” he calls out cheerfully.

He noticed however she was nowhere to be seen “Cora?” When he is about to scan the room his eyes widen in horror that his secret room’s door is open. “Oh no”, he must have forgotten to move the shelves back when he was setting up their painting time. Dashing quickly to the door he looks inside in panic to see her looking at everything, Cora saw it all now. the paintings, the sculptures, even the poems he had written for her.

His hand grips onto the rims of the doorway tightly, his tails now fluffing up as sweat was starting to form on his body. She didn’t see him as he approached her from behind “You shouldn’t be in here Cora.” earning a yelp from her “Aki!” taking a step back.

Aki’s ears drooped “I guess you got a good look at everything didn’t you?” he spoke sadly walking closer to her. “Aki, what is all this?” she spoke innocently looking at all the artwork based on her again.

“It’s my collection of the most sublime art in the world. The art that I keep all to myself. But they all pale in comparison to you Cora”. Looking at her with a sickeningly loving adoration.

She felt so small compared to him now, as if he was practically a giant now. “Aki this is...” she spoke fidgeting the end sleeves of her shirt, Aki felt panic coursing through his body “Cora please don’t let this scare you off, I-I just…” his hands shaking “I’ve been holding back telling you about how I feel. What I truly feel about you Cora.” Aki walked closer as Cora stared at him “Aki,” his name passing through her lips, “You wanna know why I made all this art based on you? Do you wanna know what I’m gonna say?” his fists balled to the point his knuckles turned white. “It’s because I love you that’s why!”

Cora stood still greatly surprised to hear him say that “Do you even realize how wonderful and special you are? Every time when I look at you I feel a rush of inspiration that gives me the power to create masterpieces. Just looking at your artwork fills my soul with overwhelming joy that I just want to keep all to myself”

His tails now swaying “Cora you're just so perfect and astonishing, your like an angel that has been graced onto earth that must be given all the love and attention such a divine person like you deserve.” His eyes glowed trying to get close without scaring her, but sadly it only made it ten times more frightening to Cora.

“I’ve fantasized so many times of you and I being in a happy loving relationship together, just us making so many breathtaking beautiful collages, holding each other close as our heart’s practically touch and saying how much we love each other. It would be so heavenly.” he sighs dreamily.

“But every time I would try to build up the courage to say how precious you are to me something always pulls you away from my loving embrace and it makes me so furious.” he growls as his tails sway agitatedly and his ears fold back. “I hate the way people look at you and your art, always criticising and being such picky little pricks, it made me want to just rip them apart.” snarling angrily as his teeth and claws become sharper.

Aki was starting to shift now, becoming larger as fur sprouted from his body making himself look more feral and wild “I just want to give all of myself to you body and soul!!” His voice sounded deeper and inhuman.

The kitsune was breathing heavily now as his markings glowed with his eyes, a wide unsettling grin spread on his face, his larger tails now still, his large hulking body crouches ready to pounce at her.

“A-Aki buddy you need to breathe let's talk about this.” she spoke shakily, taking another step back. “Come here Cora, I want to kiss you.~” he spoke as his pupils became slits and leaps at her. “Aki WAIT-!!!” she partially screams dodging out of the way as he crashes into the wall.

“Cora!” Aki roars, scrambling to get back up. “Cora don’t run away from my love! please!” he cries out desperately chasing after her. She makes a run to the door to get out of there, she could hear his claws clacking on the floor coming closer and closer to grab her.

In a single heartbeat she manages to skid slide out the door as Aki slams into the doorway getting stuck. “CORA!!!” he roars frantically trying to reach his arm out to grab her.

Cora was trying to catch up with her breath, staring at Aki terrified that he'd become like this.

Aki was screaming now, screeching and begging for her not to leave him while trying to pull himself out of the doorway with tears running down his face and his claws digging into the floor making deep scratches, the whole sight felt unsettling for her to watch it felt like watching a animal suffering trying to escape from a cage.

Her legs tremble but forces herself to stand up, Aki stares at her now as his eyes dilate terrified of what will happen next. She’s going to leave him, run away and never see his precious artists again. The sudden realization made his heart drop and shatter into thousands of pieces, “Cora, Don’t leave me. I’ll be good, I’ll be such a good kitsune for you. Just-please don’t leave.” in a brittle tone his ears drooping as he now sobs.

It was over, it was all over. Cora now saw him for what he truly felt about her and it made him sick to his stomach. He could have made her so happy and loved, give her anything her heart desired. Go as far as to destroy someone that even dampened her mood. But now he would have nothing, just his art that would be hollow without her to fill that empty void in his life.

Aki was too scared to look up, he knew what the outcome was. It was too painful to even do. “You big silly fox.” hearing the all too familiar voice speak to him. His head shoots up to look at Cora looking at him face to face, her arms wrap about his thick neck in a tight hug.

The kitsune shivered under her touch, making his breathing become shaky. “I’m not going anywhere Aki.” she spoke in a gentle tone caressing his head. “I’ll always stay by your side.” giving him a warm smile petting his ears. Aki’s tears stream down his cheeks “Cora…” he whimpers his arm now wrapping around Cora tightly, “It’s going to be okay Aki.” she coos nuzzling her face against his.

Cora stroked his head and ears softly, she loved him with all her heart and soul too. Even when they first met her heart fluttered just looking at his smile, having a feeling that someone finally understands her not just her joy for art and style but Cora herself. There wasn’t a day when Aki wasn’t on her mind while working on the ten month commission, she missed him more and more each day. When she saw the breathtaking artwork that Aki did of her she felt the overwhelming love was flowing onto her, it made her want to shed tears of how sweet and miraculous Aki was to her.

She could hear Aki’s overjoyed chirps and squeaks nuzzling her back even making it tickle a little. Finally calming down he shrinks to his somewhat normal size hugging her tightly in both of his strong arms now. “I love you so much Cora.”

Aki could feel her hugging him back “I love you too Aki.” those words just made his heart want to explode with streamers and confetti out of his chest. He looks down at her “You do? Y-You really do?” he asks, trembling. “Yes, I always did.” stroking his back “I was just so nervous to tell you cause I didn’t want to ruin the relationship we had. And now after coming back to see you changed so much I didn’t want you to think I was shallow since you look like this.” being honest looking up at him.

A big relieved grin plastered on Aki’s face “Oh Cora.” his tails now wagging quickly. “I’ve dreamed about this ever since I first met you~!” cupping her cheeks gently. Cora let out a little giggle “Then let's make it into a reality then.~” she replies slowly moving forward and pressing her lips onto his.

Aki froze, his tails fell to the floor, feeling Cora’s soft warm lips. If he was dreaming it was something he would never want to wake up from. She pulls back seeing Aki’s breathing has stifled.

His hands slowly raised to hold her cheeks and looked into her eyes those beautiful ocean blue crystals that sparkle with love and life. Aki captures Cora’s mouth into a passionate kiss finally free to release all the love he had to keep hidden within his heart, he pulls away to give her air to breath “Cora, being with you like this, just to hold you in my arms is absolute bliss for me~.” holding her close to his body.

Cora smirks “I feel the same way holding you too Aki,” rubbing her face onto his chest, “So, shall we enjoy our lunch together and after that do a little more painting? But now as a couple.” she asks with a coy smile. Aki laughs softly “Yes! Of course we can!” it was taking everything he had not to just go crazy with joy. Her hand held onto his gently “C’mon let's go to the kitchen together.” in a sweet warm tone.

The kitsune nods excitedly “I made you your favorite, I hope it’s still warm.” he chuckles bashfully. “I’m sure it will taste absolutely delightful darling.” leaning her head onto his arm.

Aki’s face flushes, he tries to stifle his happy chirps as they walk together. “You don’t have to hide your chirps Aki, I think they're really cute.”

The tips of his tails wagged quickly, This would be a day that he will always remember, the greatest day of his life that the woman he loves more than life itself loved him back.

They enjoyed their lunch together and went back to start new paintings but this time worked on a much larger scale. It was a twenty by twenty blank canvas that was hung on hooks to keep it from falling on the floor. Aki had his tails ready to dip in the pain as Cora had her brushes and palette ready.

Aki starts now that his tails soaked up the pain he starts to paint as Cora puts in her own touches, it felt as if they were dancing together to create something extraordinary. They laughed and had their wonderful fun as they worked together. Cora knew things were going to be different now, knowing what Aki was capable of and how much he loved her and what he was willing to do to show it. Despite it all though it was still Aki, the same kind, loving, artist she knew and would always love.

When they took a step back they gazed at their masterpiece, The colors of red, purple, orange, and blue all intertwined like a wild surreal tornado into a heart of their love forming together as one. Aki looked over to Cora smiling warmly ��I love you Cora.” holding her hand. She smiles warmly “I love you too Aki.” leaning onto Aki looking up at him. Now it would just be them, no one else to interfere or meddle with. It was Cora and Aki in their own little world and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

#Painting Fox #kitsune #artist #painting #Cora #Aki #yandere #monster #monster boyfriend #romance #horror #writing #fox #obsessive

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iknowicanbutwhy · 4 years ago

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To anyone who thinks texting is a billion times worse than talking on the phone and that texting is a miscommunication disaster ready to happen: I get you. You're probably 100% exactly like my friend who I hate texting despite how i rather appreciate talking with them on call or in-person.

Hear me out, though. Please.

You know what's weird? I love talking with my other friend on text more than i talk with them in real life. No, it's not because they're untalkative irl. No, it's not because they have a different personality in text. No, it's not because they have any trouble whatsoever communicating in-person (more than the usual trouble everyone sometimes deals with).

It's because I'm the one with the auditory communication issues. I stammer and stutter, I can't forward my opinion in that microscopic pause between people talking, i can't think quickly when i or someone else is speaking, i can't think quickly, and i can't double check my grammar when ive already said something - among other problems.

And that friend i like to text? Just so happens to be skilled at texting.

Yes, texting well is a skill. Something that you can learn and cultivate and look up on Google. So if you hate texting and find it irredeemable, you probably don't have the skill for it. But you can still learn just by using your normal speaking skills while remembering and sticking with only a few bitty - yet crucial - rules of texting.

You may not want to learn to text. You may want to speak and text only when necessary. You may defend your point by stating that texting lacks key human communication, such as body language, tone of voice, rhythm of voice, and other context that adds to the meaning of words in a way texting could never have. Aaaand you'd be right, actually. Italics and bold and emojis/emoticons and writing style can only do so much while the imagination fills in the gaps - and unlike with books, if the imagination sees/hears something terrible in a text, it's offensive instead of interesting.

So, what about the people who don't have the skill to make coherent, intelligent sentences with their mouth in the first place? The context doesn't help too much, then. Of course, why should you have to learn how to text when clearly these people who are afflicted by their inability to speak should be learning how to talk, because it's more effective and healthier for them that way?

You're right, they should be learning. And they are! There's no avoiding speaking in real life unless you're mute, selectively mute (let's be understanding), deaf (sometimes they learn to speak and that's awesome), or something else I can't think of. Those with speech impediments - when they don't know sign or there's no one who knows sign nearby - are generally forced to try to speak, and are constantly training to communicate well. People with social anxiety don't want to be afraid of talking, and especially if you befriend someone with social anxiety in real life and talk with them in-person, they'll try their best to open up in-person too. And me? Who can't think fast enough to speak for some reason? I'm trying to change that, too. I hate being unable to speak as well as I text, because speaking is more efficient.

But it would still be really, really nice to have a deliciously complex conversation sometimes, and for those of us with trouble speaking, we developed the skill of texting to better fulfill that human need to communicate and share. We're trying to speak. But.. it would be really nice of you to text.

To text more than just "okay"

To elaborate on "I can't"

To exclaim more than only "ah"

To give something that isn't difficult to find a specific response to.

And it can be easy to; we text-savvy people swear our hearts on it!! Google provides lots of good links when you search "how to text well," but I'll sum up a few common tips to texting with meaning.

Text proportionally. This is probably the only rule you need to remember, because all-in-all, the best way to text someone (if they're not sending one or two words a text) is to follow in their example. If they ask your opinion? Tell them yours and ask theirs. If they send texts of two or three sentences each? It's polite to try responding with the same magnitude (keyword: try. You can't always do it). They send you a paragraph? You don't have to send one back (even though that'd be real cool) but if they seem to be expecting a thorough response, don't be afraid to tell them you can't think of much. Just make sure you follow tip #2. Just imagine what it's like talking to a cat that only meows vaguely at you in response. Maybe you think the cat is smart enough to somewhat understand, and you're getting the chance to let your thoughts out at it, but getting basically nothing back is kind of boring.

Dont send curt, few-worded answers. This includes saying just "k" or "ah" or part of a sentence that you're never gonna finish. It sends the message that you're not interested in thinking about whatever the person texting you just said. Sometimes you can send a tiny response as a joke, but do it over and over again, and the other person will think you're never interested in talking. If you're not interested in talking (not just in text, i mean audibly too), it'd be less rude to simply say your not up for talking, with a short, polite apology.

Respond as soon as possible to a genuine question. If you need to think, say so. If you can't respond just yet, say so. This is a personal thing for me. I'm in the middle of a conversation that has been active for a while, i ask an important (sometimes timed) question, and nobody responds for an hour. I lose confidence and take the silence as "no, don't be ridiculous," and take back what i said. Then, very suddenly, i get a response finally informing me that someone needed to ask their mom and the conversation took a while, or they were researching the question, or chores suddenly came up, or etc etc. People get busy all the time, and especially on text, it's easy to suddenly drop out because something irl shows up. But it's hard to tell the difference between being ignored, missed, or being considered. Your excuses are valid, but even a vague "brb" and then later a quick explanation would be more informative than straight silence.

If you need to leave in the middle of a conversation that's been very active, say so. Building off of the last one, it's just polite to be informative. Now, you don't have to say you're doing this at some specific location for a particular amount of hours and you'll be hanging out with whats-their-name and then you'll go into the bathroom and pick your nose in the mirror - no, you don't have to be specific. Just make it clear that you'll be gone for a bit and you'll get back to the conversation another vague time. It's polite, that's all, and alleviates the worries of all us anxious individuals who think "oh no did i say something wrong its been like 20 minutes and they left suddenly-"

Try to leave an avenue of conversation open for the other person to pick up on. This one is easy because generally, all you need to do is think of an open-ended question that isnt yes-or-no. Say something, then ask a question that relates to what you said that the other person can add to. Like.. the other person said they like a certain band, and you like that band, too. You could tell them your favorite song from them and gush about why, then ask what their favorite song is and why? Then it's up to them to give a good response.

If a conversation turns exhausting because you feel like you're pulling all the weight, then drop it and politely say goodbye. There's all these tips about good texting but sometimes, when you can't bring the other person out of their shell or they are genuinely uninterested, it's because they are the ones not doing their part in the conversation. You've tried your best, and if they wont thank you, then I will. And someone in your future who knows how to text and is interested in what you have to say will thank you in their heart. Just, not the person who you're walking away from right now.

Observe the texting "body language" of others. This sounds weird, but examples of this would be using bold to outline the absolute importance of things, italics to slightly emphasize something, s p a c i n g to signify your mind being blown, emojis to express light emotion (unless someone uses way too many, which, that's just a bad habit and sometimes an art form), "ha" for sarcastic laughter, fjsjskajfjie for real laughter, ALL CAPS for high energy, etc. Im sure you can Google it, too, otherwise you can just learn from experience. It's all generally very universal unless you meet a Homestuck, and pretty soon, picking out and giving out emotions in everyday text will be a little easier.

That's all I got right now. Thank you for reading this far and indulging me with this topic. It's okay if you want to keep your avenues of conversation far away from texting, because it's all your own choice, but just know that if you ever do find someone interesting who speaks better in text, it's not impossible for you to communicate with them as well in that format. Just takes practice :) (<- that's a genuine, gentle smile, otherwise I would use c: or :3. Someone else may use it differently, however. Think of it like my personal accent.)

#important #just needed to rant that for a bit #that friend i mentioned who cant text? i love her but she's frustrating #she thinks she's never gonna be able to text well #and im screaming internally because i cant call (my background is noisy and i can't hear well)#and im not sure how to give her some tips without her vaguely saying okay #and maybe perhaps saying that she's simply better at speaking and she'll leave it at that #which breaks my heart but okay ill just go talk to someone else #still #i needed to rant #if anyone can add some extra tips that would be... delicious #texting #communication #miscommunication #text #text vs call

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tazzmanien · 5 years ago

Text

The Tian Guan Ci Fu (Heaven Official’s Blessing) Review

Okay I’m doing it finally. Sorry if it ended up way too long, but in my defense the novel itself was huge so…

First of all I will not be comparing this novel with any of the other MXTX novels, but I just want to tell you this is definitely my new favorite for several reasons, but mostly its love story. If you want to know more write me I will gladly talk more about this.

I read in many posts everywhere that Hualian invented love. Well you know what, there is really no lie there. Theirs is one of the most beautiful love stories out there.

So, before I go into the details, please just go and read the novel!!! NOW!

The good:

Usually I would like to say a few words about the writing style and quality, but as I’ve only read a translation of the novel I don’t think I can tell you much about it. The translation was very easy to read, so I’m guessing the novel can’t be too extravagant or bad either. BTW thank you everyone who is doing translations for FREE. You all are angels!

The novel was quite long, but the moment you step into the world you would wish it was longer. Every character has their own story and they needs time to evolve, so I really liked its length, but also not so much. Check out the bad for more information.

I liked how the story took place in three realms and different times. I know some get confused by such switches, but I tend to enjoy them very much. I think the heaven and the ghost city were so diverse, that I can’t wait to see them play out in whatever visual adaptation. I feel like this time around MXTX finally explained the actual world with more detail, which made it easier for me to imagine myself strolling through the ghost city market buying sum forbidden rubbish, or watching the moon up close while seated in a garden in heaven. I could see, smell, feel, hear and sometimes unfortunately even taste many things and that is what I think good writing should be about. The things that weren’t described in detail made it even more fun, as one could work with their own imagination (this might be a bad thing for visual adaptations, just saying). And some of you might remember I complained before that if one has no prior knowledge about the whole cultivation, eastern religion and xianxia stuff, then you might have issues reading MXTX books, well this did not change, but I guess I’m starting to appreciate it, as my own imagination created a whole new version of what this whole thing was meant to be. Still, I should have probably listed this in the bad part as well.

The main plot was very interesting and at times even slightly surprising. Mostly it was quite predictable, but I think writing does not have to invent itself every time again, but it has to give some sort of satisfaction at the end. If a story is predictable deep down to every little detail, this is not a huge issues if the story has other strengths. And this one had a nice mix of both.

It did have some parts which appalled me, but you know what, this was actually a good thing. Like I felt a lot of things, even though I really didn’t want to. The things that were disgusting, really actually disgusted me. The things that were supposed to make you angry, made me go nuts. The things that should have made you happy, made my grin like a maniac. But worst of all, were the things that existed to hurt you, they ripped out my heart and shredded it in front of me while I was still conscious. So all in all, yeah even the bad parts about the plot served a purpose. If you are good at keeping track on the main plot while diving into hundreds of subplots, then I would say it was easy to follow. I think this was okay, but the other way around (remembering the subplots) I would argue differently (more in the bad). Nevertheless, some of the subplots were so beautiful that I think they might have deserved their own novel, but isn’t that the case with all good stories?

On a side note, I don’t know if that was intended or if I just saw things that weren’t there, but was the hidden plot actually about how wrong idolizing people is and how it feels to go through post traumatic stress? I might write some more on this in a separate post, I just wanted to get it off my chest here.

Now my favorite part of any MXTX novel: the characters. Honestly, I can’t remember many stories where I loved every character. But MXTX did it again, I loved all of them, even the ones I hated. Once again the way the side characters were introduced, involved in the main story and the main guys, had their own very individual nature and lifes and fought with their own challenges was beautiful. Every character had their own aura (for the lack of a better word). Yeah I like to make fun of this but it’s true nevertheless: most of them had sad histories or were living their nightmares while the plot evolved, however, this was good as it made me appreciate the few sunreys that were able to shine through the clouds even more. As I said, I hated quite a few of them, but either they had their moment one had to love them for or they served another purpose, like propelling other characters to become what they were meant to be or drive the overall plot. And none of this felt forced. So to make it short wow!

And last but no least, the main characters and their love story.

Xie Lian, our protagonist, my angel my only god the life of my love (yeah I used this one already, sue me), is an adorkable martial arts badass/nerd with the worst luck and cooking skills and spiderman reflexes. He is a true neutral, treats everyone with the same respect, just the way a god should be. He is so genuine in every aspect of his being. He is fully aware of all his shortcomings and all the wrongs he has done, but he still hasn’t lost the good in him and the will to act righteously. He is just so so human, that each of us could learn a little from him. I mean he even warns the freaking demon king to not think too highly of him, because he might disappoint him. And what does Hua Cheng do? He calls him his hope! So XL gives the cruelest of all the demons hope. This shows how perfectly imperfect and inspirational XL is. The world does not deserve him, yet still treats him the worst it can. He lost everything, EVERYTHING! Still he somehow came out to be this beautiful being. The only consolation we get is that at least he gets to have Hua Cheng in his life.

And Hua Cheng, he is the only man out there! Towards Xie Lian he is gentle, loving, understanding, supportive, patient, strong, funny and all sorts of beautiful things. With everyone else he is everything you would expect of a demon king to be and none of it a the same time. He is unpredictable in all things that are not Xie Lian. He does so many good deeds that one would forget that he is a demon king, but he hates, is cruel, intimidating, has killed and is mischievous through and through. Even though we don’t get to see everything about him (see the bad), we know him to be the perfect grey character. Also he proves to be the realest of them all, he stands by everything he says and does and I respect that a lot. He shows his anger and love equally and acts upon both equally. And is so freaking intelligent, handsome, sensual, seductive and cute, that I am actually fearing of being in love with a fictional character. The butterflies are a nice touch btw.

Yes, you are right, we all tend to praise almost every main couple, when the love story is good, but please hear me out. Both of them individually are just perfect in their own imperfect way and together they are the definition of true love. Their first encounter was magical to say the least. Without having any prior knowledge about the overall story or how their love would come to be, I was bewitched from the first moment they both shared the “screen”. I could feel the air stilling, just so I could give my full attention to them falling in love (yeah I know one was already head over heels before that meeting, but that is beside the point). And boy, the way they were falling. It was so realistic and yet hopelessly romantic, that I will use them as the perfect example to show people what it feels like to fall and be in love.

The bad:

The length and some subplots… Yes well it was quite strenuous to follow the happenings, as every character had their own huge side story. While I loved to know every single bit of their stories, sometimes it took me a while to get back on track in the main story and many many times I totally forgot about some subplots later in the novel and was like “where is the other character now? why don’t we see them anymore?”. Despite its length, some characters stories were either only told from the view of the protagonist and lost a lot of what was going on deep down, or some characters stories had huge gaps even. Sure, it was not their story and we can be happy we even got something, but at some point I was kinda disappointed to be teased about a character and never get to find out what happened or how they felt. So I would have enjoyed an even longer book even if the one now was too long. Do you get what I mean? At the end of the day I can actually forget and forgive all except the fact that we never got to see some sides of Hua Cheng and had to read between the lines to understand his motives and feelings a little better. I need a whole book about him only to be honest.

So my next bad thing, might actually be inaccurate if I’d knew more about Hua Cheng. This part is probably highly subjective, but I feel like Hua Cheng was not demonic enough. You know, in my head I pictured him to be a real demon, including the looks and what he is doing. How else would he become a demon king? I mean the looks were pretty much on point, I just feel like all the other characters either ignored it or didn’t care and the fandom just makes him look more like a human being. And yes he treats many badly, but in my opinion not bad enough. It feels like all his good deeds got more screen time and his bad deeds were either justified by something good or not really shown.

Not sure if it was only my short attention span or if that was the case, but I felt like the living world was not described as good as the heaven and ghost city.

Conclusion:

I would recommend this novel to everyone who wants to feel love, but is not afraid to hurt a LOT. If you are searching for a story with some human or heavenly goodness, good friendships, good families, just decent people, then this is not a book for you. Xie Lian is the only exception of course and he is worth every tear you are 100% going to shed.

Just go and read the book! Please. And come back to me and talk about it with me :)

#tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #heaven officials blessing #tgcf #hob #xie lian #hua cheng #hualian

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gentle-and-fierce · 5 years ago

Text

Continuation of (this) drabble, but it also works as a standalone scene. A finally gets a name! And some new injuries :')

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”Goooood morning, little spy!”

A clap to the cheek had woken them just before the familiar sing-song voice rang far too sharp in the sparsely decorated conference room, and the smiling face of their captor floated back into view. A blinked. They hadn't had nearly enough sleep, and their body was still aching from the tension, their uncomfortable position, and the injuries they had sustained.

Their captor was hovering before them, and gave them another light slap. "Aybody in there?" The image sharpened, and A groaned.

They were sitting in the same chair as yesterday, tied snugly to the backrest at their upper arms with a long, shawl-like fabric, ankles zip tied to the metal legs, and wrists fastened to the armrests - not enough to hurt or completely immobilize them, just enough to prevent them from lifting more than their hands. The overshirt their captor had removed from them yesterday lay thrown over their shoulders, but it was wrinkled from a night - few hours at most, A corrected themself - of unrestful sleep. Their captor shuffled about behind them, and A felt them remove the make-shift blanket - they folded it up neatly as they moved back into view, and laid it onto the nearby glass table. Then they pulled up a chair to sit in front of them, leaned forward, and cupped their cheek.

"How are you feeling today, little spy?"

"M'okay..." mumbled A, reflexively.

Their captor looked surprised but then changed their expression to one of approval, like the leader of a group project who'd just gotten a team members part of the work and looked over it going "huh, not bad". Then they collected themself, and set their face in an earnest expression.

"I came to thank you" they said ardently, "for all your cooperation yesterday. I really appreciated that from you."

A's eyes widened as they didn't know what to say. But their captor still looked at them with that heartfelt expression, all attentive, clearly leaving room for a reply.

"Oh-- uhm, yeah. I-- you're welcome" A said, hoping that was the right thing.

Their captor nodded, still cupping their cheek. They made an artful pause.

"It's just," they grimaced, as if what they were about to say brought them great pain, "i've been thinking, and there's still a couple of things i'm unclear about." They stroked A's cheek gently with their thumb. "Would you answer a few more questions for me?"

"Yeah, okay, i can try" A said quickly, remembering what happened last time they seemed hesitant about complying.

"Thank you" said their captor, giving their cheek another brief stroke before they removed their hand and pulled their chair closer to A, as if settling in for a cozy talk over tea. They pulled a small notepad from their jacket, and a lead pencil - a simple one, run-of-the-mill and very different from the sleek, fashionable style they surrounded themself with at the office complex, like you would find in a pack of twenty at a gas station in the outskirts of town.

A wondered briefly what else they could possibly ask about. They'd already told them so much yesterday: how DAIco, their employer, wanted to know how far AmpliSystems, the company whose main office buildning they were now being held in, had gotten with unriddling their newest algorithms for data analysis and steered influence, and how their mission had been just to steal a list of names - people who worked at AmpliSystems, or were in collaboration with them, because their various skillsets might indicate the direction the rivalling company was going in.

Then the questions had gotten more specific. A had had no idea about most of it - they knew only their own mission and little else - but their captor had been pleased to hear every minute detail about the company they'd been tasked by, however drenched in speculation it had been. They'd been made to describe everyone they'd come into contact with at DAIco, including names, position, when and where their meetings had happened, and any personal information they could remember or infer from the brief encounter they'd had. They had also been made to list all internal departments they knew of, and, when possible, describe their location in the main building. They'd been asked about all ways into the office complex - ones they'd taken and ones they'd seen others take - and which security systems were installed. Their clearance code to the smaller, less visible entrance at the side of the building, which they'd hesitated to give a second too long, had been obtained from them with two cuts to the arm and the promise that the next would be a stab.

"So," their captors voice brought them back to the present, "i noticed yesterday that you seemed a bit avoidant about discussing a particular department at DAIco". They left the statement hanging in the air, and brought the lead pencil to A's open palm lying on the armrest. Their eyes were fixed on A, inviting and inquisitive, but A's gaze had followed the pencil to their hand. They tried to sit up a little straighter in their restraints, debating how to respond, but their captor just lightly tapped the eraser end of the pencil on their palm. "You needn't worry," they reassured. "It's okay! You can simply tell me about it today." But they spun the pencil around, and laid the sharp end of it against A's skin.

"Right," A said. They didn't want to start talking, implying they'd omitted information yesterday, but they also knew their captor didn't like waiting or having them play dumb. They glanced up at them tentatively, and were instantly met with an uncomfortable pressure in their palm, a not-quite-sharpness, a dull sting that grew in intensity as their captor pressed the pencil deeper into their hand. They didn't know what to do, but the pain kept growing and at last they heard themself draw a sharp involuntary breath.

"The coding department" their captor helped, digging the pencil deeper into their palm.

"Yes--" A gasped, and the pressure eased, but the dull ache and the threat lingered.

"I want to know who works there."

"Yes" A said again, lest their captor would think they were hesitating. "Uhm, i've never talked to the coders directly. Never been to their floor. It had nothing to do with me, you know? But!" they added, as the pencil touched their palm again, "--there's sometimes talk about a-- a Whitman! Someone said that-- something about Whitman's solution to the, uhh, problem with the mimic function-- i don't know what that is, to be honest--"

"Good thing you're not a coder and only a third-rate spy" said their captor with dry cheer, flicking their palm with the pen impatiently. "Who else?"

"Uhm. I've heard other names, but only in passing. I'm not sure. Sometimes they say that Schneier turns in his grave. Could be a former employee?"

Their captor chuckled. "Could be" they said, and wrote both names down. A breathed a sigh of relief as the pencil left their palm, and moved their fingers a bit to make their hand stop smarting. Their captor looked up, eyebrows raised. A stopped dead in their tracks.

"Oh i'm sorry, did that hurt?"

A paled. "I-- no, I-- it's okay, i'm sorry-- it didn't-- " they stuttered.

Their captor raised their eyebrows higher. "Oh?" And they brought the pencil to their hand again, this time at an angle, and pushed slowly but unwaveringly into the fleshy part near the thumb.

A was fumbling for words as they tried to right the situation. "Oh no please-- i'm so sorry-- yes, it hurt-- it hurts! I'll answer all of your questions, i swear-- and i won't move-- sorry! Sorry! Please!"

Their final words had come as a shriek, and all their body had tensed up in their restrains - they hadn't pulled their hand away, they knew their captor hated that, but they'd stiffened all muscles in their effort not to struggle.

Their captor stopped the pushing motion, but held their position, pencil dug into A's palm. The flaming explosion died down to a sting, pulsing and very present, but within a set spectrum of intensity. It felt almost calming by comparison, and A's eyes fluttered shut as they forced themself to relax and lean back. "Please, i-- i--" they said weakly, but didn't finish the sentence.

They steadied their breath fully before opening their eyes again. Their captor sat patiently, waiting.

"Are we calm now?" they asked. A gave a small nod.

"Good." Slowly the pencil lifted, and A took another deep breath, eyes half closed. They opened again as they felt a firm hand slip into theirs. Their captor had laid the pencil aside, and was curling their fingers around A's and into their palm, putting gentle pressure on it with the back of their hand. A noticed with surprise that it eased the sting, made it spread out and soften. They sat in the calm of the moment, not daring to breathe, staggered by the intimate gesture but not wanting to break their temporary reprieve.

"Now," their captor said softly, and A's heart sank, "there is one more thing..."

They looked up with all the focus they could muster. They would answer this question, calmly and to the point, and they wouldn't get hurt again.

"There is a standard within espionage and all ugly dealings of that sort," said their captor, "i don't know if you know... but when they send you on a mission, there is always the risk of capture. So, normally - on non-compromising missions, at least - you would be given emergency contact information, and also a codeword - a number, or a set of letters, or both - to give to your captor in the event of such a thing. The number can then be used to verify to your employer that you really are captured, and then the terms of your recovery can be discussed..."

A had been listening intently, only peripherally distracted by the constant stroking of their hand and the occasional tugging at their fingers. "...and i was wondering whether you ever received such a number? Because i would like to discuss the terms of your recovery with your employer."

A was thinking, sharply. They had indeed been given such a number - not verbally, it had been on their briefing documents with the caption MEMORIZE - IN EVENT OF CAPTURE, and they had read those documents very thoroughly, trying to make up for their lack of experience and training - but this seemed almost too good to be true.

Their captor must have read their thoughts in their expression, because they grasped their hand tighter as if in comfort, and reassured them in a low voice. "Don't worry, it's really in all our best interests to not let this evolve into a full-blown hostage situation."

A opened their mouth hesitantly, and an encouraging look from their captor, who somehow managed to look genuinely worried about them now, caused them to speak: "Yeah, i uh, i have such a number. And such a code."

"Would you give it to me?"

"Yes-- okay, it's... it's just a normal phone number..."

"Just tell me."

A recited the numbers with only a slight tremor to their voice, and their captor leant back with their notepad, scribbling.

"And your personal code?"

"Yeah, ofcourse. It's J-X-B-"

"J-X-B" their captor repeated diligently, writing it down. They looked up at A for the next letters.

"9-8-A-E."

The scratch of the pencil against paper was calming, a physical manifestation of all they hadn't dared hope for, and their captors downcast eyes - the coscientious smile as they noted down the numbers that would get A back to safety - a promise of the end of this ordeal. A tried to relax, without squirming too much. Their captor looked up at them, and put the pencil away.

"Also, i believe it would help to know your name" they said.

A hesitated. It felt like a very intimate question, but the thought of being so close to getting back home safely made them pull themself together. "Yes. Ofcourse. It's Aen."

"Thank you, Aen."

Their captor put their pencil into their breast-pocket. "I will make the arrangements immediately" they said. "Again, thank you for your cooperation. I truly appreciate it." And with that, they rose to their feet, swept past Aen, and made for the door. Aen craned their neck and twisted in their restraints to watch them leave. Except-

"Except," their captor said quietly as they stopped in their tracks, back toward Aen and hand on the doorknob, "if i contact DAIco and tell them that number, they will know that you've failed. " Their tone was slow, contemplative. "And that will put both you and the person you are protecting in grave danger." They turned. "Won't you let me help instead?"

Aen was flabbergasted. "I-- what?!" They twisted a few more inches in their chair to give their captor a staggered look. "I'm not-- there's no one-- please, we had an agreement! I told you everything! I-- please, i want to go home!"

Their captor looked at them pityingly. "Not to that, i don't think."

"But that's the procedure!" they insisted. "That's the standard, you said--"

Aen fell silent and stared at them in disbelief. They had been so close. And now they were back at square one, recoiling in their restraints as their captor advanced on them, coming to stand behind their chair. They felt hands first on their shoulders, then trailing up the sides of their neck, tilting their head up and back, and coming to a rest at their chin with a steady pressure, just short of being too tight to breathe freely. They kept their eyes down. Looking at their captor now would only feel like acknowledging what was happening, and also, they didn't want them to see the tears that were beginning to form in the corners of their eyes.

"If i understand the situation correctly-" their captor began, using their thumbs to stroke Aens cheeks, "-and i believe that i do - you're not working for DAIco out of conviction. You're being forced."

A shift in pressure to their chin caused them to tilt their head all the way back, and finally look up at their captor, who stood bent over them with a look of concern. "And seeing as they sent you here incredibly underprepared, i don't believe they value your life very highly. I suppose that you were given an ultimatum, and this was the least terrible option for you. I suppose you were promised something in return for your service - something you are quite desperate for. I suppose" and here their stroking stopped, and Aen let out something between a hitching breath and a sob, "that they have means of controlling you."

Tears suddenly clouded their view, and they gave a guttural whimper as the hot liquid burned in their eyes. There was nothing they could say to deny it, it was all so true - their captor had gotten in right. They weren't in control. They hadn't been in a long time. They were being played - by those much more powerful and ruthless than them, played as a single-use pawn in a game they did not understand. It was all true, and their captor had seen right through it, and painted a tragically clear picture of it for them both to see - and now they were admitting to it with their very own tears. Their face contorted as they let out a whimpering sob, for the hopelessness of it all, their vulnerability and how mercilessly it was being exploited, and tears trailed into their captors hands. They were crying too hard to make out the face above them, and wondered briefly if the concern had turned into amusement yet, or maybe even a cold sneer. But there was only the continued warm pressure to their cheek.

"Tell me about Max" came a soft request from above.

Aens sobs hitched in their throat. A shuddering breath caused them to choke on their tears, and they started coughing. Their captor released their grip, and swept swifly around to their side, pulling their chair close to Aens. They looked at them intently as Aen fought to find their breath again. At last their sobbing eased into silent tears and the occasional sharp intake of breath.

"It's okay, I can help" they reassured. Aen still could only just about keep their composure.

Their captor took pity on their loss for words, steering the conversation. "Shh, don't cry now," they said softly, "i already have an idea. See here: we're not calling that number. We're not giving that code. In fact" they tore out the page from their notepad, crumpling it up, and set fire to it with a lighter they produced from their pocket "lets rid ourselves of that option altogether." They tossed the burning ball of paper over onto the glass table, where it flickered as it was reduced to ash. "And instead, i'll send you back to DAIco successful - only ostensibly, ofcourse, but long enough to get you both to safety."

Aen could barely get that thought straight in their head. It was all so much - everything had happened so quickly, and it was changing all the time - one minute they were tied to a chair having their palm gouged with a pencil for their captors cheap idea of punishment, and now? They we're being offered relief. Not only from that, but from all of this. A way out. It seemed so unreal, yet here it was, being offered.

"You were sent after a list of names, right?" their captor recaptured. "So we'll get you one. With enough truth to it to not rouse suspicion, enough fake entries to keep DAIco on their toes, and off my heels. You're safe. I'm safe. Now wouldn't that be something?"

They still didn't quite dare to let themself hope - but it sounded good, so good. It sounded like a plan, like someone would help them sort things out - for the first time in a long time.

"Now will you tell me about Max?" their captor inquired again - and Aen noticed it sounded wrong to call them that in their head. They still didn't know what else to think of them as, but they didn't feel quite so much like a hostage anymore.

They looked into the eyes in front of them, searching for a sign of pretense. They tried seeing deceit there - they really tried - but here was the person who had promised a way out, and they looked absolutely sincere in their offer. And it made sense to Aen, it really did.

"Max is my brother" they said, steadying their voice. "He works in the coding department. He never wanted to - says DAIco does all kinds of things that are wrong - surveillance, selling that data, to be used in manipulation, political intrigue... i don't know. It's no good. But they got me, and they sent me to spy on you, and they kept Max there to code for them. He's good at that! But as long as they have one of us..." they drew breath. "They can destroy peoples lives" they concluded. "Really, properly destroy."

Their captor nodded in understanding. "We don't want that happening to you" they said. "So you just do as i say, we'll provide you with the information to bring back - get you fixed up - an alibi for tonight as well - and then set up an escape plan for the two of you--"

Aen could barely believe this, they were being offered solutions - they gave a small smile, and were rewarded by a smile in return. "You'll let me help, then?" their captor beamed. "I'm so glad!"

"Yes" Aen said with relief. "Yes ofcourse, I-- i don't even know what to say, if this works--"

"It'll work."

"Yes-- wow-- i'll do my absolute best to sell it, i swear--"

"And they'll buy it. We'll fabricate your story for what happened tonight, all in good detail-- practice it-- we still have a few hours 'til morning--"

"I-- this is incredible" said Aen. Relief was washing over them in waves of dizzy lightheadednesss. It was like the room had expanded, and they could finally breathe, only then realizing how much they'd needed it. "I don't know how to thank you--"

Something changed in the air.

The second of silence felt far too long.

"Oh," came the reply, deliberate and slow. "I know exactly how you can thank me."

And Aens stomach sank.

There was a catch. There was always a catch.

"Oh, Aen..." the crooning voice of their captor was completely changed. "Did you think becoming a double agent came with only rewards?"

They didn't await a reply, but punctuated each of their words with a poke of their finger into Aens still open palm: "I - want - you... to - spy - for - me". They grinned. "And i want your brother to code for me."

Aen paled.

"I don't need to crack the code... if i have the code! Your brother can get me that, and you can get me your brother. It's perfect! A match made in heaven!"

Aen recoiled at the sing-song voice, which they'd learned preceded their captor hurting them. But they should not have done that. With a winning smile their captor produced their knife again - why did they have so many damn things in their pockets, and all of them fit to hurt people with - and set the tip of it on Aens palm, just beneath the restraints at their wrist. They pushed down and broke skin, and Aen gasped, and then squirmed as they tried to hold their hand still - not flinch, or struggle, or fight, even as their blood pooled around the tip of the knife-

"You will make DAIco believe we're on the completely wrong track" their captor grinned as they started dragging the knife downward, across Aens outstretched palm, fingers splaying in an effort to keep their hand still - "and you will convince" here they dug down a bit, Aen almost shrieked - "your brother" a quick flick to the side made a sharp turn in the red line across Aens palm - they were at the center now, combinig the sharp sear of the knife with the dull aching pressure to the mid-part of their hand - "to come to me" the line dragged down, down, slowly, almost at their fingers now - "with the key to DAIco's newest algorithm standards" they reached the nape of their middle finger, and dug the knife in a bit deeper for good measure. Aen felt faint, from the pain and the blood and the effort to remain still through it all. Their whole body was tense and their restraints dug into their limbs, but they had fixed their hand to the armrest with commitment alone, so afraid what would happen if they moved, if they slipped up-- their captor looked at their widened eyes now, drinking in the fear they saw there. "And you will do this, J-X-B-9-8-A-E," they smirked at Aens shock at hearing their security number quotet back at them - "yes, obviously i memorised that-" their knife was still lodged in Aens hand, they wondered whether they would ever able to use that finger again - "because if you don't comply, i will expose you. I will expose your failure, and your betrayal, and they will deal with you as they see fit, and that will be the end of Aen and Max, i believe." The knife lifted, the cut barely visible under all that red, and the blood just keept pooling, and there was that faint sickly dripping as it ran through their fingers and down onto the floor.

Aen slumped in their chair. They just felt so exhausted, so tired, so done. They'd do what was asked of them now, it was all the same. There were no options anyway, not for them. Not after this.

"I'll do it" they said flatly, looking nowhere in particular.

Their captor laid the bloody knife to their cheek, turning their face so they were looking directly at them. "Splendid" they said, and they, too, sounded quite exhausted from what had just transpired between them. Only that, contrary to Aen, they also looked pleased.

They bent down, and Aen felt them snap through the zip ties binding their ankles. Next they had circled behind their chair, and the fabric securing their upper arms softened and fell to the floor. And then, their captor set the knife to their bound wrists - first the left, then the right, the hand which they had just cut - and snapped those ties, too. Aen was pulled to their feet by the shirt, and then their captor grasped their hand - the cut one, and Aen couldn't even muster the energy to wince when their grip tightened - and shook it, and said, eagerness barely reconcilable with the air of ceremony they had about them now: "Aen, i welcome you to AmpliSystems. I'm Mx. Summons, your new boss. We're all so glad to have you here. A very, very warm welcome to you!"

And with that they left through the door, leaving Aen standing there among their cut restraints, blood from their hand still dripping to the floor, and feeling more lost and helpless than ever.

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swluminekin · 5 years ago

Text

My decade.

2010: You graduate college! It’s supposed to be a great year! Only it’s not. Your mother makes your graduation about her (which ends up being a reoccurring thing over the decade, you’ll find). You have difficulty trying to find a job for longer than “temporary” or “seasonal.” Your godmother passes away due to cancer. Your grandmother has a stroke. But hey, at least you worked on the yard that really needed work and you got a new kitten... right? And hey, end of the year you’ve been with your girlfriend for two years.

2011: You start taking classes again. You want to get better in your field of study but also have to take some business courses that your parents want you to take. You continue to try and find a job, only able to find a temporary one that is off and on for a publishing company that makes and grades “standardized tests” for various states.

2012: You’re taking classes still, but you finally find a job that’s steady. Sure it’s minimum wage, but you have a roof over your head and you don’t have to pay your parents rent (yet). Things are going alright for the most part?

2013: You’re forced to stop taking classes as your student loans really kick in. You aren’t making much more money and it’s really kicking your ass. You can still spend time with your girlfriend and go to conventions. You’re doing okay, but you know you can do better. This is also when the job you have starts acting strange and starts to trade management companies.

2014: You’re not making much more than minimum wage. Sure you can spend time with your girlfriend but it’s getting ridiculous with how many times your workplace has changed management companies. It’s time to change jobs - and you do. After two long weeks, you finally get to your new job that’s local and you’re actually making more. You have cool manager and fit it perfectly. It’s a dream. Sure all jobs have their issues but you like it here. Conventions are still good and you’re doing alright.

2015: Yay! Gay marriage is legal across the board in your country! Great time to be you, right? Only it’s not. You’ve known since high school that your mother is homophobic and you had learned that you’re bi. You’re not surprised that not only did she ask you/call you out about it about it, but when you actually announced it to others that you got backlash from her. Your girlfriend is no longer allowed to spend the night if they’re there. She flat out asks that if you were to get married to a girl, if she can “pretend it’s a guy” during the ceremony. It still stings. She calls you autistic, insulting you and people with autism. You start having to pay rent every paycheck - $50 per, but it’s not terrible at the start. She and your dad also make you get a “big girl job” because they want you in a job like theirs. And you do... for two months. Call centers are not your thing, especially since you have high anxiety. You get to go to Texas Ren Fair for your birthday. You go back to your former job - the one you like - and they take you back with open arms. And hey! You’re back in time for the holidays, so bonus! Oh! And you start watching Mark and Jack during this year! Great! You meet a new guy friend this year and you hit it off really well.

2016: You had it rough before? No, this year is hell. And it wasn’t actually your fault, but you get the brunt of it. It was because two former friends (one of who is a mutual ex-boyfriend with your girlfriend because you were the “other girl”) cause you hell. You and your girlfriend go on break for about two months but are still friends. One of the hell-raisers makes your life even worse and sends a message to your mother, making both your parents hate you. A couple of your friends help you try and figure things out. You realize that you do need to start changing a bit, but that also the hell-raisers are just straight up jerks. You get back with your girlfriend. Your parents eventually remember you aren’t a nightmare child but your relationship is never the same. This is the last time you see your mother’s family for almost two years. Why? Because she has her reasons and never clearly tells you. You also lose your grandfather on your dad’s side the day after your birthday. Halloween is spent driving back home after the funeral because you’re parents decided to take their camper to “save money” on hotel rooms. You also have to buy a car because of various events that happen that you just don’t like talking about. Literally the only things getting you through this year are your out-of-state friends that you talk to over Skype, your girlfriend, your local friends and the Youtubers you watch (Mark, Jack, Naka and the Yogscast). You also start realizing more and more that you are not just bisexual, but pansexual... as well as polyamorous.

2017: You’re basically paying every single bill other than utilities and groceries now - loans, insurances, car, (low) rent. You’re not surprised and you’re budgeting very well. And hey! Look at that! You get to meet two of your out-of-state friends and it’s great! You also get to go to your first Wizard World which is amazing because you get to meet Nichele Nichols and Michael Rooker! Your Halloween wasn’t exactly the best, though... And you also found out that one of those people who caused you hell last year (2016) still wants to give you hell so you have to start blocking them (if you can) before they start following you. You also are forced to start warning your various online friends that if those two start to try and follow or make nice nice with them, why it is and what they’ve done to you. You also are informed later in the year that your parents are wanting to move back to Kansas after your dad retires - and you don’t want to.

2018: It’s crunch time to find a place to stay before you’re forced to move with your parents. You just barely do it, considering yourself lucky that a local woman was willing to take you in (yes you’re paying rent, but you have your bill paying down now). You’re a little upset that you’re girlfriend doesn’t want to move out with you - having figured this would be a step for both of you - but you shrug it off for a while. You start to reconnect with your mother’s family since she’s two states away. No conventions this year even though you want to so badly, but you just can’t afford it. You figure it’s okay, though. You’re working hard and you’re doing your best to stay where you are. Two of your friends move half a country away and you have a farewell dinner with them with your girlfriend, your boyfriend (the guy friend from three years ago) and your girlfriend’s boyfriend. You get closer with the Jacksepticeye community, taking part in a project and actually talking with more people. You gain a small family of online friends. Halloween and your birthday are still rough and you’re trying to figure out why. At Christmas you take your first plane trip in 29 years up to Kansas to see your parents new place and also to spend time with them for the holiday, flying back down New Years Eve to spend time with your girlfriend and give her that traditional midnight kiss while on call with your online family.

2019: You lose one of your online family because they wanted you out of their life. You still try to help them but they treat you like garbage until they try to apologize. You tell them they hurt you and how when you tried to help them they pushed you away. You tell them it would take a while to be friends again and they block you. You lose someone else who you thought was a friend but turned out to be extremely toxic. Honestly, this is for the better. You lose the will to theorize for a while due to a couple of incidents in two different communities. You eventually get back up and write a theory that others like as well. You eventually find your own sort of art style and enjoy it, and apparently so do others! You start donating more and feel like you’re actually doing something for the world. You break it off with your girlfriend of 10 1/2 years. You had been more like friends since before the move last year and things felt off. You realize how much you love your boyfriend and how much he loves you. You’re working hard and even got a little bit of a raise! Once again no conventions this year and you really miss them, but you’re saving up for that one day when you’ll eventually get to meet Jack at a con and you’re doing so well at it too. You’re playing games again, You actually feel free and you turn 32. Birthday and Halloween are still bad - you figure they have some sort of curse on them now. The rest of the year goes smoothly with some hiccups here and there but everything works out. Also, toward the end of the year, you learn that while you’re pansexual and polyamorus, you find more and more that your love comes from that bond that you gain once you actually know people and start asking if there is something like that. Maybe your a demi-pan? You’re still unsure.

2020: You’re excited for a new year and a new decade, hoping it will be better than the last. You you have people who love you, you have everything planned out. Things are good. So far on this first day, though, you have a slight hiccup in your happiness as your friend puts up a blatant lie about something that happened a year ago. You have the support of your online family though, especially since you were on call with two of them when the thing happened. Things will be better this year and this decade. You can feel it.

#my decade #rough #hopefully this next one is better

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octannibal-blake · 6 years ago

Note

Hi! Can you write bellarke with the song Lovely (with Khalid) by Billie Eilish? Thank you!!!

I doubt You intended for me to write a whole ass fic, but that’s what I did. Here you are! Enjoy!

heart made of glass

(ao3)

He knows it’s going to be her name before he even pulls it from the bowl. There are only eight of them now, and it comes down to picking her or Raven, and somehow he knows he just can’t be that lucky. He opens the card, unsurprised to find the familiar blue eyes in the photograph staring back at him. Of course it would be her, Clarke fucking Griffin, ballerina extraordinaire.

(Ballerina ex-girlfriend.)

He locks eyes with her, the living, breathing blue eyes standing just across the room as he hands the card over. She looks just about as happy as he feels, which is to say not much at all. They’ve only just figured out how to be around one another without feeling like the wind had been pulled from their lungs – okay, maybe he’s projecting and it’s him who still struggles to breathe around her – and now they have to dance together. And he knows, just as he had that he would pull her name, that it isn’t going to be some fun hip-hop routine. It’s going to be something intense. Emotional. And he’s going to have to pretend that his entire world isn’t tilting when it is.

That’s just how it goes.

When the camera’s stop rolling and they break for lunch, a bad idea before being scheduled to meet with a choreographer for the following four hours, she sidles up to him, “So, are you okay with this?”

And he hates that because it makes it all sound so one sided, like he’s the only one who had been completely blindsided when they showed up to the same audition. Like he’s driving himself practically crazy watching her dance trying to pretend those same legs, forming gorgeous lines and stretching into the sun, hadn’t once been wrapped around his waist as they danced together. Intimately.

It’s stupid, really, it all happened so long ago. They were kids and thought they were in love, thought that it could withstand time and distance and dreams. It’s neither one’s fault, though admittedly he spent an embarrassing amount of time blaming her.

She’s the one that left. She’s the one that went to Julliard. She’s the one that…

Some of that bitterness reared its head when he saw her again in Vegas, showing off her trained skills while he flailed around stage like the untrained idiot that he is. Somehow, the judges were fond of his flailing and found it good enough to send through to the live tapings and what’s more surprising, he’s survived almost twelve cuts.

“Sure, Princess,” he says, the nickname falling easily off his tongue. This is what he does – he hides behind faux confidence and stupid smirks.

“Cool,” she responds awkwardly, “I’ll catch you after lunch then.”

They’ve managed to make it this far together, twelve weeks to be exact (not that he’s counting), never having really talked about their past. They’re civil and friendly, mostly so it doesn’t make hanging out with the other dancers weird. They all get along and they’ve formed a somewhat dysfunctional family. They’ve survived rigorous dance days, live shows, and being cramped in a tiny van together for hours at a time with a jammed CD players and The Pretenders on repeat. It bonds people, you know? And in that mix, he and Clarke became surrogate parents, tag teaming bar nights as the designated ‘make sure everyone makes it home alive’ person. They’re still a good team, after all these years.

So he’s certain they’re going to make a hell of a partnership. Besides, it’s not like this will be their first dance together.

(It goes like this: Bellamy Blake, a hip-hop dancer from a borough in Brooklyn, somehow managed to get into a performing arts school in Manhattan – thanks to his mother’s commitment to working three jobs and his mentors pull with the headmaster of the school. He’s a gangly sophomore with a bad attitude and hatred for the upper class who’s forced into taking a ballet class because it’s a requirement. He hates every second of it, his legs don’t stretch like that, his toes can’t curl in on themselves, and he can’t stop fucking slouching. He’s convinced he’s going to fail out of school before he can even get started.

Enter Clarke Griffin, the walking, talking definition of perfection. All legs and grace. He spots her in one of the practice rooms after hours and before he can stop himself, he asks her to help him. Looking back on it, it was awfully forward for some scholarship kid on the wrong side of the tracks to approach the academy’s resident princess. But she had smiled and introduced herself and suddenly every day after school she was teaching him what the teachers seemingly couldn’t. It’s hard not to fall in love with someone like her, soft and kind and beautiful in more ways than one.

It’s good. Great. His life becomes brighter, he becomes less of the angry kid who danced to get it out and someone who danced because they loved it, loved life. And she teaches him more than just how to toe point, she teaches him how to take everything that’s happened and give it to the dance, to let emotion drive him to be better.

He remembers the day he first kissed her so clearly. They’re lying on the polished wood of their practice room – it’s been theirs for months – and she smiles, telling him that he would be famous one day because no one dance’s like Bellamy Blake. He had been so stricken that this girl, someone so gifted and with nothing to lose, decided that he is the one that’s special.)

He’s quiet through most of lunch and all the way to the studio. Clarke is standing outside, fingers playing nervously with the hem of her sweater as she waits for him to approach so they can enter together. Her hangs loosely around her face, the blonde curls chopped above her shoulders and impossible to put into a ponytail – she’s complained more than once about it and he can’t help but notice. He thinks it suits her though, reflects her unique and free spirit. He’s met too many ballerina’s that are the picture of poise, tight buns tied on the back of their head and straight spines. It’s never been much her style and he’s glad that that part of her hasn’t changed.

“You ready?” she asks, pushing the strap of her bag up on her shoulder. He nods and they enter the studio, counting to three as they push the door open to find their next choreographer.

Color him completely unsurprised when Luna Flou greets them with a soft smile. Contemporary. Of fucking course. He tosses his bag in the corner and they join Luna where she sits cross-legged on the floor. Her hair his wild, large hoop protruding from her nose, and she smells like patchouli. She’s known for her tranquil state of being, calm demeanor, and emotional pieces of dance. No chance in hell they’re escaping this routine without shed tears, though Bellamy is more than determined to make sure it isn’t him. Clarke has gotten far too many tears out of him and he’ll be damned that he lets her have anymore.

They’re adults now, for fucks sake.

“So,” Luna smiles, fiddling with a thin gold chain as it slides between her fingers, “I’ve been keeping tabs on you all for most of the competition.”

He shifts uncomfortably.

“You all have some sort of raw energy, raw emotion between you that I haven’t seen in a long time,” the air thickens around them, a cocoon forms and pulls them in and Bellamy wants nothing more than to escape right this second, “I want to use that, I want to tell a story to the audience, one that most of them have probably not only read before, but written.”

Fuck.

“It’s a story about loving someone but it isn’t enough.”

His heart does something funny. Turns on its side, stops beating, and falls straight through his ass. Of all the times they could be paired up, all the dances they could draw, of fucking course it would be the one that strips them down and tortures them both. The universe is cruel and he has half a mind to walk out of the room and just go home. He glances at Clarke through the corner of his eye and her face seems to have grown paler than usual.

Good, he thinks, at least we’re suffering together.

Somehow, they manage to get up and begin walking through the steps. It begins with them wrapped around each other, and he pretends he doesn’t feel the slight tremble in Clarke’s hands as he grabs them in his own. He tries to pretend that a weight hasn’t settled in his limbs, making every movement stiff and unsure. The dance is primarily together, holding on to one another and trying to keep the other from moving too far away. It’s passionate and raw, like Luna said, but with them it feels clumsy and awkward.

Luna seems to notice something off, because she keeps pressing them to stop thinking about the moves and feel them, to stop being afraid and just let it happen. By the end of the four hours, Luna seems more frustrated than satisfied. He wonders if she regrets trying to give them such a personal piece, but she just tells them to keep working and she will see them on Friday.

When she leaves, Clarke turns and rings her hands, “I’m sorry.”

He’s just pulling on his hoodie, hair sticking up every which way as his head pokes out, “What?”

“I never apologized,” she continues, biting at the corner of her lip and his skins flashes white hot, memories flooding through his bloodstream like both poison and antidote, “For what happened.”

(What happened? It’s quite simple: they’re in love, teenagers who think they’re going to rule the world, going to dance and be happy together forever. And then she gets into Julliard and they think things won’t change, it’s not that far. So she goes and he stays in Brooklyn, dancing when he can but working two jobs to help his mom pay for his sister to have a better life and suddenly they’re grown up. They hardly make it four months when Clarke goes away to school before he visits her and she’s too busy to spend more than an hour with him at a time. They argue and she tells him to leave. Later on, there’s a voicemail on his phone telling him it’s over and that’s that.)

“It was four years ago,” he keeps his voice surprisingly even, considering the sudden flood of emotions beating against his brain right now, “We were kids.”

She blinks rapidly, taking two steps back as though recoiling from the words. She opens her mouth to say something, but it snaps closed quickly and she just nods. He can tell she wants to hash it out, lay it all out in the open because this is a storm brewing and the longer they hold back, the worse it’s going to be. But he’s not ready for that.

“Right,” is what he says, instead of opening up the skies and letting pour, “We should head back.”

(As it turns out, the perfect recipe for a storm is as follows: two people desperate to hide that they might actually still be in love with one another, one person still angry about the way it all went down, the other desperate to make the first understand, and a dance with an excessive amount of lifts that just so happens to be the catalyst. )

He drops Clarke what he thinks might be the tenth time in this hour alone and she slams the palm of her hand on the floor with a loud smack. He reaches down to help her up, but she glares at his outstretched hand, standing on her own and rubbing the new sore spot on her thigh. Bruises are peppered along her legs from the past three days of practice, matching the ones on his shoulders where her fingers have gripped and grasped at him to find balance. It’s close to midnight, Luna having long left the studio with a smile and quick statement of encouragement, though Bellamy easily read through those lines.

She thinks they’re going to fail and fail miserably.

If the continuous dropping hadn’t been a sure indicator, it’s their lack of ability to engage with the choreography the way Luna had hoped and this dance only works if they allow themselves to feel it. But they’re both stubborn. So instead they’ve shared nothing more than glares and groans of frustration as they miss a step again and have to start all the way over from the beginning. The music choice isn’t exactly helping either, the depressing melody repeating and echoing around them over and over and over. It does things to a person, so listen to something so melancholic while trying to tame the emotions threatening to rip your skin apart just to be free. It drives you crazy.

So they finally jump over the edge.

“Are you ever going to fucking catch me?” Clarke is the first one to yell, though it’s less of a scream and more of a controlled hiss.

It burns Bellamy’s ass anyway, “I don’t know, maybe if you fucking relax and stop acting like you know I’m going to drop you.”

Technically, the problem is both of them. Clarke doesn’t fully trust him, it seems, to hold her up and catch her when he needs to. She’s tense and uncoordinated every time they perform the lifts. He, on the other hand, is just tired. Tired of trying to force her to do what she’s supposed to do and gives up as soon as he feels her muscles contract. He should try a bit harder, but how is that fair? He’s always the one that to fucking try. It’s how it’s always been.

“Maybe I wouldn’t think that if you would just trust me!”

The first lightning strike is never a surprise, but it stops you in your tracks anyway. There should never be lightning without a following storm, so he’ll bring the rain.

“Yeah, because that worked so well for me before!” There it is. Too late to stop it now.

She steps back for a moment, surprised to actually hear him say it aloud. He knows she’s always wondered if he held it against her. If she actually broke his heart the same way she broke her own. She has to be at least a little relieved to know the truth but her eyes flash and she’s throwing her hands against his chest and he pushes himself into it, because this is the shit they used to do. They used to be wild and would fight like they loved, fiercely and dangerously. She’d never actually push him, just apply a pressure to his chest like she wants him to know how furious she is, but no matter what she doesn’t want to hurt him. It’s the same now. Her palms are flat against him, jerking but not shoving and his fingers wrap around her wrists so that they overlap.

“You wanted to know the truth,” he grits out, finally pulling her hands away and dropping them in the space between them, “You destroyed me when you left. You made so many promises and then left me a fucking voicemail.”

She doesn’t even bother to try and hide the tears this time, just lets them fall freely, “I was scared, Bellamy. I thought I was hurting you more by holding on.”

He scoffs, turning to face the mirror so that she can’t see the way his eyes fill, history and memory. Stupid. Stupid. It’s like all the insecurity slams into him again, those days of feeling inadequate, like maybe if he would have went to school he could have been enough. Or if he had more money, he could be enough. He just wanted to be enough and he wasn’t.

“I saw the way you looked at me,” she continues, voice straining further with each word, “You couldn’t even be proud of me. You wanted to but all you could do is compare what I had to you. That was always your problem!”

“We were doomed from the start,” he replies quietly. Two different sides of town, two different lifestyles that thought something like dance could erase all those differences. Enough. Enough. Enough.

“Don’t!” she snaps, grabbing his hand and pulling him around to face her, the anger is back, “Don’t you dare make that less than what it was.”

It was all consuming, that kind of love people talk about in stories where together makes more sense than anything in the world ever had. He’s told himself they were young, just like so many people in their lives had, that they didn’t actually understand what it meant to be in love. But he hasn’t found anything close since, never really tried, because even in all the hurt and anger, he knows that something like that doesn’t come around but more than once. That he could spend the rest of his life searching for it, but would never find it.

A love like this is wild. Untamed and passionate. It made him a better person, made him want to be a better person, and changed the course of his life for the better. It still makes him want to be a better person because…

“You never could accept that I wanted to be with you,” she shakes her head, “It’s like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop to prove me wrong and when you came to visit…you wanted me to prove you right.”

The truth hooks onto both of them, resisting like a rubber band as they try desperately to turn away from each other, to create distance because this hurts too much. It’s all too much. Because maybe, in the end, neither one of them ever really got over it, the wounds never closed. Just scabbed over only to be picked at again. They’re both bleeding.

“Are you happy?” he asks finally. It’s such a change of course from the outbursts, from him trying to hurt her and make her feel some semblance of what she made him feel. But he knows, and even back then he knew, that she hurt just the same. She felt the pain as much as he did.

Still does.

Her back is still to him, shoulders hunched forward as she covers her mouth with her hand. He hears the cry escape even as she tries to hide it. He could move forward, pull her to his chest and tell her everything is okay. But they aren’t there yet. So he waits.

Finally, she turns her head, protecting her heart with her back and wrapping her arms around herself to keep herself from falling apart, “I thought I was. Until I saw you in Vegas.”

He walks over to the audio station wordlessly, presses play on the song and gets in position. There’s a beat, and then she wraps herself around him likes she’s supposed to, but it no longer feels forced. It’s the ways it’s supposed to be. And they dance, the best they’ve done it in rehearsal and by the end, as they sit back to back, chests heaving, the storm begins to clear.

The show is a whole production, a live and screaming audience, a host, and a panel of judges. It’s not somewhere Bellamy predicted himself to be, ever, but the audition had landed in his lap. The cameras are the worst part, giving scripted interviews and a glimpse into his life. He’s been forced to be a little too candid about himself for his liking, but the producers encouraged it to make him more likable. Not that he’s been having much of a problem with that. Captain Daddy has been trending every week on twitter since his Sailor themed Jive with Anya went viral. It’s a little uncomfortable, but it brings in the votes and he’s still here.

Thank God for that.

He glances over at Clarke, doing his best to keep his eyes from lingering. Her hair has been pinned intricately in a series of small braids and the loose tendrils frame her face elegantly. They’ve dressed her in an oversized dress shirt, blue and falling to her mid-thigh. It’s simple and meant to add to the aesthetic of the whole thing. He’s shirtless, in nothing but a pair of pajama pants, a strange choice definitely meant to sexualize him. But it seems to be drawing Clarke’s attention just as well as she draws his.

After they danced the final time at the studio last night, they haven’t really spoken. They returned to the hotel, slept for a few hours only to get up and do stage rehearsals. They’ve spoken, albeit very briefly and about the weather, shoes, and the time. There’s a different kind of tension between them, and he hopes that it helps their performance reach that same place it did last night. He can feel it already seeping from his skin, ready to fall from his lips at any moment.

“You ready?” he asks quietly as their preview tape plays for the audience. It’s filled with the sound of Clarke hitting the floor with every lift drop, every frustrated growl from Luna, and fake optimistic interviews with the pair of them. He doesn’t even remember what he said, having been too caught up in his own head to pay much attention.

“No,” she tells him. But he knows she doesn’t mean she’s not ready to dance. She’s not ready to feel this.

They enter the stage in the dark and find their mark, he wraps his arms around her, fisting the soft material of her shirt as she grips his biceps. His heart thumps wildly in his chest as the last bit of the preview plays and the host announces their names.

Something slips off his tongue, without warning or merit, but as though it’s been sitting there for years and couldn’t bear to wait just one more fucking minute. “I never stopped, you know?”

Oh, I hope some day I’ll make it out of hereEven if it takes all night or a hundred yearsNeed a place to hide, but I can’t find one nearWanna feel alive, outside I can fight my fear

There’s a moment where he turns and she runs to grip his waist, cheek pressed into his back as he convulses forward, as if the pain is too much to bare, but he can feel something wet trickle down his spine and he knows it can’t be sweat. They keep the stage area frigid to keep the dancers cool. He turns and grabs her hand and they go through the movement, her toes perfectly pointed, back arched as she falls to the ground while he slides next to her. They’re reaching and pulling and grabbing, desperate and wanting but so, so hurt.

Isn’t it lovely, all alone?Heart made of glass, my mind of stoneTear me to pieces, skin and boneHello, welcome home

Every part of him feels like it’s going to explode, bring the entire building down with him. She steps forward and they press their foreheads together, for a moment they breathe in sync and there are tears falling from his lashes as they fall away from one another. They roll out and he turns, pushing against the ground with his feet and their backs slam into one another.

Hello, welcome home.

The stage goes black and there is a long pause, time enough for them to turn and look each other in their own private moment, before he pulls her into his chest and hugs her, lifting her from the ground as the crowd screams at the top of their longs. Her legs are wrapped around his waist, his head buried into her neck as he walks them over to the host to receive their comments. They don’t say anything, just hold tightly like the other might slip through the cracks if they don’t stay together like this.

The crowd yells, too loud for the judges to even speak, but by the time Bellamy let’s Clarke fall to the ground, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as he turns to the judges, he can see that they’re in complete and utter disarray. The creator of the show, Dante, a stern man who is hard to please, has his mouth covered with both hands. His cohorts, Niylah, the ballroom expert, and the guest judge, Becca, are wiping furiously at their eyes.

They did it.

Bellamy’s eyes find Luna, who is still standing in the crowd holding her fist up with wet eyes and a large smile, one they hadn’t gotten to see from her during rehearsals. He holds his left fist, the one not currently clinging to his partner, up in solidarity and she smiles wider. The audience finally simmers down enough to let Roan speak, though it takes him a moment to formulate words.

“I…you know…” he snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head, offering a small shrug of his shoulders, “You’ve just set a new standard for this show.”

Bellamy lets out the breath he had been holding and smiles down at Clarke, who has both arms wrapped around his waist and lets herself smile into his chest. He squeezes her shoulder. It all feels too intimate to be here like this, not when there’s still so much to talk about. But this feels like their moment, so he’ll be damned if he doesn’t enjoy every moment of it.

It becomes a solid ten minutes of praise and by the time he and Clarke are running off stage, she’s jumping in his arms and he’s spinning her around in victory. The emotion of the performance still lingers around them, hangs in the air like a low cloud that just won’t disappear. He’s okay with it, though. It’s a reminder, they can’t ignore it. But it’ll be there in a few hours. Few days. Right now, they want to bask in the sunlight.

She takes his hand, threading her fingers in his with a soft smile, answering his small declaration with one of her own, “I didn’t stop either.”

And maybe he could kiss her and everything would be okay again. He thinks about it and he sees her eyes flick to his lips. He shakes his head slightly, but tucks a stand of hair behind her ear, “Time.”

There isn’t a rush to fix what’s broken. Healing takes time and that’s what they’re going to do. Heal and be better than before.

He knows it.

#Liz answers #bellarke fanfiction #My writing #ooppppps

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jvj246018 · 4 years ago

Text

Next day

I pull my aching body from the comfort of my sheets and strat rummaging through my chest of draws settling in an oversized plane black t shirt and faded blue skinny jeans it was going to be a long day she knew it just by the feel of the morning after pulling on her flat riding boots on and grabbing a black jacket and her purple handbag/ back pack its one of those multi functional / compasidy bag that can hold literally everything perfect for my slaying gear and of cause my school supplies.

Grabbing my mobile placing it in my bag and quickly doing my make-up just light done to hide the bags under my eyes and the fact that I slept for literally 3 hours.

Then I head down to the kitchen where I hear Aunt Jenna toast I can make toast

Elena : it's all about the coffee aunt Jenna

Jeremy: is there coffee

Me : there's always coffee.

Oh aunt jenna have you forgotten about your meeting thing?

Jenna : that's at crap now...

Me : Go will be fine right guys

Jeremy huh .

Elena: of cause we will be.

Oh Nicki are you coming to school with me and Bonnie or making your own way?

Me : if it's cool with Bonnie I'd like a lift

Elena : I'll tell her it's both of us then.

Me : cool thanks .

In Bonnie's car.

Bonnie : so my Grams is telling me that I'm a psychic.

Me : maybe you are?

Bonnie : really not you too .Elena hey elena back in the car ..

Elena : oh god I did it again didn't I.

Me : its okay Elena we get it

Elena : you were saying that ?

Bonnie: that I'm physics now.

Elena : then product something somethings about me.

Bonnie : I see ..

Crack ..

Me : was that a bird ?

Elena : uhm.

Bonnie : yeah it was like a bird I'm so sorry guys.

Elena : it's okay we can't be freaked out by cars forever.

Bonnie: I predict that this year will be kick ass and all the sad and dark times are over and you two will be beyond happy.

Then we get back on the road and arrive at the school when Bonnie starts again.

Bonnie: total lack of male reliastate , oh wow look at the shower curtin..

That's where I choose to stop listening I don't like ragging on people's cloths it's not cool regardless of weather they appear to be wearing a shower curtin that's their perogative.

I'm pulled from my thoughts by Elenas whine he hates me.

Bonnie : that's not hate thats you dumped me and I'm to cool to show it but secretly I'm listening to air supply's latest hits .

Me : she's right he doesn't hate you.

Maybe you are psychic?

Bonnie : umhum.

Wait who's that ?

Elena : all I see is back.

Bonnie : that's a hot back, I'm scencing seattle he and he plays a guitar

Me : not gonna drop this are you.

Bonnie: nope I'm pretty much going to run it into the ground.

Care: oh my god Elena Nicki your here how are you, how are they are they good

Me : yes we're fine

Elena : much better.

Care : you poor things she says as she breezes past us into her other friends.

Elena : no comment.

The bell rings and we all go off to class I sit second left at the back because Tanner didn't want me helping Elena in class so here I sit the new guy is in front of me and there fore behind Elena. Tanner called on Elena and Bonnie and the new guy jumped to there rescue just as I was about to, I'm kinda glad because i was too tired to play the Knight in shining armor today, he even rubbed Tanners face in it. Harsh considering he was just trying to make them pay attention but it's was nice enough of him I think he's trying to let Elena know he's interested witch she already knows. But he might not know that so I'll give him some credit but you know I can't get this feeling that he's... there's something not right he feels old. He feels like Angle but different too he's the same and yet not. Deciding to shake that thought away since he's new and I'm supposed to be in class not in slayer mode not that I'm ever out of it but he's knew deciding I'll text Wilson see if he knows anything.

Its probably just my elevated paranoia but still.

I look down at my phone send a quick text and head to my next class without waiting for Elena since I'm in art next.

She has French on the opposite side of the school.

So I sit in my class drawing on to my canvas over the dry paint to draw a silhouette of the moon that I will paint later .

There's a few stems of trees too that will have leaves when I find my natural sponge.

I'm pulled from my thoughts by a text from Caroline.

Have you spoken to the new guy ?

I send her back a message No.

And continue as I ignore my phone after putting it on silent.

To continue the project scenary views the moon is the view from my window I have a picture to prove it.

My teacher loves that I work in the style of Bob Ross. So she's okay with me using it alot.

All in all I like this class it's a lesson where I don't have to hide just got to be me that's it.

The rest of the day went really quickly since I had double art and pe last. I found myself walking home to avoid the Stephen talk.

I also wanted to stop in to see Wilson see if he turned up anything.

Oh boy did he ever.

Inside Wilson's spacious but cluttered apartment he is sat at his desk I'm opposite him reading his ansesters diary on the Salvetor brothers. Getting frustrated I lean back into his blue arm chair using a ribbon as my book mark.

Wilson: Stephen is a ripper, a ripper that forces himself to eat animal blood to survive according to my ancestor he's actually a good guy when he's on the waggon.

But his brother Damon he's a peace of work. And determined to make Stephen suffer.

Me : grate. Anything else I should know ?

Wilson : not yet but if I find more I'll tell you.

Me : this is just grate Stephen is vampire that may aswell have a drug addiction and he brings his brother that takes glee in murder and all things that vampires reval in.

Wilson : you may have to kill them.

Me : yes only problem Stephen is Elenas new thing.

Ugh this will be hard.

Wilson : your going to need to cast a protection charm.

Me : grate how do I do that? I don't have a spell book the things I taught my self were just academy's that kept happening I learned to control them

Wilson : here, taking the offered book I check the index .

Chaper 5 page 156780. Right .

So herbs holy water vervain talismans will that work on them they are of a witch made line.

Wilson : humm yes just pay attention to the making talismans really understand what you want them to do.

Me : right okay what do I use ?

Wilson : stones crystals metal wood just about anything really.

Me : okay where's that book on stones and what there for?

As if he predicted it he handed it to me then he sat with me and we found the one that will make it so they have to be invited in every time they leave and come back.

With that in mind she started digging through the crystals making sure to have them represent an angle since they are strong representation of a protector.

Carful to choose the representation stone tigers eye for Jeremy, Lapis lazuli for Elena , strawberry quartz for Jenna and amethyst for me. I figure I'm lucky that he keeps these things he's abit of a pack rat.i smile as I think this.

Then I made one for the house to be kept by the front door and it had all 4 stones in it each one is made from stones and steel for durability.

Then Wilson drove me home and thanked me for all my help with the restoration of old books.

Jenna might know but Elena and Jer don't so secrets to be kept.

After hanging the houses talisman up then I had jenna her one I attached them to the keys jenna nodded understanding and then I give Elena and Jer theirs and they thank me Jer likes his and Elena dose too its nice.

I never hide the supernatural I just don't come right out and tell them either.

They would never believe me.

And Elena would want to help but that would probably get one or both of us killed. They know I believe in this stuff and they think I'm mad for it. One day they'll know I hope but for now I'll just be the crazy sister.

Pulled from my thoughts by a text from Carebear or Caroline depends who you ask.

You better be coming to the back to schools bash .

I text back

Yes I am I'm just debating on an outfit I'm thinking riding boots to below my knee thermal leggings black boots navy leggings black dress top.

And a leather jacked .

She beeps back no the swishy floral top I gave you for your last birthday.

Laughing at her since she's grate at this kind of thing I pull on the top she demanded I use, and then the rest of the outfit.

Pulling it back off placing it to one side I think I'll just wear it all day tomorrow that way no big change and frees me up but care would kill me so my burgundy long top in place of the floral top for school.

Same purple bag I take for everything always be prepared.

Then I did a cleansing to keep out the vampires that Elena might end up inviting in, but she they won't be able to get in and out as they please.

I love Care but her need to be popular is suffercating its why we don't have the whole BFF thing going we are but out of the lime light I'm the one she can just be herself with not even Bonnie can claim to have that.

We have sleep overs monthly and she catches up on everything and in-between Elena tells me her self absorbed versions care is definitely the more trust worthy for gossip but you need to take her exaggeration with a pinch of salt.

With that last thought Nicki found herself headed out to patrol. She just hoped that she wouldn't have to slay Stephen tonight that would be a major downer.

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yuki-d-raizel-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Number 1333

Chapter 10/??

Summit: What happens if a mysterious prisoner joins the chaotic Cell 13? He is perfect for the Nanba Prison, his name is synonym of terror and cruelty; each time he was sent to a new prison, he broke out in less than an hour. Will the Nanba Prison succeed to keep him jailed or not…?

---

The next day.

Like expected, Number 33 sleeps while the others are dealing with their new guardian: Mitsuba Kiji. Even if they are a bit noisy, is not that loud to wake Ayu up or at least, that's what everyone thought. Kiji doesn't know the habits of that man of hitting whatever it goes near him, so when Uno starts a fight, the guard kicks the inmate which falls right on Ayu.

<<.....Mh.... Uno...?>> Number 11 learnt that if he don't move, Number 33's senses will not label him as a danger, <<What are you doing...?>> Ayu rolls over with Uno on him, that slowly gets up to be sure that he's fully awake.

<<Sorry man, that garish bird kicked me. Did I hurt you?>> says him checking if his friend is bleeding or not.

"Garish bird?" Ayu looks at the new man inside the cell and understands what happened, "Too noisy..." he stands up and pulls off his hood to show his face, <<Hi, what a wonderful look you have today.>>

Who is he?! That man looks completely different!! His smile is too bright and pure, his eyes show only love and care! And just a phrase is working on the guard very well too!?

"Is he trying to seduce him?!" his friends just look curious, when Jyugo will be back, they definitely want to know his missions.

<<May I have your hand, milady?>> Ayu grabs Kiji's hand with the back of his fingers and gently kisses it, then using his own body, Number 33 is pushing out the guard without that he notices, his gazes are all studied to maintain the focus on him and not where he's going.

"He's a pro!!" Nico and the others cover their eyes, but the curiosity wins over them and they decide to peek a little, just a little.

The more he reduces the space between their bodies, the more Kiji becomes embarrassed. The supervisor hits the wall and Ayu blocks him with his arm. He doesn't talk, his charming eyes are enough to bewitch the prey.

"A Japanese kabedon!! Wow!!" and that weird switch flipped inside the inmates' minds, "Japanese pick up style!!"

"This man is too easy. I had much harder targets to seduce." <<May I ask you something really important?>> the moment Ayu's leg slides between his, Kiji turns all red and panics immediately, <<It's a secret, so keep it, alright?>> since the officer is taller than him, Ayu moves his body mechanically to reach Mitsuba's lips while the other is on the edge of the insanity, <<Hush, milady...>>

<<No, no, wait, wait, this is too fast, I'm not ready for this-asdfghjkl!!>> the supervisor passes out and slides on the wall until he sits unconsciously.

<<Too easy, not even funny. Now...>> Ayu picks the body up and drags it out of the cell, <<Don't make a fuss when I'm trying to rest. I've already a weird sleeping schedule, don't fuck it up more than it is already.>> he leaves Kiji next to the cell and closes the door, <<Fucking hell, I can't even sleep in this place.>>

He lays down and covers himself with the blanket, while the others check Mitsuba: he really passed out; god damn, his seducing skills are made for veneration only. Also, that suddenly change of personality is something that they don't know if they have to admire it or being scared of it.

---

Last day without Hajime.

Today, the supervisor officer of the Building 5 will be in charge of the Building 13. Before Gokuu checks what the inmates are doing, he does all the paper works, makes a patrol in the entire establishment and then, walks towards the Cell 13. Seitarou accompanies him to report what he wants to know, since Samon has a lot of doubts about that cell, he's sure that Hajime is hiding something.

<<How things with Cell 13?>> asks the officer checking the way to be sure that everything is fine.

<<There were no incidents yesterday and the day before that, either.>> replies Seitarou walking next to the superior, <<I believe they're behaving well today, too.>>

Once reached the destination, Gokuu opens the door and finds the inmates under the covers. He stares at them blinking a few times to be sure that he isn't hallucinating things, then he starts to shout pissed off.

<<Get your asses out of the bed!>> he yells while the poor Seitarou must hold him down, <<It's already past the wake-up call, you idiots!>>

A strange sound stops his rage and moves the prisoners to find an immediate hiding place. A few seconds later, Yamato bursts into the cell pushing away both officers.

<<Good morning, gentlemen!>> cheerful and loud as always, <<It's time for fun training!>> seeing that no one is there, Godai turns his heels and begin to walk away.

After the routine check of his wounds, Ayu walks direct to his cell, and since he was there, he stopped for a bit in the library to borrow a few books. While he gets near to his destination, he can hear loud screams and noises already, this is unbelievable...

<<Where the fuck is Number 33?!>> Samon turns to check the hallway, but he bumps into something that pushed him down, <<What the->>

<<Woh, that was close.>> Ayu collects all the books that were dropping and offers a hand to the officer, <<Are you okay?>> "He didn't even move me... Is he that weak or it's because he's short?"

<<Where the hell were you until now?!>> another guard who yells too much...

<<With Otogi-sensei.>> he answers showing the certificate as proof of what he said, <<To check my wounds as yesterday and the day before that.>>

<<And where did you take those books?!>>

<<In the library...? Are you stupid?>> meanwhile, Yamato and Tsukumo drag Rock out of the cell, "What the actual-" and suddenly, Uno and Nico both hide behind his back.

<<Never mind! Let's go!>> while Samon tries to catch Uno, Nico looks confused and Ayu just stretches his arm to avoid the fall of his books, "If Number 25 goes out of control like in the tournament, I'm not gonna write a letter of apology in Hajime's place! Hell no!"

"This guy shouldn't know about Nico's medications and diseases yet. I won!" Uno grins and stays covered behind Number 25, <<See ya, Rock!>>

<<Don't be fooled, guard! Nico took his medication today!>> screams Number 69 with all his might, <<He shouldn't be able to use that "qigong" thing anymore!>>

<<Damn you! Why did you tattle?!>> yells back Number 11.

<<Shut up! That's what you get for being a selfish prick!>> Yamato and Tsukumo compliment Rock's body for being perfect for a soldier, the Japanese perfect soldier, <<I'm a fucking American!>>

Kicking his ass, Gokuu pushes Uno, Nico and Ayu to the training camp and forces them to do a lot of exercises. Ayu is the only spared, now he's sit on Yamato's shoulders and reads his book. He was saved for the document that Otogi released to him, strongly prohibiting him to do something that would tired his body.

<<What a shame Number 33-kun, I would like to receive some lessons from you.>> says Yamato laughing.

<<Why me?>> talks the prisoner moving his eyes on the next page, <<You aren't the type to study languages or how to cheat in games, so I can only teach you how to kill people.>>

<<You know how to use all the weapons, and all the martial arts!>> the guard is not giving up, <<There's a lot that you can teach me! Hahaha!>>

<<What blasphemies are you saying, Yamato?!>> yells Samon, <<You want to learn from a killer?!>>

<<Hahaha, you can't deny his divine skills supervisor Gokuu!>>

<<I don't give a shit->>

"Someone just shut this monkey up, for the love of god... His voice is echoing in my head." <<Oi, your pupils are ditching the push-ups.>>

<<Don't you dare to lay around, stupid brats!>>

<<Fuck you Ayu!!!>> , <<I hate you!!>> , <<So mean, Ayu-chan!>>

<<Es tut mir Leid, Leute.>> Ayu changes page again and rests his arms on Yamato's head, <<Arbeite weiter hart!>>

"Surely, he speaks divinely." thinks Gokuu staring at the inmate while he reads, "He's perfect in everything he does... I need to keep an eye on him."

---

Another day in the Nanba Prison for the Cell 13. Today they are pretty silent, Number 33 and Number 11 are reading, Number 25 is playing some games with Number 69. Everyone seems pretty focused on what they're doing, until a cheerful voice breaks the silence.

<<Ayu-chan, do you want to play a game with us?>> says Nico smiling, <<With two players it's boring!>>

<<Okay.>> the man leaves the book on the tatami and sits near his friends, <<What were you playing?>>

<<It's a game we saw on a magazine.>> explains Rock, <<It's for kids, but it's pretty funny. Basically, your objective is make the others draw the joker. If you finish all the cards, you win, but if you remain with the joker only, you lose.>>

<<You're forgetting something important!>> adds Nico while his friend shuffles the cards, <<If you draw a card and you have the same on your hand, you must put them aside.>>

<<Got it.>> "What a weird game. I never played a card game outside gambling... How I must behave with this one?"

Rock gives a card for each participant until they are over, then everyone picks up theirs checking if they have a double already. Once everything is ready, they start. Nico and Rock can't believe what Ayu is doing; why they haven't a camera to record these moments?! Since Ayu has the joker, when his cellmates move towards his cards, he starts to do weird and funny faces, anxious that they will not draw the joker; so they move from a card to another just to see the change on Ayu's face, from a relaxed one to a panic one. They voluntarily draw the joker to make him enjoy the game more, he's playing without studying or calculate anything, he's just trying to win with his own experience.

Suddenly, the door is opened, and Hajime stands in the entrance while his inmates stare at him. The only one who clicks his tongue is Uno, who asks rudely what the guard wants.

<<Hey, what are you doing? Get in there already.>> he says pulling something behind the door, <<Huh? You feel awkward? Who gives a shit!>> finally he stands aside and Jyugo shyly walks in keeping his head lowed.

Nico and Rock greet him with a big smile and some question about his health, and before Jyugo could explain something, Uno punched him. Under the others' watch, the two inmates start a little fight, then Uno adds something with an annoyed tone.

<<Finally you're back, damn. It's no fun without you; we can't even get out of here.>> those words freeze the mismatched prisoner.

<<Jyugo-kun, tell us more things about Japan, Ayu-chan will tell us his missions too!>> says Nico approaching the friend, <<We were waiting for you! You know, Ayu-chan did something really cool a few days ago!>>

Rock puts an arm around Number 15's shoulder and says excited that the stone oven he wanted, it's almost ready, so the prisoner invites the cellmate to eat with him since Jyugo is the only one who waits he finishes to eat, outside Ayu. Seeing how warmly they welcomed him, Jyugo calls their attentions with an apologetic voice.

"His breathing rhythm changed..." thinks Ayu looking at his friend, "The aura too, he seems more determinate to do something."

"I had turned my back on everything for all this time. But now..." a little breath and he starts: <<I'm sorry I've been, well... hiding a lot of things from you guys.>> he sees that the reaction isn't that bad, so he decides to continue, <<During the New Year's Tournament, I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop myself.>> "Don't be afraid of them!" he slowly kneels and bows until he touches the tatami, <<But I'll make sure I'm able to prevent it next time. I'm an idiot, so I have no idea what can I do for you guys... But...>>

"I already know how this is gonna end." Ayu rests his head on his hand and looks the scene with a little smile, "Uno and the others have that strange expression... the three foreignness are coming back soon."

<<I will never turn my blades against you again. So...>> Jyugo pushes his forehead more on the tatami to be sure that everyone knows how much he regrets what he did, <<So please, give me do-over, starting today.>> "All I can do is bow my head down like an idiot; forgive me."

<<Uno-kun...>> , <<Yeah, could it be...>>, <<It's gotta be...>>

Those whispers make Jyugo raises his head to see what reaction had his friends even if he's scared to know it.

<<Japanese apology!!>> that weird foreign accent and Jyugo's reaction makes Ayu laugh, but he covers it immediately. Nobody must know that he laughed at that gag scene, no, he has an image to keep.

<<Damn you guys! And here I'm->>

<<Jyugo!>> that's the first time that someone calls his name with so much care, <<Don't worry about it!>> the weird trio kneel in front of Number 15 and smiles happily, <<That's who you are, right Ayu?>> Uno calls the last inmate to join the group, and Jyugo tenses up again, he clearly remembers he tried to kill Ayu more than one time, plus he got shot to protect him.

<<Um...>> the awkward duo is now face to face, <<I'm not good with these type of things, but I understand you. I've learnt that sometimes, you become a monster just to be able to protect someone, so I'm not gonna blame you, nor being scared or mad with you. Just like Uno said, Jyugo is still Jyugo.>>

<<....Eh? B-but you got injured->>

<<Two or three more scars to add in my collection. You said that as long as I'm here, I can be myself, nobody will judge me.>> Jyugo listens carefully like everyone else, Ayu is speaking so much these days, it's a good sign! But Number 15 is taken off guard when Ayu gently hugs him, careful to not hurt him, <<Don't you think that those words are for you too?>>

Slowly, everyone hugs Jyugo and says a warmly "welcome back" that makes the inmate cries. He instinctively puts his arm around his friends and hugs them tighter.

"I have nothing. But even if I can't do anything and have nothing... They all understand me, they'll never know how much relief I feel hearing those words. I'm sorry I'm always running away. I'm sorry I'm always hiding something... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." <<Thank you...>>

---Continue...

---

Hi guys, Yuki is back bitches! I hope everyone had funny and wonderful moments during these holidays, and Happy New Year to all of you! Now, let’s continue this story hping that you guys like it!

Said this, I’m going back to work! See ya tomorrow!

---

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

#nanbaka #nanba prison #nanbaka jyugo #jyu #uno nanbaka #nico nanbaka #rock nanbaka #hajime sugoroku #yamato godai #nanbaka seitarou #kiji mitsuba #kenshirou yozakura #samon gokuu #nanbaka fanfiction #nanbaka scenario #scenarios #fanfictions #anime #manga

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odilekuronuma · 7 years ago

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Castlevania Netflix Season 1 review

Wallpaper found on Reddit.

Better late than never I suppose.

Let me just preface this by saying that I’m a HUGE Castlevania fan, I’ve played most of the games, even the old school ones. And this blog is originally dedicated to Castlevania, and its artist Ayami Kojima. In fact my username is a direct reference to her and her pen name, as well as “Santa lilio Sangre” which is the title of her artbook, that I highly recommand checking out .

Also this review will contain spoilers so be warned.I don’t think I can talk about the story and the characterization without mentioning spoilers, so read at your own risk.

With that out of the way, it wouldn’t come as a surprise that I’d have an interest in this series. Actually this came out of nowhere, there was talk of an adaptation years ago, but it came to nothing. And with the whole Konami debacle, all hope of seeing anything Castlevania related vanished....until Netflix came in.

The story is based on Castlevania III Dracula’s curse, which I’ll have you know is one of my favourite games in the franchise.It’s also partly inspired by Symphony of the night, which is by far my favorite game of all times. I gotta say that I’m really impressed about how the showrunners expanded on the lore of the game and the franchise as a whole. There’s a clear effort made into fleshing out the characters, and expanding on the lore and the story. The games were never really heavy on the story, but here we get to know more about the context of those times, and how the Church for example played a huge role, not just in regulating the religious life of the believers.

The story follows Trevor Belmont, of the clan Belmont, whose main occupation is hunting vampires and all kinds of otherwordly creatures, on his quest to defeat Dracula. One year prior to the current timeline, Dracula is legitimately pissed off at humanity for having burned his wife on a stake after wrongly accusing her of being a witch.

I gotta say I love how the showrunners fleshed the relationship between Dracula and Lisa. It’s short but it’s to the point.It’s better than any crappy Vampire romance we’ve seen in the past 10 years. It starts with Lisa from Lupu village showing up at Drac’s castle, to learn science. She wants to be a doctor to help her fellow humans. She’s portrayed as being quite witty, and in fact most of the main cast are portrayed as such (not counting the priests since they’re dumb as fuck).

She manages to convince Dracula to teach her science, and here there’s somewhat of a deviation from the usual lore. While in the games it’s not unusual to encounter objects that are futuristic, or even the Creature which by all means is the result of science, Dracula’s powers are deeply rooted in magic, or even alchemy. A recurrent area in Dracula’s castle or “Castlevania” is the Alchemy Laboratory. Either way in exchange of him teaching her all there is to know about science, she in turn will teach him how to enjoy life as a human, since so far it appears that Dracula has never walked or travelled as a man. He originally starts by hating humanity and not having much faith in them, and this beautiful woman comes along and changes his views entirely.

Years later while Dracula is away, travelling as a human which shows that he followed Lisa, aka his wife’s advice, the Church does a really dick move by burning her at the stake....Yeah that’s bound to backfire horribly. Lisa on the stake begs Dracula not to be mad at humans, but all the harm has been done. After he learns of her demise, he transforms into a fiery pillar and goes to face the Archbishop and all the assholes responsible of her death. He gives the people of Targoviste a year to make peace with their God. And then he’ll unleash hell on humans.

I gotta say Dracula’s wrath is justified, you decided to piss off the guy who didn’t like humans to begin with, and took away from him the thing that made him become a better person. So there’s bound to be some retribution. However as Alucard, his son from Lisa points out, he should direct his wrath on those who are directly responsible for her death, and not all of humanity and people who are innocent. But Dracula won’t have any of that, so he attacks his son to prevent him from meddling with his plan to raise an undead army in a year.

So that’s pretty much the context of the story, and what lead to the current events, where Trevor our reluctant hero is currently embarked in. I gotta say the characterization is top notch, and it doesn’t end with Dracula.Our hero’s motivations and journey are also fleshed out, because as it turns out Trevor doesn’t initially want to do anything with it. He’s first shown to be a drunk mess, despite the fact that he comes from a noble house, the Belmonts. But that is due to once again the interference of the Church, who after relying on the Belmonts for years to protect them from monsters and creatures like Dracula, decided to excommunicate them on ground they dabbled in magic pretty much...Which is as dumb as pissing off Dracula. So with his house in ruins, Trevor pretty much sunk into alcoholism, which is a pretty interesting take on his character. He’s all around very different from his character in Curse of Darkness, who is overall very serious.

Instead here Trevor is portrayed as being sarcastic and witty, and there’s a good amount of comedy involving him, mainly due to the fact that he’s a drunk and out of practice. So his initial motivations aren’t anything grand, and overall he just doesn’t want to get involved with the Dracula drama. He just wants some booze and something to eat. But soon he starts to care, after his encounter with the speakers.

After making it to a town that is plagued by raids of Dracula’s minions he meets the Speakers, a band of nomadic story tellers who pass their wisdom orally. Because he’s a Belmont, he had previous knowledge of such a group, and unfortunately for them, the Church (again) plans to pin down the onslaught by Dracula’s forces on them, because they happen to use magic...sigh. The Church are even bigger villains than Dracula himself, they fucked over pretty much everyone. Trevor bides them to leave town, but they can’t, not until they retrieve the body of one of theirs, the grand daughter of their leader in the catacombs. As to why she ventured in the catacombs, it is to find the “Sleeping warrior” who is according to a prophecy, the one who will defeat Dracula.

So Trevor ventures in the catacombs to find her, and he saves Sypha from the Cyclops, yay. While she’s grateful, she doesn’t think too highly of Trevor, and who could blame her, since at this point he won’t do anything about this situation. But with Sypha’s and the speakers help, who won’t abandon the city despite the fact that the mob lead by the Church is after them, he comes to realize that it is his duty as a Belmont to stop Dracula.

After that they both end up in the catacombs again after trying to run from the mob and confronting Dracula’s minions in one of the best action scenes of the season. While they keep falling in the catacombs they end up encountering the “Sleeping warrior” who turns out to be a vampire, and none other than Alucard, Dracula’s son. Of course Trevor and him would come to fight since for the former it is likely Alucard is Dracula and is a vampire and thus can’t be trusted, and for the latter it is more of a test to see if Trevor is worthy.Trevor manages to kick Alucard’s sweet ass on more than one occasion thanks to his consecrated whip and weapon of choice, the Vampire Killer which is very effective against vampires. But Alucard manages to come on top thanks to his superior swordsmanship . In the end both of them stop fighting after Trevor managed to stab Alucard a few times, and Sypha threatens to burn Alucard’s precious little head if he tries to bite Trevor.

Either way they all agree to stop fighting, and Alucard announces that the other 2 passed the test, that is supposed to show if they’re worthy to be his companions and aid him in killing his own father Dracula....

So through 4 episodes, the length of the first season, we get Trevor’s character arc, who starts as a reluctant hero but slowly comes around to realize that it is his mission to protect humans from people like Dracula. And characters like Sypha played a big role in it.Alucard comes along to gather all of them and aid them in defeating his own father. So in terms of characterization I have no complaint whatsoever, the showrunners really did flesh them out well.

Another reason for me to like Trevor as a character is the fact that he’s voiced by Richard Armitage, who is a great actor (if you haven’t watched the Crucible go watch it now) and has an amazing voice...and I have a crush on him, but what’s new? I have a crush on 90% of Hollywood actors XD. In fact the original english dub (so weird to say that) has an amazing cast, even though I find it a bit odd that characters from Wallachia would have a British accent....But that’s how things are, and Sypha and the speakers have a Spanish accent, which I guess means they’re from Spain (Sypha Belnades) and are the equivalent of Romani people. Yeah I guess that makes sense.

So the story is very well written, they managed to also portray the characters in a realistic light. The voice acting is also great. But what about the actual animation? I’ll let you judge by yourself.

It is surprisingly good. In fact it’s better than fucking Berserk 2016/17. That one barely qualifies as animation. To me this series is a homage to 2D and during the very important scenes, mainly action scenes, it literally has some of the best animation I’ve seen in a while. The art style is also rather manga-ish and to me a bit reminiscent of Ayami Kojima’s style which is very feminine and graceful.

The action is top notch, and the Trevor vs Alucard fight really lived to the hype. It wasn’t as one sided as I thought it would be, since Alucard is supposed to be overpowered, and while he is portrayed as such with him being able to teleport thanks to the hidden ability of the Alucard sword, he still has the basic weakness of vampires to the Vampire Killer. Dracula is also overpowered since he’s able to appear in fire pretty much everywhere at will.And the action scenes are carried by the quality animation and choregraphy.

My only complaint is that the music is forgettable, it has none of the classic feel of the video game franchise. It uses a lot of synth tunes, which makes it really generic. The endings do feature a song that somewhat feels gothic, with all the choir singing, but it’s nowhere close to the quality of the music from the games. I personally pictured the music to be like the score from Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust. It could be a mix of classic instruments and more synthetic sounds, but alas none of that here. So that’s my main gripe with it, and it is somewhat important since CV is known mainly for its music.

So overall really impressed with this series and I totally recommand watching it. . It’s short, only 4 episodes though which I guess is made on purpose.Perhaps Netflix wanted to test the waters first and see how this series does. But fear not my Crestfallen children, a second season has been greenlit that should come out in 2018 and it will feature double the amount of episodes. And I’m more than willing to wait till 2018 as long as they can keep the same quality of storytelling and animation. And maybe they can also improve on the music while they’re at it.Also I’d be interested in seeing them doing a third season, and maybe also feature the events of Curse of darkness, even though the characters are less memorable and iconic compared to the CV III trio (since Grant isn’t here apparently). And maybe even beyond.

I just don’t want it to end. XD

#castlevania #netflix #season 1 #review

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little-rose-08 · 6 years ago

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✨Star Atlas Zine✨

I received my Star Atlas package this week!! I was a little late uploading this since my internet is so bad and I’m trying to figure out how tumblr works.

Edit: Our internet speed was just recently upgraded (thank you mom!!!), so this post was much later than I expected to have posted it. But at least it’s finally posted? I guess? (this is so late, omg)

First off, sorry for the bad image quality. My phone is not that great. igh.

Anyway, the Star Atlas Zine has a few bundles that they offer, and the bundle I purchased was the Voyager Bundle. It Includes 1 physical zine, 3 A5 prints, 2 sticker sheets, and 1 keychain! The pic below is all of them:

Also! The bubble wrap!! It is so pretty! I have a pic of it right here:

(I’ll be saving this beautiful bubble wrap for future scrapbooking purposes)

This zine itself was really pretty! The gold foil on the cover is beautiful, and the art is just precious. Space lovers wearing their pretty, sparkling engagement rings.

I don’t know how much I can show you on this post, but I have a lot of favorites in this zine! Especially Astra Inclinant by @okwtr <3. And the accompanying art by mikkapi is awesome as well! Otabek in a desolate planet, meeting fallen star Yuri is a jam I totally never knew I had. It’s like Treasure Planet meets Star Wars the Force Awakens and Stardust. (I love all these movies so Astra Inclinant was perfect!)

Also, special mention for @tosquinha ‘s art, because you’re the main reason why I purchased this zine. Your art has so much detail that you’re going to be pleasantly surprised by every new thing that you’ll see each time you take a good look. (I loved every bit about the zine in the end, so getting this bundle was a really good call. I’m following every contributor in this zine now, because of this project)

B-612 by badkisser is also a fic that I love and hate at the same time. It is heartbreakingly beautiful, thank you! The short comics paired with it made by @shelliihe was so adorable and charming as well!!

All in all, this is an amazingly cosmic project! and I am over the moon happy with how it turned out!!! For a first zine, that was soo not bad at all. Despite the delays from the crew, the end product was really, extremely good. Thank you to the crew and contributors for all your hard work!

I’ll be adding the crew and moderators below to give thanks and my additional thoughts about their works! :D (and also spoilers maybe? for those who haven’t gotten theirs yet.

@aaaliyaamj Yuuri and Victor on a stargazing date! The sky full of stars and a peek of the Aurora Borealis made your art look so whimsical and calm.

@tybirb This is a movie. This should be turned into a movie. Victor doing whatever it takes to get his Yuuri back, and Yuuri being all smart and resourceful and dramatic doing anything to survive and communicate back to Victor. With love giving them the power and hope to go against all odds and finding each other in the end!!

@babypears Russian Space Scientists Team!! Your art style is so unique and your use of colors and lines are awesome.

@awanqi THE SKY. OMG THE SKY. The use of colors and how you layered them is fantastic! I can almost feel how the wind blows through the image, and the way you drew Victor is beautiful. Is he looking for something? or maybe someone??

@helllodeer This is such an exciting fic!!! This should be a novel!! I’m not so knowledgeable about deep space conspiracies, but your story is so interesting. I searched about the detail that you featured in this story and it’s so appropriate for Victor and so funny for me. I partly believe in aliens, hahaha, because the universe is soooo vast that it is impossible that we are the only intelligent beings occupying it. It may be humans like us, or another versions of us. It maybe exact replicas of us, doing the same things we do, experiencing the same events as us, y’know?? Or maybe beings sooo different from us! There’s just no telling because there’s no evidence against it. So anything is possible!

@gehirnkaefer Why’s Yurio alooone? He looks so lonely! His image of listening to music while staring into space is so solemn. Or maybe he’s just having alone time away from his annoying crewmates? Yurio would totally do that. Your art shows so much emotion and feels so cold, but wonderful nonetheless!

@berrycrisps I’m not very sure if your Victor and Yuuri are aliens or human representations of heavenly bodies, but it’s still soooo good! The golden detailes on their faces are freaking fantastic! God, I hope someone cosplays your art, its is wonderful!

@butleronice Mischievous comet Yurio is *shakes fist* i love it!! Don’t worry Beka, someday you’ll catch that bright star for your own! (Also, Otabek’s glow-in-the-dark undercut is seriously awesome. a fashion icon Otabek.)

@_xarem You made a whole new world with just one page of art!! Fashion icon Otabek makes an appearance once again with a bomber jacket with a Scorpio design. The sky is colorful and whimsical and full of wonderful things!! Yurio in a a dark hoodie is so Yurio, haha, but the colorful background makes him look so soft, along with Beka.

@rollround Bunny Moon King Victor met Astronaut Yuuri and wants to keep him for forever! I guess this is inspired by Japanese Mythology? The colors are so bright and soft, I hope they get their happy ending ;v;

@eimqo Sara and Mila YAAAAAAS Your art style is soft and so adorable!! They’re like models of astronomy-inspired clothing and I AM LIVING FOR IT. Their headdresses are the bomb! I kinda want them for myself :D

@trinketier Chubby Astronaut Yuuri!!!!!! He looks so precious in your art 100000/10 And heavenly body Phichit looks so happy and playful here trying to tour Yuuri around Saturn(?). I kinda wanna join them on the tour!

@princebunbuns your art is so very golden!! Yuuri and Victor dripping gold is fantastic!!

@peggyshrooms’ Yuuri and Otabek portrait is beautiful. The soft colors and the shooting star, I love it. Can I ask from what constellation this is inspired from? If it has one? Thank you!! Despite space being such a dark place, your art has so much light in it that it looks heavenly!!

@winchilsea’s fic “A Long Conversation in Space” features Yuuri and Phichit as heavenly bodies talking about what they are, what they do, what they’re supposed to be, and their past experiences. Most of the phrasing is really deep, I’m not a native English speaker, so this was a little hard for me to read and understand. The use of words is wonderful, nonetheless. But I’ll be honest, this is a fic that I might need to read repeatedly before I see and understand its flow. Which is a great excuse to visit this wonderful zine again and again!

@chronovale Made an art piece where Yuuri and Victor are embracing each other literally wearing the universe! I think they’re both separate galaxies ‘cause they both have stars, planets, and moons in their clothing. But maybe they’re in the same galaxy living within each other’s space! I love it!!

@villainsbynecessity Hikoboshi and Orihime feels!!!! Your Yuuri and Victor, literal star-crossed lovers depiction is so nice!! They’re both really happy in your art, and I’m really happy with this one too :D

@zuoji I’m not very good at astronomy and I barely know any constellation, but I suppose your depiction of Yuuri and Victor are inspired by real constellations? I’m so sorry I know so little ;_; But the art is awesome!! Gladiator Yuuri kneeling before God victor is 👌👌👌

@hatepotion Are these reminiscent of Tarot cards? I also have very limited knowledge about astrology, but if they are, then Yuuri and Victor representing The Sun and The Moon are very accurate! Yuuri the solitary being that seems cold, but in truth, he’s just shy but still the brightest thing in the sky at night. Victor is the sun because people just can’t help it but want to get close to him, but he never lets them too close. But somehow, against all odds and science, these two just can’t keep their hands off each other <3 <3 <3

@maydraws_ Made the art to accompany “A Long Conversation in Space”. The mix of mythic astronomy (is that even real? I don’t know) and traditional Japanese(?) art is wonderful! It’s simple, but the earthy tones and visuals are breathtaking. It really shows Yuuri’s solemnity in the fic and Phichit’s role as his companion.

@elleshivers Are Yurio and Beka supposed to be wearing Filipino pre-colonial inspired clothing?? If so then you did a really good job!! Your art has a mythological feel to it that I just had to think that. The details on their clothing and background are fantastic!

@suppuuri Your art is pure beauty. Yuuri and Victor lovingly gazing at each other before a kiss IS. THE. JAM. Their haloes are great accessories to their pure, true love. I’m tearing up, your art is magnificent ;v;

@insecticidesoap Your short but heartwarming comics is wonderful and brought tears to my eyes! Mama Katsuki is so supportive of her baby Yuuri as an astronaut and it just filled me with warmth and so much love!!

@sparklyfawn *whispers aggresively* Alien Yuuri rescuing lost astronaut Victor!!!!!! Your depiction of alien Yuuri is so creative! And Victor’s pink astronaut suit (and the most beautiful tears in the world) is so awesome.

@agenderemryspaperart Is this your paper art??? It’s so intricate and detailed and so unique! Do you have a story behind it? I’m guessing your art featured Yuuri and Phichit’s dorm room? Do they have figure skating in your world?? I have so many questions, but your art is still so beautiful! Yuuri in a half-man bun is also 10/10

@roselph Your short comics for “A Minor Victory” captured the fic perfectly! It was such a fun story and your art really fits the characters! Alien Victor is so funny!!

@aluhnim Long-distance relationships are hard. And you showed how strong Yuuri and Victor’s bond is, even though they live countries apart! How they show their support for each other, and promising that things between them will never change no matter how long or how much they are apart. *crying intensifies*

@aurigaearts It’s so dark!! It’s so realistic though!! How did you do this? This is magnificent! For such a short piece, you did an amazing job delivering so many emotions with Yuuri and Victor. You gave us loneliness and hope and love with just two pages, and that takes talent! Thank you!

@laurenbaldoart The gang exploring an alient planet with evidence of intelligent life! A movie, I say! Give this art a freaking movie! Phichit with a selfie is a must of course! Haha! Yuuri and Victor is especially sweet outside of Earth <3 <3 <3

@giftwrappingpaper Your fic was so much fun!! One of my favorites, definitely! Alien Victor falling in love at first sight at Yuuri’s true form is awesome. He definitely wasn’t disappointed. Yuuri also lowkey saving the planet earth from alien invasion possible doom is soooo him, hahaha!

@fatimajpeg I hope I got your new tumblr right! Your piece for this zine is incredible! I can feel Yuuri’s loneliness and depression. Bearing the whole of his country on his shoulders is such a huge burden, and you can really see him suffering from it. Your piece was beautiful, thank you.

@banacotta Yuuri, Victor, and Makkachin riding a boat through space! Or during an evening boat date while the starry sky is reflected on the water. This is so idyllic, I want to experience this! Your piece is so calming and such a beautiful scene of just relaxing in each other’s arms while the beautiful night sky frames their peaceful visage.

@haedraulics Astronaut x Astrophysicist/Engineer AU! And they’re engaged! Public displays of affection!! Outerspace wedding proposals!!! First meetings!!!! Everything in your comics is beautiful!!!! I LOVE IT.

@yuuris-piano your compositions are b e a u t i f u l, thank you, so very much

@miupoke The cover you did for this zine is magnificent! The stardust that surrounded the two, emphasized by the glittering gold foil and the loving gazes made it perfect!

@nuupu The gang in outerspace wearing such fashionable astronaut clothing!! Even in outerspace, these fashion icons never disappoint! Your art is dark, but the details and their facial expressions are clear.

I assume that @roarsharktest @roadhouss @krayonela made some of the prints and/or sticker sheets? Oh gosh, I hope I did not forget anyone. If I made any mistakes, please tell me!

Thank you so, so much for this project! It has given me so much joy and happiness, and was a great early Christmas present for myself. The crew of @yoispacezine are all wonderful and amazing! Thank you for all your hard work!!! I enjoyed it so much!

#yoispacezine #star atlas #yuri on ice space zine

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healthcaretipsblog · 7 years ago

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Black Level

Not too long ago, a colleague chastised me, blind-item style, for writing about a film festival based on the use of screeners instead of going to the festival and attending the event in person. (In current parlance, I was “subtweeted,” although not on Twitter.) The argument was that by conducting my film criticism in “armchair mode,” I was missing out on lively discussion, camaraderie, and a good deal of atmospheric context that makes a festival more than just a collection of individual films. (Whether or not any given film is necessarily improved by having a discussion with its maker, particularly if critics are supposed to remain relatively objective in our evaluations, is an open question.)

However, it occurred to me that, before any given film exhibition or festival, the works contained therein exist as precisely that: just a collection of individual films. It’s only through selection and programming choices that they are expected to stand for anything other than themselves. And I also began to think about the incredible faith we place in programmers, to sift through hundreds upon hundred of films made every year. We trust them (and a host of unsung pre-screeners) to separate the wheat from the chaff, to set the agenda for the year in cinema by their inclusions and exclusions. For the most part, we go along with their decisions, and as critics we make our own judgments as a subset of theirs.

But we know full well that taste is nebulous and fallible, prone to the vagaries of history and fashion. How many worthy films slip through the cracks each year, each decade? This question prompted me to embark on an experiment.

The online screener service Festival Scope is filled with thousands of films, from the well-known and –travelled to the utterly obscure. Mostly I have used the service to catch up with festival films I’ve missed along the way. But I got an idea. What about all those films I’d never even heard of? Could there be major discoveries right there for the taking? So I devised a system whereby I could sample some of those films by random selection. I chose twelve films by this method, which had to do with randomizing the number of pages in Festival Scope’s 2017 features listing, and the number of films per page. I decided to call it the 2018 Random Film Festival.

Granted, this was not a “film festival” as such. I was watching a collection of screeners from home, so a lot of the pleasures of attending an actual festival—meeting up with friends, post-film discussions, hustling from venue to venue, last-minute schedule changes, and of course, the big screen experience—were all missing here. Then of course, so were the random diet, sleep deprivation, and the exorbitant cost of attendance. But it’s often said the certain films look better (or worse) in a festival context, and that element was not in play here. I was watching about two films a day, not four or five, so I had the chance to let things percolate in my mind a bit more than usual. As you’ll see, that didn’t necessarily help.

That’s because what I found is that most films are simply average, regardless of where they come from. Take a film like Nobody Sleep by Spanish documentarian Mateo Cabeza. It starts out promisingly enough, showing us in meticulous detail how four men set about building a dance piece from extended rehearsals, movement by movement and gesture by gesture. The fact that two of the dancers are men with Down syndrome is an interesting element, but one that is pointedly not remarked upon. But then, Cabeza stops his observational mode to “widen the frame,” telling us that the work is part of an arts initiative for individuals with Downs and emphasizing that, yes, these are people who should be treated like everyone else. This is of course a worthy message. However, prior to the film making that message so explicit, Nobody Sleep was embodying it by simply showing the four men dancing. Cabeza chooses to deliver a moral when an object lesson is what’s called for. Likewise, Pedro Neves’ documentary Tarrafal is essentially a Pedro Costa film without any of the mastery or aesthetic value, choosing instead to provide endless, redundant interviews with former residents of the bulldozed low-income neighborhood in Porto, Portugal. In the interest of “giving voice,” Neves makes a film that is lifeless and near-impossible to listen to.

Somewhat more compelling, and likely to pop up on the festival circuit, were two slightly flawed entries that nevertheless fit squarely into the usual mode of festival filmmaking. February, by South Korea’s Kim Joonghyun, is a kind of existentialist mood piece, vaguely in the mold of Agnès Varda’s Vagabond. It focuses on Minkyung (Minkyung Jo), an attractive but affectless young woman in desperate straits. Her father is in prison and has bankrupted her with legal liability claims. She wants to take a social service exam but cannot afford the review classes. And, now four months behind on her rent, she has been forced to take up residence in a metal shipping container. Minkyung goes out of her way to destroy every situation in which someone shows her any goodwill, determined to self-destruct in grand style. Despite its comically hateful protagonist, February seems a bit rote, especially in the context of recent Korean cinema. Similarly, even though Valentyn Vasyanovych’s Black Level is highly original on its face—a portrait of a depressive wedding photographer in Kiev, a film in which no one ever utters a word—there’s something eerily familiar in its dark humor and meticulous staging—a little Ulrich Seidl here, a little Roy Andersson there.

Other films are just average examples of their type, and it’s easy to see why festival programmers might pass on them for better examples, since they’re plentiful. The Albanian film Daybreak is about a domestic worker with a young child who has to make questionably ethical choices to survive. The Dardennes influence is obvious. The grandiloquently titled Denmark is a kind of troubled-youth film that gradually morphs into unlikely humanism, starting out in scuzzy Larry Clark partyville and ending up like a Lukas Moodysson cuddle. And Law of the Land, starring veteran Finnish actor Ville Vertanen, is a snowmobile-Western, not exactly festival fare to begin with. It could easily be remade by Liam Neeson and Jaume Collet-Serra for release during next year’s January doldrums.

Since most films fall somewhere in that soft middle-zone of “nothing special, but not a complete waste of time,” it seems only fitting that the major discoveries from the Random Film Festival were films on either side of the equation: something very special, and an utter, utter waste of time. From the Good Place: Annika Berg’s Team Hurricane, from Denmark (which played Critics’ Week at Venice). A film with so much color and energy that the screen can barely contain it, Team Hurricane is a blast of direct address filtered through a searing high-key video aesthetic that achieves a stark, unexpected beauty and juices the nerve centers like a sunlamp.

Berg somehow remains true to the lifeworld of the eight teen girls who are the focus of Team Hurricane, partly by allowing them to shoot a lot of the footage themselves on their phones. But it’s also in the jumpy, anything-goes editing style, which partakes easily of the dominant modes of YouTube vlogs and teen video diaries without the slightest hint of condescension. But mostly this is a hanging-out movie, with cutaways zeroing in on the inner lives on individual girls, spoken to the camera in Sadie Benning-like autobiographical art-video interludes. These are girls who are bright, funny, imperfect, sad, and vital. This is a film for now.

From the Bad Place: Ideka Akira’s Ambiguous Places. Sometimes Random hurts. I thought that the Fickle Finger of Fate had picked me a winner once I discovered that Ambiguous Places had been selected for the Bright Future section of this year’s International Film Festival Rotterdam. Had a randomly stumbled upon a significant new voice in cinema? Well, I will say this for Akira—he is doggedly pursuing his own vision. Ambiguous Places is his second feature, and it bears all the excruciating hallmarks of a film convinced of its own future cult status. It makes no sense from scene to scene, even though particular “characters” carry through the entire thing like semi-human running gags.

The closest parallel I can draw is to the leaden pseudo-Surrealism of Quentin Dupieux’s post-Rubber output. Someone has a sea bug stuck in her head. She has to go to a barber to get it removed. But the barber is an udon shop. Meanwhile, the pharmacist and his wife are expecting, so as per custom, they need to make celebratory gloves. Akira seems to think that just throwing any silly idea into the film, and then calling it back every ten minutes or so, equals comedy gold. He also deploys an equally grating verbal style. Every other interaction devolves into two deadpan performers monotone-arguing the same lines of dialogue back and forth to each other. “You’re troublesome.” “I’m sorry.” “You’re troublesome.” “I’m sorry.” Five more times. (I have to wonder whether this kind of broken-record nonsense has a particular comic valence in the Japanese language, the nuance of which is nails-on-the-chalkboard lost in English.)

It’s a given that something this aggressively weird will have its fans. But I venture to say that for most people, watching Ambiguous Places will feel like being the only guy at the party who didn’t take the mushrooms. You’re all ostensibly in the same place, but clearly the others are somewhere else.

So in the end, the Random Film Festival is a success, depending on how you look at it. I saw one great film for my trouble, and two fairly interesting ones—three if you count Ambiguous Spaces, which is certainly “interesting.” This batting average doesn’t seem that far off from a festival like Toronto, with its sprawling collection of unknown quantities. (And I didn’t have to fly anywhere or pay for lodging.) By the same token, I have a new appreciation for the job of pre-screeners, who have to sift through the dross only to find one or two fairly decent entries. (With my innate curiosity and sense that “everything is kind of worthwhile,” I think that’s a job I’d be good at.)

The verdict: festivals generally work, but critics need to supplement our viewing with spadework of our own. Why just be passengers when we can drive?

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